In Her Shadow (4 page)

The breeze drifting up from the sea was too warm to wear her cloak; while Dux Lucius strapped a sword to his waist, she doffed it, slinging it over her forearm.

"Come along," he said, clipped as he tightened his belt and started for the front gate.

"Slow down. We don't have to be in such a hurry."

"This isn't a romantic moonlit stroll," he said.

"No, I know. But it's a nice night. Maybe you can't enjoy it, but I can."

"We need to move quickly and as silently as possible to avoid trouble," said Dux Lucius as they breezed past the empty guard post at the gates of the manse.

"You people really have a messed up view of our city." Britta lifted her arm slightly to indicate her cloak to him. "No one would dare hurt us."

"I know this city better than you think," he said. "And it's changing. Your people, I mean your sisters at the abbey, their power is waning–"

Britta laughed, her voice echoing off the walls of the empty street. There was noise further down towards the docks – where her sisters plied their trade when not at the abbey itself – but in the foreign section, it was quiet.

"Why are you laughing?"

Britta shook her head. "The people of Ankshara have always been ours, always loved their Goddess. She's always been here for them, protected and nurtured them."

"She didn't protect them from us."

Britta stopped. Dux Lucius went a few more steps before he turned to face her. "What?"

"What is your problem?" she asked.

"Problem?"

"Yes?"

"I don't have a problem."

Britta took a deep breath, trying to calm the anger welling up inside her. It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for that blank expression of his. "Look, neither one of us wants this marriage but we're in this whether we like it or–"

"Shut up."

Britta shook her head, mouth agape. Why had she tried to calm herself? This guy was an asshole of the worst sort. If she were going to be married to him the rest of her life, she needed to nip this in the bud right now. "Don't you tell me to shut up you–"

Dux Lucius's hand went to the hilt of his sword. His eyes darted around at the darkened corners of the street.

"What, you're going to kill me for–"

"Shut. Up," he said again, his voice as even but doubly as stern. Britta was about to argue, step to him, when he grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her behind him. Confused for half a breath, she realized what was happening when two greasy sailors came stumbling out of the shadows toward them.

"Hey hey," said one of the sailors, a bottle of a liquor in one hand and a club in the other. The second sailor was armed too, with a long thin knife that looked about as dangerous a Lucius's sword. "What have we here?"

"A Regnal soldier and his mistress out late at night," said the other.

Dux Lucius's fingers curled around the hilt of his sword. "Leave," he said.

"We'd love to, but we're a little down on our luck. Fishing's not what it used to be, you see. Now, if you could spare us a few coins to–"

"Leave."

The sailors exchanged wicked grins. "No," said the one with the club.

"I'm a soldier, a veteran. You don't want to cross me."

The one with the knife shrugged. "You're one man. Soldiers are only dangerous when there's a bunch of them. Now, we don't have to fight about this. No one has to get hurt but. . . Hey, what's she doing?"

Britta slid the cloak around her shoulders and snapped the clasp shut on her neck. The metal sent a chill through her. Every time she put it on, she forgot how heavy it was, how it pulled against her throat just enough to be uncomfortable, to make it ever so slightly difficult to breath. "How dare you, cretins," she said as she stepped out from behind Dux Lucius.

"Britta, no."

But she ignored him as she pushed in front of him. "Scabs," she said, pointing her finger at the sailors. "Blasphemers. You would dare mug Her priestess, and at night no less? How absolutely dare you draw weapons on the New Moon! How dare you sully her with your glares, your suggestion that she is a common whore–"

The sailor with the booze dropped it to the ground, where it glug-glugged its contents onto the street. His club dropped an instant after. "Please," he said as he held both hands up to her. "Please, I have a family. I'm sorry. We're sorry. Right?"

The other sailor trembled in silence until his companion tapped him. "Yeah," he said. "We're sorry."

Britta swept her arm out, pointing to the docks. "Then go. Return to where you belong, and perhaps I won't tell the Abbess of Night." The words barely passed from her lips before the two sailors broke and ran, vanishing in the darkness without looking back.

