Short Fiction

To Guard a Queen- originally published in The King in the Tower and Other Stories collection, 2022

One

Alex circled his opponent, watching the other man’s eyes, waiting for the telltale flicker that would tell him which way to lunge.

His attention wanted to wander to the officers lined up against the wall, especially to the one on the end in the gilded breastplate with the plumed helm under his arm. But Alex had been taught to treat every battle as if it could be his last, and this would be the most important battle of his life, so long as he could concentrate.

His opponent moved smoothly across the woven mats and Alex let his focus narrow to the other man, cataloging everything useful. Not his clothes; those could be changed. But things like his hands: perfectly manicured. His face: clear and fair. He hadn’t seen a lot of sun or weather. Nor did he have any soot from the city under his nails.

A noble, then. Someone with enough money to study with the best Disciples of Discipline, Saint of Combat. Probably Master Rowan. He trained most of the nobles. Which meant when this man attacked he would favor a blow-feint pattern from the right.

Sure enough, the man’s eyes twitched, and he went for the offensive. Alex moved at the same time, stepping in around his guard and bringing his knee up into the other man’s gut. His opponent doubled up, looking vulnerable, but he aimed a clever strike at Alex’s foot which would break bone and bring him down permanently. 

Alex twisted, smashed the man’s nose with his knee, and knocked him flat against the mats.

Treat every battle as if it could be your last and you’ll never be surprised that someone wants to kill you.

The noble grimaced through his bloody nose and tapped the mat, admitting defeat while the officers along the wall clapped politely. One or two murmured in appreciation. If Alex had done well enough, they would offer him a commission with the armed forces. Maybe a captaincy in Valeria’s army. Or as a lieutenant in the navy. Generals always watched the final trials of the Disciples, looking for the best fighters. But Alex didn’t care about any of them.

He watched the one on the end in the distinctive breastplate. Commander of the ServantGuard. One hundred men and women chosen from the best of the best to protect the Queen herself.

Commander Olson didn’t move, surveying the aftermath of the fight with narrowed eyes.

Alex realized he was staring and stood abruptly. He didn’t need to look so desperate. He’d either done well or he hadn’t. Too late to go back now.

He brushed his palms on his loose trousers and offered his opponent a hand up. “Nice fight,” he said with a grin. “I liked your counter move with the foot. It would have put me out for the rest of the year if it had landed.”

The other man hesitated, his brow going tight, fluctuating between anger and confusion. Finally, Alex’s open friendliness won and the man took the hand he offered.

“What gave me away?” he said as Alex helped him to his feet.

“Nothing really, just a feeling. You had two options. Either my foot or my knee, and I didn’t see you going for my knee.”

“Huh.” The other man held his hand to his nose, trying to staunch the bleeding. “Good call.” He glanced in the direction of the generals, shoulders slumped. “I hope you get a good commission out of it.”

“Thanks.”

The young man moved off toward the other side of the practice room where his friends gathered to commiserate.

Alex turned but no one stood at his corner. His easy grin and cheerfulness made him well-liked, but in a general sort of way. He spent too much time in the practice ring to make a lot of friends.

He ran a hand over his face and finally turned to face the generals and their verdict, and his heart sank. They stood, heads bent, comparing notes. But the spot on the end was vacant. 

Commander Olson had gone.

Even now the generals were straightening, dismissing him and turning their attention to the next two men to enter the ring. Alex got a dirty look from one, and he skipped out of the way, back to the side where he could let the numbness sweep over him.

He’d blown it. He’d had one chance this year to get noticed by the commander of the ServantGuard, to stand out from all the others and earn a place in the highest echelon of service in Valeria. And he’d mucked it up somehow.

He snatched up a towel and moved to the window where he wiped down his neck and chest. Outside, spring blossoms left a patina of pink and white across the cobblestone streets, but his eye gravitated to the Blue Palace with its distinctive roof and the dome topped with a golden angel which scraped the sky.

He’d been so close. 

What would his da say?

“Nielson,” a gruff voice said behind him.

He turned to greet Master Echols with a quick salute. The man had served as Master of the Namerre Guard for thirty years before he’d become a Disciple of Saint Discipline, and he still expected the same respect from his recruits. The Disciple rubbed his short beard which was still stark black and thick.

“Good fight,” he said. “But I want you to work on strengthening your left side blocks and right side hits.”

“Yes, sir,” Alex said, shoving down his disappointment and focusing on the critique. Master Echols believed you could always do better.

“And here,” he said without fanfare or preamble and shoved a white envelope at Alex.

Alex fumbled it, brow furrowed. 

“I want you working on those blocks,” Master Echols said. “Even when you’re wearing one of those fancy uniforms.”

Alex’s breath caught as he tore open the envelope and read the words.

Commissioned. ServantGuard. Report to Commander Olson. Active service.

His fingers tightened on the edge of the crisp paper. He’d made it.

Two

Alex had imagined something a little more grand than walking to the palace. Like stepping out of a carriage into the Grand Foyer. And being greeted by the Queen herself. He’d even imagined the softness of her hand as he kissed it. 

As usual, reality proved more mundane. The service road led down along the side of the Blue Palace, under one wing and into the stable yard. 

An hostler shouted at him to stop gawking and move his ass. Alex leaped back, narrowly missing a horse trough. He grinned as the hostler led a fine gray horse across the gravel. 

He touched the paper in his pocket just to make sure it was still there and his hand tightened on the strap of his duffel bag. Hopefully the first day of Guard training would include a tour. He’d studied blueprints of the palace, of course, but it was one thing to memorize lines on a paper and another thing to have a carriage jump out and run you over.

Alex trotted toward a wall of the stable yard where he didn’t feel so in the way and rotated to get his bearings. Stables and kennels on one side, kitchen and workshops around the corner. And the King’s Gallery with its rows of gleaming windows closing in the square on the other side. 

He took a moment, surrounded by the grandeur, to grin up at the clouds and murmur under his breath. “I made it, Da. It all paid off.”

The thought came with the familiar memory of sitting on his da’s shoulders, cheering as the royal family passed in their gilded carriage. Parades didn’t come down by the docks, so they’d gone up to the big street where the upper classes did their shopping in order to catch a glimpse of the King and Queen and their honey-haired princess, Rebekah. 

Alex had watched enraptured as she’d passed, surrounded by gold and silver breastplates and dark uniforms trimmed with indigo. And somewhere in his head he’d made the connection that the only ones allowed that close to the princess wore the shiny armor and carried the swords that protected her.

Now, finally, he’d get to carry the sword and wear the armor. As long as he managed to find the commander’s office.

A clattering behind him made him spin, and he dodged a group of riders just exiting the stables. Between the horses’ flanks he caught a glimpse of honey-blonde hair and a coronet. Two guards in the indigo trimmed uniforms flanked the Queen as she rode out of the yard.

It wasn’t a personal greeting or a kiss on the hand, but Alex decided to take it as a good omen all the same. 

“Excuse me,” Alex said to a gardener who studied the grass intently only a few feet away. He concentrated on getting the words out without the clipped vowels common in the lower sections of the city. “Could you tell me how to get to the Guard Tower? I know there’s supposed to be a staircase around here.” 

The gardener glared up at him from under a wide-brimmed hat, and Alex almost jumped back in surprise. He controlled his reaction just in time. The man had the lightest blue eyes he’d ever seen. Almost gray. It made for an eerie gaze.

He looked Alex up and down in one swift movement, then ducked to hide his face again. With his head bowed and gaze hidden, the gardener became forgettable. 

“In the corner. Behind the forge. Stairs up there.”

“Thanks,” Alex said with a broad smile, but it was wasted on the gardener who had gone back to his grass.

Alex’s lips twisted before he made for the forge. A farrier and a blacksmith shared the space in the corner between the stables and the rest of the workshops, and Alex tipped his hat to them before trotting up the stairs. On the first floor of the palace they opened out into a ready room with lockers and benches. 

And across the hallway was the Guard Commander’s Office, the duty roster posted outside. He knocked and waited for permission to enter before stepping inside and standing at attention in front of the desk.

“Lieutenant Nielson reporting for duty, sir.”

Three

The ServantGuard didn’t wear the breastplates all the time. Only when they were on duty in the Queen’s presence in an official capacity.

Alex didn’t get to wear his until his second month when the summer heat and direct sunlight made him broil inside it like a tin can set on a lit stove.

The Queen had chosen to walk in the gardens with the Torracan ambassador and Alex stood, one of ten Guards lining the pathways. He wondered if the Queen had chosen this garden in particular for the way the sun came over the library roof and struck blinding sparks from their silver and gold. Perhaps she needed to impress the ambassador today. 

Alex squinted, careful not to let the light distract him. There was a trick to keeping your head in one place and still managing to see everything that passed in front of you. Alex kept his focus on the greenhouses that lined the paths and the spaces between them, trusting the Guards opposite him to be watching behind his back.

Just as the Queen passed and Alex fought not to glance at her in her sleek bustled gown, a figure slipped between the greenhouses to kneel beside a hedge with a pair of clippers. 

Alex’s eyes narrowed. The man wore a nondescript pair of overalls and a wide-brimmed hat that hid his face—clearly a gardener—but something about the way he moved set Alex’s teeth on edge.

Beneath his uniform, Alex’s shoulders bunched, waiting for a threat. And while he waited, his thoughts raced, trying to pinpoint what exactly had caught his attention.

Gardeners were always moving around the gardens. That was their job. They were ubiquitous and usually discreet enough you didn’t notice them. Certainly neither the Queen nor the ambassador had turned. And the man wasn’t doing anything untoward. Just trimming a few loose twigs from the hedge. He kept his movements minimal and efficient.

But his eyes weren’t on his work. They darted everywhere, taking everything in.

And Alex was sure he recognized that light-eyed gaze. 

The gardener stood, met his eyes, and then hunched toward a nearby greenhouse, disappearing from view.

Alex unclenched his teeth. If he could have shaken himself, he would have. He was being ridiculous. His first time on duty in front of the Queen. Clearly he wanted to prove himself, but getting all worried over a gardener was a great way to get himself laughed out of the ServantGuard.

And it wasn’t like he could put words to whatever it was that bothered him. The man moved like a gardener.

But also…more than a gardener.

It wasn’t the last time Alex worried about him either. Queen Rebekah loved to walk in the gardens, especially in the hot summer months, and Alex found himself posted along lots of pathways, beside fountains, outside of greenhouses. And he saw many discreet gardeners going about their duties, weeding or…doing whatever else gardeners were supposed to do. Alex was a little vague on those details. 

And everywhere the Queen went, the light-eyed gardener showed up like clockwork. 

Now that he was watching, Alex saw the man everywhere. 

What the hell?

