They were escorted to a waiting carriage, where the guards mounted a pair of stout black horses to follow. Wes had always walked to the manor, as had Nim, and a carriage would only have drawn attention they didn’t need. Nim suspected it had more to do with her post and that she was to be installed as a respected lady of society than anything else.
The ride through the streets of Inara was short, the cobblestones smooth beneath the carriage wheels, and the citizens gracious enough to make way for the king’s colors. When they arrived at Hearst Manor, they were greeted by a footman Nim did not recognize.
He dropped into a deep bow then raised his hand to assist her from the carriage without a word. Wesley followed, his gaze uncharacteristically cautious before he smiled at Nim and gave her his arm. An unfamiliar guard opened the door to Hearst, and they were led to the sitting room, where Alice and Allister waited.
Nim’s chest eased in a sigh as she saw them, and she crossed the space before either had managed to get a proper greeting out. But as she reached for Allister, she caught sight of a long bruise that crossed his brow, a mottled purple band the precise width of Calum’s cane. A sound resembling a wounded animal came out of her, and Allister took her hand.
“My lady,” he said, nothing like distress in his tone. “All is well.”
Nim pinched her eyebrows, and her gaze snapped to Alice, the sudden, sickening recollection of cracking bone making Nim want to retch. The girl’s eyes were wide, but it appeared her concern was only for Nim. Reaching forward to brush a gentle finger over the girl’s cheek, Nim did her best to hold back tears. Along Alice’s hairline was a colorful palette of bruises, and her neck was covered in scratches and scrapes.
“I’m sorry,” Nim choked out. “I never should have—”
“My lady.” Alice’s voice was sharp, cutting through whatever Nim had meant to say. “It’s not proper to carry on in such a manner.” Nim’s mouth came open, but Alice gave a quick shake of her head. “We here at Hearst Manor are in the king’s employ, your ladyship, and as such, I am obliged to remind you of the pecking order.”
Nim blinked.
Allister’s mouth went tight, but he managed not to break into what Nim imagined was a delightful smile. His grip on Nim’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly. “Miss Alice has been investigating the proper procedures of her new station, as she is well pleased to have been awarded the position by order of the king.”
Alice leaned forward to whisper, “They sent the king’s personal physician for us.” Her eyes had gone impossibly wider, glinting with conspiratorial awe.
“Aye,” Nim said, her voice a low vow. “You are very important to the king. Both of you.” She felt Allister’s dark eyes on her but couldn’t meet his gaze without cascading into tears.
“Sit, my lady. Let us relish in the honor of serving tea to an agent of the kingdom. Do tell, what is the title of your new post?” He drew her onto the chaise beside him, and Alice snapped a gesture toward Wesley, commanding he be honored as well. He complied with a grin, spouting his practiced introduction even as his gaze flicked to her as if to assure himself that Her Ladyship Nimona Weston, Royal Constable and Adviser to the Seneschal was not about to crumble.
The hours sped past, and Nim understood in the depths of her heart that Allister did not fault her for anything that had happened. He had been at the very least aware of the gentleman Hearst’s dealings with the Trust before she’d even come along. As his valet, Allister would have seen far too much and been far too close to whatever trouble Hearst had tangled himself in. There was nothing to be done to save the man. Besides, Nim had been so lost then. She’d been thrown into the home of her mark, forced by the Trust to be hosted in the very manor they had reclaimed from him. Nim had felt untethered and without hope but determined to fight despite it all.
Allister had done what he could to help her, but his hands had been tied. They had both known better than to speak of what had happened to the master of the house. Because speaking of the Trust was a certain way to end up killed, come one thing or another.
Nimona and Wesley were reluctant to leave the company of Allister and Alice, but Margery awaited a visit as well. With promises to return soon, they departed the manor and resumed the carriage to make the short trip to her friend’s family home. Wesley retrieved the gift they’d brought for her from beneath the seat and was toying with the wrapping’s trim when the horses screamed. He and Nim jolted alert, eyes darting forward to find the cause of the earsplitting sound as a covey of birds took flight around their transport.
The carriage had stopped abruptly, and the world outside went suddenly too silent, too still. Nim rushed to the door, jerking free of Wesley’s hand as he tried to stop her, and alighted to the street. Despite the flock that had risen, around her lay the bodies of a dozen birds, lifeless, feathers unmoving in still air, noiseless in the unnatural hush. She felt Wesley move behind her, but her eyes had found the horse at the front of the carriage. It had fallen to the ground, bound in the harness. The second was invisible beyond the carriage and driver, but it, too, had gone silent.
Time had seemed to still but it couldn’t have been more than a moment, a single breath once Nim had moved. An echo of sound far off in the city reached her just as the drum of hoofbeats charged behind her, and she was being swept up by one of the guards who’d followed the carriage. Wes’s grip tugged free as she was hauled away, and behind her, she saw that the second guard was reaching to drag him onto his horse. As her senses snapped back, Nim grabbed hold of the guard who held her, dragging her legs around the mount to secure herself as they raced through the streets.
If magic had swelled through the city, Nim had not felt it, but nothing else would so suddenly strike so many beasts at once. Allister had given her a handful of tonics, small glass bottles she’d dropped into her pocket to stash in her room. She scrambled to reach one, hands trembling. No one who had anything at all to lose was fool enough to attack a king’s carriage.
Chapter 9
They made it just three streets before magic stung Nim’s skin, sharp and hot, along with the sense that they’d only just managed the short distance for the chase. They were caught or being toyed with. If the horses had been dropped, it could have just as easily happened to the guards. But no, she remembered, Wesley had received a boon from the sacrifice Warrick had made—no one but Warrick could touch the boy with magic.
Their attacker had wanted them separated. Nim’s gaze shot behind her, searching for Wes, but the horse beneath her stumbled forward, the guard she clung to powerless to stop the animal’s fall. As the ground rushed toward them, the guard swung Nim away from the beast with one hand, his other raising his sword in preparation to fight. He would not win. She could feel it.
Her hands slammed against her temples, and she stumbled, the idea that the guard would be overtaken stabbing into her mind. It was not her own. It was an intimation, dark and sharp and too eager to make itself at home in her head.
Wes cried her name, and Nim forced her eyes open as the horse groaned and tried to regain its feet beside them. The guard had hold of her, keeping her out of reach from the struggling animal and tucked behind him, blade at the ready as he scanned the clearing for the source of the attack. A cold wind snapped through the street, where they were trapped in the too-narrow space between rows of buildings, too far from Wes and the other guard. Not a single soul stood street side, no onlookers or sounds of panic, nothing but the hammering of Nim’s heart.