The Witch's Daughter (Lamb & Castle Book 1) (22 page)

Bessie missed whatever else the Archmage had to say, as the carthorse footsteps rang out loudly at the top of the stairs, and then came to a halt. “Hello there, missy,” said a voice from above: amused, possibly a little drunk. “Out late, aren’t you?”

Bessie swore under her breath. The man stood in the shadows between streetlamps so that it was hard to see his face clearly, but was that a guardsman’s uniform he wore? And a short sword of the style guardsmen carried, too. She pulled her cloak tight to hide her own uniform. She couldn’t risk being taken back to the Academy in disgrace, nor even being reported as out after curfew. “I was unavoidably delayed at a soiree,” she said, affecting the prim and proper tone she judged best for dealing with guardsmen. “This kind gentleman is escorting me home to my family.”

“An Argean
gentleman
?”
The guardsman was not such a fool – most Argeans outside of their homeland were dockhands or skysailors.

“Yes. Yes. An Argean diplomat visiting Iletia.” All nations had diplomats, and the City Guard usually erred on the side of deference when dealing with diplomats’ indiscretions. Her attention slid off her story, though, as she struggled to think where she’d seen the guardsman before. Bessie rarely forgot a face. And at a second look, his uniform was definitely not that of the Iletian City Guard…

The guardsman grinned broadly, showing inhuman sharp teeth, and turned to Bryn. “Well, excuse my intrusion on your evening, sir. I never met an Argean with a taste for human fluff before.”

At Bessie’s side, Bryn growled softly, and she laid a hand on his arm to stay him, feeling the short fur bristling under her palm. She remembered where she’d seen the man before: at the jade temple. She didn’t think he’d seen her then, and he might not yet know her as the candidate Black Queen, but he was one of Prince Archalthus’ men, and Archalthus had wanted the White Queen dead. That didn’t bode well for Bessie. It couldn’t be simple coincidence, running into this guardsman in Iletia, so far from the jade temple and so close to home.

The guardsman came down the steps, still grinning, and Bessie didn’t like the look of him any better in a good light. She held her ground, wondering what he was, with those sharp teeth and that line of stitches across his throat. She’d noticed his teeth before at the jade temple, but she didn’t recall seeing the stitches before. The more she looked at him, the less human he appeared to be…

“Can we help you in your investigations, officer?” she asked, trying hard to inject just the right amount of haughtiness and impatience into the question. She didn’t know how long she could keep up with this stupid game, but she was glad to have Bryn with her. Even though Bryn didn’t have the heart for fighting, a bristling Argean would make any potential attacker think twice, and he certainly seemed to be keeping the guardsman at arm’s length for the time being.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” asked the guardsman. “A crystal ball? That’s an expensive thing to be carrying around after dark. All sorts abroad at this time of night.”

“Quite true.” Bessie passed the crystal ball back to Bryn. “Do you feel the need to escort us safely on our way?” A passer-by might give her a distraction she could use, but whether a random stranger on the street would come down for or against a City Guardsman would be a coin toss. She’d been so anxious about sneaking out and past Greyfell’s window that she hadn’t even thought to equip herself with anything more than the small knife she always carried, but at least she had her conjuring rings. If she kept her head and thought fast, she might still get away with it. One thought gave her courage: if Archalthus had sent his men after her, then she must still have some place in the Queen’s Contest. Bessie Castle could be crowned Black Queen yet…

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jo Sanford is a jack of all trades and an incurable tomboy. She lives with her partner on the edge of Dartmoor, where she enjoys exploring places other people seldom go, splashing in puddles, and occasionally poking dead things with a stick.