Counting Shadows (Duplicity) (18 page)

I guide Tamal in a half-circle and urge him to canter back toward Lor. Lor’s eyes grow wide at our fast approach, and he eyes my hands on the reins.

“Relax.” I pull Tamal to a halt just a couple feet away from Lor’s stallion. It’s much closer than I need to be, and I’m rewarded when Lor swallows hard and shudders. “I’m not going to trample you,” I say. “Unlike you, I know how to ride a horse.”

Lor clears his throat, although the sound is weak. “Why do you ride differently from the other women here?” he asks. “They all ride like they’re getting ready to jump off at any moment.” He looks down at his horse and makes a face. “Which is actually pretty smart.”

I roll my eyes and reach over to snatch Lor’s reins. We’ve made it to the beach, and no one is here to see us. I can guide Lor now, without anyone getting upset about a ‘lady’ doing a man’s duty.

“It’s called riding side-saddle,” I reply as I tie Lor’s reins to the horn of my saddle. I give them a tug, ensuring they’re secure, and then nudge my horse forward. “It’s custom for women to ride like that. And it’s horribly uncomfortable, ridiculous, and even dangerous.”

Lor just nods his head, as if this doesn’t surprise him. “That sounds like the kind of custom your people would have.”

I glare at him, but I can’t bother myself with a retort. Because he’s right; my country’s customs do tend to be uncomfortable, ridiculous, and even dangerous. Our eternal Guardians, and poofy dresses, and Matches make us…
different
. But somehow I’m convinced it’s a good different. The kind that feels familiar. The kind I wouldn’t like to see end anytime soon.

I shudder, my thoughts drifting to Shale. And to my choice.

“Where are we going?” Lor asks when I don’t respond. He’s frowning down at his stallion, and trying to steer him by repeatedly kicking his flanks. The poor animal has figured out that ignoring Lor is the best option, and plods along after Tamal.

“You wanted to get out.” I make a broad gesture with my hand to our surroundings. The salt-and-pepper sand. The wispy clouds overhead that block out the sun. The pounding surf just yards away. “So we’re out.”

Lor makes that little grunting noise in the back of his throat. I can hear the displeasure in it, and I know that his version of ‘getting out’ includes something a little more exiting. Or at least something that doesn’t involve horses.

Our mounts trudge along down the beach, their footsteps creating soft sucking sounds in the damp sand. We both allow silence to overtake our feeble attempt at a conversation. Lor is brooding, I can tell. As cocky as he tries to appear, he’s upset about the whole situation. He doesn’t like being trapped as my Guardian.

He continues to glare at the vambrace around his forearm. He despises it, and I don’t have to ask to know. It’s what binds him to me, what keeps him from running away.

“I’m still not convinced the vambrace’s magic is real,” he’d told me the other day.

“Why?”

“Human magic doesn’t last that long,” Lor said. He tapped the vambrace. “That spell probably faded from this thing centuries ago. If it ever existed.”

I’d raised an eyebrow at him. “You want to test that theory?” And that shut him up.

I sigh and shake away the memory. It’s strange to think that he should be trapped by a simple piece of leather. Him, a prince. Royalty. Part of a prophecy. And yet here he is, trapped as a Guardian to a disgraced princess. It’s not fair.

But life’s not fair.

We approach the end of the beach, where a cliff-face interrupts the sand and juts out into the ocean. Our horses slow and then stop. No one moves. At first the only sound is the heavy breaths of my horse, and the slight wheezing of Lor’s aging stallion. But then others begin to filter in. The calls of seagulls, and waves carrying their cries out to sea. Sand skittering along the shoreline, driven by the wind. Those sounds have become so steady and monotonous, I have to focus to hear them. But, when I do, they create something natural and harmonious.

“It’s pretty out here,” Lor says. I can tell by his hushed tone that he doesn’t want to interrupt the sounds, but he does anyway. Of course he does. He can never seem to resist hearing his own voice.

I nod and dismount from Tamal. My boots strike the sand with a heavy crunching noise. It’s the same sound as breaking bones, and it’s always bothered me.

Lor clears his throat and taps his knuckles against the saddle, his rhythm just as bad as before. He stares down at the sand below him, his eyebrows furrowing as he tries to judge the distance between his saddle and the ground.

“Is there anything you’re
not
scared of?” I ask.

