Royal Outlaw: (Royal Outlaw, Book 1) (26 page)

Anger replaced sense. In a smooth motion Mariel drew one of her knives from its hiding place beneath her apron. Despite the size difference, the smaller girl pinned Lizzie against a wall in between ovens with a knife pressed to her throat.

The entire kitchen fell silent, except for the sound of bubbling and frying food. Lizzie’s eyes shone with fear. She had overstepped. She had forgotten who she was talking to. But Mariel knew that she had gone too far too as she felt the weight of the knife in her hand which was pressed up against an old friend’s throat. She stepped back and dropped the blade to her side.

“You have known me for years. I helped you get this position here so you wouldn’t have to be a starving beggar girl on the streets. You have always accepted the secrets I’ve kept. You always understood that there was a reason why I told you so little. Right now, I hate the king more than I’ve ever hated him before. I would gladly drive this knife into his black heart the first chance I got, but I am
not
like him. I will not kill a man in cold blood. I fight fairly, you know that, and you also know that King Vincent is not a fair fighter.”

Mariel tore the bonnet from her head, releasing her dark curls. “You say that I am his slave, but to be doing his bidding I would need to be sitting in my suite having servants grovel at my feet. But I’m not there, am I? I’m here in a hot, noisy kitchen, covered in flour, visiting someone I thought was a friend.” She tossed the bonnet to the floor and sheathed the knife.

“I have never trusted you. That is the honest truth. Not because I never wanted to, but because I find myself unable to fully trust anyone who is human, or appears human. Recently I have been repeatedly asking myself why I can’t trust. And it’s times like this that give me an answer. You are human. We were friends when I was what you wanted me to be, but now in your eyes I am someone different.

“You want to know something? I told Dreyfuss no, repeatedly, when he offered the title of princess to me. I did agree eventually, but you don’t know the reasons why, you don’t understand the anger and the shame it causes me. I had hoped we could be friends regardless of my new, unwanted situation. But obviously you don’t feel the same. Goodbye.”

Mariel spun, leaving Lizzie standing flabbergasted against the wall, her hand to her throat where the knife had been not long before. The entire kitchen staff stared, and Mariel noted the pungent smell of burning food beginning to permeate the vast room. Briefly she wondered how long it would take them to overcome their shock and rescue the food, or if all of the priests and priestesses and their guards would be forced to eat burned bread and overcooked sweet cakes today.

As she strode out of the kitchen with her head held high, she did not dare look for her other two contacts, too afraid that she would see rejection in their eyes too.

The gravel path crunched beneath her boots as she strode out of the main building of the Citadel. Her servant’s raiment provided little protection against the chilly early morning breeze, and she wished she had had the forethought to steal a cloak. She could still go back and find one, but retreating because it was a little cold made Mariel feel like she was growing weak and delicate.

“I am not like
them
,” she said sourly, forcibly tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

She set out across the grounds, allowing her feet to carry her. To calm herself, she reached beneath her apron and ran her fingers over the sheathed knives hidden there. She paused at the one she had pulled on Lizzie, feeling slightly guilty.

The sun had risen during her time in the kitchen. She knew that she should at least look like she was doing something, so that no one would grow suspicious of a wandering servant girl, but she could not bring herself to care.

Dreyfuss or High Priestess would discover her missing at some point, but once they did they still had to find her. Originally, she had planned to sneak back into her suite before anyone knew she was gone, but she could not bring herself to return to a sickeningly opulent room with no one for company. She preferred to be outside, even if it was cold.

The sound of men running caused Mariel to look up. Her feet had carried her to the practice yard where some of the Citadel’s guards who worked for the priests of Valmir ran their laps around the fence and practiced their fighting skills. Rays from the sun revealed sweat upon their brows and their breathing sounded hard, telling Mariel that they had been running for a while.

Leaning against the fence, she watched the men run. Many a curious and appraising look passed over her, but only one man peeled away from the others and jogged over to her. He was a young man with a well-kempt blond beard and was two sizes larger than James, although Mariel knew her serpentramel friend would win in a fight.

“Well, if it isn’t the queen of thieves come back from the grave.”

Mariel could not restrain a smile and she lifted an eyebrow in silent question.

“You’ve been gone long enough, lass. I thought only death could keep you away from the City this long.”

Mariel nodded somberly, playing along. “Not death, worse,
responsibility
.”

The huge man grabbed at his orange exercise tunic as though he were having a heart attack. “That word, no, no, coming from your lips? The world is coming to an end and there will be no . . . pie.”