Alex tried to follow him twice, although he wasn’t sure what he would actually do if he managed to corner the man. But both times the gardener lost him in seconds. And that only made his gut squirm worse.

Nine weeks after he first started, Alex reported to the ServantGuard commander’s office.

He knocked and stood at attention until someone called, “Enter.”

Alex let himself in. Then stopped when he realized Commander Olson was already in a meeting.

A stranger in a dark three piece suit, expertly tailored with a pale pink tie stood before the commander’s desk, hip cocked casually.

“I’m just asking you to let us do our jobs, my lord,” Commander Olson said to the tall man.

“You do your jobs admirably, commander,” the stranger said. “So pretty and glittery. You draw the eye so well.”

He turned to leave.

Behind him, Commander Olson’s face went purple and he rose from his desk. “Lord Martin.”

The man didn’t turn or acknowledge him. His gaze swept over Alex as he stepped from the office, a little smile playing with his lips.

Alex let his commanding officer sink back into his chair before moving to stand before him. 

He saluted. “Sir.”

Commander Olson waved his hand. “At ease, lieutenant.”

Alex couldn’t help glancing at the door. Commander Olson was normally a quiet and efficient man who loved paperwork and could still dump every Guard lieutenant on their ass with or without a weapon. In the time he’d served in the palace Alex had never seen him less than amiable, and he couldn’t imagine what it would take to make the man turn purple.

The commander saw his look. “Never mind Lord Martin,” Olson said. “He and I have disagreed for years and I’m not sure anything is going to change his mind. I will simply have to outlive him.”

Alex kept a straight face. The lord had looked Olson’s junior by several years.

Olson eyed him. “You may laugh. It was supposed to be a joke.”

Alex smiled uncertainly.

Olson straightened some papers on his desk. “Your captain said you wanted to talk to me.”

“Yes sir.”

“You can relax a little, lieutenant. You’ve done very well here so far. Made some good impressions. Your captain says you’re always on time, properly turned out, and you’ve never received a reprimand.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“So why did you want to bother your commander?”

Alex gulped. The man didn’t look angry, but he’d just proved he could get there. “I had a question, sir.”

“Then ask it.”

“We guard the Queen…”

Olson folded his hands. “That is what the uniform means, yes.”

Alex flushed. “I mean, I know the regulations by heart, sir. But what if something isn’t in the regulations? What if we see something and there’s no rule for it?”

The commander’s eyes narrowed. “Have you seen something?”

“I don’t know, sir. There isn’t a regulation for something that makes my gut squirm.”

Olson didn’t laugh, for which Alex was grateful. He sat back in his chair and stared at Alex for a moment before answering. “What’s the very first oath we took as ServantGuard?” he said.

Alex straightened and recited, “I swear on my life and my blood to protect my ruling master, to lay down my whole self in service to them and their line, to sacrifice everything for the throne of Valeria and everything it stands for.”

Olson nodded. “That is the regulation we follow above all the rest. Use it as your guide.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed in thought, but he nodded. 

“And Lieutenant, we were chosen because we are the best. I trust your judgment, so you should, too. Does that answer your question?”

Alex saluted, feeling much better. “Yes, sir.”

Four

The next time Alex saw the gardener he didn’t hesitate.

The man worked quietly in the shade of a tree while the Queen sat with three ladies and a gentleman down the path. Alex watched him pick something small out of the roots of the tree, look at it closely, and slip it into his pocket.

When the gardener stood and moved away toward the palace, Alex signaled one of his fellow Guard to move closer and fill in the gap while he slipped away down the path to follow. 

This time Alex kept the man in sight by anticipating his route and staying ahead of him. 

Finally, the gardener came to a little door beside the kennels, under the arch of the palace. In the shadows, Alex pounced.

He grabbed the man’s arm. “What do you—”

The man twisted and thrust his elbow up into Alex’s nose. Alex managed to dodge, and the blow landed in his eye instead. 

He’d just wanted to question the man but training and instinct took over. Alex blinked away stars just in time to block a kick. Alex grabbed his foot and twisted to throw the man to the ground. It was a move the Guard practiced over and over until they could throw a man twice their weight.

The gardener flipped himself upright and now Alex had proof that the man was more than just a green thumb. Alex threw himself on the gardener determined to keep him from getting away. He got a knee in his groin for the trouble. When the man grabbed his arms, Alex pushed both thumbnails into the soft spots on his elbows. 

The man yelped and let go, shaking his hands. 

The Guard hadn’t taught Alex that one; he’d learned it down by the docks when he was seven and bigger boys liked to grab him.

Alex used the moment of distraction to flat out punch him. Then he flipped the gardener around and pulled his arms up behind him so the culprit couldn’t move. “Now, stop,” he said between gasps. “You’re caught, you hear? This will go easier for you if you cooperate.”

“I’m sorry,” the man said, his voice muffled by the pavement pressed against his cheek. “I’m sorry. Please don’t hurt me. I’m just a gardener. You scared me and I fought back.”

The man cowered and Alex frowned, thrown for a second by the complete change. 

“Don’t do that. I already have you figured out. It’s no use trying to pretend now.”

The man’s mouth twisted and he rolled his eyes up at Alex. “Maybe not,” he said, his voice losing that whine. “But I am just a gardener.”

“Right,” Alex said. “And I suppose all palace gardeners are taught to fight hand to hand.”

“You’d be surprised,” the man muttered.

Alex dug in the man’s pocket and came out with a disk of wood the same size as a coin. He couldn’t see it too well in the shadows under the palace, but he could feel the markings around the edges.

“The same way all gardeners carry spell foci in their pockets?” 

The man spat. “Does your commander teach you to fight dirty? I’ve only seen that trick down by the docks.”

Alex pressed harder against the man’s back and he hissed. “What is this?” Alex said. “What have you been doing, following the Queen around?”

“I’m not following her. I’m doing my job. I’m a gardener, and I found that thing in the garden. Look, I work here,” the gardener said. “You can talk to my boss if you don’t believe me.”

Alex hesitated. He’d followed his instincts and cornered the guy, but now what? 

“All right, look, if that’s true, you can come and answer some questions and then go about your duties. You won’t get in trouble. As long as you cooperate.”

Alex stood and let the gardener pick himself up off the ground, but he kept close and the moment the other man was upright he grasped his shoulder. 

The man raised his eyebrows. “The commander’s office, then?”

When he dragged a reluctant gardener through the door, Commander Olson gave him an incredulous look from behind his desk.

“Lieutenant?” he said and raised his eyebrows.

“Sir,” Alex said and swallowed. “You told me to trust my gut and my gut told me to watch this guy. He’s been skulking around for weeks. Today, I found this on him.”

Alex placed the spell focus on the Commander’s desk. The man frowned down at it. In the light, the markings around the edge were much clearer. And quite damning.

Commander Olson tapped the wooden coin. “Care to explain?”

The gardener snatched the hat from his head, his strange light eyes wide with the same feigned fear from before. “Found it, sirs. Under the tree. Didn’t think it looked right.”

“You’ve been following the queen for weeks now,” Alex said. “Why?”

“I work the gardens, sir,” he said, his face open and guileless. “It’s my job.”

“I can vouch for that,” a voice said from the door.

Lord Martin didn’t wait for an invitation to join them. He just stepped in and closed the door. “Mr. Green,” he said and nodded to the gardener.

The gardener nodded back, his shoulders relaxing and as Alex watched, the frightened lower servant look slid from his face to be replaced by something more assured and unworried.

Olson, on the other hand, tensed the moment Lord Martin came through the door, and his lips thinned. “He’s one of yours?” the commander said and then swore colorfully.

Lord Martin just smirked and jerked his head at the gardener. The gardener scooped the spell focus off the desk and they turned to leave the office together.

“Wait,” Alex said, confusion roaring through him. “We’re just letting him go?”

“Leave it, Lieutenant,” Olson snapped out. “We don’t have any authority over him.”

That raised even more questions in his mind, but Alex was a Guard first and a dismissal from his commanding officer might as well have been a commandment from the Almighty. So even though his brow furrowed in consternation, he stood aside at attention and saluted.

Lord Martin glanced at him on his way by and then did a double take. He stopped in the middle of the office.

“What happened to your eye?”

Alex resisted the urge to touch his shiner, but he couldn’t help glancing at the gardener. Then he looked at his commanding officer.

“Answer the question, Lieutenant,” Olson growled.

“I believe it was an elbow. Sir.” Alex wasn’t sure where Lord Martin fit into the palace hierarchy, but if he was a lord, treating him like a superior officer wouldn’t be out of order.

Lord Martin started and looked at the gardener who avoided his gaze sheepishly. He had a split lip that was starting to swell.

“He snuck up on me,” the gardener said. “I reacted.”

“He…snuck up on you?” Lord Martin repeated. He looked between Alex and the gardener. “Who won?”

“Your agent’s here, isn’t he?” Commander Olson said with a smug smile.

Lord Martin speared the gardener with a look and Alex got the impression that Lord Martin was his superior officer even if the gardener didn’t salute or stand at attention or any of the usual things.

The gardener winced. 

Lord Martin turned back to Alex and gave him a more appraising look. “What made you suspect him?”

Alex’s eyes narrowed. “At first? Nothing I could put my finger on. He just set my teeth on edge. And then I realized he moves like more than a gardener. He moves like a fighter.”

“He’s been watching me for weeks,” the gardener said reluctantly.

Lord Martin didn’t move, but he raised an elegant eyebrow. “Really?”

“Seems he’s a mite more clever than the rest of his brothers,” the gardener said.

Alex glared at him, expecting Commander Olson to protest. Instead he said, “He’s one of my best.”

Lord Martin held out his hand toward the gardener and without further prompting the other man dropped the spell focus into his palm. 

“Do you know what this is?” Lord Martin asked Alex.

Alex barely glanced at his commanding officer for permission before raising his chin and settling into parade rest. “It’s a listening spell, sir. Based on the markings I’d say it’s spelled to pick up conversations within fifty feet. A fairly powerful and expensive piece of magery. Possibly custom made, most likely came out of an illegal shop, like the ones down on the waterfront.”

Both Lord Martin’s eyebrows went up this time. “That was surprisingly thorough, Lieutenant.”

Alex flushed. “I pay attention, sir.”

“So you do. Where did you find it?” he asked the gardener.

“The Lily garden,” he said without hesitation.

“The Queen spends a lot of afternoons there,” Alex said, his eyes narrow. “It’s where she takes anyone she wants to persuade to her way of thinking. Whoever planted the focus would have unlimited access to numerous private, not to mention important, conversations.”

Lord Martin’s lips twisted in a sly smile. “So, what do you think, Olson? May I borrow him?”

Alex’s head jerked up. Just what was going on here? Lord Martin was obviously important but the ServantGuard guarded the Queen. That was more important. Wasn’t it?

