Page 24 of The Crimson Throne (Spy and Guardian #1)

Alyth

I wake the next morning tangled in my bedclothes, my hair damp with sweat. A fitful sleep riddled with nightmares has me ready to fight, but—

He’s gone now.

Samson. There’s no way he’s still here. Kitty told me he hadn’t fled in the night, and fine, I won’t grudge him that. But by the time I crank my weary body out of bed, the ropes holding up my mattress groaning almost as much as me, it’s well past sunrise.

Well past time for him to be gone. I’ll check, of course, ensure he’s left as I ordered. I tell myself that firmly as I scrub my face with cold water and tie my hair back. He’ll be gone, and I’ll be glad of it.

I catch my image in the mirror.

My cheeks are red, and my eyes are wild.

He was Leth. He had fae blood inside him the whole time. And I couldn’t tell at all, thanks to that damned amulet that kept me from seeing what he truly was.

And kept him from seeing me.

This must be how Darnley’s gotten so many weapons across the border—tricking innocent people who don’t know what they carry to bring them to him.

And this conspiracy goes far beyond what I originally thought.

Samson’s father, William Cecil, the Baron Burghley, is high enough in the English queen’s court to be very worrisome.

He’s the spymaster, if the rumors are true.

That must be where Samson got his fae blood; the queen’s closest confidant has used glamours to secure his position.

Not unlike how Darnley made himself appear more handsome and charming to Mary.

And poor Samson is a fly stuck in his father’s web.

I think about how he had been so shocked at Kitty and the other brownies who’d accompanied me. What else will he see now that the amulet’s no longer dampening magic for him?

I usually use glamours to appear unassuming and blend into the shadows. But…

I pick up the mirror, not calling on its magic and using it only to look at my reflection.

It takes so little to change my face. Nothing at all to smooth my skin, to curl my hair, to make my eyes shiny and bright.

I use all my power, always, to protect everyone else, and it takes only a little effort to change the way I look.

To be beautiful.

With a noise of disgust in the back of my throat, I wave away the changes to my appearance. I’m not beautiful.

Someone beautiful doesn’t hold a knife to a man’s throat.

Doesn’t plunge a Red Cap needle into a different man’s shoulder.

Beauty is a weapon for queens to use. Not me.

My only role is in the shadows. In the darkness, where no one can see my bloody hands.

I stand and change out my chemise for a fresh one.

My fire is warm, but the stone floor is cold, so I layer on my wool tights and cram my feet into my fur-lined boots.

I go for simple this morning: a thick wool overdress and an apron in the old fashion, shawl pinned tight, then cloak, forest green.

I grab my mittens, knit in a pale purple wool dyed with thistle flowers.

I look like a villager, not a lady, but a lady has far too much cloth to fuss with to go to the woods.

A knock at my door.

Lady Reres waits. While she’s a Leth and friendly to me in private, her rank means it’s rare for her to come to me like this. While her eyes widen ever so slightly at my old-fashioned dress, I know she doesn’t comment because she assumes I have tasks of a fae nature to deal with.

“Lady Alyth,” she says, dipping into a curtsy.

“What’s wrong?” I demand. Her aura is deep purple; she’s here on business.

“Nothing of that,” she says, meaning nothing of Red Caps. “I wanted to warn you. The queen’s been asking about you. She requires you to go to the Great Hall to help with the baptismal feast preparations—”

“No,” I say, cutting her off as I step past her and shut my door behind me.

“No?” Lady Reres steps quickly to catch up with me. “But the queen—”

“Does not control me,” I say. “And I have more important matters to attend to today.” I need to dispose of this amulet Samson brought to Scotland.

Worry flares through her aura, across her face. I do not bother appeasing her concern.

“Spread the word,” I say in a low voice, heading to the stairs. “All Leth on guard.”

She touches my arm, stopping me. “Has the wall—”

“The wall holds,” I say. “But it cannot stop every threat.”

“More weapons?” Lady Reres crosses herself, even though the threat we fear is Red Caps, not the devil.

“Maybe.” I know she’s loyal, but I still hesitate.