“No pie?”

Tristan shook his head sadly and sighed dramatically. “No pie.”

“Whatever will we do with all the fruit?”

“Sell it to the poor for an outrageous price after it has rotted.”

Mariel’s mood soured like the fruit in question. She had dedicated years to helping feed hungry bellies and fighting for the rights of the people of Natric. All that work had been undone when Dreyfuss found her.

“The Resistance has collapsed.”

The smile faded from his pockmarked face, he shrugged. “No surprise really. I doubted I would ever see you again after last spring when Brightsword accepted a pardon and his daughter accepted the crown. But you can’t resist me, can you?” Grinning he patted her head like she was a child.

Mariel laughed and stepped out of his clutches. “You are positively irresistible. Happy?”

“Very.”

“I was wondering if you knew. . .”

Tristan threw up his arms in surrender. “Ah, here we go: the real motive behind the great Quickwit’s presence. Do you ever visit just for the sake of dropping in and saying ‘Hi, how’s life?’”

His response startled her. Although he was joking, she could detect the underlining hurt in his tone. Tristan, like Lizzie, was one of Mariel’s first contacts and oldest human friends. Unlike James, his intentions toward her were purely friendly. Did she trust him? No. But she cared about him.

Her life up until the moment she had been declared princess had been filled with constant missions and attempts to obtain information. The rest of the time she had spent it in Parloipae studying. The many human friends she had made were mostly contacts she used for information, some of whom, like Lizzie and Tristan, she had personally trained as spies. Visiting any of these spy-friends simply for the sake of saying hello had never occurred to her.

Now was not the time to consider the issue. She had more important problems.

“In about five minutes you won’t care whether or not my visits are friendly or for work because you’ll hate me.”

“Ooh, a challenge. What is the information you desire, Queen of Thieves?”

“Do you know who is trying to assassinate the princess?”

Tristan’s guffawing laughs shook his whole body. When he recovered enough to speak, he looked at Mariel with incredulity. “Lass, if I knew who the assassin was I would be sitting on my own estate right now. Do you have any idea how much gold the archmagician is offering for that piece of information?”

That was news Mariel did not want to hear. If a reward was out just for information and no one had stepped forward in a month, then no one probably would. She needed to speak with James now more than ever or she needed to remember what had happened. The former looked far more appealing than the latter.

“Have you ever met James Snaketongue?”

Tristan laughed. “No, but his record is infamous, just like yours. What do you want to know about him?”

Mariel considered her options, all she had been after was whether or not he had seen the viper, but she might as well ask anyway: “Who does he work for?”

“You’re filled with impossible questions today, aren’t you? I know who Snaketongue works for about as much as I know who you work for. Sure you are part of the Resistance, but so am I. I work for you, but who do you personally report to?”

“My papa, or I used to.”

The big guard laughed. “A mystery revealed! Maybe you’ll tell me another secret, why are you suddenly so interested in Snaketongue? He hasn’t melted your iron-clad heart, has he?”

“No!” Mariel pushed him, but his mammoth sized body didn’t give an inch. “I have reason to believe he has the information I seek.”

“So does someone else, and that person is less elusive than Master Snaketongue.”

“
Who?
”

Tristan looked smug. “I can’t believe you haven’t thought of this. Wait a moment while I bask in the glory of this moment.”

“Who is it, Tristan?”

“The princess.”

Mariel deflated. “She doesn’t remember who attacked her.”

“That’s what she told Dreyfuss, but she probably lied. I heard the attack was brutal, who could forget something like that? Her room is well protected, but I know some of the men assigned to guard her, although I doubt you would need my help to sneak in.”

“I have spent too much time breaking out of and into the royal suite the last few days and have no desire to go back. The guards aren’t very good,” Mariel smiled wryly. “They are so busy guarding the main entrance that they forget there is a door leading to a study down the next corridor.”

“Clever little creature, aren’t you?”

“Only so clever as the guards are stupid.”

They watched as a cluster of orange robed magicians dedicated to Valmir approached another portion of the practice yard to observe the performance of their guards. With Tristan standing nearby, Mariel was not concerned about them—she could easily be taken as his sweetheart or some relative. She barely gave the magicians a glance.

“So what did you learn? Or have you decided to return to being Mysterious Mariel, who refuses to answer questions?”

“Learn about what?”

Tristan looked askance. “You just admitted to repeatedly slipping in and out of the royal suite and you expect me to believe you did not see the princess?”

