I should’ve headed to my room, but I didn’t want to face Gwenyth. She’d be more upset by my failure to take all the marks than she’d be that I’d just caused the deaths of two men.
I wanted to see Alaric. Sneaking out of the castle for such a whim was foolish. I shouldn’t bother him, and yet, I found myself—almost without thought or reason—going back up the stairs, tying up my skirts, and crawling out a garderobe window to see him.
Alaric would be awake, watching for fireflies. With that reasoning in mind, going to him now was a service. He’d be able to sleep after my update, or if so inclined, lie on his pallet and ruminate over my weaknesses as an operative. And in return, he’d do his best to extract the guilt that was hitching my breaths together.
I shimmied sideways and down the wall, hardly feeling the rocks scrape my palms, then ran to the stables. Alaric was outside, leaning against the wall near the door. He looked expectant standing there, noble. Ready to sacrifice his life if needed.
Even before I whispered his name, he probably heard my panting. His eyes darted around, and he checked over his shoulder to see that no one else was nearby. The doorway was quite empty, still, he headed toward a tree behind the stable anyway. As he walked, he asked, “Is it done?”
I shook my head, then remembered he couldn’t see me. “No. There was a problem.” The phrase sounded so trite, like I’d run into a small inconvenient thing.
“What went wrong?”
We reached the cover of a tree. I became visible and told him everything, including the bloody end of the wizards. I couldn’t erase the sight of it from my mind. “I pitted them against each other. But I didn’t think…” My hand, still trembling, went to my mouth. “It’s my fault they’re dead.”
Alaric grunted. “Good riddance. I wish they were all so easily dispatched.”
He didn’t understand. He wasn’t even trying. “I said I wouldn’t become an assassin, but that’s what I’ve become. Those men would be alive if not for?—”
Alaric took hold of my shoulders and leaned forward so that his face was close to mine. “It’s no one’s fault but their own. If they hadn’t been so venomous, they would’ve listened to one another instead of acting like rabid dogs. Normal folk wouldn’t have acted so. Their deaths are their own making, not yours.”
He was right, or at least I hoped he was. Still, guilt clung to me. My head sank and my vision swam. I felt like a cloth dunked in water and wrung out hard.
Alaric pulled me into a hug. He’d hugged me before, during the excitement of a mission accomplished, but not like this, in gentle, soothing comfort. His chin rested on my hair. His arms were warm and sturdy. “Perhaps things worked out well enough. As you said, you didn’t have the strength to complete all five tonight. With Telarian and Sciatheric both dead, people might not even notice their marks were taken. Perhaps the other wizards won’t realize what’s happening yet.”
That was an optimistic hope, but I didn’t contradict him. I just kept leaning against Alaric. He smelled of hay. Bits of it clung to his tunic.
“You mustn’t lose courage now,” he murmured into my hair. “You’ll be able to take the other three marks tomorrow night. You’re right talented with magic. I can’t believe you know a spell for changing iron into plowshares off the top of your head.”
I hadn’t told him how I knew so many spells. Accepting the unearned praise felt like falsehood. I pulled away from him and flicked hay from my clothes. During our hug, several pieces had switched loyalties from Alaric to me. “What if I can’t accomplishthe task tomorrow? I’m not a real wizard.” As if to offer proof, I added, “I don’t even have a wizarding name.”
“Isn’t Marcella a fine enough name?”
“When apprentices graduate, their teachers give them a new name, one that describes them.”
Alaric’s eyebrows dipped together. “Redboot…” He rolled the word over on his tongue, considering it. “Perhaps his boots were red from wading through blood.”
Alaric might be right. Why else would Redboot have chosen that name? The moniker wasn’t about fashion.
Alaric tucked his hands behind his back, imitating a stance wizards frequently took. “I can name you easily enough. I christen you Silver Blade, our secret weapon, the one that will bring us salvation.” He held up a hand, fingers pointing to the sky. “You might think, and rightly so, that your title should be Red Blade, but no, you’re not a pair of boots that retains a stain. You won’t be tarnished by your doings.” He smiled, took my hand, and kissed it like I was a lady. “You’ll remain pure.”
I smiled weakly back at him. He was trying to make me feel better. But the name Silver Blade reminded me of the wand thrust into Sciatheric. It wasn’t a title I wanted. “I ought to return to my room. Gwenyth will be waiting for me.”
He nodded. “Goodnight, Silver Blade.”
I sighed. I would have to tell him later that I hated the name.
CHAPTER 18
The next morning at breakfast everyone was abuzz with news about Mage Sciatheric’s and Mage Telarian’s deaths.
“It’s shocking,” Madame Godfrey said in a thrilled whisper. “Two of the king’s wizarding council, murdering each other while we slept one floor below.”
Lord Percy popped a piece of cheese into his mouth with an unimpressed air. “They had a long-standing feud. They were bound to come to blows sooner or later.”
Thathadbeen a stroke of fortune. It would behoove me to know more about the wizards, such as who was likely to join forces to defeat an intruder. “Which of the king’s wizards are friends?” I asked.
Lord Percy nodded at me. “Touché, my lady.”