Page 27 of The Crimson Throne (Spy and Guardian #1)

Alyth

Stirling Castle is transformed.

There’s what the servants and hired workers have done, of course.

An entire recreation of a castle in the Great Hall, smaller than real size but tall enough to scrape the ceiling and big enough for a dozen or more men to participate in mock battles over the wooden fortress painted to look like ancient stone.

The regular banquet tables have been removed from the hall, replaced with an enormous circular one so that Mary can pretend to have knights of the Round Table.

Torches and candles burn brilliantly, casting long shadows as guests start to arrive, bedecked in their finest gowns and kilts.

But I notice the other details. Kitty and the rest of the brownies of the castle have made sure the entire hall is spotless.

The candles dare not flicker, much less drip wax on the rugs.

Various members of court who are Leth, such as Lady Reres and Captain Cockburn, have cast glamours over parts of the castle, adding a hint of true magic to the festivities.

The laird of Strathglass asked my permission to invite the will-o’-the-wisps to glitter near the ceiling, and I let him, but only after he swore to keep the pesky things away from the fireworks.

To regular humans, everything will look a little extra shiny. To the Leths like me, this is a rare night to show off.

The goddess of the River Forth even summoned a cadre of caesg to come sing.

I’m sure it appears as if the river is oddly full of salmon too clever to be caught, but any Leth will recognize humanoid bodies attached to the fish tails, grayish skin stretching over a humanlike torso and a spiky fin poking up where hair would be on the head.

I’ve seen pictures of sirens and mermaids, and I suppose the caesg match that broad definition, but they’re far, far wilder.

The only human thing about them is part of their torso.

The normally silent river burbles, and the reeds whistle in the wind…

to the humans. But even here, I can catch some strains of the fae melody drifting from so far below up to the castle.

The caesg song lilts in and out of the lute and harp playing in the Great Hall.

While the bards in the hall perform popular tunes, the caesg sing blessings for the young prince of Scotland.

A baby’s christening is important to the fae; the legends are true enough on that.

There is magic in names, even human ones.

The Green Lady and her glaistigs have not yet arrived, but neither has Darnley.

Or the queen. Not unusual, but I make a point to stop near Lady Reres.

Most of the guests wear masks of silk and lace, some with even more elaborate headgear, but Lady Reres has enhanced her mask with magic.

I’m not sure I would have recognized her had I not been able to see past the illusion.

“Nice,” she says, eyes skimming over my own mask.

Mine was one of the rare gifts from my father, left for me on the windowsill at the castle.

He does that sometimes. I know better than to assume that he chose the silver mask for me personally, but he cares about appearances and the way I’m perceived in court.

If I wear the same gown too often, a new one appears in my trunk.

When my velvet ribbon that I wore as a necklace broke, a gold chain replaced it.

He sends sprites, I think, or some other fae—he never comes himself.

He doesn’t want to interact with me; he only wants to make sure I represent him well.

And he’s always happy to take the credit for his gifts.

This mask came with a sprig of rowan berries—his mark.

I’d toss the gifts, but they’re usually pretty decent.

The mask is no different. It looks like lace, but rather than being tatted with silken thread, it’s made of solid silver, the hollow bits lined with an iridescent material that glimmers in the light. I know of no material with such prismatic sheen, but so far, only the Leths have noticed it.

“Your father cares for you,” Lady Reres comments.

He cares for how I make him look, nothing more. I am his reflection, just as this court is a reflection of his.

“Did the baptism go well?” I ask, ignoring the comment.

She nods, a bob of her chin. “Some fuss from a few of the Protestants.”

“Ridiculous,” I mutter, shaking my head. What did the silly men expect to happen? They’d burst into flames for hearing mass in Latin? “But nothing else amiss?”

I’m not sure what I expect her to tell me. I conferred with Kitty earlier, and she said Samson had gone to the stables with his bags. And that’s good. I’m glad he left. He needed to leave. It’s good that he’s gone. Very good. Obviously best for all.