Britta's knees wobbled. Palms clammy despite the sweat pouring from her forehead, she hadn't realized how scared she was until it was over. But why should that be? She and Lucius were never in any real danger. She'd just proven it. "Power waning?" she said to Dux Lucius as he sheathed his sword. Had he noticed her moment of weakness afterward? She couldn't tell. Did it matter?

"Let's get you home," he said.

***

Returning through the city streets by himself was much easier without company. He could dart from shadow to shadow, avoiding any entanglements like he'd encountered earlier with his chattering bride-to-be trailing behind him. She was beautiful, no doubt. No one back home would complain he'd been forced to marry an old mare, but did she ever shut up? Worse was the embarrassment she'd caused him with those sailors. Though he preferred to avoid a fight, being shown up by a woman was not an acceptable way to do so. He was half-way tempted to go down to the docks, find the men, and kill them before they could spread word of his humiliation.

But that was anger speaking, irrational and consuming. His walk back to the Governor's manse allowed him to contemplate what had happened, put it in perspective. What purpose would it serve to kill them? Revenge was a ridiculous and dangerous notion, especially given there was no way those men knew who he was. For all they knew, they'd had an encounter with an imperial soldier, and that's it. They had no idea he was the Dux, commander of the Regnal garrison.

Then why did it bother him so much?

It was her.

Those sailors didn't know who they were dealing with, but Britta did. She knew who he was, and even if she hadn't meant to, she had been witness to his failure. That wasn't all there was to it, though. No, he wasn't that irrational, even at his angriest. There was something deeper to his frustration: guilt. Guilt for finding her attractive. Guilt for being impressed at her bravery. Guilt for escorting her home personally instead of having the Governor's household guard do it.

On that last point, Lucius forgave himself. It had taken all of eventide for him him to realize they were totally incompetent. Finding the guard house still empty upon his return proved that. He rattled the manse's gate. At least someone had thought to lock it. Lucius thought about shouting for someone, but something about the situation set his battle-honed instincts on edge. For the second time tonight, his hand slipped to the hilt of his sword. Something shuffled behind him. Dux Lucius swiveled, yanking his sword free in one smooth motion. It swung out, slicing through the darkness. His hands registered the sensation of blade striking meat before his eyes did.

A man in a mask stood behind him, knife out, the front of his shirt soaking in blood. The man gurgled once, then fell to his knees as his blood painted the pavement scarlet in sheets. Forms in the darkness scattered down alleys, away from the dying man. Dux Lucius put his back against the gate, sword out, and waited.

"How was he?" Weboshi asked as she helped Britta out of her cloak.

Britta sighed and shook her head.

"That bad?"

"A real cold fish."

"I'm sorry to hear that," said Weboshi. She hung the cloak up on a rack near the door and, brush in hand, went to work on Britta's hair. "I wouldn't worry about it too much, though."

"No?"

"No. Here, don't look so down. Was he at least handsome?"

"He is, or would be if he had any sort of expression to his face."

Weboshi caught a tangle in the brush. Britta squirmed as the handmaid tried to work through it. "Was there anything good about him?"

"Well, he was brave."

"Oh? How so?"

"Two men tried to attack us."

Weboshi stopped halfway through the stroke of her brush. "What?"

"Two men tried to attack us. Rob us. Dux Lucius was ready to fight but–"

"Didn't they recognize you?"

"Let me finish." Britta sighed as Weboshi went back to brushing her hair. "I didn't have my cloak on. Too hot, you see. So when I threw it on, they ran away."

"Troubling."

"Troubling seems like an understatement."

Weboshi grinned the thin-lipped smile that had warmed Britta's heart and soothed her aches since childhood. "Put a robe on," she said. "The sun's not up yet and the Abbess of Night wished to speak with you."

Britta did as she was bid, choosing something light and comfortable, not interested in the clunky cape she'd spent most of the night absorbed in. She and Weboshi walked together until they came to the Abbess's door. Weboshi stopped Britta to wipe a bit of lint from her shoulder. "When you go in," she said, "don't mention the muggers."

