Counting Shadows (Duplicity) (13 page)

I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering what I’d admitted to Lor:
“He was my… everything.”

My life will be meaningless once I kill Ashe’s murderer. It may as well be over.

And that scares me.

I wake the next morning to a knock at my bedroom door. My heart pounds and I take in a deep gasp. No one should be in my chambers, not this early. But then I see the light pouring in through the windows, and I realize that it’s not early at all. It’s at least midmorning.

I drag myself from the bed and yelp as I fall to the floor. My bed is shorter than usual. Then I blink a few times, clearing my mind, and realize that my bed’s height hasn’t changed. I’m just in a different bed that usual.

That’s right. Lor stole mine last night.

I straighten my nightgown and answer the door. Lor stands there, although it’s a different Lor than the one I encountered last night. This one doesn’t stumble or collapse at my feet; he stands proudly, shoulders straight, chin tilted up. His jaw is gritted, and he rubs at vambrace around his wrist. The skin around it is already raw.

He nods toward the main door of my chambers, which stands behind him down a short hallway. “Someone keeps knocking at that door.”

I peer around him, which is a bit of a task. Lor has a brawny build, and the dungeon has failed to strip all his muscle from him. It strikes me again how easily he could crush me, how quickly he could kill me, and how I could do nothing about it. But somehow I’m not scared of him.

“Do you know who it is?” I ask.

“No.”

“Then go see,” I say. “I can’t answer in my nightgown.”

He raises an eyebrow and gestures to his shirtless chest. “So it’s better for me to answer half-naked and reeking like a ‘pig sty’?” His voice turns sarcastic as he says those last words, and I know he’s mocking my previous comment.

I shove past him, not even bothering to give a response. I’m not in the mood for an argument or a comeback. When I reach the door, I yank it open and put on my best I’m-having-a-bad-morning-don’t-you-dare-piss-me-off glare. I’m sure my rumpled nightgown and hair completes the picture of a very sleep-deprived, very angry, and very un-presentable princess.

I want to hit something.

But I resist the urge and try to focus my bleary eyes on the person in front of me. It’s Farren, looking just as perfect as ever. His tunic is ironed, his shoulders straight, and his crown balanced on top of his neatly combed hair. The only non-perfect thing about him is the frown on his face.

“So I hear you’ve gone insane,” he says in a deadpan voice, not even bothering with a greeting.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Farren barges past me, into my chambers. He stops right where Ashe’s blood once dripped onto the floor. “Cut the bull, Faye. You know what I’m talking about. Choosing an Angel as a Guardian? What were you
thinking
?”

I shrug. “It seemed like the best choice at the time.”

“
Why?
What would possess you to Choose an Angel? I know you’re just trying to spite Father, but don’t you realize this will be
my
problem in a few months? As soon as I inherit the throne, this all falls on me.
I’ll
be the king with the unstable sister.
I’ll
be the one blamed for your antics. And you’ll be in danger from your own Guardian!”

“I wouldn’t hurt her.”

Farren whirls toward Lor, who stands in the hallway. An awkward silence takes over the conversation.

“This isn’t about spite,” I mumble lamely.

Farren takes in Lor, his eyes concerned. Then his gaze lands on Lor’s shoulders, and there’s a loud
snap
as Farren’s jaw clamps together. He inhales sharply through his nose. “Faye,” he growls. “This Angel has the same tattoo as Ashe.”

“My name is Lor,” Lor says. “Not ‘this Angel’.”

I shoot Lor a warning glance with a clear message:
Now isn’t the time.

Farren scoffs. “Is this why you picked him as your Guardian? Because he reminds you of the past you refuse to forget?”

I glare at the stone floor. “I couldn’t forget Ashe if I wanted to.”

“So then you admit it. This Angel—”

“I said my name is Lor,” Lor repeats, this time his tone a little closer to a growl.

Farren pins him with a glare. “
This Angel
is just another part of your obsession with the past.”

“I’m Jay’s brother,” Lor offers.

Farren narrows his eyes. “
Whose
brother?”

“Ashe,” I say. “His real name was Jay.”

Farren laughs, although the sound is far from amused. “So that’s what this is all about. You can’t move on from Ashe, so now you’re going to obsess over his brother.”