“I don’t know. I did mention he’s one of my best,” Olson said, but he was smirking.

“It wouldn’t be forever. I just think Agent Green could use some outside help on this one.”

“My lord,” the gardener said, his eyes wide. “I don’t need some Guard grunt following me around. It’ll be a disaster.”

Lord Martin’s sharp look shut him up. “He spotted you, he kicked your ass, and he knew your business as well as you. You’ll partner him if I say so. And I say so.”

The gardener looked at his feet. “Yes, sir.”

“Lieutenant,” Commander Olson said, drawing Alex’s attention. “You’re on special commission to Lord Martin, Earl of Gershom. You will report to him as your commanding officer and obey him as you would obey me.” He gave Lord Martin a wink. “And then you’ll report to me.”

Lord Martin shrugged. “You’ve wanted someone in my network for years.”

“Same as you’ve wanted someone in mine,” Olson said, lacing his hands in front of him. 

“I suppose we must all bend with the times. Come, boys.” Lord Martin gathered up his gardener and left through the door.

Alex hesitated before Commander Olson’s desk, cold washing through his limbs. “Sir, I don’t understand what I did wrong.”

“You did nothing wrong, Lieutenant,” Olson said, his expression softening. “And everything right. This is about more than getting one up on the Earl of Gershom. Don’t ever tell him I said this, but they’re as integral to protecting the Queen as we are. In their own way. Now go. And don’t embarrass me.”

Alex saluted smartly and left the office. 

Lord Martin and his gardener waited out in the hall. Alex took a deep breath, marched up to Lord Martin, and because it seemed like the right thing to do, saluted him, too.

“My lord,” he said.

Lord Martin gave him an incredulous look while his gardener snorted. 

“Well, this should be interesting,” Lord Martin said.

Five

Alex had assumed that since he was being “borrowed” by Lord Martin that he’d work with the Earl at least a little. But the man had been very cryptic as he’d sent them off. 

“You don’t need to know details,” he’d said. “Agent Green will fill you in on the big picture. And the rules.” He’d disappeared down the steps that led beneath the palace, leaving Alex to follow the gardener to what looked like a cross between a gardening shed and a bedroom.

Pots and little canvas bags of dirt tumbled over the thick work bench along one wall and a bed and a washstand stood against the other.

“Sit down,” Agent Green snapped, tossing his hat on the bench, revealing ginger curls. “You’re making me itch, lurking in the corner.”

Alex glanced around and snagged a stool out from under the workbench. He tried to surreptitiously brush the dirt off the seat, but from Agent Green’s glare, he hadn’t been subtle enough.

“Never thought you’d get that uniform of yours dirty, did you?”

Alex could tell the agent was trying to needle him but he just shrugged and let it roll off. He’d learned a long time ago that unwinnable battles had a habit of disappearing if he just refused to fight them in the first place. He actually preferred Agent Green’s frontal approach to the veiled insults and sarcasm of the nobles who’d trained with the Disciples.

“So what’s your real name?” Alex said, leaning over to see what was stacked under the bench. “Agent Green has to be because you work in the gardens.”

Green scowled. “I’m Agent Green because that’s my name. Carlyle Green.”

Alex carefully smoothed the smile out of his expression. “Carlyle?”

“Yes.”

“Can I call you Carl?”

“Only if you want a kick in the teeth.”

“Okay, Lyle then.”

The gardener scowled even harder. 

“Well, what did your mother call you?”

“Pumpkin.”

Alex held up his hands. “See? I’m not going to call you pumpkin.”

“I don’t expect you to call me anything. We won’t be working together long.”

Alex tilted his head. “Do you have a problem with me specifically or just the Guard in general?”

Carlyle stood beside the bed, his hands clenching and unclenching. “I’m very good at what I do. I don’t need a partner.”

Alex shrugged and stood. “Fine. Why don’t we tell that to Lord Martin, and I can go back to doing my job, instead of yours.”

Carlyle got to the door ahead of him and slammed his hand into the wood. He blew out his breath. “Lord Martin already made his wishes clear.” 

Alex grinned and relaxed back against the wall.

“He expects me to help you,” Alex said. “But as I have no idea what you even do, that’s going to be hard.”

“We protect the Queen,” Carlyle snapped.

“That’s what the ServantGuard does,” Alex said, evenly.

“No, you look good and everyone thinks you guard the Queen. That’s your job. Drawing attention away from us.”

Alex blinked and thought back to how he’d seen Lyle—there was no way he was calling someone Carlyle to their face—lurking around the gardens, watching the Queen, finding listening spells.

“You work nearby,” Alex said. “In disguise. And you can obviously fight, so if something happens you can protect the Queen. But since no one knows that’s what you’re doing, you won’t be a target like the Guard are.”

Lyle’s light eyes flickered. “That’s…that’s exactly it.”

“So, if we’re the ServantGuard, are you the SecretGuard?” Alex couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across his face.

Lyle spluttered. “What? No, don’t be ridiculo—” He rolled his eyes. “Ugh. You were joking.”

Alex laughed out loud.

“We don’t have a name,” Lyle said. “That’s the whole point. We’re not supposed to be there.”

“If we’re on the same side, doing the same job, why don’t you work directly with the Guard? It would save someone like me bringing in someone like you on suspicious activity.”

“If you knew we were there, you’d get lazy,” Lyle said. “Besides you’re there to stop the obvious threats. We’re there for the things that are less obvious. The little things that become a lot bigger all of a sudden.”

Alex stepped over to the work bench where the spell focus sat, looking small and lonely. “So this is part of a plot,” he said, quietly.

“Yes. The one you’re going to help me stop.” 

Alex looked at him sharply.

“That’s what Lord Martin commands,” Lyle said with a shrug. “And he is my lord and master. He gets what he wants.”

It seemed silly to come to attention in a gardening shed, so Alex set his shoulders and left the rest loose.

“Tell me,” he said.

Lyle plopped down on the stool Alex had vacated and leaned over the bench. “I really hate to admit it, but you know about as much as me at this point.” He examined the little wooden spell focus, studying it from all angles, but he didn’t pick it up.

“What can you see?” Alex asked. He could tell what kind of spell it commanded, how far it could pick up people’s voices, and how skilled the mage was who had made it. But he wanted to know what Lyle’s training told him.

“Nothing yet. But I can hear an interrupting lieutenant.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “That anti-aging spell is pretty good. You can’t even tell you’re a seventy-year-old man.”

Lyle left off his examination to stare at Alex with his mouth open.

Alex just grinned back. “So, are you going to tell me what you’re doing or am I going to have to keep asking?”

Lyle finally sighed. “I’m trying to decide how long it had been in the garden and what conversations it picked up. It’s not the kind of spell to store sound so we can’t listen to it ourselves. It’s the kind that sends the sound to another matching spell focus. And whoever is on the other side can listen in real time.”

“You deactivated it, right?” Alex said. “They’re not listening right now…”

“Of course I deactivated it,” Lyle said. “First thing I did. Right after I made some noise about how this tree needed pruning and oh no, my boots are so clumsy.”

Alex laughed at that and caught an almost smile from Lyle in return. 

The agent held the spell focus up and showed Alex where the markings around the edge had been nicked, disrupting the spell. The Disciples of Saint Discipline took many classes, lots of which were combat related. But there were several on magecraft and how to fight it.

“Are you a mage?” Alex asked.

“I wasn’t trained at the University or the Royal Academy if that’s what you’re asking,” Lyle said, taking out a sheet of paper and starting a list of notes. “Nor am I licensed. But Lord Martin appreciates a man with a variety of skills.” 

“Seems like it. So what’s up with the Earl?” Alex asked, picking up a pair of pruning shears which looked more like some sort of medieval weapon than a garden tool. 

“What do you mean, what’s up with him?” Lyle grabbed the shears from him and returned them to their peg on the wall.

“He seems pretty young. How did someone like him end up running this secret guard program?”

“He’s only a couple years younger than your commander. I try not to ask questions about my lord and master because people who do that tend to disappear with their memories gone the next day.”

Alex started. “What? You’re serious?”

“There’s a rumor that he keeps a Vachryn in the basement who eats your memory so you can’t tell anyone what you know.” Lyle made a loud slurping noise and Alex winced. Then he caught the way Lyle’s light eyes crinkled at the corners.

“You’re joking.” Alex breathed a sigh of relief. “You really shouldn’t joke about the Vachryn. Shapeshifters who steal your mind aren’t something to laugh at. There are some people who are still terrified of the Mindless Plague.” Alex included.

“Yes, well, it neatly deflects questions about Lord Martin, doesn’t it?” Lyle grinned.

Alex was startled by the smile for half a second. “You could have just said his father gave him the job. That’s how a lot of people get their occupations.”

He didn’t really mind, though. It was kind of fun knowing that if he poked Lyle, the agent eventually poked back.

Alex shifted a pile of ceramic pots off the table so he could lean on it. “Do you really need all this clutter?” 

Lyle raised an eyebrow. “I’m a gardener. I garden.” He enunciated like Alex wasn’t the brightest Guard. “You know, repotting, watering plants, making sure they grow nice and strong.”

“You mean you actually do the thing you say you do?” Alex said. “I thought it was just, you know, a cover.”

“I don’t just do it. I need to be good at it. Otherwise some eager young Guard who thinks he’s so clever will embarrass me in front of my boss when he thinks he spots something fishy.”

“Still sore about that, huh?” Alex said.

All his earlier mirth left and Lyle’s icy gaze slid over Alex making him shiver. Oops. Wrong thing to say.

“Look, I’m sorry I embarrassed you,” he said. “But you’d think you’d be happy that someone else is competent enough to help you. You have a really hard job, sounds like.”

“And having to look out for someone else makes it harder. Especially someone like you.”

All right, so ignoring the fight wasn’t actually making it go away, this time. But Alex knew another tactic. Some men only responded when you stood toe to toe with them.

Alex straightened to his full height, which was considerable, and shifted closer to Lyle, looming over the other man.

“What do you mean someone like me?” he said. “Have I wronged you in another life, Green? What have I done to make you hate me?”

Lyle scowled up at him, not intimidated in the least. Instead of answering, he hooked a leg around Alex’s knee and dumped him on the floor of the potting shed. Alex let him because he figured he deserved it for looming. But Lyle didn’t look like he felt any better for doing it. He stood there, hands clenching.

“I know what I am, I know where I come from, but I don’t like people coming into my space to remind me they’re better than me.”

“I didn’t know I was—”

“That’s what makes it worse. You don’t even realize you’re doing it. You laugh and try to shove in where you don’t belong. Like a bully waltzing through Harborside, knocking the washing off clothes lines and stealing a kid’s last penny to buy sweets.”

