Chapter Nine

The Aftermath

Less than a heartbeat later, one of Balduin's bodyguards leapt at the prince, taking him to the ground as a second arrow streaked through the air, hitting the bodyguard in the shoulder—an instant before it would have pierced Balduin's heart.

As the ballroom descended into chaos, one voice carried above the noise and panic.

"There! Archers!" While the whole court was staring at Balduin, Nicolo alone had the sense to look for the location where the arrows had come from, rather than where they were going.

A barrage of arrows from the royal guard, stationed by the entrances thudded into the wooden surround of the page's gallery, set high into the wall while more guards rushed for the stairs. There was the clash of metal, followed by a chilling scream as the would-be assassin was dispatched.

Nicolo whirled around. "Your Highness?"

Balduin looked dazed and confused, pale-faced and slack-jawed, but he raised a hand to confirm he was unharmed.

"Mellor," Nicolo barked at one of the guards. "Don't leave the prince." He turned to the guard just beside Mellor. "Craik, how bad is it?"

The bodyguard, Craik, with an arrow in his shoulder, gave a dismissive wave of his hand, his mouth a grim line as he bit back the pain. "A surface wound, Master."

"Let the doctor be the judge of that." Then Nicolo turned around, as though searching for someone, and his eagle eyes landed on a man who was standing maybe ten feet away and staring into a woman's bountiful breasts. His cheeks were red with inebriation and I could hear him slurring his words. Strangely, it was as though he wasn't even paying attention to his surroundings, nor the fact that the prince was under siege—he was that intoxicated.

"Trinket!" Nicolo speared him with a loud yell. "Get out from under your wife's skirts and do your damn job!"

The court surgeon, Doctor Trinket, seemed to forget his drunkenness and hastened forward in order to examine the stricken Craik, while Nicolo continued to issue orders.

"Daniel, seal the room! Whoever this was won't have been working alone. I want his accomplices. Someone gave him a sign. No one leaves this room!"

"Master Nicolo, you overstep your authority." Duke Furiosa suddenly appeared from nowhere and stood before Nicolo. I could see his wife just beside him and had to wonder if he'd approached Nicolo on her urging.

But one threatening look from Nicolo caused the duke to shrink back into the audience of frightened revelers. Nicolo narrowed his gaze on Furiosa. "I'll do worse than overstep my authority if I suspect you of being involved in this." He turned around to face all the noble lords and ladies. "That goes for all of you!"

More panic spread across the collection of court nobility—while they were all very sure of their own innocence, that wasn't to say that they'd never voiced some dissatisfaction about the prince that might make them appear suspicious. I could see the thoughts racing through their brains: who could say whether a joke or some offhand comment, when taken out of context, might have sounded like something a traitor would say? Furthermore, I could just imagine them thinking that while they might not have been involved in the attempted assassination, any questioning might bring up other minor misdeeds that might make them out to be involved. After all, who hadn't skimmed the royal treasury or faked illness to avoid some obligation?

Now, everyone in the room was looking at Nicolo, and I doubted anyone but me noticed Prince Balduin, who was peering out from behind his bodyguard as his friend took charge so easily. He would inherit power, yes, but Nicolo exuded it.

As it turned out, the lords and ladies of the court needn't have worried, because the accomplice identified himself by making a break for the door. He must have had something on him that identified him as the guilty party and decided the lesser risk lay in a mad dash for freedom. Swinging a bottle like a club, he took out the guard at the door and fled down the corridor.

"Stop him!" Nicolo yelled as he charged after the running man, drawing his sword while he went, six guards falling swiftly in behind him.

I didn't hesitate, instantly following them, grabbing a convenient knife off the buffet table and kicking off my ridiculously high-heeled shoes and my mask as I went. Oh, well, to Nicolo wanting me to keep my identity secret—there was no way I could run and fight with the ridiculous mask on.

"Which way did he go?!" yelled Nicolo at a startled steward, who'd been fetching more wine and missed all the excitement. The dumbfounded man pointed down the stairs towards the endless labyrinth of the domestic levels.

