The Midnight Spy

  The MIDNIGHT SPY

  Copyright 2015 © Karen Hamilton

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover design by Kiki Hamilton

  This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.

  Published by Fair Wind Books

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition: September 2015

  ISBN: 978-1514283509

  LCCN: 2015910455

  CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

  North Charleston, South Carolina

  Also by Kiki Hamilton

  Fantasy

  THE FAERIE RING Series:

  The Faerie Ring

  The Torn Wing

  The Seven Year King

  The Faerie Queen

  Contemporary

  THE LAST DANCE

  With special thanks to Carly Hamilton

  The Midnight Spy

  This story is inspired by the prophetic quatrains written by Michele Nostradamus in the sixteenth century as documented within the Prophecies and the Centuries

  Ravensfell

  Berjerac, Sartis

  he Berjerac town clock tolled midnight, the rich tones of the bells echoing as Nica balanced precariously on the stone ledge outside her father’s study. Perched five stories above the cobblestone walkway, to fall would mean certain death. To be caught—perhaps the same end.

  She crouched in the shadows and held her breath. Her face, even her eyelids, were covered with black soot from the ashes of the fireplace. Every strand of long, blond hair was tucked beneath a black silk scarf worn low on her forehead, much like the pirates off the coast of Sartis.

  Before her, a lead-paned window had been thrust open, the metal hinges groaning in protest. Light from the room spilled out into the dark night like water seeping from a jug, creating a silhouette of the young man who stood at the opening. A shard of moonlight winked off the blade he held as he searched the darkness—for her.

  “Shanks, what are you doing?” A deep voice called from inside the room.

  Mediche, Nica swore. Of course it had to be Shanks who had spotted her. Most of the men in that room, including her father, wouldn’t consider the possibility that someone might risk their life traversing the razor thin ledge to spy on them. But this young man, Jonn Shanks, was new to her father’s assembly of soldiers. Nica suspected spying from the ledge was something he would think to do himself. Shanks was a mercenary—cut-throat, bloodthirsty and fearless—the type of soldier her father valued most. Which made him the type she valued least—and considered the biggest threat—for no one could know of her plan.

  Nica’s heart drummed in her throat as she watched him, every beat warning her of danger. She was too high to jump and the ledge was too narrow to move quickly in either direction. She stayed frozen as his gaze landed on her. The subtle shifting of his body, the repositioning of the dagger he clutched—told her she’d been found.

  She exhaled slowly, poised to react. Would he reveal her presence?

  “Shanks! Come here now.”

  Nica recognized her father’s impatient voice. She shuddered as she considered what Mosaba would do if he caught her spying on his meeting. She would receive no more mercy than any traitor. An image of the body that still swung from the turret wall filled her head.

  The clouds parted and the hazy glow of the moon illuminated the sharp angles of Jonn Shanks’ face. His gaze shifted from where she crouched on the ledge in the darkness to the walkway far below, as if to measure the distance. Then his head swung back toward her and he gave a brief nod. Was it in disbelief or approval?

  Shanks pulled the window closed as he turned back to the room. “Have you found the map then?”

  Nica slumped in relief against the stone wall. Safe—for the moment. Poised to retreat, she cast a last, calculating look toward the window. Had he latched the pane? She took a deep breath to ease the pounding in her chest. Did she dare try to listen in on the meeting again? She and Toppen, the wine-maker’s apprentice, had been planning for months—waiting for a time when her father would be traveling—to steal the maps they needed to escape from Sartis.

  “King Mosaba is taking people in the dark of night now.” Toppen’s whispered words echoed in Nica’s head. “Peylo Sipher’s brother was snatched two weeks ago. Not a word since they took him away.” His voice had been low and tense. “I heard there’s some secret project going on near the Great Divide that your father needs men to work on. It must be for this war with Jarisa. If you don’t volunteer he takes you.” Toppen’s usually smiling expression had been dark and furious. “Ruling Sartis isn’t enough for him. He wants to rule Jarisa too.”

  Nica inched toward the window, before she lost her nerve. There’d been a marked shift of activity at the castle in the last few days—messengers and soldiers coming and going. Something had happened. She and Toppen had agreed now was the time to go.

  She kept her fingers in firm contact with the stone and mortar of the rounded wall as she slid her boots along the uneven surface toward the window.

  Her heart pounded against her ribs making it difficult to breathe. She peered through the darkness—the leaded glass pane was ajar. She knelt under the window and closed her eyes to better concentrate on the conversation drifting through the small gap. The ominous words of her father were easy to hear.

  “The war has shifted in our favor. Amistad Jacoby has been captured.” Mosaba’s voice rang with triumph. “The King of Jarisa is now my prisoner. He’s being brought to Sartis as we speak.”

  A murmur rippled through the crowd of men gathered. The country of Jarisa was substantially larger than Sartis, both in population and land mass, boasting an army who had successfully garnered and maintained their military dominance over the continent for decades. To have attacked the king of Jarisa was an undertaking not without substantial risk.

