The Spymaster’s Prize: A Fantasy Romance Tale (Artisan Magic Book 2)

Without being invited, Banne stepped into the room and plucked the gloves from her hands. They disappeared somewhere underneath her cloak. “I am surprised to see you,” she said without an ounce of surprise to show. “I was told you turned on us and took the girl.” Her eyes settled on Elia, her weathered lips pursing with displeasure.

“You’ve been here what, thirty seconds? Hardly enough time to get the whole story.” Cass did not shut the door, though he wanted to. Preferably with her on the other side of it.

“Perhaps. But I see you did, indeed, take the girl.” She strode toward Elia, her boot heels clicking crisply against the wooden floor. Everything Banne did was crisp, cold, and to the point.

Elia drew back as the woman approached, her hands clasped together before her chest.

“Did they tell you the part where one of your recruits tried to stab her?” he asked. “How much use is she if she’s dead?”

At first, Banne didn’t reply. She studied Elia for far too long, her eyes narrowed and her mouth pinched. But eventually, she turned away. “I can see how that could be a problem.”

“I told you to pick more carefully.” Cass dared not look Elia’s way. Who knew how little it would take to betray his concern for her. Why had this cursed woman come now, right when Elia needed comfort most?

“What do you expect? An apology?” Banne pushed back her hood and smoothed a wisp of her graying hair. The bun she kept it in was almost as severe as the rest of her. “Hanem said you were injured. Was this before or after your little expedition to the palace?”

He bit back a curse. There was the option of lying to her, but it wouldn’t get him far. He’d lied enough already. Adding too many made everything that much more likely to unravel. “When I kept your man from killing her. Knife had to go somewhere.”

“Is that why you failed to finish the job, then?”

Cass gritted his teeth. “Whose job? It wasn’t you who went after the king’s bride.”

She offered a tight smile. “No. It wasn’t.”

“I was in the halls when she was attacked in her rooms. Any chance I had to act was set fire to then and there.” It was true, and if she’d had any other informants penetrate the castle’s defenses, they’d be able to corroborate the story.

Banne was unimpressed. “Which means what?”

“A new plan.” He jerked his head toward Elia, who shrank back with a look of hurt.

A shadow of doubt crossed the older woman’s face. “You’re certain she’s valuable enough for that?”

“I think she means more to the crown than you realize.”

“I suppose that’s true. After all, your idea to use her to get in the door seems to have panned out.” She crossed her arms. This time, when she looked at Elia, it was with speculation. “You think she’ll be useful a second time?”

“Best chance we have right now.” And the best chance he had to work things out. Bringing Elia along to begin with had been a mistake, but what choice did he have?

Banne studied him for so long, he thought her shrewd eyes would burn right through him. She tapped a finger against her bicep, then turned back to Elia. “You have a plan?”

“Always,” Cass replied. Silently, he thanked Elia for remaining quiet while they spoke, though a small, unhappy part of him knew she was only quiet out of fear. Fear and intimidation were useful tools, but using them sometimes tore at him in a way that left deep scars. This, he suspected, would be one of them.

“You need them to know you have her. A ransom letter doesn’t quite send the message we want.”

He nodded. “We send the boy. Turn him loose, let him go back to Samara. He’ll go right to the crown.”

Banne’s eyebrows shot up her forehead. “The boy in the cellar? He’s clever, Badger. He figured out what we were up to just from the questions we asked.”

“Which is why we let him go,” Cass said. “He knows enough to be convincing. Enough for his knowledge to line up with whatever they gathered from your blade’s fumbled attempt at the queen’s life. But we’ll move as soon as we turn him loose, and he won’t know where we’ve gone.”

Banne’s finger tapped faster. “You can’t possibly expect to turn him loose and have him think it’s not some sort of trap.”