In response, the six of us clattered down the stairs, coming to a halt at the bottom. The air was thick with rich, delicious smells, as the kitchens had been working overtime to produce the food for the evening, and there was still a noisy bustle about the place as the job of getting all that food up to the ballroom in a timely manner was like a military operation.

"Onside!" barked a steward, straining under a tray of stuffed quails. "Don't just stand at the bottom of the stairs like a spare prick!"

He started as he belatedly recognized the master, blanched, then dropped to his knees. "Master, I didnae recognize ye. Ah'm so…"

"I don't give a shit," said Nicolo, dismissively. "Did you see a man run this way?"

"Aye, he went that way, Master," the steward said, pointing, his voice muffled by the fact that his face was pressed against the floor. "Towards the cold store."

"Get on your way," Nicolo answered as the steward ran up the stairs, still carrying his tray. Then Nicolo turned to me. "Charlotte."

"Master?"

"You used to work down here. You know the cold store?"

"I do, yes."

"You take the lead, then." His gaze dropped to the knife in my hand and he turned around to face the others. "For the love of the Great God, someone give my squire a sword! She's not facing an armed insurrection with a fucking bread knife!"

One of the guards instantly offered me a sword, but I first used my knife to cut away the trailing length of my dress, so it now terminated mid-thigh. Nicolo was all business now, our dancefloor encounter forgotten, but he still took a moment to appreciate my bare legs as I grabbed the sword.

"This way, Master."

He pulled his eyes from my thighs. "Yes. Good."

We hurried through the tangle of corridors and rooms, filled with people, smoke and activity. Maids, with whom I'd shared a dormitory not so long ago, got out of our way, bobbing a curtsey as we hurried past. I wondered if they even recognized me now.

"How did you know he had an accomplice?" I asked, as we ran.

"Because anyone who got into the heart of the castle has planned their assassination carefully," replied Nicolo, not even slightly out of breath. "And you don't just kill a prince and run."

"Hmm," I said as he continued. "The Guild?" I asked, just to gauge his reaction.

"This isn't a Guild job. The Guild would have gotten Balduin." I kept my eyes straight out ahead of me as my heart sped up. "This is politics, not assassination."

"What do you mean?" I asked as we turned a corner and continued to charge on.

"I mean… if you kill a prince and leave it at that, then the royal family will sort out a solution and nothing will change. If they'd succeeded then someone would have stepped in and the coup would be complete. That means there are more of them, probably right up to the ringleader."

"Did someone run through this way?" I asked one of the maids when we entered the scullery. She nodded and pointed down the hall.

While running, I turned to face Nicolo, confusion in my gaze. "You know who it is?"

"I think so." He looked away, his focus on the terminating hall in front of us. "But I hope I'm wrong."

As we burst into one of the washing-up rooms, steam filling the air, a pair of arrows smacked into the door just above my head. If I'd been taller—Nicolo's height—I'd have been dead.

"Down!" yelled Nicolo as he reached forward and slamming his hands on my shoulders, tried to push me behind him.

But I was already moving, ducking and rolling across the water-slicked floor. I'd seen where one of the arrows had come from and I came up hard into the archer's face. As we grappled, another man started towards me, but Nicolo took him to the ground.

From out of the steam, more men appeared and the guards joined the fight. Maids screamed and dashed for the doors as swords were drawn and big piles of crockery crashed to the tiled floor.

"Leave them! Get clear!" A booming voice came out of the steam-shrouded doorway up ahead.

I tried to keep a hold of the archer, but there seemed to be more of them than us—it was hard to be sure in the steam—but he wriggled out of my grasp when I turned to deflect a well-placed kick from his friend.

As the assassin group fell back, we pressed forward, limited by the fact that we were pushing into unknown territory. We lost a man as he entered the next room carelessly and was cut down by another man stationed right beside the door.

"Wait for my command!" shouted Nicolo angrily. I couldn't blame him—we needed all the men we could get.

