Scout- The Complete Scout Box Set, page 3
part #1 of Scout Series
Finally, two days later, the appearance of a large town signals our approach to Delta, the peaks of the palace and Temple of Dansil growing from the horizon. The carriage moves slowly enough that I can read bits of conversation on the lips of people we pass.
“. . . humidity. The laundry will never dry.”
“Mama! Jak called me a whisperer!”
“I will tell you right now, those Everett bastards have evil on their minds.”
Leaf kicks my shin, drawing my attention from the window to the plush inside of our carriage. “Do you ever stop eavesdropping, Kali?”
I shrug. Reading lips is habit, not something I think about. But Leaf isn’t really asking about tradecraft—she just wants to talk. If Delta’s approach makes me tenser by the second, it hypnotizes Leaf with wonder.
“Our summons coinciding with the Everett delegation’s presence at the palace is unlikely accidental,” says Leaf once my full attention on her is assured. She reaches across the bench to adjust my blond wig and scrutinize the layers of makeup that leave even me hard-pressed to recognize myself in Lady Lianna’s reflection. “We are in the midst of history. The first diplomatic contact in the twenty years since Everett attacked Dansil and annexed the Sylthia territory. And now, a ceasefire between Dansil and Everett. An Everett envoy in the palace. Are you not curious to watch it unfold?”
“No.”
“You’ll be safer living in a palace than being beaten by Viva Sylthia terror mongers in the middle of the woods.”
My gut says that us living in the palace, right under the nose of Bishop Bahir and King Firehorn, is akin to mice seeking shelter beneath a cat’s tongue. Leaf seems happy, however, so I keep my thoughts to myself as more and more stones pave the way northeast through Delta’s outskirts, and then through the city toward the royal palace at the city’s northern edge.
Stone. People. Colors. After the vast, foggy tranquility of the estate, Delta’s brewing life hits me like an avalanche. Street vendors sell meat pies and raspberry tarts amidst the traffic of manure-filled carts and scurrying messenger boys. Red-clad Children of the Goddess disciples, who were lone nuisances in the countryside, are out in droves—some peddling carnations and living-crystal pebbles, others striking up conversations with anyone who looks their way too long. And the trees . . . My wonderful shadow-casting trees are reduced to nothing more than occasional decorations. As if someone carved a stone island in the midst of a forest to make room for Delta.
Which, of course, is exactly what happened.
Topped by the orange Eye of the Goddess, the Temple of Dansil shines over all the other buildings, towering even above the peaks of the royal palace. These two stone monstrosities, the palace and temple, rise like sentinels at Delta’s northern border, just before the forest starts up again. The houses grow larger as we gain ground, the white stucco brighter and cleaner, the bushes manicured. By the time we’re within sight of the palace walls, its surrounding gardens make their appearance with immaculate geometric fields of green grass, gray gravel walkways, and strict accents of blue and red tulips that sway in the breeze. Blue for His Royal Majesty King Firehorn. Red for the Goddess and Bishop Bahir. All is manicured to give the illusion of perfection. Just as I am.
The rattling wheels finally bump to a halt, and I find myself looking out the window at the grand archways of the palace’s main entrance. A royal guardsman with the king’s diamond sigil embroidered on his shoulder pulls open the heavy carriage door as if it weighs nothing. He surveys my hands, waist, and ankles with sharp eyes that look far too old for his twenty or twenty-one years.
I smile. Lady Lianna is unaware she is being checked for weapons, so she can hardly be insulted.
“My lady.” The guard’s voice is perfectly courteous. Holding out his hand, he helps me down the steps. “I am Trace, the captain of His Majesty’s guard detail. Welcome to the Delta Royal Palace.”
“A pleasure,” I murmur, memorizing Trace’s features while gingerly navigating the carriage’s steep exit. Honed muscles, shoulder-length blond hair that shimmers like silver, dark gray eyes that track every movement. His sculpted frame has a predator’s lethal grace that complements the deadly weapons strapped to his waist and back. Unlike the bejeweled strolling courtiers and stretches of blue and red flowerbeds lining the path to the palace steps, Trace is no decoration.
