Page 26 of The Crimson Throne (Spy and Guardian #1)

Samson

I lean against the wall in the stables, staring at the horses, my arms folded tight. Bags sit at my feet, and I’ve got my cloak around my shoulders, all set to leave.

But I’ve not gotten a horse yet. Or approached Callum, who’s forking hay in the corner, to ask him if there’s anyone heading south I can catch a ride with.

I’m just standing here, jaw working, eyes blurring from lack of sleep, feeling the sunrays creep higher and higher until the light reaches long fingers through the stable door and touches my boots.

This castle is a place of horrors.

Those little hairy creatures are everywhere . Everywhere cats were at least, cleaning and caring and mending, generally leaving people alone.

They glared at me as I passed through the corridors. They know the ultimatum Alyth gave me, and I did my best to get out early this morning, but I lingered, kept getting distracted by whether I should stay and everything I’ve learned, and—

And there are other creatures too. Things that I swear were normal only yesterday. Might’ve been bugs flying about, but they’re little people-type beings with wings—damned fairies? No. No. That’s mad.

And there was something off in the distance, spotted it out the window, on the hill. Looked like a goat on two legs?

There are more of those tendrils of color in the air too, less harsh than what was around Alyth, gentle pulses of softest blue and green and pink clustered around each of these creatures.

And the sky. The sky’s wrong. It’s got a sheen over it, like oil gathered on water, ripples and waves of rainbow hues that no one else seems to see.

That necklace kept me from seeing these things. Is it just here, in Scotland? Because I had no bloody necklace in London and never saw a lick of anything bizarre outside the damn fae magic items Cecil had me getting.

What’d Alyth call ’em? Red Cap weapons.

What the hell is a Red Cap?

The necklace dampened magic, Alyth said. The necklace hid me .

She said…she said I’m fae.

I thought actual fae—people or creatures—were long gone. That all that was left were their dangerous items. Cecil never said, and I just assumed, on account of never coming across fairies or any other fae nonsense.

But fae are real?

They’re real. And they’re people too.

Alyth’s one. She was all wrapped up in those pulsing magic threads, vibrant with the color of it.

But I think I’d know if I were magic, wouldn’t I? Beyond my damned curse. Think I’d know if I had a mighty power tamped down in me, something I could’ve harnessed to protect myself.

My breathing kicks up, heart humming, it’s so fast, and I rub at my chest.

If I have some kind of magic… If I’ve had it all this time… Some power , some strength , and I let my mum die, and I let myself get cursed by a fae weapon—

I stagger out of the barn, cross behind it, find a spot hidden away, and drop to my knees. My head’s throbbing, empty stomach churning, and I just hold there on the ground, hands braced on my thighs, rocking a little.

Does Cecil know? Is Cecil fae?

I manage a deep breath— force one is more like—and scowl at my shadow on the winter-brown grass.

I still don’t know quite what Cecil wants to get out of me being here. But—

Darnley’ll know.

Alyth said he’s the one storing up fae weapons, not Mary. And it’s not for any plot against England, like Cecil said. I always suspected that reasoning was thin.

So I’ve got two options:

Go back to London and confront Cecil about all this. He won’t give me shit for answers, and I won’t have the fae weapon that cursed me. Can Cecil even break my curse if he has it? Would he? Was that a lie too?

Or I stay. And get close to Darnley, like Mary wanted.

Only I’ll get answers from the arsehole about what fae weapons he’s got and how he’s tied up with Cecil and whatever plan I’m a pawn in.

Darnley’s cocky and arrogant, self-righteous and loud.

He’ll spill secrets far easier than Cecil.

Then I’ll have more leverage to use against my father when I go back to London.

But if I stay, Alyth’ll kill me.

If I go back to London, whatever life I have won’t be real living anyway. Just biding my days until I black out and hurt more people.

It ain’t even a choice.

I pry myself off the ground, dusting my knees, and head back to the stable where my stuff’s still piled by the wall. Callum gives me a confused look, wondering why I spent most of the morning just standing here, but I wave him away with a bright smile. It aches across my cheeks.

Callum’s eyes flick past me just as I hear footsteps and voices coming, and his face pales. A blink, and he’s vanished, so I know who it is before I turn.

Ah, think of the devil, and he appears.

I shoulder my bags and face Darnley, ringed by half a dozen men and servants. They’re all outfitted for hunting. Didn’t he just go yesterday? How’s it not mind-numbing to go again?

Darnley sees me and gives a sly but very obvious grin. “Ah—Samuel, was it?”

“Samson, sir,” I say, all proper, bowing my head.

I’m staying. I’m going to get answers from this bastard. So I’m playing this part fully, throwing everything I’ve got into it.

What’ll Alyth do to me when she finds out I’m staying?

