The Decoy Princess (10 page)

The peephole was lower than I recalled, and my knees complained. The scent of old ash tugged at me, threatening to tickle into a sneeze. I held my breath, stomach tight with tension.

“Guards!” the cook cried, retaining the presence of mind to slide the tray onto the table before lurching to Garrett. “He’s alive,” he whispered as he bent low over his prince. Jeck lay slumped beside him, ignored. I couldn’t help but shirk back from the curtain when Olen and three sentries clattered into the room with drawn swords.

“Here,” the cook called. “Get him up. Help me get him up! Up off the floor.”

“We were only gone a moment!” Olen said as all five lifted Garrett to lay him prone on the table. The tray of food was almost pushed onto the floor. “Where’s the princess?”

My legs trembled, and I tried to swallow as the soldier-turned-cook spun. His hand slapped his sword where it hung over his apron. “She didn’t come through the kitchen! I swear it!”

Please
, I thought,
don’t look for me here
.

Olen pointed to the youngest of the three guards. “You,” he demanded, “roust the guard to find her.”

The sentry ran from the room, and I felt dizzy from relief. Olen knelt by Garrett. “Give me the wine. Let’s get some of it into him.”

“No wine,” came a thin croak, and my gaze darted to where Jeck lay. “He might choke on it,” he said, shifting himself upright on an elbow.

“Captain!” Olen said, his expression easing as he went to help him. “What happened?”

My stomach quivered. I was impressed. Jeck had more willpower than I had ever seen in a man. His clearing gaze darted over the room as he dragged himself into a chair. I clutched my dagger in one hand and my needle in the other, but he never looked at the tapestry.

Garrett’s breath turned into heavy wheezes. Jeck leaned across the table to tilt the prince’s head to the side. It was none too soon, as Garrett vomited, covering the table and floor with his last meal. I swallowed hard, forcing back my own gorge at the smell.

“Clean that up,” Jeck said, taking control of the situation though he couldn’t yet stand. The cook vanished into the kitchen. “He’s going to live,” Jeck said to Olen. Brow glistening with sweat, Jeck reached for Garrett’s wine, gulping it.

“What happened?” Olen asked again as he refilled the glass with a shaking hand.

Jeck took a slow breath as if relishing the ability to do so. “She poisoned him.”

Olen stiffened. “Poison!”

Jeck nodded, his face pale under his tan. “She must have had it on her when I searched her room.”

Jeck went still, and I could almost see his thoughts.
What else had he missed
? I wondered for him, my eyes narrowing in satisfaction.

The cook returned with a bucket and scented candle. He slopped up the mess as two guards tended to Garrett: loosening his clothing, wiping the vomit from his face, generally accomplishing nothing as the prince struggled to regain consciousness. His hands ineffectively tried to push them away. “She vanished into air,” one of the guards said, his face drawn. “She didn’t come through the kitchen or the hall!”

“Fool,” Jeck said harshly as he took a swallow of wine. “She’s just faster than you.” He set the glass down as Garrett started to cough, his entire body shaking.

“Help him up,” Jeck ordered, and Garrett was pulled into a sitting position atop the table. The prince looked repulsive, pale and vomit-strewn, still shivering from the venom. A swollen bruise was on his upper chest where the dart had punctured his skin. He would probably wear it for days, and I knew the use of his left arm might be impaired even longer.

“Where is she?” Garrett panted, his bloodshot green eyes weaving in and out of focus.

Olen stood at a stiff attention, worry clear in his wrinkled face. “We’re looking—”

“Find her!” Garrett cried. He hunched into himself as his shout instigated a violent cough. Pushing the fumbling guards away, he rolled into a chair.

Garrett and Jeck were sitting at the same table, and my eyebrows rose. There was a heartbeat of silence before Jeck lurched to his feet. The large man leaned heavily on the table. “You and you,” he said, pointing at two guards. “Escort Prince Garrett to his rooms. Keep the fire high. Stay with him. He may convulse again.”

I nodded a hidden agreement. Garrett was coming out of it too fast not to have a relapse.

Jeck took another gulp of wine. “Olen, pull everyone not guarding the palace’s sentries. Search from the walls inward. No telling how far she’s gone. Keep the interior of the garden walls manned. Don’t give them torches. They’ll ruin their night vision.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Jeck’s voice was steady and unhurried, seeming to make the air in my chest tremble. Garrett moaned and doubled in pain. My eyes narrowed in satisfaction. I’d done well letting him live. Death would have been merciful. When I did kill him, it would be painful. My eyes closed as I remembered the warmth of my mother’s blood on my hands and the fear in my father’s voice. I would make it painful. I would make him hurt.