Britta pursed her lips. Before she could ask why, Weboshi said, "They left you alone once you donned your cloak, right? An honest mistake. No reason to bring the wrath of the abbey down on them, is there?"

"No, I supposed not."

"Excellent." Weboshi opened the door for her. "Well, go on."

Britta stepped in and closed the door behind her. She'd half-expected the Abbess to be at her nightly communion again; instead, a candle on a desk in the corner lit the room, if dimly. There, the Abbess of Night's dark form hunched, quill in hand, furiously scribbling. She didn't turn around to see who had entered. Britta wasn't sure the Abbess had heard her until the old lady stopped writing long enough to beckon. "Come, New Moon. Sit."

Britta groped around for a place to sit until her fingers brushed against a stoop, so dark in color it faded into the shadows until she was atop it. She sat, a little behind the old woman who had gone back to her writing. "How was it, New Moon?" she asked.

"Well enough, I suppose."

"And how did your future husband strike you."

"As I told Weboshi, a cold fish. Handsome but dull."

"Dull?" The Abbess stopped writing. She put both hands on the small of her back and stretched. She groaned before she hunched back to her scribbling. "I expect you'll find him more interesting than you think."

"Do you know more about him than I do?"

"I know more about a lot of things than you do, New Moon."

Britta grimaced. Why was the old lady so full of herself all the time? No, that wasn't right. She shouldn't think that way. Had Dux Lucius's words about the abbey's loss of power affected her?

"New Moon?" said the Abbess. "Are you listening to me?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am. I was distracted."

The Abbess set her pen down. Slowly, as if every joint in her body were a rusty hinge, she turned to face Britta. "By what, dear?" she asked. "And make it fast. The dawn comes and we must both to bed."

The Abbess of Night had always seemed so large and intimidating, monolithic in Britta's life. Sure, she was old and stooped, but what she lacked in height she made up for in force of personality, will, and authority. Britta's every interaction with her had been tinged with fear. But now, in the pale flickering light of a single candle, she just seemed like a sweet, frail old thing. Her warm toothless smile and craggy face looked more at home handing out cookies to passing neighborhood children than running an entire religion, a city, and the criminal empire bubbling beneath. She didn't seem so scary, and Britta found the courage to confront her.

"Why did you leave me?" she asked.

"Leave you, New Moon? Whatever do you mean?"

"Alone, with the Governor and his son. I just – you left me, didn't even fight to stay by my side. You abandoned me."

The Abbess of Night pressed a hand to Britta's forehead. Britta's gaze fell to the ground and she found it impossible to raise it again. The fear she'd overstepped her bounds racked her. She trembled under the old woman's touch.

"Oh, New Moon. You think I and your sisters left you like your real mother did? Never. New Moon – Britta – look at me."

Britta forced her eyes upwards.

"Never. I left you alone because I knew you could handle the situation. You didn't need me over your shoulder, or holding your hand."

"You have a lot of faith in someone you never taught to rule." Britta flinched away, stung and surprised by her own words. She expected an equally stinging rebuke from the Abbess, but the old woman only grinned.

"You made it back here in one piece didn't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well there you go." The Abbess turned back to her writing.

"'That's all? No explanation?"

"No explanation. That's how I rule, New Moon. When it's your turn, Goddess willing, you can rule however you like. That's what She expects from you – a new regime for a new era. My guidance would only taint you. It's why I've never taught you anything, or even had you accompany Weboshi when she carries my orders into the streets. The Goddess wants a clean slate. Have faith, New Moon, She chose you to lead this abbey for a reason."

"And what reason is that?"

"You're the only person who can do it. Goodnight, New Moon. Sleep well, and may She hide you in Her shadow."

Britta rose. "May She hide you in Her shadow."

***

The Governor tapped the body with the tip of his scabbard. "Who is it?"

"How should I know?" said Lucius.

"Not just some thug, then?"

"No." Lucius bent beside the body. He pulled a sack over the corpse's head, though it failed to cover the bloody gash across the dead man's neck. "There were more."

"More?"