“I didn’t mean we’d just dump him outside,” he growled. “We’ll start moving to the next camp. Tell the crew what we’re doing. They’ll give him a chance to slip out and he’ll take it. We can even make a show of having someone chase him before we let him get away.” He caught himself praying Elia was listening closely, and it gave him pause. Prayed to what? Nylmeres didn’t recognize Kentoria’s deity of Light; his country’s own beliefs were far more negative, centered on bad luck, misfortune, and curses. There were no benevolent forces for him to implore, yet he found himself trying, all the same.

Banne’s mouth twisted as she mulled over the suggestion. “It’s not the most graceful solution,” she said slowly, “but if we are tight on time, I suspect it will have to do.”

It was the closest to approval she ever got. Cass would accept it, but never graciously. “If your blade hadn’t botched things, we’d have time for graceful.”

“Hm,” was all Banne said. She stood for a while, still tapping her fingertip against her arm. She wouldn’t admit her mistake. It was just as well, because Cass wouldn’t admit his, either. She never should have gotten that far. He was supposed to be the one to infiltrate the palace, for very good reason. He had no interest in seeing the death of Kentoria’s new king, and certainly not that of the somewhat unofficial queen, whom he’d already known was innocent. If Banne had decided to send an assassin instead of relying on Cass to do what he’d falsely promised, how much did she know?

He lifted his chin. This part of the job was easy, his sour mood all too genuine. “Are you done?”

“For now. I’ll discuss the plan with the others.” She regarded him with a thoughtful frown, then looked to Elia again, her gaze weighted and yet emotionless. “Don’t take too long.”

The suggestion woven into those words made his hackles rise and made Elia recoil, a spark of actual fear in her eyes.

Please understand, he begged her with a thought, unable to push the words out of his mouth. Too often his job had led him to lose people, because they could not disconnect the man he was from the man he sometimes had to be.

“Keep your mind on your job,” he said to Banne as he pointed to the door. “Leave mine to me.”

She sniffed. “You have thirty minutes.”

“Harpy.”

The quirk of her mouth wasn’t exactly a smile, but she left, and he shut the door behind her. The moment it was closed, he leaned back against it and shut his eyes. That was one issue solved, and a larger one created. Thirty minutes was not enough time to plan things well.

When he opened his eyes, Elia had backed to the far side of the room. She clutched her skirt with both hands, watching him like a cornered mouse might watch a cat. The fright in her—the set of her shoulders, the tuck of her chin, the way her fingers rubbed the fabric of her skirt in her grasp—was enough to make his stomach turn.

Not knowing what else to do, he strode forward.

She tried to back up, but she was already to the wall, furniture blocking her in. “Cass—” His name left her throat as a small, scared whimper, as jagged and sharp as the most wicked blade with the way it cut at his heart.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and buried his face in her hair. She froze, standing stiff as a muted sob shook her delicate frame.

“Shh,” he breathed beside her ear, hugging her tight. There were a thousand things he needed to say and not enough minutes in which to say them, yet nothing seemed more important than cradling her close and soothing those fears away.

Her fingers skirted his sides, tentatively creeping past the bandages that still wrapped his ribs so her hands could lay flat against his back. She trembled, but bit her lower lip to keep anything more than tears from escaping.

Cass cursed himself as he swept her hair back from her face and wiped the wet trails from her cheeks. He thought she knew. That she’d figured out the rough persona he’d adopted in working with these people, that she’d know it was only pretend. He couldn’t afford to hold back, not with her safety on the line. “I won’t hurt you,” he whispered as he slid his fingers through her hair, cradling her head close to his chest. His heart raced, churning up all the self-loathing that had chased him out of this work to begin with.

He never should have accepted this job.

Elia didn’t say a word, just burrowed in close and let him stroke her hair. Awkwardly, Cass backed to the bed and sat down, pulling her into his lap. Her face settled against the crook of his neck, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure he had the strength to speak at all.

But she needed it. She needed to know, to understand. Her hot tears against his skin stung like acid, burning every sense of betrayal into him like a brand.

