The Queen's Assassin (Queen's Secret #1) - Melissa de la Cruz Page 0,42
“Careful, now. Or we’re gonna have you doin’ this every day,” Mister Renold says with a wink.
He doesn’t know I wouldn’t mind that at all. But I don’t want to seem too eager, so all I say is, “Yes, sir.”
As soon as the cart is filled, I push it out the door. In my rush I hit a bump in the stone floor and almost tip the entire cart. Mister Renold shakes his head. “Careful there, boy!” But he looks amused, watching me go.
There’s a ramp leading to the upper-level cells. Before Deersia was a prison, it was a castle fortress, and the ramps were for transporting cannons and other large artillery. Convenient, but a bit steep for this purpose, and I have to go slow or risk bowls of slop sliding off the tray and pouring onto my feet.
A man with long, straight, dishwater-colored hair sits on the floor of the first cell, rocking back and forth and murmuring. Not Caledon. He looks toward the door when I slide the tray under it, then goes back to his rocking. The second cell isn’t Caledon’s either; it’s an older man asleep on a small, sagging cot. The third and fourth fare no better.
It’s not until I reach the fifth cell that I get a glimmer of hope. As I slide the tray into the cell, I catch a glimpse of tousled brown hair. Looks like it could be Caledon’s. He’s a bit thinner than I remember but that’s to be expected.
I try to peer through the food slot for a better look, but I don’t see anyone now.
The cell’s makeshift bed is empty. I try to see into the corners of the cell, thinking he moved out of sight to protect himself. He won’t know I’m there to help him. I look toward the right side of the room.
Two huge eyes stare back at me. I let out a yelp and flinch. There’s wild cackling on the other side of the door. I stand, heart racing, and try to look in again. That couldn’t be Cal . . . could it?
A face pops up in front of mine again. Then disappears. I force myself not to look away until I know whether it’s Caledon. If it is, I have more trouble on my hands than I thought.
Then I hear the food tray bang against the opposite wall. I look inside the cell, careful not to expose much of my face in the door slot, just in case.
There’s a boy sitting on his haunches, rocking back and forth. The tray is lying upside down by the wall where I heard it crash. He isn’t looking at me now. But he’s not Cal. He’s barely more than a little boy, maybe thirteen years, or a couple more if he’s small for his age.
He catches me looking and opens his mouth, letting out a piercing screech. I leap backward and grab the cart, hurrying away as quickly as I can.
Though I’m frustrated that I can’t find Caledon, I’m relieved that wasn’t him.
When I return to the kitchen again, only the kitchen boy is there. The cook is in the dining hall setting up for tomorrow’s breakfast. He puts two trays on the cart. “These are the last two. They go up in the east turret,” he says. “You’ll need this.” He hands me an old iron key on a large metal ring. As I walk through the kitchen doorway, he adds, “Try to cover your mouth while you’re up there.”
I nod. Deia forbid Caledon is there. I take the cart all the way to the end of the east wing. There’s a locked door. I assume that’s the way I’m supposed to go, and sure enough, the key fits. The door opens. Behind it there’s a winding staircase leading up into the turret. I’m going to have to leave the cart and carry the trays.
Walking up that many stairs, while balancing a soup bowl on a tray with each hand, is exactly as hard as it sounds. I take each step slowly and pause often. Pea soup on my clothes would definitely require a bath and I can’t risk that.