Alex pushed himself up and sat against the wall staring up at Lyle. “Why do you think I don’t belong?” he asked quietly. This didn’t seem like it was about their jobs anymore. 

Lyle raised his chin. “ServantGuard are chosen from the Disciples of Saint Discipline,” he said. “The only ones who can afford to train with the Disciples are nobles and merchants who are so wealthy they don’t need to work.”

Alex blinked. He was right, this wasn’t about their jobs. It was about class. Something Alex thought he’d left behind when he’d joined the ServantGuard. Rank was all that mattered to the other Guards.

Lyle wasn’t wrong. He just…also wasn’t right.

Alex looked up at him from the floor and tried to see past the bitter young man with the secrets and the stress. Underneath he could almost see a skinny kid from the docks that learned to keep his head down because he attracted less attention that way. What galled Alex was that Lyle couldn’t seem to do the same for him.

“You know, for a spy, you’re not very good at certain things.”

For the first time, doubt crossed Lyle’s face. “What?”

“I figured you of all people would know not everything is obvious.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Figure it out.”

Alex stood dusting off his uniform, more confident now that he knew what was wrong. “But for now you seem like the kind of man to use the resources given to him. So…”

“So you want me to use you?” Lyle gave him a narrow-eyed look.

Alex held up his hands. “And you can stop flirting with me. I’m already committed to helping you.”

Lyle flushed then went white, obviously torn between a laugh and a cry of outrage. He took a deep breath and snatched up the spell focus. 

“Well, since you suggested it, it turns out I can use a big brute to loom over my shoulder.”

“Where are we going?”

“I think we can find out how long this was in the garden and what it heard. I know a couple mages who don’t mind selling spells that are very very illegal.”

Six

Alex left the shiny breastplate at the palace. The shop Lyle had targeted lay in Harborside and getting noticed as the lone ServantGuard down by the docks was the least of what worried him.

“Philips, Licensed Magecraft and Spells” lay tucked between a butcher and a trinkets shop with exotic knick knacks in the window—some real, others very much faked.

Alex followed Lyle as he pushed through the door. The shop itself was dark and crowded. Shelves lined the walls full of books and little spelled trinkets that gave off light, and heat, and in a couple of places, illusions. Something in a back room played a tinny version of a popular dance song. Phonographs sounded hollow. This was more solid so Alex assumed it was a recording spell. A more legal version of what they’d found in the garden.

“Just a moment, please,” someone called from the back room. A woman in a worn blouse and apron came around the corner and stepped behind the counter. “What can I do for you—?” Her expression soured. “Oh, Mr. Green. It’s you.”

“Hello, Ann,” Lyle said, completely oblivious to the venomous look she gave him. “I need your help.”

“Don’t you always?” She sighed. “What is it this time?”

Lyle slipped the listening spell from his pocket and slid it across the counter. “I need to know who bought this and when.”

She glanced at the spell focus and stiffened. “You know I don’t sell illegal spells. I’d lose my license.”

“No, but your dad hasn’t been so scrupulous in the past.”

Her lips thinned, this time in fear rather than annoyance. “He don’t anymore. He’s been laid up in bed for a month. Ever since he got out of prison.” She seemed to throw that last bit at Lyle who didn’t even flinch.

“This could have been before that. It could have been sold a while ago.”

“I told you, we don’t sell them.”

Lyle leaned against the counter and fixed her with a look. “I’ve already traced it to you, Ann. You fixed the spell to the focus, and I’d be willing to bet you sold it yourself. If you tell us who bought it, I won’t bring the Commissioner over Illegal Magic down here.”

Her eyes darted around the shop like she was looking for a way out. It gave Alex a jolt in the gut, seeing her like that, with her face pale and her light hair falling out of its pins. He stepped forward, to stand behind Lyle’s shoulder. He was going to reassure her that they weren’t going to actually shut her down, but her eyes went wide as she noticed him for the first time.

She turned her desperate gaze on Lyle.

“Please, Mr. Green. I didn’t think it would do any harm. The man said he needed it to listen in on his kids while he and his wife were away at work.” She reached under the counter. “I can find his name, if you want.”

“That would be very helpful, thank you, Ann.”

She didn’t have much more than a name. Roberts. 

Apparently if you were buying something illegal you didn’t want your particulars written down. Imagine that.

But she did tell them the spell had been sold three weeks prior and that gave them a time frame to work with.

Alex wasn’t unhappy to leave immediately after that. 

“What’s wrong?” Lyle said. “You look like you swallowed a hedgehog.”

“I don’t like scaring people,” Alex said. “I’m not some kind of monster you can parade around to make other people tell you what you want to know.”

“I didn’t parade you around. I just brought you along. She believed what her guilty conscience prompted her to believe. And most people won’t tell you the truth until they’re scared.”

Alex stared at his feet as they strode down the dirty street.

“We do what we have to do,” Lyle said. “To protect the Queen. It doesn’t matter how distasteful it is, it’s what’s necessary.”

Alex only had a vague idea of what exactly Lyle did. Skulking in corners, looking for plots. But he was getting the impression that there were some things that he didn’t want to know about.

“She would have responded better to a smile,” Alex said.

“Oh yeah?” Lyle snapped. “Even without a uniform, you think you’re the Almighty’s gift to women?”

Alex huffed a laugh. “I meant you, you twit. She was interested in you. Before you burned whatever bridge you had with her.”

“What bridge?”

“That was the look of a woman scorned, my friend.”

Lyle’s brows drew down and he watched the cobbles under his feet as they walked. “We were friends once,” he said hesitantly. “A long time ago. But she stopped inviting me to dinner after her father was arrested. I think she always suspected I had something to do with that.”

Alex smoothed his smile with his hand. “She invited you to dinner? With her parents? You weren’t just friends. You were courting. She probably expected you to propose, not get her father arrested.”

Lyle started to say something, stopped, and then started again. “That would explain a lot. Probably better this way, though.”

A couple of different thoughts flashed through Alex’s head and he struggled to find one that wouldn’t get him kicked in the teeth. “I guess protecting the Queen doesn’t leave a lot of time for girls.”

Lyle flushed. “That’s one way to put it.” He hesitated. “I can’t really afford to let anyone get close. Either all the secrecy will end up hurting them, or I’ll hurt them myself.”

Alex wanted to ask what he meant, but Lyle speared him with a glance.

“The ServantGuard get all the girls anyway.”

Alex snorted at that. “Everyone says the ladies love a man in uniform but the ones in the palace don’t seem all that impressed.” Alex shrugged. “And the feeling’s mutual.” There was really only one woman Alex cared about impressing, but that was different. She lived her life so far above him that all he hoped for was to one day see her smile at him.

Ahead of them, a couple of young men lounged at the narrow cross street, forcing passers-by to walk between them while they heckled.

Lyle hesitated. “We should go around. They look like they’d be more than happy to draw attention that we don’t want.”

“Too late,” Alex said as the thugs focused on them and slouched forward.

Lyle glanced up at Alex, then his shoulders slumped and his arms swung loose and suddenly the agent looked like he belonged with the thugs.

“Hey,” he said, voice pitched an octave lower.

“Can it, shrimp,” the one in the lead said. He sported a wispy mustache that he couldn’t stop touching. Probably to make sure it hadn’t crawled away when he wasn’t looking. He planted his feet on the cobbles and tilted his head at Alex. “Nielson,” he said. “You haven’t been back in a while.”

“Jack.” Alex gave him a friendly nod and a smile. He hid a laugh when he caught Lyle’s incredulous look out of the corner of his eye.

Jack sneered and scratched his belly. “Rumor is you’re a ServantGuard now.” He sauntered around the two of them, raking a glance up and down Alex’s civilian clothes. “But where’s the shiny?”

“Left it at home. It attracts pests.”

“Home?” Jack came to a halt in front of them and spit. The two others behind him exchanged a smirk. “You mean the palace. You so high and mighty now, I’ll bet you drink tea with the Queen. Do you kiss her ass t—”

“Careful,” Alex said, lowering his chin. “I can’t exactly ignore treason when it’s spit in my face.”

Jack leaned close. “Have you forgotten where you came from, Nielson?”

Alex wiped his face very deliberately. “I haven’t forgotten. Haven’t forgotten the way you used to hit me when I talked back, too. Course that was before I got big.” Alex straightened up. There were always a few more inches he could find when he really stood up straight. “What do you do when they can hit back?”

Jack’s face twitched. Then he threw back his shoulders as if shrugging off the moment of fear. “You can’t fight me. There’s a rule that says that somewhere. ServantGuard aren’t allowed to fight unless it’s a threat to the Queen.”

Alex threw back his head and laughed. “Where does it say that?”

“In the…in the rules.”

Alex shrugged. “I didn’t get that memo.” He glanced at Lyle. “Did you?”

Lyle shook his head, eyes wide and innocent. “Nope, not me.”

Jack took a step back and cast a look at his cronies but they were checking their escape routes. Jack drew himself up and tried one more tactic.

“Your da still lives on Fish Head Street, right? Be a shame if anything happened to him while you were away.”

“It would be if he hadn’t died last year,” Alex said. He spread his hands. “Would you like to try again? You get one threat for free before I start making you pay for them.”

Jack gulped as Alex loomed.

Lyle studied his nails. “You’re allowed to run now,” he said. “I won’t let him chase you.”

Jack was too big a thug to turn tail and scoot, but he did beat a hasty retreat, grabbing his cronies’ arms and hauling them down the street.

“Come on, before he gets the rest,” Alex said under his breath, and he and Lyle beat their own retreat until they’d crossed the canal back into the more savory parts of town. 

Finally, Lyle cleared his throat. “So, uh. About only seeing the obvious.”

“Yeah?” Alex said, casting him a sidelong grin.

“I didn’t realize you grew up in Harborside.”

“It’s dangerous to make assumptions,” Alex said. “Especially in your line of work.”

Lyle coughed. “So it is.” He paused. “I’m sorry. One dock rat to another.”

“Apology accepted.” 

“How’d you afford to study with the Disciples?”

“Da knew I wanted to be ServantGuard more than anything. And studying with the Disciples is the best way to get in. He saved for years so I’d have a chance. Died before he got to see the uniform.”

They fell silent while Alex blinked. Ahead of them the palace glowed against the night sky.

“So, what now?” Alex asked once he had control of his voice again. “Ann gave you a name and a time frame. What do we do with those?”

“I have to talk to Queen Rebekah. She’s the only one who knows what was discussed in the garden. And maybe it’ll give us an idea of what this Roberts was trying to hear.”

Alex whistled. “You get to talk to the Queen herself?” He tried not to be jealous.

Lyle’s lips twisted. “Well, more like I tell Lord Martin and he asks her.”

“So what do we do?”

“We go back to work.”