“This gets Peretor out of here,” he whispered, knowing too well that Banne or one of her favorites might be standing outside with an ear pressed to the door. “All we have to do now is get you out. I’ll make it happen. You know I will.” At least, he hoped she knew. Something told him that she needed more than just an explanation of his plan, but he didn’t know what.

She sniffed hard and nodded. Her hand drifted to her face, but he replaced it with his own, sweeping away a tear that dangled at the bottom of her chin. It had already turned cold.

“I scared you.” He didn’t need to ask. Any idiot with eyes could see that.

“I know what you are,” she whispered back, as quick to grasp the situation as he ever could have hoped. “I know what you do. I just never thought—I don’t mean to cry—it just took me off guard, seeing you like that.”

In some ways, it had taken him off guard, too. He’d always hated the sort of things his work demanded of him. Simple spies, mere informants, had the advantage of just collecting information as they were and passing it on to those who asked or paid. His role had always been more complicated. More often than not, it had put him in questionable situations, challenging whatever scrap of morals he still held.

He pinched the inside of his cheek between his molars as he reconsidered how he’d handled the infiltration of the cabin. He hadn’t liked being so rough with her, but they wouldn’t have believed for a moment that she’d come along willingly.

In some ways, he supposed, he was no different from Kentoria’s murderous king.

“I did hurt you,” he said at last. “I’m sorry.”

Ever brave, she shook her head and tried to sit up straight. “Not badly.”

“I might have to do worse,” he admitted. “I won’t mean it. But for me to get you off on your own, somewhere I can help you escape, things might have to get rough.”

She hesitated, but nodded.

Perhaps she was stronger than he’d dared to hope.

“Banne is an assassin.” He kept his voice to a whisper, still mindful of listening ears. Slowly, he swung his legs up onto the bed, taking her with him. She didn’t resist when he settled with her in his arms. “She’s the one I need, not her hired hands. I haven’t been able to break her yet. I found that much before I met you. I know she’s been sent to destabilize things in Kentoria, but I don’t know who did the sending.”

“She’s Angrothi?” Elia asked, the words a pleasant tickle by his ear.

He nodded. “But if Angroth’s queen sent her, there’s no evidence.”

A soft, shuddering breath escaped her. “I thought you were investigating disappearances in Nylmeres.”

“I am.” The amount of effort it took to keep from growling made the words come out harsher than he meant, and she flinched in his arms. Reflexively, he held her tighter. Curse it all, how was she supposed to trust him after all this?

It could still be her, a tiny, hopeful part of himself whispered, a reassurance he needed. Don’t give up yet.

“I’ll explain,” Cass breathed, “but not now.” They didn’t have time.

Abruptly, she sat up, resting a hand on his chest as she looked down at him with wide, worried eyes. “It’s a trap.”

His brow furrowed.

Elia leaned close, her lips brushing his ear in a most distracting way. “She’s going to use you. That’s why she’ll let you turn Peretor free. The king will move to rescue me when he hears, and then—”

Cass sat up too, gripping her shoulders as he bit his tongue to hold back a curse. Had Gaius been any other king, he might have simply sent soldiers. But he wasn’t any king. He was the old king’s blade, the Kentorian assassin, and Elia was Thea’s only remaining close relative. He wouldn’t dare leave such a task to soldiers. He’d go himself.

“By the Light, she’s fast,” she whispered before he could respond.

“So are you.” He moved a curl away from her face, allowing himself to marvel for a moment. How had he missed it? Any assassin hired by Banne would be skilled enough to complete a job, not blunder in the dark and raise the alarm.

Thea had never been the target.

Banne had to have known they were in the palace.

“Someone told her,” he breathed.

“Who?” she asked, her fingers curling in his shirt.

Cass felt himself darken, anger rising as heat in his veins.

He dared not speak without proof, but he suspected he already knew.