We soon cottoned onto the enemy's tactic; they left a single man in each room to cover the door, usually with arrow fire, while the bulk of the party fell back, forcing us to fight for every inch we could get. The adrenalin churned in my veins and I got a moment of sharp pleasure from the look of surprise on the face of one of the guards when I saved his life from a sword swing.

"They're protecting their leader," growled Nicolo as he momentarily faced the other guards and then brought his attention back to me, where it remained. "Trying to get him to safety." He looked away for a second or so before turning back to face me. "Charlotte, where might they be heading?"

My mind raced, I hadn't been a maid for long and there had been a lot to learn in a short time. Where was the best place someone could escape in this blasted place? And then it dawned on me. "There's a culvert in the sub-basement that leads out to the pike—where all the waste water from the kitchens goes."

"The culvert would take them beyond the castle walls?" Nicolo questioned. Clearly, he wasn't at all familiar with the layout of this part of the castle and I supposed that made sense since this was the area of those less privileged.

I nodded.

"Do you know of another route?" he demanded. "A place we cut them off?"

"They're taking the quickest way, but there is another way around…"

"And, no doubt, they've been slowed in their escape attempt by defending themselves against us." Nicolo nodded and turned to the guards. "Keep going this way, fight them for every inch. If you can take them, do." Then he turned back to me. "Charlotte and I will try to cut them off."

The guards nodded and pressed on. Nicolo looked back to me.

"Lead the way. Fast as you can."

I nodded and led him back a few rooms, before cutting into a corridor and down a flight of stairs. As we ran, I couldn't stop the thoughts rearing up in my mind: we're alone, just him and me. It would be the perfect time to enact my plan. And it would be an easily sold lie.

I could say we'd been ambushed by more of the traitorous assassins and Nicolo had died defending me. No one would question it. Or he could have suffered an accident, tripping down a flight of stairs and breaking his neck—it wasn't unfathomable.

Regardless, if I attacked now, I would catch him unawares. So… now the question became: how to attack him? Of course, it was never easy with Nicolo. I could push him down the stairs, but he was sure-footed and athletic, which meant he'd probably land on his feet like a cat, and then he'd have some questions I'd have a hell of a time trying to answer. Unless he killed me first

If I attacked him, yes I would catch him off-guard, but would that be enough? He was a formidable swordsman. So was I, but, though I imagined us to be pretty evenly matched in skill, he'd always have the edge in strength because he was bigger than me. That wasn't always an advantage in a sword fight, but the point was that my own victory was no foregone conclusion. The fight could go either way, and I had no reason to take unnecessary chances. It was important to me to successfully complete my first assignment, yes, but was it as important as my life?

For perhaps the first time I realized that, though I was loyal to the Guild, I didn't consider that loyalty to be worth my life. I wouldn't die for the Guild—I viewed them as my employer and that was all. Besides, I hoped one day there might be more to my life than assassinating people for money.

"Charlotte, stop slowing."

"Apologies, Master."

I picked up the pace and put all those self-analytical doubts behind me. But, at the back of my mind, there remained a little voice that pointed out the fact that all I had to do was find an excuse for Nicolo to take the lead, then I could simply run him through with my sword from behind. It might not be easy , but it would be simple.

But I didn't do it.

Do it! I urged myself, yet I stalled.

For all my elegant and reasonable excuses as to why this wasn't the right time, it was getting harder and harder to ignore the fact that there might be another reason I wasn't killing him, a reason that had nothing to do with my personal safety.

I can't think about that now, I told myself. Just focus… focus on apprehending the assassins.

I'd only been down to the sub-basement once, to clean off the metal grid over the culvert that stopped the drain from getting blocked. It wasn't a nice job and I'd been glad to only have to do it once, but I still remembered the way.

The culvert room was deep and we were entering from an upper story—a precarious circle of slippery steps set into the wall, leading down to the floor and the drain itself. As we entered, the last assassin was darting into the drain, the metal grill held back by a tall man with a noble bearing.

