Assassin's Blood

  Assassin’s Blood

  Marina Finlayson

  Copyright © 2019 Marina Finlayson

  www.marinafinlayson.com

  All rights reserved.

  The right of Marina Finlayson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright Act 1968 (Cth).

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the author.

  Cover design by Karri Klawiter

  Editing by Larks & Katydids

  Published by Finesse Solutions Pty Ltd

  2019/10

  Author’s note: This book was written and produced in Australia and uses British/Australian spelling conventions, such as “colour” instead of “color”, and “-ise” endings instead of “-ize” on words like “realise”.

  To be notified when Marina Finlayson’s next novel is released, plus get special deals and other book news, sign up for her newsletter at:

  www.marinafinlayson.com/mailing-list

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Excerpt: Changeling Exile

  Also by Marina Finlayson

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  I had contemplated murder once or twice before, but never as seriously as now.

  Lily Brenfell, princess of the Realms and heir to the throne of Faerie, had only been staying with us for two weeks, but already I wanted to stab her in the face with a fork. It turned out that in real life, fairy princesses weren’t the ethereal creatures of love and beauty that the stories made them out to be. They were actually right royal pains in the arse.

  Oh, she was beautiful all right—if you were prepared to ignore the sullen look she perpetually wore on that flawless face—but on the inside? Let’s just say that her personality left a lot to be desired.

  I stopped in the doorway and surveyed the long oak dining table, with her planted at the head of it like some poisonous spider splayed over its web. Like she had a right to claim the head of the table in someone else’s house. “You know,” I said, “if it wasn’t for that stupid curse that protects your family, someone would have bumped you off by now.”

  She looked at me down that long, straight Brenfell nose, as if wondering what dark hole I’d just crawled out of, and a frown of confusion creased her perfect brow. “Bumped me off? You’re speaking gibberish, Sage.”

  Our pampered princess wasn’t up with the human lingo, having spent her whole life being cosseted in the palace at Whitehaven—whereas I’d spent the years since my exile from the fae Realms learning everything I could, trying to fit in with the humans all around me.

  “Killed you. Murdered you. Ended your pathetic, whiny existence.”

  “They wouldn’t dare.”

  “Wouldn’t they? Let’s not tempt fate, princess. Maybe that curse is a crock of shit after all. Do you really want to find out?”

  I’d started having breakfast earlier so I could enjoy the peace of the garden. In the way of Spring architecture, one long side of the room was open to its greenery, and the gentle trickle of the fountain and the chirping of birds was a much nicer soundtrack to my meal than her whining about how badly she was being treated. But here she was, already seated, though it was barely seven o’clock, demanding that Zinnia serve her fried eggs.

  Poor Zinnia was not equipped to deal with someone like Lily. She was too soft, both in appearance and nature, with sweet brown eyes and hair like corn silk loosely braided. Her lips were usually curved in a friendly smile, but at the moment she looked flustered, and I could tell by the number of plates with barely touched meals on them that this wasn’t her first attempt to placate Princess Bitchface.

  “Not like that,” Lily said sharply. “Not with the eggs touching the bacon.”

  “Sorry, Your Highness.” Zinnia nudged the offending egg away from three strips of crunchy bacon, but there were still eggy smears left on the meat. My mouth began to water at the smell, and I headed for the sideboard to serve myself from a covered platter. I had a big day ahead, and I needed the energy.

  “Zinnia, why are you even bothering?” I asked as I heaped my plate with strips of bacon and mushrooms perfectly fried in butter. “You know she’ll only take two bites and say it’s not as good as the eggs at Whitehaven.”

  Nothing here was as good as it was at Whitehaven, apparently, and the exiled princess was more than happy to remind us of that fact at least twenty times a day.

  Lily shot me a filthy look. “The servants were certainly better at Whitehaven. They at least knew how to serve a meal properly.”

  Unmoved by the royal displeasure, I sat down at the other end of the table, as far away as I could get, and began shoveling food into my mouth. “See, you have two problems there. The first is that you’ve mistaken Zinnia for a servant.”

  One perfectly arched black eyebrow rose even higher. “She is a servant.”

  “No. Here in the mortal world, we don’t have servants. Zinnia is staff, and her job is to cook, not to wait on you hand and foot.”

  Zinnia made a small noise of protest, as if she could think of no better reason for existence than waiting on the king’s daughter hand and foot. I ignored her.

  “And the second problem?”

  I gave Lily a greasy bacon grin. “The second problem is that you assume anyone gives a crap about your comfort or your precious princess feelings.”

  Her nostrils flared as she breathed out in a huff. “My father will hear of this.”

