Chapter 24: Suspicions

Chapter 24: Suspicions

The royal wing swarmed with guards. A hornets nest kicked, or a fey revel interrupted. There was no inconspicuous way to sneak off. And so Aaron found himself tucked in the corner nearest the princess door, trying to make himself small and unimportant between a bookcase and a vase, as the Captain of the Guard organized a full sweep of the castle from an arms length away.

Youre bleeding, Lochlann whispered once, and Aaron was surprised to find blood trickling down his chest from a slash over his collar bone, just above where the chain of his new necklace lay. He clamped a hand over it, putting pressure on the flow until it stopped. He didnt remember getting cut. He felt that he should have, with the wound so close to his neck.

The younger prince was soon ushered into the room as well, barefoot and bewildered, still wrapped in the fine coat hed worn to the nights festivities.

His room was clear, a guard reported to the Captain, as far as we could see, in any case. The kennel master is bringing up the terriers. Well sweep the floor again when theyre here.

Casualties so far?

Five, sir. These things know how to fight.

Connor sat next to his sister on the couch, his hand finding hers. Seeing them together, Aaron remembered that they were twins, though the boy didnt share her wine stain; his face was pale and unmarked. Probably paler tonight than it usually was. Hed grown a bit since hed joined the militia, but he still looked painfully young. They both did, really.

The king came next. Aaron shrank farther into his corner. The man was surrounded by his own contingent of guards, of course, but the princes had arrived in the same manner; it was only the king who stood at the center of those armed men and made it look as if he were the one leading the group. The mans very presence spoke of leadership. Even if his cheeks were as thin as Aarons, and even if the iron-shod staff he carried was clearly doubling as both weapon and walking stick. The Wasting Kings green eyes were sharp as cut emeralds as he took stock of the room.

And so they were all together: king, heir, and the twinned prince and princess. The kings family was a small one. Time had not been kind to the OShea line.

The king and the elder prince soon joined the Captain of the Guard in the other room. They stood over the body of the assassin, and asked quiet questions of the guards who had been present at each of the two attacks. The younger prince stayed with his sister, their bodies pressed together in comforting silence on the couch.

So youre back? Connor asked her, his voice low. She nodded. Did they figure out where you were, or did you come out on your own?

On my own, she answered. That was all the conversation the twins had in them, it seemed.

It did not take long before eyes began to linger on Aaron longer than he was strictly comfortable with. He stood even more still, a cold sweat beading on his brow, as if blending into the wall were a matter of sheer willpower. In the other room, Lieutenant Varghese showed them the womans dagger and its black and gold wrapping. All the assassins would have carried the same.

Aarons Death was still in the room. Hed saved the princess, but his Death was still in the room. Well. That was a wrong choice made, then.

Hed killed Gwen, and it had been the wrong choice, the kind of wrong that meant he couldnt ever apologize to her.

Things finally began to settle as the reports came in, floor by floor and room by room. All clear. The king settled on the couch with his youngest children. The crown prince held himself a pace apart, his feet planted in a pose that spoke of his military background. During the spring, he served as a captain in humanitys army, commanding a strike unit along the dragon border. The twins were thirteen; he was their elder by nine years. The only blood they shared was through their father.

Orin was watching him. Not a persistent gaze, but an assessment made by sharp green eyes that was finished before Aaron could even straighten himself up properly.The source of this content nov(el)bi((n))

Im afraid, in all this, we have not been properly introduced, the crown prince said.

Step forward. Youve done my family a great service tonight. King Liam said, leaning his staff against the couch with his free hand. What is your name?

Aaron edged out of his corner, stopping a few respectful feet away without needing to be told. He straightened his spine, clasped his hands behind his back, and addressed a spot on the couch somewhat lower than the kings own gaze.

Aaron, sir, if it pleases Your Majesty.

Do you know what she did when she saw that woman? She screamed, and threw a water pitcher. Why doesnt she know how to fight?

That came out louder than Aaron had intended. His ears were ringing now. The prince was trying to say something, but Aaron saw no need to let him speak. He felt hot; far too hot.

Why doesnt she know how to fight? There have been rumors of everyone in your family being a target for assassination since long before I stepped foot through your gates. Why doesnt she have a knife? I know five-year-olds who could have put up a smarter fight than she did. Why not a shiv in her boot? Put a little poison on it, and even the worst fighter in Lastrign would stand a fighting chance. Are you trying to get her killed?

The heat changed to cold, in an instant. Poison. Poison was the best way to make sure a thing was done right. Why hadnt he thought of that before?

The king gestured curtly. Lieutenant Varghese stepped forward and tried to get a grip on Aarons arms, tried to restrain him. Aaron leaned back against the man, nearly tipping them both over. The redcoat cursed in his ear. But Aaron hadnt meant it as an attack: he was just so cold, suddenly, and the other man was warm.

Take him to the cells, Lochlann, the prince ordered. He addressed another redcoat, but the name he said slipped from Aarons mind as soon as the word was out. All his words seemed to be slipping sideways, a little like the rest of the room. You therethe Lady is part of the search. Find her. Let her know weve one of them alive. His dark green eyes settled on Aarons face. Hell talk.

Good luck with that, Aaron said.

Lochlann had pulled his arms behind his back, but gave up the grip to brace his shoulders instead. It wasnt enough: Aarons legs buckled, and then they were both sliding down, the lieutenant trying to support him the whole way. Aaron liked the man. He didnt like the way the mans hand was fluttering around him like thatfeeling the pulse at his neck, feeling the cold sweat beading on his foreheadbut at least it was a warm hand. A perfectly agreeable hand.

Hes dying, the good lieutenant said.

What? How?

The assassins blade. It must have been poisoned.

Of course it was. Best way to finish a job, that: the only thing more certain than a knife to the heart was a poisoned knife to the heart. Aaron appreciated Gwens professionalism. It had certainly taken her long enough to adopt the habit. To get past her silly notion that if someone won a fight, they shouldnt die all the same. How many hours she and Clever Hands had spent debating that point

He appreciated, too, the painlessness of it. She hadnt wanted the princess to suffer. A Kindly Soul, indeed.

There were voices around him, but too distanced for him to care. Faces and touches, that was what still mattered.

Lochlann, holding his head off the floor.

The princess, struggling against her fathers arms to reach him, her hood fallen back.

His Death, kneeling, leaning in

The comforting touch of forehead on forehead,

cool palms against his face

Now? Aaron inquired.

Is this what you want? his Death asked.

No, Aaron thought, and that is what followed him into the darkness.