Darnley’s got none of those ribbons of color ’round him. No one in his group does. He’s not fae? Or maybe the colors meant something else—magic being used. Because not all the fae creatures I’ve seen let off glows, just the ones that appear to be doing magic, so—

My head aches, and I rub at the back of my neck.

“Samson. Yes.” His eyes go to my collar, but even if I were wearing that necklace, I’m bundled up. “Come hunting with us. There is much we must discuss.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Smile. Smile and act like being in his presence is the greatest honor of your life. “I’m most appreciative of the offer. Been bored off my arse here.”

It’s a risk, cursing ’round him. But I’m betting on the fact that he’ll love me talking down about Mary’s setup.

He does.

His head throws back with a cracking laugh, and he smacks the shoulder of the man next to him. “Hear that, Balfour? One day with Mary, and this one’s scratching to escape.” He points at me. “We knew you had a proper head on your shoulders, boy.”

Boy? We’re about the same age, you git.

Balfour adjusts his cloak with a grumble. “I said we shouldn’t have even come here. My house at Kirk o’ Field isn’t far, and the hunting’s worlds better to the east. We should leave all this baptizing shite to the women.”

Darnley considers. My brain catches up in a flinch—he’s honestly considering leaving his son’s baptism because it isn’t entertaining enough.

But he bats his hand. “Just a week or so more, until the celebration’s over. That’ll be grand. Then we’ll go to your house, Balfour.”

The man grunts in confirmation. He and the rest file around Darnley, heading into the stables, calling out for horses to be readied. Other stable hands come running; not Callum, I note.

Darnley takes a step past me to follow his group, but I block his way outside the door of the stables.

“Sir, a moment,” I whisper, throwing a cautious look around for his benefit. Playing up the secrecy, because he’ll want to feel important.

It works—his brows go up, and his lips pulse with a faint smile. “Yes?”

We’re more or less alone for the moment, but once we’re mounted up for the hunt, there won’t actually be much time for conversation, despite what he said. This is about winning his favor.

If I’m risking Alyth’s wrath by staying, I’m gonna get this bastard on my side. I’m gonna come out of this on top.

My throat still aches. The cuts from Alyth’s knife have closed over, but each swallow is rough from the magic that pinned me. That look in her eyes won’t vanish from my mind in a hurry either. Her flaming fury, all potent and harsh, had no business being as beautiful as it was.

I shake it away, shoving out thoughts of her. She’d sooner kill me than trust me now. That airy, bubbly feeling in my gut at the thought of her needs to go right away.

The girl held a knife to my throat . I shouldn’t still be fancying her.

There’s something wrong with me.

I go all in. “My instructions past this are unclear,” I tell Darnley, keeping my voice low, conspiratorial. “Am I to turn the necklace over to you?”

It’s a gamble, seeing as Alyth’s got it, but I can make up excuses.

Darnley smirks at me with the ego of a god doling out instructions to mortals. “No. You’ve done well. Hold it for now. The time for further action will present itself soon.”

I swallow, my sore throat aching, and bow my head. I already knew he was in on this, but his easy confirmation sets off quakes in my gut.

I’m close now. On the right path.

“Until then.” Darnley smacks my arm and heads into the stable, shouting about how it’s taking too long to saddle the horses.

I follow him but slip aside to stow my bags in the tack room—and find Callum cowering behind a mound of saddles.

He jumps when I enter, but his face relaxes instantly. “All right, sir?”

“Samson. And yes. You?” I nod toward the main room and the raised voices, Darnley yelling at other stable hands. “He leaving you alone?”

“I can usually avoid him. I—I—” He stammers. “Thanks. For what you did when he got here. My da wanted to thank you too.”

I shrug. “Just stay outta trouble, all right?”

“Yer one to talk.” Callum snorts. “Riding out with him? What for?”

I chew my words as I tuck my bags under a table.

Callum nods when I glance at him, seeking unspoken permission, and by the time I straighten, it’s on my tongue to ask him to help, to report any oddities of Darnley to me.

Kids see way more than anyone gives them credit for; it’s why the group I lived with in Southwark started Hal and others like him out so young.

But Callum’s eyes are wide and clear, and he’s got at least one parent who loves him and a home and food regularly. And right now, he doesn’t fear me.

Callum’s trust is velvet soft around me. When will it change? Doesn’t seem to be more than a few weeks before everyone I get close to starts glaring at me.

In another life, in another time, I’d have been just like him, working hard and scurrying through duties and just…existing.

No, he’ll stay out of this mess. I can handle this on my own.

“Can’t say no to the king consort,” I tell him as a reason for why I’m going out with Darnley. Then I make an exaggerated gagging face, and he giggles.

The sound’s a balm on all this shit I have to do with Darnley. On the big, gaping uncertainty over my heritage.

So as I leave the tack room, I’m smiling, and it’s real, and I wonder how long I can hold on to feeling like I’ve got a breath before these waves yank me back down.