“I never—”

“You
promised
,” Farren hissed. “You swore you’d Choose one of the men Father wanted you to. You said you were going to forget the past and move on.”

I look to the ground. Lor shuffles his feet. Farren breathes like a horse after a hunt.

Then my twin scoffs and shakes his head. “This is ridiculous. Why am I even arguing with you? You’re hopeless, Faye. Totally hopeless.”

I grit my teeth. “I think you should leave, Farren.”

He laughs again, the sound cutting into me. “Yeah, I bet you do. You’ve completely lost your mind, haven’t you? You want me to just leave you alone with an
Angel
.”

I can’t meet his gaze. Instead, I stare at Lor’s tattoo.
It’s worth it,
I tell myself.
It’s worth anything to find Ashe’s killer.

“I really think you need to leave,” I whisper.

“You already told me that.” He stomps toward me, only stopping when he’s barely a foot in front of me. “Here,” he snaps, reaching into a pocket and pulling an envelope out. “This came for you. More intelligence about Ashe’s killer, I’m sure.” He presses the envelope into my hand and sneers at me. “You’re losing your touch, Faye. Don’t you know that legitimate messengers attract attention?”

“What…?” I can’t think of anything to say. I didn’t order any intelligence, and certainly not from a noticeable messenger.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. The rider who came galloping up to the castle today, riding like he had wolves on his tail? What did you do to scare him like that?”

“I didn’t do anything.” I tap the envelope. “This isn’t—”

“Don’t try to fool me.” He strides toward the door, his jaw and fists clenched.

“Farren, wait!”

He whirls around. “I thought you wanted me to leave?”

“Just…” I bite my lip and trail off.

He points a finger at me. “Let me get this straight, Faye. You’re my sister, and I love you. I
care
about you. But you obviously don’t want my care. And until that changes, I’m not going to waste my energy on you. So either drop this revenge ploy, or don’t expect to see me anymore.”

I take a shuddering breath and stare at the spot on the ground where Ashe’s blood once covered the stone blocks. His lie echos in my mind: ‘
Everything is going to be okay…’

If only he were still alive. He’d know how to handle this. He’d tell me what to do.

I point to the door, not daring to meet Farren’s eyes. “Just go.”

I light a fire when I get back to my room. The mirror next to my wardrobe reflects the flames, and I stare into the glass for a long time, silently hoping Blaize will reappear. As much as I don’t want to see him again, he’d be a welcome distraction from the envelope fisted in my hand.

When Blaize doesn’t show, I walk over to my windows and pull the curtains over them, leaving the room sealed in darkness. The fire casts ghostly shadows on the walls, and I stare down at the envelope, wondering what’s inside. Nothing good, that’s for sure. But nothing seems to be good in my life at the moment, so that’s not much of a surprise. Before I can stop myself, I tear open the top more roughly than I have to, and yank out the letter. The message is simple:

‘Choose soon. Your country doesn’t have much time left. The invasion will come soon.

Should you do nothing, your regret will likely kill you.’

There’s no signature, but it’s not like I need one. Blaize. He sent this.

I collapse onto my bed and bury my face in a pillow. I want out of this. Out of this situation, this decision, this life. Maybe Farren was right; maybe I
am
crazy for getting myself into this.

I shake my head, and my hair falls around my face. I want to stay like this forever, hidden from sight, concealed from the crazy world outside. But I still have a choice to make. Kill Father, or let my country be captured. Either way, people will suffer. Giving the country over to Shale means thousands of people forced into slavery and battle. But a war against Shale could result in just as many Irradorian casualties—or more.

I read the note again, then a third and fourth time. The words impact me one by one, crushing me. I take a shuddering breath and crumple the letter into a ball.

“No,” I murmur, throwing it into the fire.

I startle awake as something flops down on my bed, right next to my head. I peel my eyes open to see it’s a book, the huge one Jackal gave me on mythology. But why…?

“I want to show you something.”

It’s Lor’s voice. I turn toward it and find him standing above me, his expression dark. He waves a hand at me, gesturing for me to move. I blink a couple times and peer out the window. Light pours into the guest room, brightening it with afternoon sun. Didn’t I close those curtains? And why am I in bed, when it’s afternoon?

