Shadowforged (Light & Shadow) (22 page)

“No. I will believe no pretty lies. I know what I saw.” Garad stared at Wilhelm with such hatred that even I shrank back. He might be shamed by Miriel, but the betrayal ran deeper with Wilhelm. Wilhelm, who had been his only friend in the long years of his illness. Garad’s eyes narrowed. “Now I know where your interests lie.”

“I know you will break off the betrothal,” Miriel said quickly, “and I swear to you that I will make no complaint—“

“Oh, I’m not going to break the betrothal.” He had gone cold. He snapped his fingers and I heard the tramp of guards. I thought later that I should have grabbed Miriel and run, and left Wilhelm to face the King alone. They would never have killed the heir to the throne. But instead, like a fool, I stood still, caught in the King’s gaze, obeying him as any subject should do, and in a moment, we were surrounded. “I’m going to destroy you,” Garad said softly. “Starting with the rebellion you hold so dear.”

Chapter 22

I remember very little of what happened next. There was crying, and shouting. I should have been in the fray, between my Lady and the guards, but the King was no fool, and he had prepared his men for this encounter. I was the first one to be hit, hard, in the back of the head. The world faded to black around me, and I knew no more.

I came to my senses alone, in a small, dim cell, the only light filtering in from a window barely as large as my hand, and the flickering torches out in the hall. I could smell the stink of a hundred prisoners who had gone before me and hear the cries and clanking chains of those in the other cells, and in that moment, I was overwhelmed with fear. Was I here awaiting execution? And where was Miriel?

I struggled to see reason. The King would never execute Miriel—she was half common blooded, but also half noble, and executing young noblewomen was something one just did not do. And if the King wanted me killed, he surely would have ordered it done at once, with no witnesses except his guards. How better to make an impact on Miriel? No, if I was still alive, it was because he thought he could use me further; I was to be an instrument of Miriel’s punishment. He wanted something of me yet. That sent a fresh wave of panic through me, and it only grew stronger when I heard voices in the hall. I curled into a little ball on the floor and squeezed my eyes shut as the voices came closer. When the key turned in the lock, I was sprawled just as I had woken up.

There were footsteps, then silence. I knew that they had surrounded me.

“Get up.” Garad’s voice. Cold. “Wake up, girl. I know you should be awake by now.” Someone nudged me with the toe of their boot. I considered the matter, decided that their next move would likely be to kick me, and reluctantly opened my eyes.

“Yes, your Grace?” Pleasantries were ridiculous, but I had no idea what else I might do. He scowled at me, and crouched at my side.

“Tell me of Miriel’s involvement in the rebellion.” It was a sharp order, and his guards shifted so that I might hear the clank of their weapons. I felt fear begin to tighten my muscles, and tried to remember the lessons Temar had taught me: focus only on what I would say, not on what I did not want to say; slow my heartbeat; push away fear. And, unluckily for Garad, I had been practicing my response to this question for months. If I had planned to use it on the Duke, well, no matter. I stared up at Garad and delivered the lie as best I could.

“Oh, Miriel, is not involved, your Grace. She only has sympathies.”

“How can she have sympathies, when she knows they mean to destroy me?” he demanded. Then his face hardened. “Of course…I know now that she does not love me. Did she ever love me at all?” Wary of contradicting whatever silver-tongued lies Miriel had been employing since I saw her last, I ignored that question entirely.

“Your Grace, you know my Lady—she has ever been kind to her servants. She sympathizes with the common people, who wish to have a say in their kingdom, as any noble might have.”

“That is madness!” the King exploded. He stood and whirled, began to pace. “What do commoners know of ruling? How should they rule my kingdom?” I kept silent, watching him pace, until he rounded on me. “What of her passing information to the rebels, then?”

I froze, considering. Then I remembered what Mirel had said in the basement. If that was all the King knew… I tried to think what Miriel would do. “Oh! What she said!” I laughed outright, in his face, trying to mimic Miriel’s innocent expression. “Oh, your Grace—Miriel has no mind for that sort of thing. She said it, but I assure you, she could never manage it.” He sat back on his heels, surprised by my apparent mirth.