  My grin turned into a laugh, which made her fume even more. “Your father is number one on the list of people who don’t give a crap about your feelings, honey. You’d still be in your beloved palace otherwise.”

  King Rothbold had sent his errant daughter here, not just to be a pain in our necks—though she was certainly achieving that—but to experience the human world. And to learn a little humility. The king had specifically asked us to treat her as an equal, and I was more than happy to dispense with the bowing and scraping.

  Lily wasn’t quite as keen on the arrangement. She was the archetype of everything that was wrong with your average stuck-up fae—so much so that sometimes she felt more like a caricature than a real person. Every time she treated Zinnia like dirt, or looked down her long nose at me, I half expected her to laugh, as if it was all a great joke.

  But she was for real. She really did think she was better than literally everyone else and deserved special treatment. I shuddered to think what the Realms would be like with her on the throne. Rothbold could live forever, as far as I was concerned. He was hoping that it wasn’t too late to change his daughter’s character—she was only twenty, which was pretty young
for a human, much less a fae—but we had our work cut out for us.

  That was, if we could resist the urge to kill her. I didn’t like our chances. Willow was a little more patient than me, but if this was how things stood after two weeks, I wasn’t sure how much more we could take. Thank the Lady I wasn’t on princess-sitting duty today. A whole day without her snide comments and bitchy looks—heaven.

  I glanced at Zinnia. “Why are you even here, encouraging her bullshit? Wait, are you crying?”

  Zinnia scrubbed at her flushed cheek and glanced nervously at Lily. “The princess needed—”

  I cut her off. “The princess needs to learn some goddamn manners.” I stood up. “Give me those.”

  Uncertainly, Zinnia offered me the dish of eggs and backed away. Lily said nothing, only pressed her lips together in a clear sign of displeasure, turning back to her breakfast as if she thought ignoring me would make a difference.

  “Want some more eggs, princess?” I asked as I strolled the length of the room.

  “No.”

  “See? There you go again with the manners thing. You mean no, thank you.”

  “I said what I meant.”

  Lady save me. Why couldn’t the king have found someone else to turn his daughter into a decent person? Admittedly, people he could trust were kind of thin on the ground lately, and Willow and I had helped save his life and his throne, but still—this was one honour I could have done without.

  I reached her side. The golden globes of the egg yolks wobbled slightly in the middle of each perfectly fried white circle, ready to ooze their saffron goodness at the first touch of a fork. “Then you have a problem. If you don’t apologise to Zinnia immediately for making her cry, I’m going to dump these eggs all over you.”

  Storm clouds roiled in her eyes as she put her cutlery down and braced herself against the table.

  “Uh-uh. If you push that chair back, you get egged. If you don’t say sorry in the next three seconds, you get egged.” I hoisted the dish over her head. “Really, there’s only one path that leads to you getting out of here egg-free.”

  Lily’s eyes narrowed. “You insolent halfbreed. I will bury you.”

  “Not with Earth magic, you won’t.” My hands clenched on the dish, resisting the urge to dash the eggs in her face. Noble fae always resorted to the halfbreed insult in the end. After all these years, it shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did. “You took the hearth vow, so no nasty attacks for you.”

  “The vow binds you as well,” she pointed out, triumph in her tone.

  I laughed. “Neither of us are allowed to harm the other while we are under Willow’s roof—but I don’t think a little spilled egg counts as harm.” I tilted the plate, letting the eggs slide closer to the edge. “Tick tock, princess. Zinnia is waiting.”

  “Sage, please,” Zinnia said. “It was nothing. Please don’t—”

  She had her white apron bunched in her hands, gazing at me imploringly from the other end of the table. Zinnia had been through enough lately, with the attack on the sith and the death of Nevith. She didn’t need some stuck-up princess lording it over her and giving us all indigestion.

  “It’s not nothing. You’re no less deserving of respect just because you wear an apron and she wears a crown. You go have your own breakfast. I’ll deal with this.”

  “What are you dealing with?” a new voice asked.

  Willow stood in the doorway, her considerable curves on display in tight jeans and an even tighter top. Her wild red curls were pulled back this morning, confined—barely—in a loose ponytail, giving me an uninterrupted view of her frown. She looked at the eggs, then back at me in clear exasperation.

  “Just explaining the local customs to Lily.”

  “Perhaps you could do it without wasting a plate of perfectly good eggs. I’m hungry.” She strode the length of the dining table and tried to take the plate from my hand. I held on.

  “She needs to apologise.” We glared at each other over the plate. “She made Zinnia cry.”