Then I remember. Crumpling the note up, burning it, and trying to sleep away my worries. I must have fallen asleep hours ago.

“Scooch over,” Lor says.

“Lor, I am not letting you in bed with me,” I mumble. It strikes me that the book he tossed on the bed is one from my closet. Which means he’s been in my closet, and probably snooping around the rest of my room. I glare up at his bleary form.

“Move,” he insists.

“But I’m in my nightgown.”

“And I’m wearing a shirt. See, we all have clothes on. Now
move
.”

I blink a couple times and stare at him, just to check that he’s not lying. He’s not. He wears the fresh green tunic and brown breeches I put out for him the night before. I’d put them next to the tub in the washroom, which means he’s probably taken a bath. I sniff, relieved to find that he smells like soap and not prison.

Lor rolls his eyes. “Are you going to just keep sniffing me, or are you going to—”

“I’m moving,” I snap. I slide to the other side of the bed, and he sits next to me, folding his legs. His movements are smooth and powerful, like a wolf’s. He grabs the book and opens it, flipping through it a page at a time.
One, two, three, four, five, six…

“Are you going to read me a bedtime story?”

“Hardy-har-har,” Lor mutters.

“Because, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s afternoon. Not prime time for bedtime stories.”

“Not time for sleeping, either. You should thank me for waking you up.”

I curse him and flop back onto my pillows.

“Has anyone ever told you that you can be really cranky?”

“Yes. They were never seen again.”

“Give me a second,” Lor says, ignoring my comment. He flips to another page. “It should be in here somewhere.”

I peer at the aging book. “What should be in there?”

“You want answers about Jay. I’m giving them to you.”

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. I’m not sure what answers could be in a mythology book—maybe some kind of code, or a hidden message. But, whatever it is, I’m ready to face it.

Lor continues flipping through the book, and I bite at my lip. It’s still sore from yesterday, when I bit through the skin during the Match. A minute passes, and Lor still hasn’t found the right page. I sigh, deciding I need some sort of distraction from my twisting stomach.

“Why did Ashe look so different from you?” I blurt out. “I mean, you were twins, but you looked nothing alike. He didn’t have your hair, or your build, or even your skin.”

Lor flips another page. “Angels are born differently than humans,” he says. “What I said about us all looking the same is mildly true. We take after one of our parents exactly. But only one of them. Ashe took after our mother, and I took after our father.”

I think of Ashe’s pale complexion and slender build and dark hair. The only thing Lor shares with Ashe is his eyes. They both have—
had
— gorgeous, wide eyes that are partially concealed with thick lashes.

I shake my head, realizing I’ve just thought of Lor as gorgeous. Sure, he’s handsome, but that’s no excuse to start ogling Ashe’s twin.

Then something strikes me. It steals my breath away, leaving me unable to voice the question I desperately want to ask. After a moment, I manage to suck in a deep breath and ask, “Lor, you said Angels take after one of their parents? Nearly exactly?”

“Yes.”

“The man I saw, the one who turned in Ashe for treason… He looked just like you. That’s why I visited you in prison, because I thought you were him. I know you’re not him, because he had different scars and he didn’t have your tattoo. But he must have been related to you.”

Lor’s finger stops trailing down the page. He finally takes his eyes off the book and looks up to me. “I know, Faye. His name is Asair. He’s my older brother.”

I close my eyes and repeat the name in my head.
Asair. Asair. Asair
. I can’t forget it, because the man I’ve been searching for finally has a name. He’s finally a solid target, and not a waft of smoke in the wind.

Then my stomach tightens and begins to twist. Because the man who turned in Ashe—who betrayed him, who killed him—had been his own brother. And Ashe didn’t deserve that kind of death. He didn’t deserve death at all.

“What exactly did Asair do?” Lor asks. His voice is hushed and hesitant, like he doesn’t really want to know.

I look over to him, and for the first time, I see pain in Lor’s expression. Real pain, the kind that wrenches at the soul until it’s exposed on the outside. I decide I like Lor’s soul. It’s hardened and tough, but it’s merely shielded, and not ruined.