“She couldn’t?” This was where the true test of my skill began. He still loved Miriel, and he desperately wanted to believe me that Miriel could not deceive him, but he was not stupid—if he set his mind to it, he would quickly begin to doubt. So I must fix his mind on something else: me.

“Of course not,” I said scornfully. The guards bristled at my tone, and Garad narrowed his eyes. “Surely you can’t be so blind as to—“ The kick came from behind me, and even expecting it, I cried out.

“You forget to whom you speak,” the King pronounced. “And whatever you claim, I know what I saw. I will give you one more chance: tell me of Miriel’s involvement in the rebellion.”

“There
is
no involvement,” I insisted. “Can you truly believe that she would undermine her own uncle’s work?”

“It is not his work any longer. He has been removed from command until I can determine his loyalty to me.” I had a thought of the Duke’s shame in the eyes of the court, and his cold anger, and I was seized by fear. If the King did not hurt Miriel, the Duke surely would.

“Where is Miriel?” I asked. “Please, your Grace—“

“Miriel is somewhere you cannot find her,” the King pronounced. The corners of his mouth curved slightly. “She will not have your aid. I want her to be as blind as I have been, all this time.”

“Your Grace, please—“

“No. And no more chances. You can rot in here until you feel like telling me what I want to know. Or until I kill you to teach Miriel a lesson.” In a moment, they were gone, and a key turned in the lock. The guard grinned at me through the bars as he pocketed the key and walked after the King, whistling.

Trapped. And Miriel in danger. I knew that I had seen the glint of doubt in the King’s eyes, and I could only doubt that I had bought Miriel even a little extra time. But there was no time for me to focus on that now. As I had lain, curled on my side, I had felt the contour of my packet of lock picks, still in their pocked in my tunic. Now, trembling with excitement and disbelief, I checked for each of my weapons. Every one of them was there. Whatever the King knew, no one had checked me for weapons. I had everything; it was better than I could have dreamed.

Caution kept me still.
Always have a plan. Have two plans.
Before action, planning, and for planning, I needed an objective. Freeing Miriel was one my goal, but freeing her to what? If the Duke had lost command, he would be angrier than I had ever seen him. Miriel could not be released to him, but where else could she go? Who else was her ally?

The High Priest. If Miriel had wanted to wait for a time when an ally would be of the most benefit, this was it. There surely could not be a time when she needed help more than now. And—at last a plan fell into place in my mind—if I could get to the High Priest, he could tell me the mood of the court, perhaps the mood of the Duke. It was even possible that he might know where Miriel was.

Now for the details of it. Chains first, then the door lock. Then run. I did not have time for bribery and persuasion—I would need to be quick and stealthy. And while I knew that I should wait to see how often the guards did the rounds, I did not have time for that, either.  There was no time to waste, and no time to spend wondering where Miriel might be, and what disaster might have taken place. We would figure this out. We would. Our first objective had always been to survive, and now she needed me for that.

Trying to let my chains clank as little as possible, I withdrew the lock picks and set to work. The locks were laughably simple, and in a few moments I was free. I stood and stretched, and took an inventory of my injuries. The back of my head was still tender, and the guard’s kick might leave a bruise, but the rest of my stiffness was from lying in chains. I ran through some stretches, trying to prepare myself. When I escaped my cell, I would need to run, and run fast.

Carefully, I approached the bars and peered both ways down the hall. I had heard no sounds since the King’s party left, and there seemed to be no one about. Now I snaked one arm through the bars and began to work on the door lock. I looked behind me, and saw the shackles open on the floor. No time to hide them; the guards were not yet upon me, and I reckoned that I could make it to the other end of the hall before they could catch me. I could make it if I went now.

My heart in my throat, I eased the door open and slipped out. Then I turned and ran, ran as fast as I could. As I neared the corner, I heard a shout behind me, and the sudden clamor of drunken guards roused from an easy round. I cursed, and tried to run all the harder. I did not look back; my world narrowed to the corridor ahead of me. I skidded past branches in the corridor, trying to take the ever-larger corridors, running as much by instinct as by any skill. I had never known this part of the palace. I did not know where I might be.

