The Miscreant (An Assassin's Blade Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

their armies down.
    The old men’s names eluded me, but they were lords of nearby provinces. The others at the table probably held similar titles. Kings don’t often call to court their vassals, so this was all rather worrying.
    “Do you know how many times I wore fur and tights in Icerun?” he asked, heavy boots splashing into a shallow pool.
    We walked toward the fountain in the center of the market square. A merchant bowed his head, called Patrick his lord and offered him a free turnip. The king of Edenvaile grumbled and made his way toward the keep.
    “Kingship here isn’t quite the same as it was in Icerun, is it?” I asked.
    “In that old home of mine,” he said, “I drank with farmers and cobblers and smiths. Laughed with seamstresses, walked with tailors and ate bread fresh out of the hearth with bakers. You walk by a man here and he steeples his hands like you’re a god.” He looked over his shoulder at me and said, “It’s why I’m going home. As soon as I can.”
    “Which is when?”
    “That depends,” he said, walking up the steps to the keep, “if you would like to fill your coffers.”
    “They’re already rather full.”
    Two guards saluted Patrick and opened the keep doors. Into the stone fortress we went.
    “Mm,” Patrick grunted. “That’s disappointing.”
    Black carpet trimmed with gold clomped up beneath our wet boots. Patrick took the grand staircase all the way up to the royal quarters. Nostalgia chilled my bones as the memories of this place stabbed my mind. Last time I was here, I’d ended the conjurers. At least I thought so. Maybe I was wrong.
    A couple Verdan royal guardsmen in brushed steel helmets acknowledged Patrick. They grasped the handles of the double doors leading to his quarters.
    The king had none of it. He waved the men away and let us in himself. He kicked the door closed, plucked the golden pins holding his cloak in place, then tossed the furry thing across the room.
    He ran his fingers through his curly hair. “I need poison,” he said. “I’m not knowledgeable of ways to kill a man silently and without raising questions. So I thought I’d talk to someone who is.”
    I strolled around the expansive room. It looked vastly different than when Vileoux had held the crown. Gone were the banners with golden swords and the paintings of old Verdan kings. A painted sign that read “The Might of the North” had been taken down, and various decorations featuring the family’s trio of swords were missing.
    “For someone who apparently doesn’t like to play the game,” I said, “your request is rather unusual.”
    “Darvin Fausting, lord of High Pitch, will want this throne. I prefer handing it over to Keira Gultz. She’s been the lady of Montfall for fifteen years. Land used to be wild, constantly overrun by tribes and smaller families. She brokered peace and has maintained that peace ever since. She’s level-headed, calm. Fausting is old in the body and in his ways. He’s war-hungry. He won’t let Keira take the crown without a fight. So I want him put away.”
    “And you think I have the skills to do so?”
    Patrick untied his boots and removed them. He massaged his feet. “I have contacts who will be willing to carry it out. All I need from the Black Rot is the poison.”
    I went over to a closed window and looked out across the sage-green landscape of grass that had thawed for the first time in a long while. “Not much left of the Black Rot anymore. But I might be able to get you some good poison, if you tell me where Vayle is.”
    “Passed through two days ago,” Patrick said. “She has a camp north of here, in the gully of the mountains, beneath Grayman’s Bridge.”
    “Don’t know the name,” I admitted, “but I’m sure I can find it.”
    “You’d have to be blind not to see it. It’s a two-hundred-foot bridge that connects one peak to another. I’ll give you twenty thousand for the poison. When can you get it by?”
    I pushed