  “We have severed the serpent’s head from its body,” Mosaba gloated. “Only one person of true power remains in Jarisa who could be any threat to us: Jacoby’s daughter, Jaaniyah. She is now the prize I seek.” He spoke with a frightening finality. “I want her captured and brought to me alive. If she dies, so does the man whose hand commits the deed.”

  Outside the window Nica shivered. Her father kept his word. She had the scars to prove it.

  “We can accomplish that task for you.” Nica recognized Shanks’ lilting brogue. The smoothness of his voice was a sharp contrast to the nasal, clipped tones of her father. “For a price.”

  Everything about the newcomer had a foreign cast, from his voice to the sun-bleached hair that reached to his shoulders, and a face so handsome she’d stopped in her tracks the first time she’d seen him. Luckily, she’d been hidden behind a carved screen and her reaction had gone unnoticed.

  “Anything for a price, isn’t that right, Mr. Shanks?” Mosaba said in a sly tone.

  “Usually.”

  A murmur rippled through the group. Shanks was bolder than most.

  Unable to resist, Nica stood up to peer into the room. She could see Shanks clearly. The flickering candlelight winked off the silver earrings embedded in the young man’s ears. He couldn’t be more than a year or two past her age of seventeen, yet he stood among the warriors in her father’s office addressing the king without fear.

  “The usual fees will apply,” he said, “with an additional charge due to the risk of kidnapping royalty, which, as you know, is punishable by death.” Shanks flashed Mosaba a charming smile. “I’m sure you u
nderstand.”

  Her father considered the younger man for a moment then a pleased smile crossed his weathered face. “Excellent.” Mosaba moved his large frame to the desk and began digging through a thick stack of maps. He pulled a page free and pinned it on the wall so all could see as he pointed to one spot. “We can set up camp here…”

  Nica inched higher to get a better view through the window. She needed to see which map her father was using. She had to know where the men were headed to pursue this Jaaniyah person because this was the chance they’d been waiting for to escape. When the soldiers left to capture the young Jarisan royal, she and Toppen intended to go in the opposite direction. She couldn’t stay in Sartis any longer. She was afraid to stay.

  Her movement outside the pane caught another soldier’s attention—a brute of a man named Ingnor. She’d seen him beating prisoners in the town center last winter. His heavy black brows pulled down over his meaty face as he strode toward the window.

  “Who’s out there?”

  Nica gasped and ducked to the side but her sudden shift in weight caused her foot to slide dangerously off the ledge. She swallowed a scream as her momentum carried her forward. Desperate to stop her fall, she clutched at the wall for a handhold, but her fingers only scraped the unyielding stones. An eerie sense of weightlessness filled her as she became airborne.

  scream gurgled in her throat as she fell, the wind cool against her cheeks. Instead of panic, disbelief filled her. She never slipped. Was a simple misstep to be the death of her?

  Before she could think of how to stop her downward flight, her left shoulder slammed into the stone head of a snarling gargoyle, four feet below the ledge. She hit so hard she expected the frightening visage to be severed from its crouched body. The force of impact propelled her back toward the building, beneath the ledge, and out of view from the window above. She clung to the tail of the creature to retain her purchase, painful gasps for air whistling from her throat. Above her head, the window closed with a thud.

  It was several long moments before Nica moved. Her legs trembled and she fought to control the quivers that wracked her body as she pushed herself to her feet. She gritted her teeth as she tried to breathe through the pain in her ribs. It wasn’t like her to fall.

  The cutting wind added to her shaken nerves, slowing her return as she inched to the nearby parapet. She shivered as she climbed back over the edge of the balcony to safety. Nica stood for a moment, willing her legs to stop shaking. She pulled her jacket tighter and wrapped her thin arms across her chest as she gazed over the town that stretched into the distance, measured by yellow orbs of muted candlelight burning behind shuttered windows. Was anywhere safe anymore? Certainly not in Sartis—not while her father ruled. His quest for power bordered on madness; He seemed willing to risk everything to achieve his goal of ruling both Sartis and Jarisa.

  Nica took a deep painful breath. She needed to keep moving—to get back to the safety of her rooms so tomorrow she could let Toppen know of Jacoby’s capture. She moved away from the balcony and ran her hand along the curved wall of the turret, fumbling for the stone that protruded from the rest. She reached between the blocks of rock where the mortar had been purposely eliminated to press a secret lever. Four of the large stones of the wall swung inward to reveal a small pass-through.

  Nica stepped into impenetrable blackness. She pushed the makeshift door back into place until the lever clicked and held her breath as she was submerged into darkness. She counted to ten to let her eyes adjust, and her heart to resume something closer to a normal pace. The darkness was dense and she slid her hands along the curved wall for balance as she eased her feet over the rough surface of the descending steps.

  The stairwell was narrow and crudely made, intended to be used as an escape route if departure through the main doors in the tower was not available. The steps led down to an underground tunnel that opened outside the gates.