“Get off of me!” Garrett protested as two guards tried to lift him. His words were badly slurred, and his eyes were glassy. “Get your—filthy—hands—off me!” The sentries backed up, too inexperienced to know what to do. “I want that whore now!” he demanded, focus wavering.

Jeck put his hands behind his back and straightened. His face was drawn, but it had already regained its normal color. His immunity couldn’t have been an accident, and that worried me. “We’re looking, Your Highness,” he said. “I have set up a perimeter—”

“Worthless farmer!” Garrett shouted, startling me. I jumped, my shoulder bumping into the black stones. “You let her poison me! I’d be safer with a chu slinger.”

Jeck’s jaw clenched, and he stared fiercely at a spot over Garrett’s shoulder.

“Who searched her room?” Garrett asked, his voice virulent and his head weaving.

“I did, Prince Garrett,” Jeck said tightly.

A tremor shook Garrett as the venom began reasserting control. “Get me a whip,” the prince said.

No one moved. “I want a whip!” he shouted, lurching to his feet.

My mouth fell open as Olen strode out. Garrett was going to flog Jeck? I felt ill. I’d never witnessed a flogging, but I’d seen their aftermath in the streets.

The two young guards approached Jeck, backing off at the murderous look he gave them. Motions abrupt and short, Jeck removed his leather jerkin. It hit the table beside the cooling tray of food. His black linen shirt was next, but this he carefully folded. He stood directly before me with the table between us. I stared wide-eyed, blinking.

I had been raised as a princess. Was I chaste? Of deed, perhaps, but not thought. I had stolen my share of kisses and caresses in dark corners at elaborate functions when the laughter flowed and the music played. Usually the young nobleman was more inexperienced than I, anxious and stammering.

Worried about being caught. Worried about not being caught. Worried about that damned prophesy.

Even so, I was not such an innocent that the sight of a bare torso would fluster me. But Jeck… I swallowed and held my breath.

Burning chu pits. The man is magnificent
. His shoulders were marred with old white scars, but they were as strong and smooth as the blacksmith’s. His skin was dark from the sun, looking like well-oiled wood as his muscles bunched and eased as he moved. I could see every line that ran down his abdomen to vanish beneath his trousers. His power was clearly born from long hours with a blade. No longer hidden behind the disguise of clothing, his every movement possessed the unconscious grace of a predator. He was beautiful. And I’d never seen his like.

Olen returned and apprehensively extended a short black-stained whip to Garrett. The prince snatched it, his expression ugly. “Hold him down,” he demanded.

Jeck shook his head, his hands clenched as he leaned over the table and braced himself. My eyes followed a puckered scar cutting a ragged path across his side. It hadn’t healed as well as the others.

There was a faint red mark on his chest where my dart had found him.

“Let me remind you,” Garrett said as he staggered to stand behind him. “You are here to keep me
alive
!”

He swung the whip at his last word. It met Jeck’s back with a crack. I jumped, startled. Jeck tensed, his eyes staring straight ahead at the tapestry. It was as if he was looking at me, and I backed up from the musty fabric. Olen reached to catch Garrett as he stumbled, thrown off balance by his swing.

“It’s the only reason you are
here
!” the prince said. The whip descended, the blow harder this time.

Jeck’s eyes narrowed as his anger grew. My mouth went dry, and I bit my lip.

“Another lapse,” Garrett said, “and you’ll be chained with the slave detail, Captain
Jeck
!”

The prince nearly fell as the whip met Jeck again, the poison’s effects returning. Olen caught him, and Garrett hung in his grip, his face white. “Find her. Bring her to me,” he panted.

Garrett threw the uncoiled whip at Jeck’s back. I started as it hit him and slid to the floor. “Finish whipping him,” Garrett rasped. “Do it properly.”

They weren’t done
? I thought in horror.

I didn’t move as Garrett was all but carried out by a sentry. Olen looked at the remaining guard, then Jeck. “He’s going to kill us, Captain,” he said softly. “Taking a palace with boys and old men? We’re spread too thin, and what we have are poor soldiers at that. Half-trained and better at guiding a plow or chopping vegetables than to stand where you tell them.”