Wasps’ soft buzzing fills my ears as my feet settle onto the gray gravel. I frown at the stinging insects circling the flowers. I hate wasps. I hate this city, so full of people and stone and flowers. I hate this palace.
Raising my chin, I meet Trace’s gaze head-on. The guardsman’s cool eyes and tight jaw reveal nothing of his thoughts, but the wide, cautious berth that the other guards and courtiers give him warns me to be wary.
“King Firehorn eagerly awaits the pleasure of your company,” Trace says curtly, offering me his arm.
I’m smart enough to recognize pressure when I see it. Firehorn is granting me no time to get my bearings. Annoying, but Leaf and I predicted the possibility and dressed me appropriately, in a full-skirted blue velveteen gown with lace cuffs and a high-standing collar. My eyes are lined with kohl to appear large and innocent. The kohl, together with lip paint, blush, and powder, helps me slip into Lady Lianna’s skin. Still, it’s all I can do not to glance back at my sister before resting my fingers on Trace’s forearm.
The muscles beneath his uniform jacket are coiled with reined-in violence. No doubt the choice of my escort was likewise made with a message from my king in mind. Perhaps I should take Firehorn’s abundance of caution as a compliment.
Trace’s eyes cut to my face, and I force my hand to relax atop his, letting him take my arm’s weight. It’s fortunate that the vambrace with my throwing daggers rests high enough on my wrist that the guard feels nothing of the weapons beneath my sleeve.
Trace leads me directly to the front steps, white polished stone awash with orange light from the great living crystal topping Bahir’s Temple of Dansil. Despite being the head of an order claiming magic to be the work of the Dark God, Bishop Bahir has surprisingly few qualms about using living crystals for his own grandeur.
“That is the Eye of the Goddess,” Trace informs me, following my gaze from the steps to the far-off orb. There must be a mile and a half separating us from the temple grounds, yet the light bridges the space easily. “Delta never gets fully dark, thanks to it.”
I smile as if finding Trace’s insights both novel and fascinating, and climb the steps to the palace door, which Trace opens for me in one smooth motion to reveal gleaming marble floors. Two landings and nine corridors later, Trace leads me down a hall lined with paintings of battles and generals. A sentry standing at one of the heavy wooden doors tenses at Trace’s approach and salutes with one fist pressed to his chest.
Ignoring the sentry, Trace strides to the door and knocks twice.
The door opens promptly to reveal a stocky, smiling man in his forties. His clothes are plain but tailored finely, and his dark hair has just enough gray in it to give him an air of wise dignity without the staleness of age. It takes me a moment to register the small crown.
I pull my hand away from Trace’s steady arm and sink into a curtsy.
“Niece!” King Firehorn takes my hands, urging me to rise. He holds me at arm’s length, his kind brown eyes studying me intently. I can’t help but wonder whether my father had eyes such as his, before I remember that I should hate this man. Firehorn’s smile deepens. “You are a beauty, Lianna. And a copy of your late sire. Please, come inside.”
Trace takes a step forward, stopping only when Firehorn puts out his hand.
“She hasn’t been searched for weapons, sir,” the guard says.
“I certainly hope not!” Firehorn tells him. When this appears to little mollify Trace, the king adds, more firmly, “I shall bear the risk. Consider it a royal whim.” He holds the door open for me and I step into a warm room, overstuffed brown chairs and heavy curtains creating a tasteful ambience of intimacy and comfort.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” I take the fullest breath I’ve taken since stepping off the carriage, allowing for the possibility that there is more to the king than I’d expected. “I am more grateful for a friendly face than you know.”
“Trace is overprotective,” Firehorn says flatly, his back to me as he closes the door. His voice chills. “He will not go far, even with nothing but a young girl to threaten me, so keep your voice down.” Alarm bells spur my heart into a gallop as the king spins on his heels, his eyes steel. Despite myself, I retreat a step. “You are late, girl.” Scowling, Firehorn examines me closely, as if I were an expensive breeding filly that didn’t quite have the build he’d hoped for.
4
Kali
Firehorn’s eyes stop on my bosom.
I cross my arms, my stomach churning along with my thoughts.