The connection between Darnley and Cecil is worrying me. Perhaps Darnley’s aligned himself fully with the English now. Despite the religious differences between the men, Cecil’s made no attempt to hide that his ultimate goal is a united British Isles, yet—

I look up. Lady Reres’s hand is still on my elbow, her face creased with worry. To most of the Leth, the attack on David at Holyrood has been a seed of worry, and the continued tension at court has been watering that anxiety.

She needs to know how serious the threat is. They all do. Because really, it was foolish of me to confront Samson alone like I did. I got lucky that Kitty’s been watching me, and she brought a few of her brownie friends. And lucky that Samson wasn’t a real threat…

His eyes, wide and sorrowful, fill my mind.

I shake myself. “Let it be known the Red Caps are getting closer.”

“What do you mean—”

“They’ve found ways to hide fae magic,” I say. This is not exactly true, but reality is too complicated to go into now, and the effect is the same.

“That means they could hide among us!” Lady Reres looks sick at the thought.

“No. They still can’t cross the border.”

Her shoulders sink in relief, but I can see doubt on her face. “A way to hide magic though…” she says, her voice barely audible. “Could that be? They said the High Blade was the greatest inventor the Seelie Court has ever seen.”

“The High Blade?” I try to scoff, even though my heart seizes at the name.

The High Blade. The leader of the Red Caps when they sided with the Romans and started a war on fae and Scots alike.

That was hundreds and hundreds of years ago. But I can’t think like a human. Red Caps cannot die unless they are killed, but bloodshed makes them stronger. It’s possible the High Blade still lives.

Still invents…weapons and more.

I put on a brave face, even though the idea terrifies me.

“We have enough to fear without jumping at old stories and ghosts,” I say.

“There is no evidence the High Blade is behind this. But we do know that Darnley and Lady Lennox are working with Lord Cecil from England. This is a real threat, and we have to deal with it.”

Lady Reres pales. “I will tell the queen you are occupied today, and I will let the other Leths know why.”

I dip my chin to her as I turn to the stairs. “Thank you.”

***

In less than an hour—after I confirm with Kitty that Samson packed his bags—I’m mounted on my horse and racing east.

While I may not be at the queen’s side currently, I know of her plans for the baptism celebration of the infant prince.

The actual ceremony will be done in the chapel at Stirling Castle, but holy water on a screaming wee one’s head is nothing compared to the celebrations after.

Mary’s built a fake castle to stage an Arthurian battle inside the real castle, costumed players will mingle around masked guests, and there’s enough wine to drown half of Scotland.

Mary’s even had men in Leith making fireworks, although that’s supposed to be a secret.

It’s the costumes and masks that gave me the idea for today.

The baptism itself is for religion, holy and revered, but the parties afterward are all about decadence.

Apparently, according to their logic, God’s not going to look at what people do when they wear masks.

Some of the costumed actors hired to weave through the crowds for entertainment are even going to be dressed as devils.

And several are going to be dressed as fae.

It’s an accident of time, of course. The people of Scotland have always lived in a world that runs parallel to the fae court.

The portals were once more plentiful, but even now, there are multiple access points scattered around the wilderness.

It is little wonder that legends arose. While the Leth hide the fae creatures that slip into this world better now, the hardest thing to kill is a story.

And I will use that to my advantage.

There are no signs to where I am going, but I know this trail well enough, and the traces of magic weaving through the air assure me I am on the right path.

The landscape grows more rugged and wild, and soon enough, I have to leave my horse behind, tied at the bridge that crosses over the gorge.

Finnich Glen is hard to reach, but I pause on the bridge, appreciating the way water tumbles through the rocks, the moss covering the stones making the whole area look soft, despite its danger.

I walk on a ways, finding an easier path down into the gorge. Someone’s left a rope tied to a tree that I hold on to as I make my way down the slippery, steep slope, giant rocks bulging along the path. It feels like a descent. Like going to another world.

Because if I step wrong, it is.

These wild areas, they’re where the connections between this world and the other are stronger.

Portals are defined areas, marked by stone rings usually, but anywhere the land remains feral is a place where the Seelie Court and Scotland are close together, the separation between the realms thinner.

Gossamer sheets of magic wrap around the stones in the valley, wafting like mist over water.

And I slip into the other world.

It’s a matter of seeing that one spot where the sunlight shifts, feeling where the temperature dips, hearing where the silence stretches a bit too long, and then purposefully leaning into the impossible, trusting that something more than nothing will catch me.