Excerpt: Mischief and F*ckery
An excerpt from A Tale of Mischief and F*ckery by Liz Shipton
(Holiday Remix Series)
Chapter One
Penelope
His name was Zarin Stevenson. He was twenty-seven years old and six foot four, with a jawline that could cut glass, and cheekbones you could hang your washing on. Penelope Callaghan had known him since she was eight years old. The two of them had grown up inside the castle together—Penelope watching Zarin from the window of the library while he trained with the Guard down in the courtyard.
He was frequently broody, and spent long hours gazing at things in the middle distance. Penelope did sometimes wonder whether he was actually listening to her when she was talking to him, but she did her best to be patient. She knew Zarin struggled: he was a bastard son of the king, and motherless, and being motherless herself, Penelope knew what that felt like.
Court could be difficult for people like her and Zarin. It was small and stifling. Sometimes, Penelope felt trapped. She felt powerless. She felt dead inside. She got the feeling Zarin felt the same.
She watched him now from her seat on the edge of the fountain as he sparred with Seamus Finnigan on the other side of the courtyard. Although the two were dressed in the identical fighting leathers of the Guard, Penelope had no trouble discerning which one was Zarin. He was dark-haired and smaller than blonde, brutish Seamus. Quicker; a little more nimble on his feet. He was also losing. Zarin was usually losing.
Seamus landed a crippling blow and Zarin went down to a knee. Penelope flicked her book up in front of her face in case Zarin noticed her sitting there. She didn’t want to embarrass him by watching him lose. She continued pretending to read while Seamus and Zarin shook hands and the captain of the Guard called the practice to an end. The ten or so young men who had been training alongside Zarin and Seamus filed across the courtyard, shaking out their sweaty hair and peeling off their leathers.
Penelope heard the scrape of boots and looked over the top of her book to find Zarin standing before her, sweating and breathing hard, with his sword tucked under one arm and a small, white ribbon in his other hand. He held the ribbon out to her.
“I think you dropped this, my lady.”
“Oh!” Penelope took the ribbon and laid it along the inside spine of her book. She closed it and set it on the fountain beside her. “Thank you. How was training?”
Zarin shook his head with a shrug, and his dark, damp hair fell into his dark, green eyes. “Fine.”
“Would you like to sit?”
“I’m all sweaty. You don’t want that.”
Penelope smiled. “I really don’t mind.”
He adjusted the sword under his arm and cleared his throat. “What are you reading?”
She held up the book. “Patrick O’Hannigan and the Leprechauns of Killarney. It’s a history of the Day of the Lucky Saint. I always like to read it on Saint’s Day. It’s fascinating, you know.”
“Careful,” said Zarin, “I heard leprechauns don’t take kindly to girls who read.”
Penelope frowned. “Where did you hear that?”
“Nowhere.” He scuffed his boot. “Joke. Sorry.”
She nodded and silence fell between them. Penelope drummed her fingers on the spine of the book.
“Are you going to the festival tomorrow?”
“The Guard will be in attendance, yes.” Another small silence hung between them, then Zarin said, “Are you?” Penelope nodded. Zarin nodded. They both nodded. Then he said, “Are you going alone?”
Penelope face prickled with heat. She always went to festivals alone. She touched her hair reflexively and set the book aside again. “Mhm. What about you?” When Zarin nodded, she asked, “Will you be dancing with anyone?”
Zarin adjusted his sword again. “The Guard will be on duty. I’ll be there in a defensive capacity only.”
“Ah.” Penelope nodded. “I see.”
She dropped her eyes and silence stretched between them. Zarin shifted his sword to under his other arm and said, “Well, I suppose I’d better go and get out of these leathers.”
“Mm.” Penelope nodded and drummed her fingers on the book again. “Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Zarin stepped back, his eyes cast down, hair falling across them. He nodded. “Perhaps, Lady Penelope.”
“You know, you can just call me Pen,” she said.
He bowed slightly. “Yes, my lady. I know.”
Zarin
Zarin stalked back to his bunk in the servant’s quarters, fuming.
Idiot. She had asked him outright if he was going to dance with anyone. She had told him to call her Pen. She was practically begging him to make a move! And what had he done? Mumbled and scuffed his boots and made some stupid joke about girls who could read.