Alex rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.

“What?” Lyle said. “You wanted something more glamorous?” The words bit but his tone was soft. Like he understood the urge.

“I guess I thought Lord Martin wanted something more than that. He…”

“Because he picked you out special?” Lyle said. “He did. He wanted access to you because you’re a ServantGuard. So you have to continue to be a ServantGuard. Show up on time, do your duty, be the best you can be and all that. Lord Martin will use you when he sees fit. You just need to be available when he wants you.”

Seven

So, Alex went back to work and waited for Lyle to contact him again, wondering if he even would. The gardener seemed a lot less hostile after their trip into Harborside, but he still obviously preferred to work alone and might take this opportunity to ditch his hulking shadow.

The best thing he could do to convince Lyle to include him was follow the man’s advice, so he threw himself into his duties. And when the Queen decided to visit the street fairs during the Sun Festival the next week, Alex was selected as part of her personal detail. 

Rebekah, like her father and mother before her, made a lot of public appearances. And as far as Alex could tell, she seemed to enjoy it, visiting with her people, listening to their stories, their praise, their complaints.

Children ran through the streets with sparklers while vendors sold meat pies with suns stamped in the dough. And there would be fireworks over the palace that evening. 

In previous years, the ServantGuard formed a phalanx of gilded breastplates around their queen, but she’d put a stop to that, saying it defeated the purpose of visiting the city. Now they stationed twenty Guards in a moving grid along the street, with four surrounding the Queen to guard her person without looking like they were guarding her person.

Alex kept pace with the other Guards along the street, dividing his time between watching the crowd and watching the Queen. 

On the corner, a group of merchants stood arguing about sales tax. At the mouth of a cross street, several protesters raised signs stating “Women belong in the kitchen” and “Guard our fragile females,” most of whom were, ironically, women. Several police officers already cut off the protesters’ access to the street.

The Queen herself didn’t seem to notice the Guards around her as she moved through the crowd, acknowledging bows and stopping to speak with mothers about their children. A surge of pride made Alex’s chest swell as he watched her interacting with her people. 

Today the Queen wore a green gown accentuating her eyes and her dark hair pinned under a large hat. Nothing to mark her as royal, but you’d have to be an idiot to miss the regal tilt of her chin and the Rannard eyes that took in everything around her.

The Queen continued down the street, looking over the stalls selling sparklers and little Valerian flags on sticks. Alex made eye contact with the ServantGuard on perimeter duty across from him, and they moved unobtrusively down the street, keeping the Queen in the center of their formation. As he moved Alex scanned the crowd.

A familiar light-eyed gaze under a broad-brimmed hat made him do a double take. Lyle’s lip twitched, and he nodded at Alex. 

Alex blinked and kicked himself from his surprise. Of course Lyle would be here, protecting the Queen from the shadows. How many more of his cronies were sprinkled in the crowd disguised as ordinary citizens?

The Queen stopped to admire the paintings hung in one of the stalls and a group of housewives beside Alex whispered, trying to decide if they could approach the Queen to shake her hand. 

“She’s done so much for us.”

“My Nellie can go to school now because of her. I want to thank her.”

“There’s even a woman police officer, now. Did you know.”

Alex watched them, waiting for them to make up their minds. But before anyone could move, a little girl ran out from the safety of their circle and toward the Queen, holding a doll out at arm’s length. 

Alex was already moving when she missed the curb and fell face first toward the pavement.

Alex caught her inches from the ground and held her as her mother rushed forward. Applause broke out as he handed her back and his face burned. 

Then the Queen herself moved toward them to see what the fuss was about ,and that made him flush even harder.

Something brushed his sleeve and a familiar voice said in his ear, “On your left.”

Alex didn’t see Lyle, but he did see the man Lyle was talking about, a man with a laughing smile, narrow eyes, and a glint of steel in his hand. 

Calm clarity flooded him and Alex moved without thinking, intercepting the assassin. Something scraped the side of his breastplate as he stepped, twisted, and broke the man’s wrist in one fluid movement.

The assailant’s cry was drowned out by the noise of the crowd and no one noticed the blade that fell on the cobblestones.

Alex rode the surge of adrenaline and pushed aside everything else as he signaled his fellow Guards that there had been an incident. Two thrust forward to take the would-be assassin away before he could make a scene. Others spread through the crowd searching for accomplices, and the four closest to the Queen closed in to urge her on. The time, Your Majesty, should we call your carriage?

It was over in an instant and Alex was left blinking at the back of their formation. His hand went to his breast plate and found the long deep gouge that started two inches from his navel and ended just below his armpit. 

That was when he started breathing hard.

Eight

“I don’t understand why you’re so calm about this,” Alex said, pacing from one end of the gardening shed to the other.

Lyle sat at the bench examining a ceramic pot. “You knew what you were signing up for when they hand-picked you for the ServantGuard. All that ‘lay down your life’ muck.”

“It’s not muck.” 

Lyle rolled his eyes. “Fine then. Honorable, glorified muck, if you like. Decided you weren’t ready to die today, huh?”

Alex’s teeth clenched. “It wasn’t that I could have died,” he said. “I know that every time I put on the breastplate. It was that he came that close to killing the Queen.” Alex held two fingers a hair’s breadth apart. “If I wasn’t…If you hadn’t…”

“You were and I did,” Lyle said, abandoning his pot to stand up. “That’s how it works. You don’t hear about the millions of times people weren’t killed, only the one time they were.”

It didn’t make him feel any better, and he raked his hands through his hair.

Lyle snagged a crate out from under the workbench and a mug from the shelf above. Then he stepped in front of Alex to halt the Guard’s frenetic pacing.

“Sit,” Lyle said and forced the issue by steering Alex by his shoulders. He slammed the mug in front of him and poured a splash of something gold from a dusty bottle.

“Drink.”

Alex didn’t think about it, just obeyed and tossed it back. He coughed, but the burn gave him something to focus on besides the memory of metal scraping on metal.

Lyle was right, of course. Commander Olson had treated the attempt as routine. He’d taken Alex’s report, given him a commendation, and set him loose as if he’d done nothing more than his job. Which was exactly true.

Lyle sat beside him and took a swig straight from the bottle. If Alex narrowed his eyes, he could almost pretend they sat in a tavern. Of course then he wouldn’t be able to flip out about a near-assassination.

“Why did you warn me?” Alex said. “You could have stopped that man as easily as me and you keep bragging that you’re the Queen’s real protectors.”

Lyle shrugged. “You were in a better position. Besides, being the best means knowing how to use blunt instruments to get the job done.”

Alex snorted which turned into a hiccup. He covered his mouth and coughed to hide it.

“You don’t think you might throw yourself in front of an assassin one day?” Alex asked.

“I strive to be good enough that one won’t kill me if I do. It’s the ServantGuard that thinks it’s heroic to perish in service to the Queen.”

Lyle’s voice remained even, but his knuckles glared white against the dark bottle as he turned it round and round.

Alex tilted his head and stole the bottle to pour another finger of liquor. “What’s a heroic death, then? How do you want to go out?”

Lyle opened his mouth, then snapped it closed. He glanced at Alex out of the corner of his eye. “All right. I would like to go out in service to my Queen.”

Alex raised his mug. “See?”

“Not the same.” Lyle shook his head. “The way I’m gonna die won’t be noble or honorable.” He took another swig.

“You don’t know that—”

Lyle laughed. “I do. Look, I find things out. I root out secrets any way I can. I lie, I cheat, and I steal to do it. And one day I’m going to get caught at it. If I’m caught by the bad guys, I’ll just disappear. No state funerals or posthumous awards, just silence.”

“What’s the other option?”

“I’m caught by the good guys.”

Alex’s lips twisted in question.

Lyle’s gaze remained fixed on the wall in front of them. “I’m caught by the good guys, my boss has to deny any knowledge of me and my actions, and I die a criminal.”

Words rose up in Alex’s throat and died as he watched the half of Lyle’s face he could see.

“I know what’s going to happen to me. So I’ve made sure my life doesn’t make a splash. When I’m killed or jailed for my service, I won’t even leave a ripple.”

“Unless someone rescues you,” Alex said, voice hushed.

Lyle eyed him like a funny little puzzle. “There’s no one to do that. I’ve made sure. I don’t get an honorable death, lieutenant. That’s for ServantGuards.”

Alex knocked back the liquor and grimaced. “Hmm, another reason to hate me. I thought we’d run out of those.”

Lyle choked on a laugh. “I don’t hate you.”

“Really?”

“I kind of like your idealism. It’s something I didn’t get to keep.” Lyle shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s like guarding a puppy from the realities of the bigger dogs that want to eat it.”

Alex smiled, trying to decide if he was flattered or not. 

A piece of paper carelessly tossed on the bench started flashing and Lyle reached for it.

Alex craned his neck to catch spell symbols crawling across the sheet before they scattered and left a blank page. Words formed as Lyle stared at it.

A com spell. An expensive one from the look of it.

Lyle reached out and took the mug from Alex’s hand. 

“Hey,” he started.

“You’re not going to want to finish that,” Lyle said.

“Why?”

“Lord Martin found out who that assassin was.” Lyle met his gaze. “Name of Roberts.”

Alex straightened. “The same one that bought the listening spell?”

“Possibly. Or possibly related to him.”

“Then…it’s over,” Alex said. “He did what he was going to do and we stopped him.” Still, he frowned. 

Lyle caught his look and nodded. “It’s never over. Not until every member of the family is accounted for.”

“Did you ever learn what he would have overheard from the garden?”

“A variety of things,” Lyle said, standing. He swiped his hand across the com sheet and it went blank again. “Mostly talk about the progressive agenda. But most importantly they set a date for a council meeting. The bicouncil votes on whether to let women vote and hold property in less than a week.”

“Does that have anything to do with Roberts?” 

Lyle grinned. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

Nine

“That’s it,” Lyle said, nodding to the building they approached.

Alex studied the brick factory front at the end of the road. The street dead-ended in front of the large building where mage globe street lights flooded the big double doors with hazy gold. The rest of the street remained dark and empty this time of night.

“How do you know?” 

Lyle pulled the com sheet out of his pocket. “Lord Martin got his address out of him.”

Alex didn’t want to think about how. Instead he frowned at the spell. “Is it safe to carry that around with you? What if you lose it and Lord Martin sends information to the wrong person?”

Lyle refolded the page and slipped it back inside his jacket. “It’s keyed to me personally. To anyone else it’ll just be a blank page. Come on. Let’s see what Roberts is hiding.”

Lyle sidled up to the big double doors and examined the heavy duty padlock across the gap.

“Is this legal?” Alex said. 

“If the man wanted to keep his privacy, he shouldn’t have tried to assassinate the Queen.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question,” Alex grumbled.

