But what does this have to do with me?
“The compromise reestablished the kingdom boundaries. Both sides swore not to adjust their borders. King Leon’s daughter, Margaret, will marry Prince Gamun Bajit of Shad, uniting the two families and ending the brutal feud between the two kingdoms.”
“I knew that was part of the compromise, but I didn’t think the wedding would proceed. I mean, to allow your daughter to marry the son of your enemy… not exactly demonstrating good parenting.” But then, King Leon had never been a good parent. “Master, if the Tribor are suspected, any one of a dozen freelancers could take them out. To endanger the life of an Amaskan by sending them into Alexander, much less into the heart of the capital—” Her tongue wouldn’t lie still as it gave voice to her doubts. “I’m sorry, Master. Forgive my tongue its injury.”
“King Leon III has asked this as a… personal favor. You will be sent.”
Adelei bowed her head, but inside her brain flew like a hurricane. The Masters watched her, their masks carefully in place. They were withholding something from her. Information? The truth? She opened her mouth and shut it again.
“You have a question to ask?” he asked.
“You said this job would last until I was no longer needed. What do you mean by that?”
“Until either you are dead, or the King no longer sees a need for your services.”
A lifetime job. She was right. The air before her ceased its movement, and her lungs burned as she held her breath. He was sending her away, probably forever. That’s one hell of a favor. Terror gripped her, familiar in its feeling, and she failed to shake it off.
Fear has no place in the mind or heart of an Amaskan. Not even these ancient words could smooth the dagger’s edge.
“Grand Master, maybe it would be best if you brief her… alone,” said a Master on her left.
The whites of Bredych’s eyes matched the paleness of his skin. He’s afraid. While the knowledge sank in, the other Masters stood and one by one, they retreated. When she was alone with her father, only then did the mask fall, tears unstoppable as he awaited the questions. Ignoring them all, though her mind screamed for answers, she went to him, falling into his arms for probably the very last time.
The City of Alesta
“What do you mean she’s gone?” King Leon’s voice rose and with a quick peek toward the door to his bedchamber where Margaret slept, he reined in his voice to a whisper. “She was sent there to be protected, damn you.”
Goefrin flinched and stepped back a pace or two as he raised his hands in protest. “My contacts say she never made it. The party was ambushed—much like the ambush that attacked your—”
His glass shattered on the stone floor, missing his wife’s favorite rug by inches. The wine spread. Running like Catherine’s blood, leaving a splash of red pooling on the back of Margaret’s small hood. The red was too bright, too jarring, and Leon shook his head. Out of the corner of his eye, Goefrin stepped out from behind a tree and bowed before the fuzzy horse.
But he wasn’t there. He was here in the castle with me. Is in the castle here with me. How did we get here? Leon rubbed his eyes, and the fuzzy image faded. Goefrin busied himself with picking up the remnants of broken glass.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Leon narrowed his eyes to focus on the advisor, but the man was more jagged edges of color than solid form. “My wife is dead,” he mumbled. Goefrin handed him another cup, and Leon ground his teeth in frustration. Here he was going through normal motions like drinking while his wife, his daughter—
“My wife is dead. Margaret nearly so, and you come to tell me that Iliana is dead as well? That all of these plans to send them to safety have not only failed but have resulted in the death of most of my family? Please, tell me more about how this is my fault.”
“Daddy?”
The tiny voice behind him drained him of his anger, and he spun around to face Margaret, whose frail, five-year-old body slumped in the doorway. Sleepy eyes blinked up at him in the dimness of the drawing room. “You should be asleep, poppet.” And the drugs the healers have given her should have had her sleeping through two wars. Damned healers. Can’t get anything right.
“I heard shouting. I thought—” She didn’t finish her sentence. Instead she screamed. Her wide eyes darted about the small room as her scratched hands slapped the air, battling nothing.
Leon grabbed her by the shoulders and wrapped his strong arms about her shivering body. “Shhhh… It’s okay, I’m here. No one can hurt you.”
“Should I go get the healers?” Goefrin asked, and Leon nodded against the top of his daughter’s head.
My only daughter now.
“Daddy?” Her voice was tiny. Thin and distant. When he tilted his chin down to look at her, she stared off, the whites of her eyes clearly visible.
She pointed at nothing, and he blinked hard. The lump in his throat grew, and he held her close. Whatever she had seen during the attack had scarred her. I will find who did this, and they will die. Slowly.
Margaret relaxed in his grasp. “I thought those men were back,” she whispered.
Behind him, the healers arrived. It was the first time she’d spoken about the attack since she’d been found, a bloody, muddy mess clinging to a wandering horse in the northern woods. He held up a hand to stop the healers at the door. “What men, poppet?” A small sob escaped her lips, and he squeezed her tighter. “You’re safe. They can’t get you. I’m here.”
Her face fell, and his