He clears his throat again. “Of course. Horses just aren’t one of those things.”

I sigh and lead Tamal over to the jutting cliff. A rocky alcove has been carved into the base of the cliff over the years; it floods at night when the tide comes in, but during the day it makes a fine little hideout. Although I’m not exactly sure what I’m hiding from. There’s no sun to evade today, and the wind is nothing but a small nuisance. Perhaps it’s the castle I want to escape from. The sights of royalty, the sounds, the smells. None of them can reach me in my familiar little alcove.

I ground-tie Tamal by the base of the entrance. He’s the best trained horse of the royal stables—a retired cavalry mount—and he’ll stay stock-still for as long as I allow his reins to touch the ground. Sometimes I wonder what kind of training could make a horse act so obedient and unnatural. Nothing pleasant, that’s for sure.

Lor leaps off the back of his stallion, landing in a crouch. He has Ashe’s grace, the type that should be odd and unnatural, but is instead simply mesmerizing. As he stands, he reaches his arms above his head and leans back. It’s meant to be a simple stretch, but he may as well be screaming for all nearby eyes to gawk at him.

Unfortunately, I’m the only set of eyes nearby. And I can’t help but to gawk. His tattoo is mesmerizing, the swirls of the flames nearly hypnotic. I stare at his chest, following the tattoo from his shoulder to the place where the inked flames lick at his collarbone.

I shouldn’t stare. It’s ridiculous. How many times have I seen this tattoo? Hundreds. Perhaps thousands. Ashe was good at hiding it, but I was better at catching glimpses at the amazing ink-work. I should be over it by now.

But I can’t be over it, because staring at Lor’s tattoo is like staring at a piece of Ashe. It’s beautiful. It’s painful. And I never want to take my eyes from it.

Lor raises an eyebrow at me. It’s become his customary response when he finds me staring at him. He’s given up with the winks and cocky grins; he’s no longer amused by my continuous stares. No, he’s annoyed now. I can see it in the way he bites his lip to keep from frowning. He doesn’t like the look I get in my eye when I stare at his tattoo. I’m not sure if I would like it, either.

“What are we doing here, princess?” he asks.

I shrug.

Lor sighs and rolls his eyes. He sticks his hands in his pockets and turns toward the ocean, giving me a view of the full tattoo on his back. He stands stock still for a long moment, but then his foot begins tapping out another one of those uneven rhythms.

I slowly take my eyes from Lor and join him in staring out to the ocean. The water is rough today, and no ships have dared to venture out to fish. It’s odd seeing the ocean so empty.

“Your ocean is a strange color,” Lor says. He shakes his head and sighs again. “It’s so…
dull
. But then I suppose most things in this land are dull.”

I walk deeper into the alcove, where the rocks form worn-down seats. My back is still turned to Lor as I say, “You made a promise, Lor.”

“Did I?”

I sit on one of the rocks. It’ll ruin my dress, which isn’t a shame at all. “Yes, you did. You said you’d tell me more about your family and country if I took you out of my chambers. And I did. So tell me more. To start with, what color is
your
ocean?”

Lor stiffens for a moment. I can see his jaw working back and forth, his teeth grinding as he considers my words. Then he lets out a long breath. “Blue,” he says quietly. “And not this type of blue.” He gestures to the waters in front of him. “Your ocean is a murky blue. Ugly. My ocean is gorgeous.”

“A tropical blue,” I say.

He startles a little and turns toward me, that grin playing at the corners of his lips. “Yes. Exactly, we’re a tropical land. How did you know?”

I tap the side of my head. “This isn’t as empty as you’d think. I’m well educated. More so than I should be. My father doesn’t think girls should be taught beyond basic arithmetic, but I enjoy reading books.”

Lor scoffs a little. “I’ve noticed.” Then he frowns a little and walks toward me. It’s all I can do to focus on his face and not the tattoo snaking over his shoulder. “Why do you keep your books in such plain view if you’re not supposed to read them? I mean, you have a
library
.”

I smirk. “You honestly haven’t figured that out by now? Hardly anyone ever comes into my chambers. And if they do, it’s either Jackal or Farren, or sometimes the maids. And none of them would dare tell Father I’m disobeying him and reading books.”