“Save the modesty act, Kalianna. Arms at your sides and turn around. Slowly. Now.”
My face burns, but I turn slowly as instructed, tethering my mind to the throwing knives strapped to my forearm. You will protect you, I repeat to myself firmly. You need no one.
Firehorn grunts. “Well enough. Now show me Kal. Lord Gapral said you’ve trained as a lad.” Retrieving a satchel from behind his desk, the king tosses it to me. Boy’s clothes, in my size.
“Of course, my lord.” I school my voice to a professional calm. “Though I will require extensive makeup to reclaim Lady Lianna’s face.”
The king produces a large box from beneath his desk.
Opening the lid, I find everything I need and more. “Thank you. If I might ask you to turn around while I disrobe?”
Firehorn lets out a short, unamused laugh. “A self-conscious spy? Is that not a contradiction? Like a modest whore?”
My self-control snaps like a bowstring, sending blood boiling through my veins. My nostrils flare. I lock gazes with Firehorn, my eyes burning my fury into his.
The king meets my assault with an icy gaze. “Let me tell you one more contradiction,” he says quietly. “Useful cripple.”
Leaf. The word rings in my ears. No amount of warning or preparation is enough to hear such a threat spoken so brashly. I swallow.
Firehorn nods and lets the silence deafen me for several more moments. Somewhere beyond the window, a child squeals with delight and a playful wind rattles the shutters. With another humorless smile, the king pulls out his desk chair. “I’ve little trust in people, Kalianna. And less in spies.” He sits, tenting his fingers. His voice is firm, matter of fact. “For you to be useful to me, you may learn more information about the kingdom’s affairs than I trust you with. So I’d like the rules of our engagement to be clear up front. And I have . . . insurance. In case you find your loyalty wavering. Do you understand?”
I nod, not yet trusting my voice.
“Well then, Kali,” Firehorn says, opening his palms, “I would very much like to meet Kal, if you don’t mind.”
I want to run, but I gather my courage and meet his eyes instead. “Kalianna,” I say, quietly but firmly. “Or Lady Lianna. Or Kal. Or anything else you wish. But not Kali. Never Kali.”
A hint of a smile curls one side of Firehorn’s mouth. “Very well. Now that both sides are clear with the arrangement . . .” He lifts a brow expectantly.
I strip.
The clothes fit. The fabric is of good quality but plain. The kind a son of a wealthy merchant might wear. It takes some time to clear my makeup, but once I’m done, I slouch a bit and stick my hands into my pockets. “Kal, my lord,” I say, lowering my voice and bowing. “At your service.”
Firehorn circles me, his face alight with pleasure. “You look a bit younger as Kal.”
I nod. With hints of curves hidden, my slender body best passes for a boy of about sixteen.
“Impressive,” Firehorn says finally, more to himself than to me. “I watched you change right before me, and yet I’d swear before the Goddess herself that the face has changed. You can keep this persona as long as necessary, I presume.”
“Of course. And as the persona of Kal is the one more likely to engage in strenuous activity, I wear no makeup while in his skin.” I open my palms. “I would be able to answer your questions better if I understood your needs. Might you enlighten me as to my mission, my lord?”
“To make yourself useful to me,” King Firehorn answers, drawing a fortifying breath before proceeding. “The Drought is bringing our Kingdom of Dansil to its knees. I believe we need Everett blood to mix with ours to end this rash of stillbirths. Thus, I need the Everett alliance. And I need you to discover anything that threatens that goal.”
“You want me to tell you what you don’t know,” I say.
Firehorn nods. “Look, listen, do what you do, and tell me what enemies I face—from within the Everett delegation, from the people in the palace, from the Viva Sylthia terror mongers running amok in my city. And you will also tell me whether anyone is so much as looking wrong at my heir. Plenty of fertile ground for your talents, I should think. Make the most of it.”
“Yes, my lord,” I say quietly.
“I’ve arranged for the appropriate placement of both your personas. Lady Lianna, my beloved niece and temporary ward—conveniently of an age with the Everett delegation’s Princess Raza—will accompany me to functions with the Everett delegation in attendance. That will give you a sufficient platform to evaluate the high-society motives. As for the lower ranks, I’ve arranged for Kal to replace a recently deceased trainee in the Royal Guard. With both top and bottom covered, I expect that you will find yourself in an appropriate situation for whatever I might require. Do you have any questions?”
