Page 14 of The Crimson Throne
He looks back up at me, waiting.
“You can really break my curse?” I ask. Redirect his attention, but also because—if that’s true…
It can’t be true.
He leans back in a triumphant sprawl. “I can. Your curse will bother you no more.”
My eyes narrow. That’s an odd way of putting it. “And if they speak to me in Scots?”
He bats a hand. “Most of the Scottish court knows English. That won’t be a concern.”
It’s one of the largest glaring holes in this task, and he brushes it off as if it’s no bother.
The unease gnawing at me grows sharper teeth, bites straight through me.
Last time he had a special task for me, I ended up in the home ofsomeone vying for Cecil’s position with Queen Elizabeth. Didn’t know that before, of course. Didn’t know either that the man was so well trained in fighting, and he didn’t appreciate me trying to steal from him. When I came out of my stupor, he was a bloody mess on the floor.
I got the fae-magic item from him and ran.
Never did have the strength to ask Cecil what happened to the man. Clearly, he didn’t snatch away Cecil’s position.
But did I kill him?
Cecil wanted me to. That was why he sent me there. He probably planted the fae magic item himself, just to lure me to it.
And now he’s sending me to Scotland. Crossing a border shredded by war and vicious mercenaries, into a court laden with vipers and assassins.
Are things really so awful that all Cecil’s better spies have failed?
Or is there some bigger goal he’s got for me?
What am I saying? ’Course there is. There’s another reason he’s shipping me off. He wants something else out of me, out of this task, and I can’t see what it is.
But if he’s telling the truth about the item that cursed me at least…and it is in Queen Mary’s hold…and I get it and bring it back to Cecil—
Could I be free?
I could go back to Oskar and Hal and the rest, apologize properly. I couldearna real place with them and not have to worry about hurting anyone ever again.
I sniff away the image when my eyes start to burn.
There was never a choice. Not from the moment I stepped into Cecil’s carriage.
With my hands on my knees, I meet his eyes. “When do I leave?”
3
Alyth
Stirling Castle is a huge complex, with multiple monarchs adding walls and wings throughout the generations. Just escaping it is an expedition in itself. This main part is fairly new, the Stuart crest adorning the brightly painted walls. I duck down the corridor, easily slipping on a glamour to hide the richness of my gown and alter my appearance enough to look as if I’m a servant, but I add a cloak of obscurity as well, not wanting to be bothered.
No one questions me as I leave the main building. I am no one, just a girl too busy to be hassled, forgotten almost as soon as I am glimpsed.
I go the old route—through the North Gate and then down to the Nether Bailey. Part of the wall is broken here, but it’s not worth fixing right now. In the Bruce’s day, when the original castle was destroyed just to prevent the damned English from claiming it, we had to be worried about threats of invading soldiers. English then. Viking before. Go back a bit more, and it was the bloody Romans until my lot kicked them out.
These days, most threats to Scotland are invited inside the castle, plied with gifts, and smiles are used instead of swords.
I pick my way over the broken stones out to the path on the back of the hill. Going down is easy. My strides lengthen as the path evens out, and I don’t stop until I reach the new bridge, the one made out of stone instead of wood. A boy’s clogged the way, leading sheep across the river, but I don’t mind. I don’t need to cross the bridge. I go under it.