Lor sits next to me. He has a bad habit of not understanding the concept of personal space, and he sits barely two feet from me. Ashe had the same habit, but I didn’t mind it when he sat close. Ashe’s presence was warm and comfortable. But Lor’s presence is… scorching.

“Who’s this Jackal?” Lor asks.

“He’s the Vampire we saw in the gardens.”

“No, I mean who is he to
you
?”

“He’s…” I trail off. How should I explain Jackal? I can’t call him my tutor; he’d been fired from that position, as his paranoia grew and his teaching skills waned. I can’t exactly call him a friend, either; he’s always been too hard on me for a true friendship to form. And a mentor… he’s too broken to be a person to truly look up to.

Maybe that’s what he really is to me: Someone broken. Someone I can understand. Someone who understands me.

“He’s an acquaintance,” I say slowly. Then I give Lor an accusing look. “You’re the one who’s supposed to be answering the questions.”

He grins. “But you’re not asking any.”

I give him a small glare, but don’t retort. This is all so odd to me. I ask questions when I want something or when I need information. Not when I casually want to get to know someone better.

But that’s what I want from Lor. I want to know him better, to hear about his people, his country, his life with Ashe.

I think for a long moment, considering the best way to approach the conversation. Waves crash against the sand. Seagulls cry. And I have my first question.

“How old are you?” I ask. I’ve always wanted to know this; Ashe’s age was a mystery. We guessed that he was a year older than me, and celebrated his birthday the same day as mine. But it was never a very happy celebration, not when we both knew it was a lie.

“Nineteen years,” Lor replies, confirming my suspicions. Then he quietly adds, “Jay was an hour younger than me.”

I nod slowly, and my stomach twists a little. Somehow, it stings to hear Lor state Ashe’s age so easily. What was a frustrating mystery to me is nothing but an everyday fact to him. It’s just another reminder of what Lor is to Ashe: His brother. And what I am:

Nothing. At least not anymore.

Lor continues tapping his foot, which leads me to my next question.

“Is everyone in your family as anxious as you are?”

Lor’s eyes widen. He clenches his fist and unclenches it. Then clenches it again. It’s another nervous tic, one of his more unconscious ones, and he doesn’t realize he’s doing it as he replies, “I’m not anxious.”

I scoff. “Lor, you never stop moving. You’re constantly looking around like you expect to be stabbed from behind. You stare at strangers like they’ll all plotting your murder…”

Lor cringes at my words, and I trail off. Silence settles over us for a moment, and it’s not the comfortable type from just moments before. I decide to break it before it gets any more tense.

“Someone plotted your murder?” I don’t bother speaking quietly; there’s no way to soften a question like that.

Lor nods stiffly. I barely catch the movement, it’s so small. “Yeah. Asair did. He set me up to look like I’d killed my sister.” Lor lets out a long breath and rubs his face. “Emryll was the oldest of my siblings. I got really close to her after Jay was taken away. But she was also the commander of our navy, and had control over most foreign invasions.”

A woman controlling an entire navy? My head spins a little at the thought. I’ve heard the stories of how women are treated differently in other lands, but I never imagined the differences could be
that
drastic.

If I show any surprise, Lor doesn’t notice. He just continues with his story. “At the time, Emryll and I were in a fight. It got…
heated
. I knew Jay had been taken to Irrador, and I thought Emryll should send a fleet to retrieve him.

“But Emryll didn’t like the idea. It’d already been years since Jay had disappeared, and she thought I was chasing after a ghost. She was afraid it was going to spark a conflict if any of our ships landed in Irrador uninvited.”

Lor sighs and doesn’t say anything more for a long moment. He just grinds his teeth, his jaw working back and forth determinedly. I don’t say anything, either. The wind picks up, and the sound of sand skittering across the beach overtakes all traces of our conversation.

“Asair murdered my sister in her sleep,” Lor murmurs. He states it so quietly that I barely hear him. But I can still hear the anger in his words, penetrating every syllable.

“I’m sorry,” I say in a tone that sounds odd even to me. It’s not quite a whisper, but it’s… hushed. Almost sympathetic.

Lor begins clenching and unclenching his fist again. “Asair made it look like I’d killed her. And my father bought the story. After all, I was fighting with Emryll, so it’d make sense for me to kill her. But…” Lor shakes his head. “I would never have hurt her. Never.”

“Is that why you’re no longer in line for the throne?”