“Just keep an eye on the street. This will only take a moment.”

Alex crossed his arms and glanced up and down the darkened street. The fireworks had long since finished, and while some parties might still be in full swing in other parts of the city, no one lingered here in the factory district.

A scrape and a click behind him made him jump.

“Now,” Lyle said and slipped through the gap in the doors.

Alex followed, throat dry.

He blinked in the pitch blackness. There was nothing to see, but he could feel the space loom large around him. 

“Lyle,” he hissed under his breath.

He heard the snap of fingers and a little mage light, no bigger than a cherry, popped into existence, illuminating Lyle’s steady features.

Alex blew out his breath. He stepped closer to the agent. “What are we looking for?” he breathed. 

Lyle gestured and Alex turned to see the sharp lines of a wagon lit up by the mage light. He squinted to read the letters stamped on the side. 

Roberts and Sons Dynamite:

Supplying Namerre with fireworks and mining explosives since 3 E 647

Alex’s mouth fell open, and he stared out at the warehouse where crate after crate was stacked in the bobbing shadows.

He reached to grab Lyle, but the agent had already stepped away, carrying the light with him. Alex hurried to keep up. He struggled to keep his steps light but his boots still rang against the rough concrete floor.

“Lyle, it’s dynamite. What are they going to do with dynamite and a listening spell and a grudge against the Queen?”

“I have a hunch, but I have to be sure—”

He slammed one hand against Alex’s chest to stop him and plunged the mage light into his pocket with the other.

Alex waited, heart pounding against Lyle’s palm but the agent didn’t move. Alex blinked and his eyes gradually grew accustomed to the dark. He whipped his head around and finally saw what Lyle had seen.

A man dressed in the mismatched uniform of a hired guard with a shock stick on his belt dozed in the corner.

Lyle’s fingers curled in Alex’s shirt and softly, very softly he dragged Alex across the warehouse floor, toward an office door in the back.

Inside, Alex finally drew a full breath. Lyle pointed at Alex, then at the door, and Alex nodded. He placed his back against the door, blocking the little window while Lyle stepped toward the desk against the opposite wall. He pulled the light from his pocket and Alex shielded his eyes. 

His ears strained but all he could hear was the shuffling of papers from the desk. 

Finally, after moments stretched thin and brittle with waiting, Lyle looked up and met Alex’s eyes, face pale and tight in the glow.

“We have to count them,” he whispered across the empty air.

“What?”

“The crates, Alex. We have to count the crates.”

They slipped out the door, and with a sharp gesture, Lyle pointed Alex to one side of the warehouse. Suspicion growing in the back of his mind, Alex went down the line in the dark and touched each crate. He counted them twice, adding up the columns in his head. 

There was a snort and a murmur from the dark on the other side of the warehouse where Lyle had disappeared.

Alex froze. 

Footsteps came towards him. 

He choked on a gasp when a hand took his arm. Another hand slammed over his mouth and Lyle whispered in his ear, “Front door.”

Then the hands were gone, and Alex blindly followed the gentle wake of air Lyle left in the dark. 

A sliver of gray just a bit brighter than the black led him to the door, and he shimmied through the crack popping out into the cooler night right beside Lyle.

Lyle turned and clicked the lock back into place and dragged Alex down the street to a corner with no street lights.

“Lyle, are they going to—”

“How many crates?”

“Fifty-seven,” Alex said without hesitation.

“Fifty-seven plus sixty-nine is a hundred and twenty-six. That leaves forty-eight unaccounted for.”

“There’s missing dynamite?” Alex asked, a shaft of ice going down his spine.

“Gone, poof,” Lyle said. “The shipping manifest said there was a shipment last night. No name, no address. But according to your count and mine, it’s not in the warehouse.”

“So there’s forty-eight crates of dynamite that are just floating around Namerre somewhere? Shipped by a family that hates the Queen…” Alex’s voice trailed off and his eyes widened.

He straightened and craned his neck to get a glimpse of the palace roof. Even in the small hours of the morning it was lit up like a painting.

“What?” Lyle said, falling still beside him.

“The fireworks. There were fireworks at the palace earlier tonight. What if extra crates were delivered and no one noticed?”

“Or wrote it off as discrepancies,” Lyle finished, eyes going round. 

Their eyes met in the dark.

“So there’s forty-eight crates of dynamite in the palace somewhere.”

Ten

Lyle led Alex into the bowels of the Blue Palace. A few minor palace staff had offices down here in clean but bare hallways. Further down were the laundries and some ancient cells included by the original builder even though this was supposed to be a palace, not a fortress. They’d been used once or twice to hold disgruntled staff who’d been caught stealing and on one memorable occasion one of the Ruling Dukes who’d been arrested for blood magic and treason.

Between the laundry and the cells, Lyle stopped at a nondescript office door. He didn’t bother knocking.

Inside, Lord Martin sat at a rickety desk in a stark office, face set in harsh lines with both hands clenched before him.

Commander Olson paced from one corner of the room to the other.

Lyle looked between the two.

“Sir?” he said, stopping short in the doorway. Alex nearly ran into him.

Lord Martin relaxed one hand and waved them inside. “Make it short, Agent Green. We’ve got problems.”

A messenger squeezed into the room behind Alex and handed Commander Olson a note before ducking out again. Olson read it and swore. “Another one,” he said.

“Sir, what’s going on?” Lyle said.

Lord Martin rubbed his face. “Mr. John Aaronsen, a traditionalist on the Queen’s Council, received an anonymous note this morning telling him it would be in his best interests to be absent from the session in two days.”

Lyle’s eyes flicked to Alex. “The one where they decide on women voting.”

“So far I’ve received reports that three other traditionalist councilors have left town,” Commander Olson said.

“The rats are leaving the sinking ship,” Alex said, chest tight.

“More like the rats are saving their friends before they sink the ship themselves,” Lyle corrected.

Lord Martin’s glance cut to them. “What did you find? Now.”

Lyle leaned against a chair. “The Roberts family manufactures and ships dynamite. They bought the listening spell, so they know about the council session.” His voice remained even but his knuckles went white as his hands wrapped his elbows.

“And forty-eight crates of dynamite are missing from their warehouse,” Alex added. “They could have easily been been snuck into the palace with all the fireworks last night.”

The two older men blinked at each other. 

“Muck in a Saint’s hand basket, they’re going to blow up the council,” Commander Olson said. “I’ll take the search. You get me some solid evidence to arrest them.” The commander strode for the door as Lord Martin stood. “Lieutenant Nielson, report to your captain. I need all eyes on this.”

“Yes, sir.” Alex snapped a salute and started to turn but something in the way Lyle’s mouth twisted made him pause.

The agent turned away from Alex with a wince. “My lord, we need to know where to look.”

Lord Martin leaned against the desk, dark eyes unreadable. “They can’t see you coming,” he said. “If they know we’re onto them and trying to get information…”

“Then they’ll change their plans and we’ll know even less than before. But sir, we don’t know enough now. Not to catch them. We might be able to find the explosives in time. Maybe. But if I go, we will be able to stop them.”

“If you give them anything—”

“I know, sir.”

“I can’t condone any of it. I can’t pull your ass out if it goes wrong.”

“I know that, too.”

“Then get out of my office, I have a plot to stop.”

Lyle spun for the door, his eyes alight but his mouth a thin hard line.

Heat ran across Alex’s nerves, and he hurried after Lyle catching him in the hallway. 

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going to make sure we know where that dynamite is.”

“How?” Alex said, glancing down the hall to be sure they were still alone. “You think the Roberts family is just going to let it slip where they hide things?”

“No, I’m going to tell them where to put it.”

Alex gaped, the implications running through his head in perfect clarity. Lyle slipped away from him while he stood stunned.

Alex caught up to him at the foot of the stairs. “You can’t do that. Lyle, it’s treason.”

“It’s making sure we know where to look so we can catch it in time. As long as they haven’t got it in place yet.”

“It’s still treason.”

“How do you think this whole thing started?”

Alex went cold.

They burst out into the golden light of sunrise in the stable yard. “What do you mean? You found the listening spell. In the garden.”

“And how did I know to look there? I don’t search every inch of garden every day.”

“You told them,” Alex whispered. “You told them to put it there.”

“I didn’t tell anyone to put anything anywhere,” Lyle snapped. An hostler looked at them funny and he lowered his voice. “All I did was complain that the Queen was always hanging around the garden where I worked, making it impossible to get anything done. Then I just…” He spread his hands. “Waited to see what would happen.”

“But that’s…”

“Cheating?” Lyle said, with a tilt of his eyebrow. “Dishonorable?”

Alex flushed.

Lyle huffed a laugh, but it didn’t sound like he was amused. “You talk about honor like it’s something you do or have naturally. Honor is something that’s given to you, by people like me. I do my job so you have the freedom to tell me it’s cheating.”

This whole thing had been fun up until a minute ago. All the sneaking and plotting had been a sort of game to Alex. This was different. This was committing treason in order to save lives. This was Lyle jumping from a roof with no net to catch him.

“You’ll be arrested if you’re caught with them.” Alex moved to place himself between Lyle and the outside world. As if he could stop him from doing something stupid. “That’s what you said. Executed for treason.”

Lyle glanced away. “That’s who I am. I’m expendable. No splash, remember.”

Alex shook his head, knowing the words weren’t true. Not anymore. 

Lyle’s face grew hard and distant. “You think I need your approval? I work alone for a reason, lieutenant. So no one else will be affected by my actions.”

Lyle pushed past him, and Alex let him go by.

“I’ll be affected,” he said quietly.

The crunch of gravel stopped. 

Alex clenched his fists at his sides. “Don’t do this.”

Silence. Then…

“Find the dynamite,” Lyle said. “You do your job, and I’ll do mine.”

His feet crunched away across the gravel until he was gone.

Eleven

The ServantGuard scoured the palace from the basements to the attics. They called in architectural experts to point out the perfect places to put explosives and searched there. They called in mages who searched for illusions that might be concealing the dynamite. They called in the police who worked with one of the shape-changing Zevryn to sniff it out in dog form.

They couldn’t find the missing crates.

Alex spent twenty-four hours searching the multi-tiered council room itself, carrying a spelled mage light that sent beams of sharp white into every corner. His legs ached from climbing up and down all day but he didn’t find any dynamite. And it didn’t distract his thoughts from circling around and around Lyle’s final words. If Alex did his job and found the dynamite, then Lyle wouldn’t have to do his and throw his life away.

When they couldn’t find it, the Queen refused to cancel the council meeting, saying that the vote was too important to postpone and there wasn’t enough evidence to compel her to. So time ticked away and the knot in Alex’s throat told him that somewhere Lyle was damning himself. 

