Tainted

Chapter Forty-Nine

I breathe a string of expletives.

It's a fake. He's not the gods-blessed Sovereign, he's just a man.

This could change everything. This could turn the entire tide of the war against the Ill-Fated. It could show that the Fates don't mean anything unless we imbue them with meaning. If we can prove the king to be a fraud, we can get him deposed.

Thoughts whirl through my mind more quickly than I can keep track of them.

I have to tell Rogue. I push away from the door jamb, but before I can fall back into the shadows, I hear a ragged breath behind me.

"And who are you?" It's the high, reedy voice. I turn, slowly, and come face to face with a man more narrow that the castle's flag pole.

He looks down at me over his long, hooked nose, his watery eyes sunken in his head.

"M-Mira," I say through chattering teeth.

The courtier raises one perfectly drawn eyebrow.

"Mira? And do you have permission to be in the king's intimate chambers?" He looks past me into the king's sitting room.

The king must not yet know we're out here. I would have felt the knife in my back if he did.

"Yes," I say more smoothly. I put on Rogue's accent. "I'm his new maid."

The courtier's thin lips press together. He reaches out and clamps a long-fingered hand on my shoulder.

"I hire the maids. You're not one of them," he says. He turns me about and pushes me forward into the sitting room. My toe catches on an upturned bit of carpet and I stumble inside, feeling the mesh mask slide off my face.

The king squeezes out the last of the black water from the cloth and hangs it to dry on a spare peg. He's taller now that he's standing, and more broad-shouldered. He rolls down the sleeves of his tunic and turns to face me.

I know I'm lost the moment his eyes light on mine. They flash with recognition.

"You," he hisses, but I'm already moving.

I twist out of the courtier's grip, shoving my heel into the small bones across his slippered foot.

The courtier howls with rage. I slip my knife from its sheath and press the point into the soft spot above the courtier's kneecap. I lean my weight into it as I kick out with my left foot, colliding with the king's chin.

I block out the courtier's screams and use my momentum to pull my knife free. The courtier will heal, but if I can't escape, there's no chance I will.

The king pulls himself up by the chaise lounge and pries an ax free from the wall. He swings it at me, and I bend forward, feeling the air move with the ax a hair's-width above my spine. It sends my muscles into overdrive, and I work from instinct, leaping from table to table toward the door.

The courtier's bloodied claw of a hand reaches up and grabs my ankle, pulling me down.

I land hard on my shoulder and tears prick my eyes.

I kick with my foot and connect with the courtier's nose. He lets go of my ankle, and I scrabble back up, pulling down papers as I do. Dotted lines and numbers of soldiers flash against the thick parchment. I jump up, my closed fist knocking a gilded frame from the wall...

...And feel the cold steel of a knife at my throat.

"Hello, Thief," the king growls in my ear. "I heard you were dead."

He presses the knife into my neck. It stings, and a hot bead of blood drips down to my collarbone.

Hate curls off me in hot tendrils. I don't dare struggle with the knife so close to my jugular, but I let my eyes rove the room, taking in my options.