Lucius stood, arching his back as he stretched. He hadn't slept or done his daily exercises. It left him stiff from stem to stern, but he did not complain. To complain was to show weakness. When this was over, he would go, eat, then see to his duties as the new Dux of the local garrison. The soldiers there were expecting him. He should have gone when he first arrived, but it seemed more proper to get Ava settled.

"Yes," he said. "More. In the shadows. Couldn't see them but they were there."

"You weren't hurt."

"No. At the last moment, I sensed him." His father had been a soldier once, a veteran of many campaigns, including the one that had taken this city. He knew the sense for danger soldiers got, finely honed by years of hazards and ambushes.

"Assassins, then."

"I think so."

The Governor motioned for a guard to come over. "Get rid of this," he said. The guard motioned for another, scurrying to grab the stiffened corpse and hurry it from the room.

"What does it mean?" asked Dux Lucius.

"I'm working that out. This is a rough city, we both know that. I'd expect a knife in the back from a mugger, but not an intentional assassination attempt."

"Why me?"

The Governor pursed his lips as he eyed his son up and down.

"Okay, stupid question. I get it. I'm the new Dux and I'm the Governor's son. Still, doesn't that mean I'd be a better kidnapping target than murder target?"

"You're forgetting something, son."

"What's that?"

"You're a Disciple on the Sun Triumphant."

"So it's religious?"

The Governor shook his head. "No, it's more than that. It isn't some weird symbolic assassination for darkness over light. It's that, because of your religion–"

"Philosophy. School of thought. Way of life. But not religion."

"You just asked if the attack was religious."

"I meant religious on their part."

"Fine, fine," said the Governor. "Let's not get pedantic. It's not important. Are you familiar with the last Dux?"

"No."

"Corrupt as the day is long. Took bribes from the abbey, from smugglers, from gamblers, from pirates. He had a home twice the size of this one. Large enough for a private vault, I might add."

"So it wasn't just that he was corrupt, but that he flaunted it and outshone you."

The Governor chuckled. "Exactly, but listen. They hate you because they know that if you – a Disciple of the Sun Triumphant – become the new police force in this city, you won't bend to them."

"There have been bad Disciples before. More than a few. That's why many of us become Disciples in the first place, because we are weak. Surely they would know better than to assume I am incorruptible."

The Governor clasped Dux Lucius by the shoulders. "But you are incorruptible. Don't you understand? Nepotism isn't the reason I asked for you to be assigned here. It wasn't that I wanted to rush sealing this last bit of our peace treaty and finally bring Ankshara into the imperial fold. It's because you live up to the ideals of the Sun Triumphant, hard and harsh as they are. You are incorruptible."

"Father–"

"No, listen. I thought this was going to work. We were so close. With your wedding we'd have closed the political gap between the empire and the ruling elite of this city. Ankshara's annexation and transformation into a safe, modern, imperial city would have been complete. And you're the man I wanted by my side to do it. But you're also my son, and I can't put you at risk. If they tried once, they'll try again. I'm putting you and Ava on the first boat–"

"No!"

The Governor stared at him, eyes wide with surprise. And Dux Lucius knew why. Such displays of emotion, certainly one that violated the notion of filial piety, were usually beyond him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I just – I can't run away."

"I get it. You agreed to a thing, and according to the tenets of your religion – philosophy – you have to see it through. But what about Ava? Is it right to put her in danger?"

"We'll place my soldiers with some of your guards."

"You know how I feel about that. When word of the assassination attempt leaks, and it will leak, the natives might take soldiers inside the manse as a sign of panic, weakness. No. I'll book you two passage on the first ship I can find headed towards the imperial city."

"If I put soldiers at the gate, but not inside–"

"Soldiers can be bribed."

"And our ship could sink between here and the mainland. The Sun Triumphant isn't about mitigating risk, father, because that's impossible. It's about learning to deal with the impact of disaster, and learning to live with the choices we made – right or wrong – with dignity."

The Governor patted Lucius on the shoulder. "This city isn't worth your life. It's not worth your daughter's life."

"No," he said, "it isn't. But my word is."

"Your word is going to get you killed."