“How did the guard I am replacing die?” I ask.
“Killed in a mugging outside a local pub. Anything else?” This time, there is no mistaking the finality of the conversation.
Not being suicidal, I shake my head.
“Excellent. Then go be useful.” Firehorn’s smile doesn’t touch his eyes. “And one other thing, Kalianna—allow your identity to be discovered, and I will personally escort you to the dungeons.”
5
Kali
“Don’t you look handsome?” Leaf adjusts the collar of my new royal guard uniform and runs her fingers over the trim marking me a trainee. Standing in the middle of Lady Lianna’s plush suite a few hours after my meeting with the king, I look like a dressed-up doll. At the far corner of the room, the lit fireplace crackles companionably. It’s warmer in Delta than it was at the estate, and the small flame heats the two-room suite easily, while the baskets of tulips that the servants brought in fill the air with a delicate perfume. “Kal is all grown up and off to training at the keep.”
I step back and scowl. “You think this is funny?”
“You living and training with a herd of boys? Not at all.” Leaf’s round hazel eyes strain with the effort of holding back laughter. After the strict distance the scouts kept at the estate, the close living quarters of the keep will take a bit of getting used to. Leaf pulls on her lip thoughtfully. “Do you think they walk about the barracks naked? More to the point, can you be trusted to live amongst real humans without going feral and biting someone?”
I check the straps on my throwing knives and pull my jacket sleeve over them. “Not worried about it. Just focus on keeping up Lady Lianna’s facade while I’m gone. She’s a sickly, frail girl who must rest in her rooms, but for the occasional foray into society.”
“And she studies botany,” Leaf adds.
My head snaps to her. “She what?”
“Studies botany,” Leaf says nonchalantly as she stuffs some fruit into Kal’s sack. “That’s why I am having a few things I can repurpose for my research brought to the room. I’ll instruct you on what Lianna finds.”
“Would this be the end-the-Drought research, the soil-fertility research, the Kali-magic-connection research, or the general furthering of study in the arena of living stones?” I ask innocently.
Leaf frowns. “All of the above. But they’re not nearly as distinct as you make it sound.”
“Fine. Just make sure there are no wasps taking up residence in Lianna’s plants.” I wave my hand and holster my sword at my waist. I prefer distance weapons, but guards all carry swords. Leaf’s mouth twitches. “Stars, Leaf, what is so amusing?”
“You. Going to a training hall like a little untried boy. I’m imagining their faces when you knock the lot of them on their rears.”
Rolling my eyes at her, I pull back the rug closest to the fireplace and run my fingers along the floor until I feel the latch. A trapdoor leading to the underground passages that Firehorn described clicks open silently. “I’ll see you later,” I tell my sister by way of farewell, and I climb down the ladder into the musky catacomb. The scents of stone, dust, and mold hit my nose, but despite their staleness, the passages are tall and wide enough for two people to walk abreast. The catacombs have the phantom feel of a space once used but long abandoned and forgotten by all but the dead.
Another trapdoor releases me into the West Wood, at the bottom of a hill overlooking the keep. Despite what I said to Leaf, my heart races as I crest the hill and survey my battlefield. On my left, tucked into the corner of the North and West Woods, the castle rises proudly toward the sky. On my right, past the keep grounds, the city of Delta begins its busy sprawl. And in the valley directly in front of me, the keep’s training grounds stretch out, with their graveled yards and buildings of old white stone. On the parade field, scarlet and blue flags fly alongside each other. The Order of the Goddess has certainly climbed the power ladder in the last decade, to have its Holy Guard share the king’s training space.
Compared to the misty, isolated grounds of Lord Gapral’s estate, the keep is living chaos. Young men prowl around the training grounds like drunken wolves, shoving and gesturing to each other crudely. I’m surprised they aren’t pissing on building corners to mark their territory. Or maybe that’s an after-feeding-time kind of activity. I haven’t taken a step among them yet, and I’m already feeling crowded.