Mariel’s stomach knotted. She had been having such a nice time. Stealing herself for another disappointment, she spoke the words she knew were inevitable: “I have seen the princess often, but not just in the royal suite. I see her every time I look at my reflection.”

Tristan stared at her. He blinked. He began to shake violently and Mariel wondered what was wrong, until loud laughter burst from him.

The cluster of magicians glanced over at them and some of the nearby guards were distracted from their workouts. Mariel tried to quiet Tristan. She had no desire for another scene like the one in the kitchen. The big guard quieted, but one glance at Mariel and he laughed so hard he needed the support of the fence to stay upright. Mariel glanced at the wood, concerned it might not hold his weight, but she doubted she would have much sympathy for him if it broke and he ended up on his face.

The rolls of laughter gave way to chuckles and Tristan shook his head in amusement. “
You
? A
princess
? That has to be the worst lie you’ve ever told!”

“What did I always teach you about telling lies?”

“Keep them as close to the truth as possible,” he recited in between chuckles. “When trying to tell if someone is lying or not, remember that the most outrageous stories are sometimes the true ones.”

Mariel crossed her arms and waited. She lifted an eyebrow. Tristan’s laughter ceased. He blinked. Mariel could see his mind working behind his eyes as he put the pieces together like Lizzie had. She did not pick just anyone to train to be her spies. Tristan ran his hand through his hair and swore violently. His words were loud and colorful, attracting the eyes of the magicians again.

“I told you that you would hate me.”

The muscular man stopped and stared. “Hate you?” He spoke the words as though they were a foreign concept then shook his head to clear it. “I might be in a state of shock, but I don’t hate you.”

“You don’t?”

“You are Mariel Quickwit. You accepted the offer to become King Vincent’s heir. I haven’t a clue why, but I know you, and you wouldn’t do something like that without a good reason.”

Now why could Lizzie not have responded like that?

“We’re still friends then?”

Tristan clamped his fist to his chest. “Always. So long as you give me a promotion.
Captain
Cartersson has a nice ring to it.”

“We’ll see about a promotion,” drawled a voice.

It was Mariel’s turn to curse as she belatedly noticed the magician who had peeled away from the others and approached.

“Do you have a death wish?” Dreyfuss asked irately.

Mariel was in no mood for a game with the loathsome man, but she had no intention of letting him win this round. She shifted her weight to accentuate her curves and stepped closer to Tristan who still stood on the opposite side of the fence.

“Why, Master Dreyfuss, so nice of you to join us on such a lovely morning!”

Dreyfuss’s eyes snapped dangerously. “You should be in your rooms. I have six men assigned to guard you.”

Mariel stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. “But my rooms are
so
boring and the guards aren’t very good.”

“
Obviously
.”

The princess turned her attention to Tristan and fluttered her long eyelashes at him. She gazed at him with a look that she hoped appeared adoring.

Dreyfuss coldly appraised the object of Mariel’s attentions. “Who are you? One of her spies?”

The large man snapped to attention. “Tristan Cartersson of the sixth regiment of Valmir’s guards.”

The archmagician snorted. “You are her spy.”

“Not at all!” Mariel fluttered in a flirtatious voice. “He’s my darling!” She scrambled up onto the lower board of the fence and stretched up to brush her lips against Tristan’s.

Tristan stared at her with his mouth agape as she leapt back down to the ground. Dreyfuss also looked askance. Mariel was just as surprised by her actions as the two men. She remembered the old phrase “desperate times call for desperate measures” and agreed with it wholly.

Dreyfuss’s forehead knotted together. “An unknown powerful magician is trying to kill you and you decide to run off and play games completely unprotected?”

“I can protect myself.”

“That creature ripped you apart.”

Mariel did not appreciate the reminder and restrained a sudden shiver of fear that threatened to tear through her. “But he won’t attack with you nearby, O’ Great and Powerful Magician.”

“I need to attach you to a leash to keep you from sneaking off any time you like, but then I would probably kill you myself because you would infuriate me.”

“Getting angry with me, are you?”

Dreyfuss took several deep, calming breaths. “I cannot believe I am about to admit this, but I wish your friend would hurry up and return to command your guard. Perhaps he will have better luck keeping you in check than me.”

Mariel laughed darkly. “You actually think I would bow to the will of anyone?”

“No, but he is a cunning man whose criminal mind works like yours, and he might be able to anticipate your moves and stop you, or at least protect you from yourself.”