After what seemed hours, but had likely been only a minute, I was rewarded with stairs. I took them two at a time, thanking Temar and Donnett silently for their endless drills. I thought the sound of the guards was getting farther away, and I was barely breathing hard. I got up the stairs and tugged at the huge door at the top. Locked. I fumbled for my picks again, and dropped them. The voices were getting closer, and I tried to force the lock with trembling fingers. The beatings the Lady had given me would be nothing to what would happen if they caught me—

Finally, the click. I shoved the pick into a pocket, opened the door, and found myself aboveground at last. Being stared at by a score of guards, ready to go on duty.

“What a fright!” I said brightly. “I thought I’d lost my key.”

“Who’re you?” One of them asked, standing up slowly. The others turned from their places at dice tables. I tried not to swallow; I only had to make it to the door on the other side of the room. If I did not let them see my fear, they might let me pass. As much as every instinct was screaming at me to run, I leaned back against the closed door and crossed my arms.

“I serve the Earl of Mavol,” I said loftily. “His Lordship has…business…with some of the prisoners brought in from the Norstrung Provinces. And he will not be pleased if you detain me.”

They fell away, uncertain, and I pushed myself up and walked as calmly as I could through them. At the far wall, I heard my pursuers reach the door at last. As the guards swung around to see what the clatter might be, I shrugged at the few who still watched me, turned the corner, and took off as soon as I was out of sight.

This was the armory. I should have known. It was time to use one of the strategies I had noticed for making my way through a crowd quickly. Accordingly, I pelted through halls, calling, “Message! A message for his lordship!” and, “Make way! A message!” The guards and soldiers obligingly fell away to make room, and I was hard-put not to laugh. They paved the way for my escape, and closed up in my wake. I could hear a clamor behind me, and could only hope that the soldiers were not so obliging to my followers.

Now my heart was pounding. At least two detachments of guards after me, and not an ally in the world. I headed for an exit and raced for the Cathedral in the Palace proper, preparing my speech in my head. If Jacces could see that it was in his interest to persuade the King to keep Miriel…

It was a short dash across the frozen alleyways, and I disappeared quickly enough into the Palace, but I was cautious, still: I made for the servants’ corridors at once.  I had snuck enough messages into the High Priest’s chambers that I could have walked these corridors blindfolded. I hurried, trying to compose a speech in my head—anything that would gain his sympathy. He was a ruthless man, he had tried to kill Miriel at least once. But now it would be different, I told myself.

All of a sudden I felt light-headed. The thoughts that I had pushed away with my fear rushed back now. Where was Miriel? Was she alright? Had she already been held up to shame, the betrothal broken? What if she had been given back to her uncle? She would be sent back to Voltur, I knew that, or some other remote manor the Duke owned, and it would not be long until there was a story of an illness, a fever that had carried her away… This could all be for naught, and even if it was not useless, she was the one who was good at these speeches, not me. I was silent. I was unseen.

I took my courage in my hands and emerged from the servants’ corridors in an antechamber of the choristers’ rooms. From here, I only needed to make my way behind the chancel, and I would be in one of the rooms that led to the High Priest’s apartments. I crept, conscious of how loud each footstep seemed in the vaulted chambers, and at last I raised my hand and knocked on the fine wood paneling of Jacces’ doors.

I could hear a conversation cut off abruptly, and the door swung open almost at once. A man glared at me suspiciously.

“Yes?”

“I need to see the High Priest at once,” I said, swallowing. “It’s on behalf of one of the gentlemen of the court.” He began to close the door. “Wait,” I cried. “Please. Tell the High Priest I have another letter for him.”

“Let her in.” The abrupt command confirmed my hopes: the High Priest had been just inside. The servant stepped back reluctantly, and I slipped around him to look closely, for the first time, at this man who was as much enemy as friend. A man who recognized me, and gave a satisfied smile to know my identity at last. He had been seated behind his desk, now he stood and held out his hand.

“You have a letter?”

“I would speak with you alone,” I said desperately. He looked me over, taking in my heaving chest, the fear on my face, and then he made a gesture, and his servant left the room silently.

“Yes?” he said. I tried to find words, overwhelmed to be in the presence of a man who was second only to the King in importance, by virtue of his title, and the rival of the King, by virtue of his cause.