I swallow hard, refocus.

It’s definitely all the other tension from Darnley’s plot that’s causing that hollow pit in my stomach to tighten.

If Darnley had done anything, I would know. But my senses tingle; there’s more than the regular sort of magic in the air tonight.

There’s anticipation.

Before Lady Reres can answer me, a group of men riding on hobby horses made of sticks gallops past. They’re drunk off their arses and singing. Loudly. In Italian.

“The king consort didn’t bother showing up,” she says, leaning close to my ear.

I frown. Mary hadn’t outright banned her husband from going to the baptism, and James is his son too. For all his faults, Darnley would surely have a vested interest in seeing his own son baptized? And the entire reason—according to him—for his arrival at Castle Stirling was to attend the ceremony.

The men ride by on their sticks, and I catch a few lines of their song but not enough to understand anything. Across the hall, I spot Joseph scowling. He wears no mask; he looks as if he stumbled into the party after a long day at the library.

I excuse myself from Lady Reres and head over to the queen’s secretary.

“This is a baptism,” he growls. “And yet these men speak of lupa and lupanar.”

“‘Lupa’ means wolf,” I say, vaguely recalling the popular Roman myths around wolves. “Is ‘lupanar’—”

“‘Brothel.’ It is a play on words, obviously, but a crass one.”

“Ah. Classy,” I say. When Joseph whips his glare to me, I add, “Sarcasm.”

“It is not appropriate for a baptism,” he says.

“That part’s over. This is the party to celebrate it. The baby’s in bed.”

“And so we revel in wine and bawdy tunes?”

I want to tell him that’s exactly right.

I want to hand him some of the wine, guzzle it down alongside him, and let us both get giggly at the idiots frolicking around the hall.

But I know I can’t. And much as I want Joseph to loosen up, he’s human, with no magic and no way to help me with the plots by Darnley and whatever ties to the Red Caps he’s made…

I can’t say that. The last time I let my guard down, Joseph’s brother…

I sigh, smiling sadly at my friend. But I do grab some wine and press it into his hand.

He takes a sip, reluctantly nodding his approval.

“So as secretary, you logged all the gifts, right?” I ask.

Joseph’s scowl pops right back on his face. “You give me wine, and yet I’m expected to work?”

I punch him in the arm. “Come on,” I say, prodding. We both know that there’s always too much work to ever be truly done with it.

Joseph sighs. “Darnley’s mother sent a package from London.”

“From the Tower of London, you mean,” I grumble.

My mind whirrs. Lady Lennox is the baby’s grandmother; a gift is expected.

But she is also plotting something nefarious, and using the guise of a present would be an excellent way to sneak something evil through the magical barrier. “What did the old cow send?”

“Cloth and jars of marmalade,” Joseph says.

I frown. Mary’s addicted to marmalade; it would be so easy to sneak a poison in there for her.

“I pulled it aside for your inspection, as well as a few other things.”

“Good man,” I say. He knows that Mary trusts me with security, but not the full truth.

A group of costumed players with long furry tails and horns dances by.

The tails are…definitely not real, and at least one of them has the appearance of another crass appendage, much to the scandalized glee of some nearby ladies.

The horns are real, although attached by some sort of sticky glue to the people’s foreheads.

My eyes go to the shadows in the corners of the hall.

Finally.

The glaistigs have arrived.

Humans must be truly dense to not be able to tell the difference between these half-drunk costumed players and real fae creatures even with a glamour.

The Green Lady herself stalks the crowd, eyes sharp.

She’s watching someone in particular, and when she notices me looking at her, she tilts her chin toward the object of her gaze.

Most of the people here are in masks, and the man she stares at is no different, although his mask seems like a last-minute addition, little more than the kind a highwayman would wear. Regardless, it does nothing to hide his shock of bright red hair, vividly fiery even in a room full of Scotsmen.

Samson.

Samson.

