Page 6 of The Crimson Throne (Spy and Guardian #1)

“This item”—he lets the curtain fall, slanting us back into dim grayness—“is in a collection amassed by one of Queen Elizabeth’s enemies. Telling you this is a matter of national security, Sammy. Can I trust you with the enormity of this task?”

“If you didn’t think you could, I wouldn’t be here.”

Cecil blinks at me. Then barks a laugh.

He settles back against the seat. “Fair enough. The item that cursed you has been collected by Mary Stuart.”

My eyes widen. The Scottish queen?

It’s the last thing I expected him to say. I was waiting for a pissed-off lord in a high-end neighborhood in London; wouldn’t be the first time he had me con a rival of his.

But Scotland ?

Ever since the Scottish queen popped out a male heir, tensions have been sky-high in London. Elizabeth has gone runaway with paranoia, and people who aren’t even doing anything related to Mary are getting dragged in on accusations of supporting her.

I sit there, wondering if Cecil’s trying to get me killed.

“It is suspected that Mary is amassing these fae weapons in order to attack our queen.” Cecil levels a look at me. “I need someone to infiltrate the court and confirm. And if the fae weapons are in her possession, I need someone familiar with their magic to remove them.”

“What?” It kicks out of me, a punch of breath. “Infiltrate a foreign court?”

“I have tried to place my usual workers in the Scottish court,” Cecil says.

“People fluent in multiple languages, in all courtly customs. But none have been able to give our queen what she needs. Which is why we are turning our focus to you. You have proven yourself adaptable, if nothing else, and I believe you will succeed where others have failed.”

“But I don’t speak Scots or French even.” He hears how wrong this is, right? Sending a bastard son from the slums of London out on a spy mission?

Cecil smiles, and it shuts my body down hard.

“You are concerned,” he says. “I understand. But you will be given all you need—travel arrangements, funds, information, a cover for your crudeness and lack of formality. The way is carved for you. All you must do is walk it. But”—he bends closer, so close that I can smell a hint of onion on his breath—“if you refuse, the ramifications, I fear, would be brutal. If Scotland were to succeed in assassinating our queen, it would throw England into peril. Innocents would suffer—innocents like those whom I paid to release from prison. How many whorehouse orphans are living in the slums now? What sort of end would they meet during wartime? Most of the boys are old enough to join the front lines, I suspect.”

I hold my breath, hold it until it burns.

Cecil wants to stoke me to show emotion, wants to poke and poke, but I won’t give him the satisfaction.

I also won’t let him have leverage on Hal and Oskar.

The bag of coins I stole back off the prison guard when I hugged him jingles as I dig it out of my pocket.

I toss it on the bench seat next to Cecil. “They don’t owe you. They’re not part of this.”

Cecil raises an eyebrow at the bag but doesn’t take it, just lets it sit on the bench like it’s unimportant. Like it isn’t enough to pay for a week’s worth of food. I could’ve slipped it to Oskar, but this way, Cecil’s got nothing to hold over them.

He looks back up at me, waiting.

“You can really break my curse?” I ask. Redirect his attention, but also because—if that’s true…

It can’t be true.

He leans back in a triumphant sprawl. “I can. Your curse will bother you no more.”

My eyes narrow. That’s an odd way of putting it. “And if they speak to me in Scots?”

He bats a hand. “Most of the Scottish court knows English. That won’t be a concern.”

It’s one of the largest glaring holes in this task, and he brushes it off as if it’s no bother.

The unease gnawing at me grows sharper teeth, bites straight through me.

Last time he had a special task for me, I ended up in the home of someone vying for Cecil’s position with Queen Elizabeth.

Didn’t know that before, of course. Didn’t know either that the man was so well trained in fighting, and he didn’t appreciate me trying to steal from him.

When I came out of my stupor, he was a bloody mess on the floor.

I got the fae-magic item from him and ran.

Never did have the strength to ask Cecil what happened to the man. Clearly, he didn’t snatch away Cecil’s position.

But did I kill him?

Cecil wanted me to. That was why he sent me there. He probably planted the fae magic item himself, just to lure me to it.

And now he’s sending me to Scotland. Crossing a border shredded by war and vicious mercenaries, into a court laden with vipers and assassins.

Are things really so awful that all Cecil’s better spies have failed?

Or is there some bigger goal he’s got for me?

What am I saying? ’Course there is. There’s another reason he’s shipping me off. He wants something else out of me, out of this task, and I can’t see what it is.

But if he’s telling the truth about the item that cursed me at least…and it is in Queen Mary’s hold…and I get it and bring it back to Cecil—

Could I be free?

I could go back to Oskar and Hal and the rest, apologize properly. I could earn a real place with them and not have to worry about hurting anyone ever again.

I sniff away the image when my eyes start to burn.

There was never a choice. Not from the moment I stepped into Cecil’s carriage.

With my hands on my knees, I meet his eyes. “When do I leave?”