An Affinity For Fire

26. Tarragon

Tarragon felt a wave of nausea every time he passed a guard.

He wasn't worried about being caught. In fact, if anything, he almost hoped he would be, so he wouldn't have to go through with the cruel task. He could only assume rumours of his efforts to save the Queen Regent's life had reached most of the castle. Everyone he passed acknowledged him. Some smiled, some nodded. Some even bowed.

And he was on his way to steal from her.

He had begged them to choose a different plan. Surely, he thought, if they just told her why they needed it, she would be reasonable and give it to them. But Leo had insisted that trusting her would be too much of a risk.

As if sneaking into a Queen's bedroom at night wasn't a risk.

They had wanted to wait until she wasn't there, but Calio hadn't left her chambers all day. When Tarragon had asked Tanari if she would accept visitors, the bodyguard had explained that she was only allowing her personal servants and Lord Dallas in.

They only chance he had of successfully breaking in, he knew, would be while she was asleep. So, when the sun had set, he had begun circling the corridors, waiting for the opportune moment.

Half an hour before midnight, that moment came.

On his hundredth circuit of the top floor, he passed Tanari on her way to the stairs. The fierce, formidable bodyguard must have finally left her duties at Calio's door, replaced by a lower guard.

A guard who would hopefully be far easier to knock out.

When he arrived at Calio's chambers, the guard on duty reached for the hilt of his sword, but paused when he recognised Tarragon's face.

"Lord Versenna. I'm afraid her Highness is not accepting visitors."

Tarragon swallowed, hiding his shaking hands behind his back. "That's alright, Sir. I just came to inform you of something."

The guard moved his hovering hand away from his sword. "Oh. What is it you need to inform me of, my Lord?" he asked, brow creased in oblivious confusion.

Tarragon squeezed the wooden leg he had unscrewed from the stool in his guest room.

"That I'm very, very sorry."

He swung the hunk of wood before the guard could open his mouth in query, smacking him squarely on the side of the head.

The guard had barely hit the floor before Tarragon riffled through the set of keys strapped to his belt. There were half a dozen small, bronze keys, probably for store rooms or main doors to blocks of cells. One, however, was black, with a longer shaft and far more intricate clefts.

It seemed an easy guess.

Shooting a final glance over his shoulder, he slipped the black key into the lock and turned. With a gentle push, the door swung open.

He only opened it far enough to slip himself through the gap, trying to limit the amount of flickering lamplight slipping into the room. Calio's chambers were as Clover had described - huge. And against the far wall was a massive bed, where Tarragon could make out the form of the Queen Regent's chest, covered by a blanket, slowly rising and falling.

Asleep. Thank the Fates.

The next challenge was finding out where she kept the dagger. He opened drawers, chests, boxes, the wardrobe, each with an agonising lack of speed, to prevent any creaking. He found jewellery, dresses, corsets, cloaks, letters, books, infinite gloves, and even a wide array of weapons. None of which, sadly, were the dagger he needed.