“He gave you an order,” Jeck said. His voice was low with a barely leashed anger.

Olen edged the whip away from Jeck’s boots before bending to pick it up. Taking Garrett’s place, he pulled his arm back and swung, grunting with the effort. The leather hit Jeck with a loud, soul-breaking crack. My air hissed in, my hand going to my mouth. It was nothing like Garrett’s blows. Jeck’s head jerked, and his eyes bulged at the sudden, real pain.

Taking no pause, Olen swung again. Garrett had been weak from the venom; Olen was not. He was using all his strength to drive the cord into Jeck’s flesh. It came away red with blood. My pulse pounded, and I watched, horrified but unable to look away.

A third strike, and Jeck grunted. His grip on the table went knuckle-white. The muscles in his neck became cords. His teeth showed as he gritted them. My eyes went hot with tears.

I looked away at the fourth strike, unable to watch Jeck’s eyes glaze with pain. So it was that I only heard the fifth strike and Jeck’s groan. I was shaking, holding a hand over my mouth to keep still.
It
wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t
. How could someone do that to a person?

“Five strikes, Captain,” Olen said somberly. There was a hesitation, then, “Get the surgeon.”

“Wait.” It was a breathy exhalation, and I looked through the tapestry, my eyes wet. Jeck lowered himself into a chair. He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward to keep his back from touching anything. “Put someone in Prince Garrett’s rooms. I don’t care if he threatens to have us burned alive.

He’s going to have a relapse. The venom isn’t out yet.”

“Captain?” the young guard questioned as he gingerly coiled up the whip.

“Go,” Jeck said. He took a slow breath. “And put a guard outside the chancellor’s room immediately.

No one in or out. Send the surgeon to wait for me there.”

“Yes, Captain.” Olen nodded, and the two left.

Kavenlow? I wondered. Why was Jeck interested in a chancellor?

The room grew quiet as the sound of their boots in the banquet hall diminished. Sharp and bitter, the smell of vomit and blood mixed with the scent of cooked meat and the ash in the flue. Over it all was the candle the cook had brought in, adding pine and rosemary to the mix.

Jeck’s head lifted. His face was haggard, but his eyes were intent. He was listening.

Blood humming in my ears, I eased back from the musty tapestry, my grip on the dagger going sweaty. I was sure he could hear my pounding heart. Only cloth separated us.

“You should have killed him, Princess,” he said, and I froze, panicking. Slowly Jeck levered himself up, his eyes on the table. My pulse slowed at his vacant stare. He was talking to himself. “You should have killed either him, or me, or both. I will wring your neck myself before I give you the chance to harm him again.”

I held my breath as a wave of vertigo took me.
Don’t find me. Don’t
.

Jeck prodded his chest where my dart had hit him. He grunted in surprise as he plucked out the broken tip of the needle and flicked it to the floor. Slow from pain, he gathered his belongings, hesitating briefly before scooping up my scarf as well. Cradling everything in one arm, he took a slab of meat from the tray and shoved it in his mouth. He wiped the juice from his beard as he left, never looking back.

I waited a long time hidden in the hearth, wondering if Jeck was right.

Seven

My eyes were on the archway to the kitchen as I slipped from behind the tapestry. The smell of roast meat lingered, though the platter was gone, taken to feed Garrett’s men, I’d wager. It didn’t matter. I was shaking too badly to be hungry.

Snatching a napkin, I wiped the soot from the soles of my boots, then bent to smear my footprints into a blur. I wedged the napkin in a crack in the chimney and turned. Heather was the only one to have found me in the hearth, and it had been my own fault, having left black footprints while checking the door.

Heather
, I thought, praying she was still beyond the palace walls and safe.

I held myself still, listening. It was surprisingly quiet, since the staff was dead or gone, and most of the soldiers were in the garden. Hopelessness pinched my forehead. I couldn’t fight Garrett’s men; I was almost half their weight and had only one dart and a decorative knife. I had to get out. The quickest way was through the kitchen.

Putting more faith in my dart than my dagger, I tucked the bone blade at the small of my back and edged down the tunnel until a muted conversation brought me to a halt. Breath held, I peered around the cold stone. The sword belted about the cook’s apron made him look ridiculous. I was sure he and the sentry leaning casually against the table had been told to watch the door, but they were far more interested in the brace of squab over the largest hearth, the fat dripping down to spurt into flame.