The day of the council session dawned clear and bright and hot. Alex was going on three hours of sleep in two days starting with their clandestine hunt of the warehouse. He staggered down the stairs from the Guard’s Tower, feeling fuzzy around the edges with his mind thick and slow, to dunk his head in a horse trough. He braced his hands on the sides of the trough as water dripped down his uniform and a few stable hands stared like he’d been caught drunk on duty.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they all blew up. At least it would be an end to this endless uncertainty.

A ragged newsboy with a jaunty hat and a bundle of papers under his arm darted through the stable hands while Alex rubbed his face and wondered when was the last time he’d shaved.

“You Lieutenant Alex?” the boy said and Alex stared, eyes bleary.

“What?”

“Are you Lieutenant Alex?” 

“I’m Lieutenant Nielson,” Alex said with a frown, his brain struggling out of the fog.

“Yeah, but are you Lieutenant Alex, too?”

Alex gave up. “Yes,” he said. 

“Here’s your paper, sir,” the boy said and thrust a copy of the Namerre Herald at him.

Alex fumbled to take it. “This isn’t mine,” he said, but the boy already ran across the yard toward the west gate. “Hey!”

Alex looked down at the news copy with a frown and unfolded it. A sheet of paper fell out of the folds and drifted to the ground. He ducked to grab it and stopped in shock when he realized the blank paper had his name scrawled across the top. 

He frowned and ran the tip of his finger over his name trying to figure out if he’d ever seen the handwriting before. The moment his finger traced the last letter, the ink on the page seemed to run and blur before his eyes before it thinned and straightened out into a long thin stream of letters that streaked around the edges of the paper.

Alex may have been two nights short of a rested human right now but he recognized Lyle’s com spell and the shock jolted him awake better than the horse trough had. 

A,

Check sewers before three. Fifty barrels total. Mrs. Roberts and all are gathered in little Roberts’ townhouse. I’ll hold them there.

L

Alex blinked for a whole second before sprinting up the stairs. 

It was noon by the time he led a strike team of ServantGuard into the sewers below the palace. They had to access them through an ancient culvert below the lowest basements. The five of them didn’t bother with the fancy breastplates and they didn’t even wear their uniforms, but they moved with precision and coordination as they shimmied through the hole in the floor.

Above them, Commander Olson evacuated the palace but it wouldn’t be enough to prevent death and destruction on a large scale. Unless they found the dynamite.

Alex splashed down into sewage up to his knees and stood aside as the rest of his men dropped down. Four Guards and a mage.

He led them through the narrow passage, bent nearly double under the low ceiling, pushing himself forward against the sluggish current.

“There,” he said, his voice echoing strangely against the walls as the mage’s light hit a bulge where two passages crossed. A small cask about the size of a hand drum hung in the dark, sealed tight against the damp with wax. Alex carefully pried open the top and found a bundle of dynamite inside.

The mage surged forward with a splash and examined the bundle, his light bobbing from his free hand.

“Muck on me,” he said. 

“What is it?” Alex said, heart hammering in his throat. “Can’t you disconnect it?”

The mage shook his head. “The spell is sealed in with the gunpowder. To deactivate it we’d have to get into every single stick individually. There’s ten in here. How many barrels did you say?”

“Fifty. Almighty save us.” He ran his hands through his hair, heedless of the muck clinging to them. “What else can we do?”

The mage tipped the barrel with a squint. “Okay. There’s spells in each stick which lead back to a connecting spell which would lead back to a master spell that sets everything off. The conspirators will have the master spell, naturally, but the connecting spell must be close by. And that…if we can find that, we can deactivate them all at once.”

“What are we looking for?”

The mage rotated the barrel in his hands. “It’ll be a normal spell focus.” He held up his thumb and forefinger in the shape of a circle. “A wooden disk attached to one of these barrels.”

Alex spun to his Guards. “Spread out, two to the left, two to the right. I’ll go down the middle. Bring all the barrels here and we’ll search them for the connection. That’ll mitigate the damage if we fail. Concentrate it all in one place, at least.”

The Guards disappeared down the side passages and Alex took the center.

Every thirty feet or so a barrel hung on the wall, and Alex collected them as the minutes ticked by on the watch he had pinned to his pocket. 

Back at the corner, the mage gathered the barrels, his pile growing with each successful load as he counted them over and over.

Somewhere out in the city Lord Martin should have been making his arrests, but they had no way of knowing how close he was and no one shouted down the hole that they were safe. So Alex kept wading through the sewage, bringing barrel after barrel back to the mage, hoping they were fast enough.

With a half an hour left, Alex met the rest of his team at the sewer crossing. 

“Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine,” the mage said and Alex’s stomach dropped. 

“There should be fifty,” he said. “Did you find the connecting spell?”

The mage shook his head, face pale in the dim light. 

Alex spun back to his men. “Go back, double check every square inch. If they trigger that spell, this will all still go off.”

They sprinted off through the tunnels as Alex tried to imagine the palace above him. What was directly above? They’d come down through the kitchens in the main section of the palace.

Beside him the mage pulled the lid from a barrel with a dull thunk.

“What are you doing?” 

“Deactivating each spell individually.”

Alex gulped, gazing at the barrels spread in neat lines against the walls of the sewer. “But there’s five hundred of them.”

The mage didn’t answer. He just kept working, hands quick and steady.

Alex sprinted down his tunnel again.

He got to the end of the sewer, hitting the wall where several water closets in the palace emptied into the main line. He’d found nothing. He went back down the passage, running his hands along the walls for good measure. He returned to the crossing with empty hands and fifteen minutes left until three.

The others sloshed their way to him, and he asked, “Anything?” even though he could see from the terror on their faces that they still hadn’t found the last barrel with the connecting spell.

“Muck,” he said. “Again. This time take different routes.”

No one argued as they scattered. This time Alex took the left hand passage, trying to find a balance between speed and thoroughness.

They returned to the middle.

Nothing.

Alex shuffled in a circle, staring around at the walls, eyes wide and unseeing.

“Get out,” he said. Then spun back to his Guards and pointed. “Get out, and get away. Take anyone you find in the kitchens with you. Run.” He glanced at his watch. Nine minutes and forty-seconds.

The Guards exchanged a wordless glance and sprinted for the exit. 

A noise behind Alex made him jump. The mage still sat, with sewage up to his chest, opening each barrel carefully and methodically.

“Get out of here,” Alex said.

The mage shook his head. “No. I can at least do this. Lessen the impact. Maybe it will save lives.”

Alex stared for a moment that he couldn’t spare, then he took a shaky breath and saluted the mage before he plunged down another passage, one he hadn’t searched personally yet. 

His hands trembled on the walls as faces flashed into his head. Stable hands he’d joked with, kitchen maids who’d flirted, the Queen in her taffeta with her green eyes burning into his. The four Guards who’d never get out in time. The mage working diligently behind him.

Lyle who would have committed treason for nothing if Alex didn’t find the last barrel.

His breathing rasped against the walls and rang in his ears. He reached the end and spun, his eyes stinging from the noisome stench and the failure crawling up his throat. Three minutes.

The barrel didn’t hang on the walls. If it wasn’t on the walls…

Alex returned back along the passage, shuffling from one side of the sewer to the other, searching the floor this time.

Halfway down his foot struck something wedged between the wall and the too small groove where the sewage was supposed to run.

Alex plunged his hands into the sludge and came up with a small sealed barrel. It had fallen from its place on the wall.

A wooden spell focus no bigger than a coin buzzed under his fingers, stuck to the outside of the barrel. 

Alex tore his knife from his belt. His hands shook as he lined up the blade and carefully nicked the spell markings along the edges as he’d seen Lyle do to the listening spell.

The buzz stilled.

He glanced at the watch. A minute and thirty seconds to spare.

Alex collapsed against the wall, and sobbed, heedless of the sewage seeping up his chest.

Twelve

The Queen gave him a medal. After he and his team had scrubbed and soaked until they could stand in the same room as royalty without disgracing themselves, they stood in the White Room as Queen Rebekah talked of heroism and bravery and honor and duty.

Alex swallowed down his protests and stood straight as the Queen pinned the Silver Wings to his uniform, symbolizing his selfless service to Valeria.

“Well done, lieutenant,” she said quietly, for his ears alone.

He’d imagined a moment like this a thousand times before but never with the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. They’d won. The Queen was safe, the palace stood, the vote would be cast without interference. But it didn’t feel like his victory.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Alex said. “But I didn’t do it alone.” There had been Commander Olson, Lord Martin, Alex’s strike team. And one other that Alex couldn’t stop thinking about. He couldn’t stand here without remembering his name at the bottom of the list of traitors who’d been arrested.

“I know,” Queen Rebekah said, and something in her green eyes made Alex want to believe she really did know about that one.

The ceremony only lasted about fifteen minutes and then the Queen was off to whatever appearance or function she had next. Because life continues, barely noticing the times when no one dies. 

As the rest of his team filed from the White Room, Lord Martin caught Alex’s eye from where he stood beside Commander Olson, and the Earl gave him a brief nod.

Alex decided to hang whatever protocol Lyle hadn’t had time to teach him and headed for the Earl.

“Sir, what about Agent Green?”

Lord Martin’s lips thinned, and he looked away. “He was with the conspirators we arrested in the townhouse. He’s to be charged with treason and executed accordingly.”

A wave of cold swept from Alex’s chest making his limbs tingle. “My lord, he—”

Lord Martin’s eyes flashed. “He knew what he was doing.”

“So did you.”

“Lieutenant,” Commander Olson said. His gaze was sharp on the two of them, but the commander’s voice remained lazy.

Alex swallowed and when his commander didn’t immediately order him to stand down he plowed ahead.

“My lord, he only did what he thought he had to do. He did what you taught him to do.”

“You think I condone giving the enemy information that will help them?”

“If it will get them caught, yes I do.”

Instead of arresting him for insubordination, or ordering up a firing squad, Lord Martin’s mouth twitched as if trying not to smile. He glanced at Commander Olson.

“Don’t look at me,” the commander said. “He’s one of mine, and you know how I feel about you lot.”

“Hmm, quite,” Lord Martin said. He turned back to Alex. “You’re not wrong. But you’re missing the point. I can’t condone Agent Green’s actions. Not when they include treason.”

Alex didn’t miss the slight emphasis on “can’t.” 

“What if I have proof that it wasn’t treason?” Alex said and pulled Lyle’s note from his pocket. The words of his warning hadn’t disappeared because Alex hadn’t cleared the spell. Deliberately.

Alex held Lord Martin’s eyes as he handed over the note. “A conspirator who turned at the last minute and gave us information would have earned a pardon, wouldn’t he?”

Lord Martin didn’t even glance at the paper. He studied Alex’s face, noting everything Alex didn’t bother trying to hide. 