The rest of the Guard were already in the servant’s quarters, stripping off their leathers and hanging up their swords. The air was warm and damp with sweat. Zarin flung his sword onto his bunk and began tugging open the laces of his chest plate.
It had been almost fifteen years that he had been hopelessly in love with Penelope Callaghan, and he was starting to worry that if he didn’t make a move soon, that asshole Seamus Finnigan would swoop in before he could. Lady Penelope had never taken a suitor—she was quiet, and Zarin knew she preferred the company of her books to men—but she was twenty three now, and eventually, her father would demand a marriage.
There was little chance that Zarin, a poor, motherless bastard, would stand a chance at securing a marriage to the daughter of the castle lord, but some days he dreamed. He dreamed of waking up beside Penelope in silk sheets and satin pillows. Of her soft, silver-blonde hair surrounding him like a canopy as the early morning sunlight filtered through the bright green leaves outside the castle windows. He dreamed of touching her fragile, ivory skin and smelling her clover and lavender scent on his fingertips.
Days he dreamed about that, he spent most of the following night pumping himself dry in the outhouse behind the training ring. Which was most nights.
Zarin stripped off his leathers and stood half-naked before the cloudy glass mirror on the wall beside his bunk, examining his torso. Bruises were coming up all over his chest and ribs where Seamus had bludgeoned him with his blade. Zarin turned sideways and flexed his bicep. He tilted his head to look at the tattoo on the side of his neck. B for Bastard.
“Better luck next time, eh Zee?” Seamus clapped him hard on the shoulder as he strode by, shirtless. Zarin grit his teeth and said nothing. He pulled a pumice stone from under his pillow, grabbed his threadbare towel from where it hung next to the mirror, and headed for the door to wash up in the stables.
He was halfway across the room when the door opened and the Captain of the Guard’s shadow fell across the floor. “Boys!” he barked. “Attention please.”
The room fell quiet. Zarin halted as the rest of the Guard turned their attention to the captain.
“We’ve heard a rumor that a threat has been made against Lady Penelope’s life,” said the captain. Zarin’s heart stumbled. A rumble of chatter began to rise in the room around him. The captain held up a hand. “Now, this is only a rumor. We have no evidence that the lady is in any immediate danger. However, we will be doubling our efforts at the festival tomorrow. All of you will be posted, and you will remain posted throughout the evening. No man is to leave his post for any reason. If you see anything suspicious or untoward, you are to report it to me immediately. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Captain,” chorused the room. Zarin put up his hand.
“What about Lady Penelope, Sir? Has anyone been assigned to detail her?”
Snickers rustled around him like wind through dry grass. “You gonna guard her, Zee?” Seamus called from the back. “Gonna show her your sword?”
Zarin swung around, clenching his fists. “Someone should. Someone should be posted to keep an eye on her.”
“No doubt.” Seamus folded his big arms across his naked chest and tilted up his chin. “Someone should. But not you.”
“Alright—” The captain banged on the door with his fist as Zarin stepped toward Seamus. “Order, please! Rest assured Lady Penelope will have a guard detail. That is none of your concern.”
“Sir—” said Zarin.
“Any of you. Lord Callaghan has hired private security. They will be bolstering our forces at the festival tomorrow. We are to patrol the perimeter and leave the immediate protection of the Lady up to them.” He eyed Zarin and then Seamus. “Is that clear?”
Zarin nodded. Seamus scowled and unfolded his arms. “Yes, Captain.”
The captain surveyed the room once more, saluted them, and walked out. Zarin watched the door bang closed behind him. Private security? He’d never heard of Lord Callaghan, or indeed anyone, hiring private security before. He’d have to make sure he was assigned a post near the action, so he could keep a close eye on Penelope.
He slung his towel over his shoulder and headed for the stables.
Chapter Two
Zarin
Golden, late-afternoon sunlight slanted through the castle gate. Silver streamers and ribbons of green festooned the walls and fountain. The smell of grilling meat rose from merchant stalls erected around the edges of the courtyard, and a jangle of strings and percussion carried a clear, plaintive voice over the hubbub of the smartly-dressed crowd.