How dare he be here? He should be halfway back to London by now, and yet he’s here? There are enough people in the crowd that perhaps he thought to avoid my notice, and he did, at least for a bit. But I can feel every sense in my body zeroing in on him.

He will not escape my notice again.

The Green Lady turns her attention elsewhere, evidently judging Samson, who she can tell is a powerful Leth, is not a clear threat. Or at least not a threat I can’t handle. Personally.

“Alyth?” Joseph asks as I stride away.

I barely hear him. I may have a wee bit of a temper, but I have never been so enraged as this exact moment.

I told him to go. I gave him a chance to escape.

I should have dragged him by the ear to the border and let the reivers take him across.

It’s not my fault he didn’t listen, and now I’m going to—

“Alyth?”

Fecking hell. The only person in this hall with the power to stop me in my tracks right now is the fecking queen of fecking Scotland.

I take a shaky breath in.

Hold it.

And remind myself that the entire royal court is masked and on show here.

A tight smile stretches across my face as I turn, dipping into a curtsy.

The queen wasn’t announced, but that’s not unusual.

Mary loves a masquerade—she loves any event where she can wear a costume and a mask and pretend to not be herself for a few hours.

When she first came back to Scotland, before Darnley, when she still had joy in her life, she’d dress up as a man and go down to the pubs.

There’s little chance for such escapes as that now.

“Your Highness,” I say, lowering my head respectfully.

“Is all well?” A look of concern twists her lips. I’ve not told her about Samson, but I did inform her that her husband was to be trusted even less than normal.

“It will be soon enough.” Soon as I slit that Englishman’s throat.

Or…I swallow dryly, thinking of the needle. Perhaps not quite that far.

She flicks her fingers to me, a summons.

I step closer, our bodies angling toward the wall.

In the center of the room, some men have started a fake siege of the fake castle built of wood in the hall, and while the musical players are attempting to drown out the shouting, it’s all just mindless cacophony bleeding into the edges of my still-burning rage.

Through it all, I keep the bulk of my attention on Samson as he weaves idly through the crowd.

“I am hopeful that my…problem will soon be taken care of,” the queen says.

I don’t have time for this. Samson is an actual threat; Darnley is just a pain in the arse. I shake my head, trying to control my temper. That’s not true. Darnley should be my focus. Samson is a pawn. Gods damn both men; I can hardly keep up with who I should hate more.

“I have been considering the future,” Mary continues tentatively, unaware of the furious thoughts in my mind. “I shall need a new king—”

We’re alone enough for me to be true. “God’s own bollocks, Mary, you need no such thing. Scotland wants you. You’re the queen, and you have terrible taste in men.”

Mary’s eyes go wide. “I’ll remind you that I—”

“I’ll remind you that you were tricked once by a pretty face, and you didn’t bother listening to all the others, including me, who warned you Darnley could control glamours. Now you’re stuck with him—”

“For now,” she mutters.

“And you’ve made a right arse out of the entire situation. Meanwhile, everyone else is scrambling behind you to ensure this whole blasted country doesn’t fall apart. Mary, think for one second about the country you’re in charge of instead of the empty place in your bed.”

“I always think of Scotland. I am Scotland.” She tilts her nose in the air, but she is fooling no one, least of all me.

“You’re a lass.” My heart softens a little. “You’re barely older than me, and you’ve been told all your life that a husband will take care of your problems. What man has ever made your life simpler?”

I pause a beat. Mary’s mouth opens, then closes. “But…” Her eyes flick to Bothwell, one of the drunks fighting by the wooden castle.

Great. “He’ll play you like a fiddle, then leave you broken.”

“Do you know that with your…” Mary waggles her fingers.

“I don’t need magic to know that man wants to sleep his way to power,” I snap. “I only need eyes.”

I turn on my heel. Mary grabs my elbow, holding me back. “You are not dismissed,” she says coldly.

I yank my arm free. “The hell I’m not,” I growl. “You can tangle the sheets with whoever you like, but right now?” I scan the crowd and lock eyes with Samson. “Right now, I have an arse to kick.”