“Very well,” he said, and dug in the pocket of his silk waistcoat. He took out a sealed envelope and handed it to Alex. “You may retrieve him on my authority. I trust I don’t have to tell you to say nothing of his involvement with us. Treat this as a normal prisoner transfer.”

“Of course, sir. Thank you.” Alex saluted him and didn’t even feel awkward about it. He carefully didn’t mention that Lord Martin had already had the sealed orders in his pocket, waiting.

The conspirators were held at the Tapper Street police station, guarded by a dozen angry officers. In the morning they would be transferred to Esclavage Prison outside the city, where they would wait without bail for their trial for treason and conspiracy to commit mass murder.

Alex’s uniform got him in the door and down the steps to the cells under the station. At the bottom he was stopped by an officer with double bars on his collar, indicating he was a captain.

“May I help you, lieutenant?” he said, glancing at his uniform.

“I’m here for a prisoner transfer,” Alex said, and handed him the sealed orders before standing smartly at attention.

The captain—Hillyard from the nameplate pinned to his jacket—broke the seal and scanned the orders, then he glanced sharply at Alex. Alex tried to look official and non-threatening. He had no idea what Lord Martin had written but he couldn’t imagine anyone liked having their own authority superseded.

Captain Hillyard’s lips thinned, and he carefully folded the orders, made a note in a ledger on the desk beside him and slid the folded paper into the pages. 

“If it was anyone else, I would tell your boss to go hang himself. But Lord Martin usually knows what he’s doing.” The captain waved a finger in Alex’s face. “You will not tell the Earl I said that. Corporal Neucoft.”

“Sir?” A light alto voice answered the captain from the shadows. Alex had assumed the corner was empty, but another officer stepped into the light. This one had shoulder length brown hair tied into a neat braid.

Alex had heard the force had hired its first female officer. He gave her a respectful nod.

“Take the lieutenant down. We’re releasing Prisoner 226 into his custody.”

“Yes, sir,” Corporal Neucoft said, with a two finger salute to the brim of her cap, and she turned smartly to head down the row of cells.

“Thank you, captain,” Alex said and followed her.

There were twenty cells in total down under the station. Alex imagined they didn’t usually fill them all in one day’s work, but now just about every cell had one disgruntled conspirator behind its bars. Mostly they were quiet, either in sullenness or contrition, knowing where they were headed and how unlikely escape or reprieve was. 

An older woman sat in the very first cell, examining her nails as if she wasn’t heading to one of the most famous prisons in the world. The matriarch of the Roberts family. The mastermind of the plot, according to Lord Martin’s final report. A traditionalist who didn’t like the changes a progressive queen was making. It was her son who’d tried to assassinate the Queen a week ago. And her plan that had almost blown up the palace and everyone in it.

Alex shook his head at the irony and kept walking.

“Why does your boss want 226?” Corporal Neucoft asked quietly, startling Alex.

He glanced at her and then forward. “I’m not sure,” he said. He didn’t want to lie to her so he added, “It’s not worth my job to ask.”

She looked at him sidelong in the strangely bright light that lit the cells. “But you have a guess,” she said.

“I have a guess,” Alex said. “But I also have a brain that tells me what will happen if I open my mouth about it.”

The corner of her mouth tilted up, and he felt like he’d scored points.

“Why?” he said suddenly. “Did you want to keep him for some reason?”

She tilted her head, looking thoughtful. “He was different.”

“Different how?”

“The rest of them fought like demons when we broke into that townhouse. Treason is worth a man’s life, so I guess I don’t blame them.”

“But?” Alex said.

“But 226…” Her brow scrunched. “I think he tripped another guy who would have gotten away. And he fought like he was fighting me for show. Like he wanted to get caught.”

That didn’t surprise Alex. What surprised him was that Corporal Neucoft had picked up on it. 

They stopped in front of the last cell, and Alex glanced inside.

Lyle sat on the bare bench his elbows on his knees and his head hanging low. He looked strangely naked without his hat.

“That him?” Alex said, just for something to say. 

Lyle started and looked up, his light eyes wide and stark in his tanned face. The surprise on his face was genuine. He hadn’t expected to be rescued. He’d been prepared to hang for treason.

Lyle ducked his head again as Corporal Neucoft answered. “Yeah, that’s him.” She glanced around. “Are you sure you don’t want a squad to go with you?”

“I can handle him,” Alex said and drew himself up to his full height.

Corporal Neucoft just gave him a look that said he’d have to prove it before she’d believe it. She opened her mouth as if to say something, then glanced at Lyle and thought better of it. 

She pulled a shock stick from her belt and used a key to open the cell. 

Lyle looked up, and by now, the surprise was gone from his eyes. He stared, eyes wide and blank, but Alex knew he was calculating, analyzing, and deciding what to use to his advantage.

He stepped forward and Alex moved back to let him through. Something flickered in Lyle’s expression.

Alex thought about the work Lyle had done to ingratiate himself to the conspirators, the pride he was losing by being brought home in disgrace, the work they’d have to do again every single time Lyle had to implant himself. So he was ready when they reached Mrs. Roberts’s cell and Lyle gave him a panicked look over his shoulder and made a break for the stairs up to the police station. 

Alex didn’t hesitate. He shot forward, stuck out a foot to trip Lyle, then grabbed his collar and dragged him backward. Lyle hit the floor with a thud and a cry of pain. 

Alex dragged the other man to his feet and kept a tight grip on his jacket. “Thank you, captain. Corporal,” he said with a nod to the officers. “We’ll be on our way now.” 

Captain Hillyard gave him a wary nod. Coporal Neucoft just watched them leave a calculating look on her face.

They walked back to the palace in silence. Now that there was no one to impress or manipulate or trick, Lyle walked next to him, quietly, watching the ground as it passed under their feet, ignoring the other pedestrians and the traffic on the road. 

Alex had expected a lot of things from Lyle when he was rescued. Relief, anger, confusion.  

He didn’t expect exhaustion. Although he should have.

Silence stretched between them. Lyle wasn’t vociferous normally, but Alex had at least hoped for a thank you.

They reached the main gate of the palace, the one with the best view, where the wings stretched on either side and the tower and dome rose tall in the center topped by a golden angel reaching toward the sky. 

Lyle stopped. “It’s still there,” he said. Then he rubbed his face hard. 

Alex stared at him. It hadn’t occurred to him that Lyle wouldn’t know whether the plot had succeeded or not, whether the Queen still lived or the palace stood.

He turned back to the view, giving Lyle a moment. 

“We found the dynamite,” he said quietly. “In the sewers, like you said. We found the spell connecting the barrels and not one cask went off. No one even knew it was going on besides the Queen.”

Lyle dropped his hands and nodded, composed again. At least enough to go on.

The gates were closed but Alex was still in uniform and the Guards saluted as they let them in. He was only a lieutenant but the entire ServantGuard knew who had gone into the sewers that morning.

Alex left Lyle at Lord Martin’s office. He would have stayed but the Earl gave him a narrow-eyed look that spoke volumes, and Alex retreated. He’d exhausted every option he had to defend Lyle already. All he could do now was wait.

An hour later, Lyle appeared in the door of his gardening shed. Alex scrambled off the stool where he’d waited. 

Lyle’s normal scowl was missing, his eyes wide and blinking.

“What are you doing here?” he said.

Alex shifted his feet. “Waiting for you.”

Lyle’s expression shuttered. “Why?” he said, voice hoarse. “We’re done. The plot averted. The Queen saved. You can go back to your Guards and never have to worry about treason and espionage again.”

Alex dropped his gaze. He knew Lyle didn’t need a partner anymore. Probably hadn’t needed one to begin with. But there were other things Alex was good for and he struggled to put those thoughts into words.

“Treason and espionage aren’t the only things in the world,” Alex said.

Lyle slammed the door as if he’d just realized it was still open. “No,” he said.

“No what?” He hadn’t even asked a question.

Lyle whirled on him. “They’re the only thing in my world. Go back to your Guards. They’re loyal and honorable. They do the right thing and save the day the right way.”

Alex swallowed remembering the things he’d said before Lyle left to commit treason. The way he’d begged him not to. 

Lyle crossed his arms, and Alex didn’t see aggression. He saw Lyle making himself as small as possible. 

“Your world doesn’t fit with mine,” Lyle said. 

Alex ran a hand through his hair and down the back of his neck. Lyle wasn’t wrong. He didn’t know how to make all the ideals he’d grown up with, the ideals he’d sworn to uphold, fit with the reality Lyle had to deal with every day. But one conviction stood apart from the maelstrom. 

“I don’t like what you do,” he said, and Lyle’s lips twisted. “I don’t like what you have to do. But I do know that without you, the Queen would be dead. Without you the palace would be destroyed. Without you, I would have been standing down there in a pile of dynamite as it all went off around me.”

Lyle’s face went pasty, and he sank down onto a stool as if his knees wouldn’t hold him up anymore.

Alex shrugged uncomfortably. “Kind of trumps the other stuff.”

“How close did you cut it?”

Bile rose in the back of Alex’s throat, and he grimaced. “You don’t want to know.”

Lyle swallowed.

Alex blew out his breath and paced from the bed back to the work bench. “I don’t know how to make your world work with mine. But if there’s anything the Guard knows, it’s heroism.”

Lyle snorted and Alex stopped pacing and placed himself in front of the agent. He’d have taken the Silver Wings from his uniform and pinned them to Lyle’s jacket if he thought the other man would have accepted them. 

“It’s true. No one will ever acknowledge it. And, yeah, you’ll probably die without anyone knowing what you’ve done. But…but I know.”

Lyle stood as if to escape the words, and Alex crowded close to him so he couldn’t ignore this.

“And I think you need someone to know. You need someone here to come back to, otherwise you’ll just go out and get yourself killed again, thinking you’re alone.”

“Again?” Lyle said, dryly. 

Alex ignored him. “And you can’t do that because you’re the kind of hero we’re going to need over and over again.” Alex leaned in, a breath away from Lyle. “You don’t get to throw yourself away.”

Lyle’s throat bobbed once, twice, before finally, finally he leaned forward and let his forehead rest on Alex’s. The agent sagged, and the guard took his weight. For however long he needed it.

When he was ready, Lyle cleared his throat. “I guess I’m not going to get you to leave.” He stepped away and pulled a deck of cards from the shelf over the bench. “Do you play King’s Ransom, at least? ‘Cause I’m not babysitting some dumb Guard who can’t hold his own at cards.”

Alex grinned, the heavy weight in his chest lifting. He didn’t ask Lyle for details. He didn’t want to know exactly what he’d done to get in with the conspirators. Or what he’d done to get the dynamite in place. Or what he’d done to get that information to Alex in time. 

He didn’t need to know any of it. Because he knew the only thing that mattered.