  The shadows were always deep within the round tower but seemed especially dark tonight. The arrow slits in the wall, which also allowed light into the stairwell, were useless with a moon shuttered by clouds. Nica’s nerves were still ragged from her near fall and her knees wobbled like a cup of Cook’s pudding. She took a deep breath and squinted toward her feet, wishing for the eyes of a carpidi, those vicious cats that roamed the forests at night, to better see the uneven steps in the dark.

  A rush of air brushed her cheek.

  She stopped, a prickle crawling up her spine.

  Without warning, a hand wrapped in her hair and wrenched her head back. The cold edge of a blade pressed against her throat, strangling her scream to a gurgle.

  “Who are you?” The guttural tone of a Sartisian guard was harsh in her ear. She clutched at her assailant’s rock-hard wrist, but couldn’t force his grip to waver. Instead, the pressure against her throat increased. “I’ll release the blade enough for you to answer,” he said in a low voice. “Scream and it’ll be the last sound you ever make—do you understand me?”

  Nica gave a cautious nod.

  “Tell me your name.” The pressure eased but the blade remained sharp at her throat.

  “Madanica,” she choked out. “Mosaba’s daughter.”

  Utter silence filled the tower. Had he not heard her?

  The grip on her hair released though she didn’t dare straighten her head with the blade still pressed against her flesh. There was a scritch and a small flame flared, casting a flickering light across the curved stone wall in front of her. In one quick movement her assailant dropped the knife from her throat and yanked her around so the light illuminated her face. She could feel the sharp point of his knife now pressed against her jacket just below her heart.

  Nica gasped in surprise when the flame revealed the sculpted features of Jonn Shanks staring back at her with an equally startled expression. The corner of his mouth lifted in a mocking grin.

  “What have we here? A midnight spy?”

  She lifted her chin and hoped he couldn’t feel her knees shaking. “Release me.”

  Instead of releasing her, his eyes narrowed as he examined her features. “I didn’t know Mosaba had a daughter,” he said softly. “You wouldn’t be a spy and a liar, would you?”

  “It is a well-kept secret,” she snapped. “So his enemies can’t harm me. How did you come to speak Sartish so well?” When he’d questioned her, there’d been no trace of the lilting brogue she’d heard earlier.

  Instead of answering her question he measured her up and down. “How old are you?”

  Nica answered without thinking. “Seventeen.” She immediately wished she had lied and said an older age so that he would think her wiser.

  He tilted his head to the side as he examined her face with a strangely intense scrutiny. “Why are you disguised? Who is it you’re spying on?”

  With a start, Nica remembered the ashes she’d spread so carefully across her face earlier and the black scarf covering her hair. Bless the Ancients, what must he think? She tried to yank her arm free. “Release me now and I won’t report you to my father.”

  The orange light of the flame illuminated his handsome face as he leaned close. His blue eyes were fringed with black lashes so thick Nica couldn’t look away.

  “If you go quietly, I won’t report you to your father,” he said softly. The flame disappeared at the same moment he released her wrist.

  Nica didn’t hesitate. She turned and ran down the steps, praying her feet would find their way safely over the trip-stair. Two-thirds of the way down the stairwell she fumbled with the handle on a small door leading to the back of a linen closet. Blood pounded so loudly in her ears she couldn’t hear if he was behind her or not. She crawled across the freshly laundered pile of linens and cracked the door open at the other end to peer into a dim passageway.

  It was past midnight and the corridors were empty. She slid from the linen storage and stayed close to the shadow-shrouded walls as she wound her way back to the safety of her rooms. Once there, sh
e pulled the black scarf from her head to release her blond hair and gazed at the reflection in the mirror. Frightened eyes surrounded by black soot and as grey as a storm on the Nephalon Sea stared back at her. Would Jonn Shanks keep her secret?

  veryone had left the dining area by the time Nica arrived downstairs for breakfast the next morning. She glanced into the large, round room as she passed into the servant’s corridor on her way to the screened area where her father insisted she eat alone. She wasn’t allowed to mingle with the soldiers or the servants, though she did like to watch from afar, and knew all of them by name, even if they didn’t know her.

  The soldiers were particularly interesting. Many were strong and fierce—warriors by nature, like Frinder Bosk and Shuster Simmons, but others put on a bravado that dropped away when they didn’t know anyone was watching. Willie Parsons’ wife had just had twins and he often came to the castle with baby food stains on his uniform looking like he hadn’t slept in days. More than once he’d sneaked into one of the small storage closets off the dining hall and taken a nap during the day.

  Hesper Jenkins, one of the younger soldiers with black hair and a shadow of a moustache on his upper lip, liked to sing ballads under the light of the moon. Recently, he’d taken to helping the stable master break some of the young stallions. Nica wondered if he hoped the other men might think him more of a man if he could break the wild horses. He’d been limping something awful the last week and Nica had heard several of the maids giggling about wanting to massage his backside, where apparently he’d landed more than once.

  And then there the servants—many had worked at the castle all their lives. Old fat, bossy women like Mistress Hedgepin and Aria Shipe. Other, middle-aged maids with lots of children at home, whose faces sagged with exhaustion from the constant toil of their existence.