"Wylder!" shouted Nicolo.

Duke Wylder looked up. I'd expected a smile as he'd managed to get away, but his face was stern. This was serious business, and I got the impression he wasn't proud to be stooping to assassination.

He ducked into the culvert and pulled the metal grill behind him.

"Damn it!" Nicolo raced down the steps, passing me, and I followed as fast as I dared. As we reached the bottom, the guards we'd left earlier entered from the ground level door.

"We just missed them," I explained.

But Nicolo wasn't finished. "Come on! They can't have gotten far."

He grabbed the metal grill and tossed it to one side with a wet clang, stooping to follow Wylder into the drain.

"Master!" I ran forward and grabbed his shoulder, holding him back. "You can't go—" I started.

Nicolo spun around, slapping me hard across the face, as his anger got the better of him and he unloaded it on me. "How dare you question me!"

It took all my self-control not to slap him back. And though my face stung terribly, my ego stung all the more. He hit me! He really laid a hand on me. I was equally shocked as I was humiliated because I didn't believe he would ever lay a hand on me, much though he warned about it on and on.

It was a timely reminder that, however much I mentally tried to romanticize ‘The Unbreakable', he'd earned his nickname. I suddenly wanted to browbeat myself for not taking my chance to kill him earlier.

I held my stinging cheek in one hand as I spoke. "It's narrow and dark and they'll be expecting you. You wouldn't have a chance… Master ." I spat that last word as I narrowed my eyes at him.

Nicolo stared at me for a moment, the fury still blazing in his gaze, then he looked back to the drain. He knew I was correct and that he hadn't been thinking when he was about to enter the drain, but the desire to give chase was still boiling inside him.

"Where does the drain empty out?"

"I don't know."

"Well, someone find out! We're not letting that bastard Wylder get away with this!" He took a breath as he pulled his attention from the guards beside me and let it settle on me. "If I have to chase him all the way across the Gath then so be it. I'll have that traitor's head."

He pulled away from the drain and righting himself, started forward, parting the way between his guards before he turned back to face me.

"Charlotte, change clothes, you look ridiculous."

***

An hour later, I was back in my squire's uniform, face washed free of the paint and the dance in the hall just a fading memory.

I was now standing alongside a small squad of soldiers, handpicked by Nicolo. He strode out, his costume now replaced with his usual black attire, though tonight it somehow seemed more made for action.

My cheek was still smarting from where he'd slapped me and there was a red print to go along with it, but it was really my ego that had suffered the worst blow. I just… I hadn't imagined he'd ever lay a hand on me and now I realized I was wrong to have doubted that. Even though I was in the right and had basically protected him from being potentially killed, he'd rewarded me by slapping me across the face. And that was a humiliation I couldn't stomach. I was wrong to have imagined he was nobler than he was. He was just as bad as everyone had given him credit for and, if anything, it was a reminder that I'd come here with a job to do and I would get that job done.

Master Nicolo had pulled the proverbial wool over my eyes but now I could see clearly again.

"Ready? Right, mount up." Horses had been brought out from the stables for our mission. That mission had been arranged hastily, and there was a reason for that.

"Master?" Mellor asked as he walked up to us, where we were already mounted on our horses and ready to lead the way.

Nicolo looked down from his horse. "Make it quick."

"Her Majesty is most insistent that someone else lead this search," Mellor answered. It was no surprise that the Old Queen didn't want Nicolo leading this mission because Balduin's life depended on Nicolo's. If Nicolo was killed, then Balduin was as good as dead from his mysterious disease.

"You may relay the message to the queen that most unfortunately, I'd already left the castle by the time you arrived," said Nicolo.

Mellor nodded. "Most unfortunate, Master. I shall apologize to her Majesty for my slowness."

At any other time, Nicolo would never have risked Balduin's life by risking his own. But the involvement of Wylder seemed to make this personal, and clearly, he wasn't letting go.

"Come on!" he yelled and led the way.

We rode out of the Great Castle.