  Zinnia, never keen on confrontation, chose that moment to slip from the room.

  “Looks like Zinnia doesn’t want an apology,” Willow said. “How about we cut Her Highness some slack? She’s been through a tough time lately.”

  “So has Zinnia,” I said. “Nevith was like a son to her.”

  And a good friend to me, though I didn’t add that. And now he was dead, caught up in the power struggles of the nobility through no fault of his own. Slaughtered by assassins who’d used him to gain entrance to our sith. We’d found his body in our neighbour’s garden, cast aside as thoughtlessly as an apple core when all the good parts had been eaten.

  “Sage.”

  I held her gaze for a long moment, then sighed. “Fine.”

  I let go of the plate and stalked back to my own cooling breakfast, my temper frayed. I crammed the last of the bacon into my mouth and washed it down with a gulp of coffee, trying not to listen to the long list of complaints Lily was laying before Willow. It would only stoke my anger again, and I’d given our errant princess enough of my attention for one day.

  But it was hard not to listen as Lily’s voice rose. Willow didn’t normally have a high tolerance for bullshit, but she’d been making a special effort with our unwelcome house guest. In my unkinder moments, I wondered if that was because Willow herself was nobility, the heir to the Realm of Spring. She had a keener sense of what was due to rank than I did.

  But I could tell even she was reaching the end of her tether when she snapped, “But what do you need a maid for?” Lily launched into an explanation, but Willow cut her off. “I’ll speak to your father tonight and see what can be arranged.”

  “You’re going to Whitehaven tonight? Take me with you!”

  I couldn’t resist a jab. “You’re not invited, princess.”

  The royal eyebrow arched once more. “Invited? To what?”

  Willow shot me a furious look, and I remembered belatedly that we’d agreed not to mention the ascension to Lily.

  She sighed. “To the ascension.”

  Tonight, Allegra would swear allegiance to the king and be formally recognised as the new Lady of Illusion. Illusion’s gain was our loss; her new life had left a big hole in ours. It was a pretty sucky trade, actually—Allegra for the princess. We’d definitely gotten the raw end of the deal there, and we’d had to knock back a couple of gigs, since it was impossible to play without a lead guitarist. Finding a new one was a top priority, but no one could replace Allegra in our lives, however skilled they were as a musician.

  Lily’s hand fluttered at her throat. “That’s tonight? But—but the royal family always attends ascensions.”

  “The king and queen will be there,” Willow said, “and all the Lords. That’s enough.”

  Allegra wasn’t the only one taking their place among the Lords tonight. Merritt would become the Lord of Summer at the same time. I certainly wasn’t looking forward to seeing him as much as I was Allegra, but of course, Lily had different priorities.

  “But I must be there to see Merritt’s ascension! We are practically engaged! Surely my father doesn’t really mean to exclude me.”

  Whatever she felt for the new Lord of Summer, I was pretty sure he didn’t return the feeling. He barely seemed to notice her when they were together.

  “I think that’s the problem, Highness,” Willow said. “Your father doesn’t approve of the match.”

  Lily pushed her chair back and grabbed Willow’s arm. “Take me with you! This is outrageous. My whole family will be there and not me?”

  I wiped my mouth with a serviette and stood up, too. “Family is so important to you all of a sudden? You didn’t even realise your own uncle was an imposter.”

  The man who’d been warming the seat of the Lord of Summer for the last twenty years—the queen’s brother, supposedly, who’d held a position of such power that he’d nearly succeeded in ousting the king—had in fact been an Illusionist, wearing another’
s appearance all these years.

  She stilled, then turned a frigid glare on me. “He may have been an imposter, but he was the only uncle I ever knew. And now he’s dead. I need to be there when Merritt takes his place. This will be a difficult time for him.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Willow said, more gently than I would have. “The king’s instructions were quite clear on that point.”

  “But what about me? What am I supposed to do while you’re all off at the ascension?”

  “What about you?” I snapped. “We’re not a troop of dancing monkeys employed to keep you entertained.”

  Willow glared at me before addressing the princess. “Rowan is coming over to keep you company.”

  Rowan was the drummer in our band and wrote all our original songs, but he was never happy in the limelight. He would seize on any excuse to miss a grand gathering such as this—despite the honour of having been invited—and was prepared to forgo Allegra’s big moment, even if it meant being saddled with a grumpy princess.

  “Rowan?” Her lip quirked in an expression of distaste. “A deerkin with no conversation? What am I supposed to do with him?”

  “He’s going to take you to the supermarket. Zinnia has a shopping list.”

  She drew herself up. “A shopping list? You expect me to run errands like a scullery boy?”