Zarin stood at his post just inside the gate and watched a group of villagers dancing a circle around the fountain. Penelope was among them, her arms linked through the arms of two burly, red-faced women on either side, her bright, infectious smile beaming through the haze of the setting sun. Zarin’s heart ached.
He narrowed his eyes and sent his gaze around the courtyard. He had seen neither hide nor hair of this private security Lord Callaghan had supposedly hired. Maybe they had been called off. Maybe it had been determined that they weren’t needed after all. Because if they were here, they were doing a very poor job of guarding Penelope.
The music stopped and the villagers tumbled to a halt, laughing and gasping for breath, unlinking their arms and dissipating as the band took up a slower, stately refrain. Penelope, flushed and breathless, stood for a moment alone, touching her hair and adjusting her corset. And then, like a blonde, brawny Abartach, all blood-sucking charm and smarmy, irritating smile, Seamus stepped out of the crowd and offered her his hand.
Zarin felt his mouth drop open in furious disbelief. Seamus had left his post. He was blatantly disobeying a direct order. He was undermining the integrity of the Guard and recklessly endangering Penelope’s life. And worst of all, she was smiling back at him.
Zarin’s veins filled with white-hot fury. Impotent, bound by his honor, stuck at his post, he watched as Penelope curtsied and took Seamus’s hand. Seamus pulled her against him and slid his other arm around her waist—too low, much too low, absolutely shamelessly low—and they began to dance.
Zarin glared around the courtyard, looking for the captain. How had he allowed this to happen? How had Seamus gotten away from his post? Zarin’s pulse began to rise. He took his job as a guard seriously—had never stepped away from his post in his life. But he was starting to consider it now. He was imagining what it would be like to walk up behind Seamus, tap him on the shoulder, and punch him in the face as soon as he turned around.
The captain was on the other side of the festival, talking to Lord Callaghan. He hadn’t noticed Seamus. Zarin adjusted his grip around the hilt of his sword. He wasn’t actually going to punch Seamus. He was just going to go over there and give him a piece of his mind. Give him a thorough dressing down in front of Penelope. Make her see that what Seamus was doing was recklessly irresponsible. He gripped his sword and took one step away from the gate.
The fountain exploded in a dazzling flash of light.
Zarin was thrown backward into the castle wall as stone and rubble shot into the sky. The light from the explosion fractured and split—all colors of the rainbow lighting up the courtyard, like a bomb had gone off inside a prism. Merchant stalls were blown over and destroyed. People screamed and were flung in all directions.
Dazed, his head ringing, Zarin struggled to his feet. The air was so thick with rainbow-colored smoke that he could hardly see. All around him, people were crying and yelling to each other. Choking, with one arm over his face, he plunged into the chaos, his heart suddenly strangling him, bits of debris raining down around him.
“Penelope!” He dived around a woman with blood all over her face, and narrowly avoided colliding with a screaming child. “Penelope!”
The smoke cleared and he saw her, lying under a tree on the other side of the courtyard, her white-blonde hair spread like a silver river over the cobblestones at its roots. His foot tangled with something and he tripped and went down hard on his knees and elbows. Staggering up, he glanced back at the thing as he kept running for Penelope. It was Seamus. Covered in blood and with one arm missing, his eyes open and glassy, staring unseeingly at the sky.
Zarin couldn’t breathe as he closed in on Penelope. His heart had his lungs in a chokehold, and the only thing he could hear was the sound of his own voice inside his head saying, She isn’t dead she isn’t dead she isn’t dead she isn’t—
Something very small and very fast whizzed by his ear. It rippled his hair and seared an icy sliver of pain into his temple. Zarin ducked sideways, clapping a hand to the side of his head, and when he pulled the hand away, it was bloody. Another projectile struck the stones just in front of his feet and he skidded to a halt. As it bounced away in a shower of sparks, Zarin saw it was an arrow. Someone was shooting at him.
He pulled to a halt, pulling his sword from its holster. He lifted it with two hands and turned a full three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle, casting his gaze around wildly, looking for the attacker. He drew a breath to steady his hand and for a moment, the world went still. The sound of settling debris, of screaming mothers and crying children, the smell of smoke and the dust in the air became distant. He heard his heart inside his head. He heard the breath inside his lungs.
And then a woman dropped out of the sky.