The Queen's Assassin (Queen's Secret #1) - Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,36

ignore his comment.

The guards take the condemned man out of the wagon. They lead him to the front gate by each arm. I start to follow them inside, but then one turns to me and says, “Where’d you think you’re going, boy?”

While I search for a believable reason to go inside the fortress, he says, “The stables are across the yard.” And points.

With little choice, I turn and head in that direction. I won’t be able to see where Caledon is being held. At least not without some wheedling. This is going to be more complicated than I hoped.

As I approach the stables, I hear raucous conversation inside. It sounds like the stable hands are taking turns telling jokes. One speaks and the others laugh. Their language is rougher than I’m accustomed to. Not that I’m so delicate—just not used to it. I stop at the entrance and take a deep breath. If the stable boys don’t accept me as one of their own, my entire story could fall apart.

I push the door open. There’s a group of boys, around my age and younger, sitting together. They all turn to stare. They stop laughing and talking. “Who the hell are you?” one says. From his demeanor and central place in the group, I guess that he could be their leader. He’s sitting on a crate, perched above the others, who gather around him on the ground in a circle.

“Um . . .” I search my mind. I hadn’t thought of a fake name. How careless. My first mistake.

“So very nice to meet you, ummm,” another says.

One of the others chimes in. “It happened. I finally met someone too stupid to know his own name.”

“Of course I know my name. Doesn’t mean I need to tell you,” I snap.

The first boy asks, “And what do you want?”

“I was sent to work,” I say. The boys look at one another in confusion. Would they have been informed of a new hand on the way? I hope not.

“None of us is leaving,” he says. “So you can bugger off.”

“Yeah. None of us is leaving,” the other chimes in.

“You don’t have to,” I say. The boy on the ground mocks me again, repeating you don’t have to in a high-pitched voice. My cheeks flush.

“Well, thank you for allowing us to stay, honorable sir,” the leader says to me before bowing dramatically. Others laugh. I think I’d rather be locked up alone in a cell at this point.

“That’s not what I meant,” I say, trying to keep my voice low and level. I can’t let them know they are getting to me. Most of all, I just want to go to sleep. My body hurts from being jostled around in the wagon all day long. My throat hurts; I’m thirsty. My water skein ran out hours ago. They all stare at me, waiting. I lift the skein, showing the boy on the crate.

“The well’s out back,” he says. Then he adds, “We sleep in the loft.”

I look up where he’s pointing. Seems like there’s plenty of room. I’ll find a spot as far away from the others as I can.

“But you can sleep there.” He points to a filthy corner. Some of the other boys snicker.

I don’t respond. I won’t give him the satisfaction. Besides, a secluded corner is preferable. I walk away and go out to fill the pouch. I hear them begin talking as soon as they think I’m out of earshot.

I linger outside, listening. Once they determine it won’t be so bad to have someone lowly around to burden with their grunt work, I return inside, heading for the corner where the leader said I could sleep. There’s hay nearby, so I gather some to make a bed and lie down, grateful to collapse into a heap on the ground. I do wish I could remove the linens I’ve wrapped around my body; I’m itchy and it’s difficult to find a comfortable position. But I have absolutely no privacy. And the wrapping does offer more warmth.

Though I haven’t said another word, I guess my mere presence