Shadowforged (Light & Shadow) (8 page)

Chapter 8

“It would help me to know what the Council advised the King about Ismir,” Miriel said calmly. “The envoy bowed to me the other night; am I to acknowledge him, or no?”

“The Council does not know what to advise,” the Duke said bluntly. “They want war like little children would, for the excitement. They have no stomach for war, and no head for peace. They wish to invade only to spite the King, but they know it would be to no purpose.”

“You do not think we could win?” Miriel asked curiously. We had never heard the Duke seem wary of this war; I, too, was perplexed.

“Not a full-scale invasion, no. Let them invade; let them fail. We held Voltur once, we can do so again.” I saw Miriel’s smile falter briefly at the thought of the Winter Castle under attack, but she pressed on.

“And what am I to tell the King, then?” She tilted her head. “Or convince him of. And what about the envoy?” She sat straight in her chair like a princess, her gown not touching the padded back, her arms resting only lightly on the arms of the chair, carved to look like hunting lions. In the months since she had sworn obedience to the Duke, and his favor had risen, he had granted her such liberties as sitting in his presence. I stood behind her chair, my hands clasped behind my back, and watched the Duke.

“Be polite to the envoy, no more. Do not speak with him for longer than necessary, but give no offense. And do not advise the King of anything for now. Just tell me his thoughts. Direct him to speak about the rebellion; I would know more about what he thinks on that. He only looks unhappy when we discuss it.”

“What does the Council advise him on that?” Miriel queried, and the Duke frowned.

“They see it as no threat. They say that it is only peasants. They tell him that it will die down if he ignores it, they tell him to let Nilson handle it alone.”

“It’s been nearly a year,” Miriel observed neutrally. She played her uncle as if he were Garad, she was too clever to ask outright what he thought. I saw Temar watching her closely, but the Duke did not notice.

“I don’t trust this silence,” he said finally. “There are no letters, but the spies report the same whispers in different villages. We have a dozen spies there and not one can find a trace of Jacces. They’re getting money from somewhere—they must be, to hide him. Mavlon, maybe. The news is moving too quickly for it to be only rumor. They have supporters, and I
will
find out who they are.” He frowned. “Has the King mentioned anything else regarding the High Priest?”

“No.” Miriel shook her head and bit her lip. “I will ask.”

“Subtly,” the Duke cautioned her, and Miriel’s eyes flickered. She nodded her head. “And send Catwin to spy on the King’s chambers, have her observe who comes and who goes.” I tensed, as I always did when the Duke mentioned me by name. Miriel only nodded.

I went, at her command, that night, and the next, and the next. I darted into the long hallways and crouched, a shadow among shadows, to see who might go to see the King. I watched and I waited for anything that would help us destroy our enemies, and in the meantime, my other lessons suffered for it.

“Stop yawning,” Roine said sharply. “It’s disrespectful.”

I closed my mouth and sighed, and then caught a glare for that piece of rudeness. While Temar had been unable to stay cold to me, Roine seemed to grow more irritated with me by the day. Her irritation had been piqued by my present practice of spying on the King’s chambers in the dead of night. Every day, I was more and more tired, and Roine was displeased.

“I apologize,” I said meekly, and her face softened.

“I wish you wouldn’t sneak around for him,” she said. “He has Temar for that, you could remind him of it.”

“You’ll get me in trouble,” I protested. “Besides…” I trailed off. I enjoyed this new task. The palace was beautiful, and when I walked through it at night, it felt like some deserted fairytale castle that was my own, like I was the long-lost princess who had found her way through the forest and would lay claim to the place. It made for a better story than the web of lies that was my life, always looking over my shoulder and waiting to be caught out.

I had to admit to myself, however, that I liked the sneaking about, just for the sake of it. I was good at hiding, finding a shadow and nestling into it; I always had been. There was enough satisfaction in sneaking successfully down a hallway that I could push away the twinge of guilt that I was spying—and spying on my King, at that.

Even as I became more of a shadow in those weeks that I watched, I learned to pity the man I spied upon. I told the Duke that there were no interesting visitors to the King’s rooms, and it was almost true. The Dowager Queen arrived once or twice to bid him good night, but she was not a favored guest, she did not stay long; the guards did not even close the doors behind her. Guy de la Marque would come to pay his respects, but for moments only. The envoy was never summoned, the High Priest never snuck down the long hallway to see his King. The King was, most nights, alone.

One night, I heard Wilhelm’s voice in the hallway, laughing. He knew the guards by name, and they—unlike almost any other person in the castle—were neither sycophantic friends to the Conradines, nor particularly suspicious of the boy. Just as the Royal Guard knew of Miriel, they knew that Wilhelm was Garad’s one friend. I peeked out, and saw him holding a little pie and a bottle of wine, and frowned at the strangeness.

I saw him one or two times more, both times with something small: a chunk of cheese and some bread, a couple of apples, fruit wine. When I realized what I was seeing, my heart ached. Wilhelm was going to Garad to sit and talk, bringing enough for a little feast, as I might have done for Miriel. The King and his friend would sneak about and steal sweetmeats and bread so that they could sit and talk together, so that Garad might pretend that he was not a King, who might command the pastry chefs and the sommeliers to bring him the best of anything.

I did not tell the Duke of this, and I did not tell Miriel, or Roine, or Temar, or even Donnett—who might have been one who could understand my pity. I kept it to myself, as closely-guarded as a state secret. I thought of it sometimes when I saw Wilhelm appear up the tunnels to summon the King back to his rooms from a late night debate with Miriel, I thought of it when I saw the King sitting at dinner with the servants holding huge platters of roast boar and duck and stewed venison in front of him.

And I thought of it when I saw Wilhelm swallow and look down, as his King spoke of crushing the rebellion in the south. I thought of it when Wilhelm forgot me, like the shadow I was, and watched Miriel with longing in his eyes. The King’s only friend, and, I thought, a true friend indeed, and yet pushing away his anger at the King’s politics, pushing down his desire for the King’s mistress. Wilhelm had been despised since he was born, and now he walked the hard road of a royal cousin and heir; I did not envy him.

In those times, I had the misguided notion that my life was simpler: my friends were not the great powers of the nation, nobles who might shape the lay of the land for generations. I was not caught between love and duty, I thought. Those I loved were my Lady, a palace healer, a palace guard, and an assassin I knew better than to trust. I watched them all, at nights and in their meetings with each other, and thought myself beyond their machinations.

“I am sending a messenger to Mavlon,” the King announced one night. He was looking at Miriel, his eyes warm at the sight of her, sleep-tousled and sitting on a great wine barrel. Still, he was half-occupied with his discontent. “They are the on
es behind this Jacces, I know they must be...but we cannot find a trace from here. The spy will be able to learn more, embedded in the court. Someone will talk.”

“What if Jacces really is only a peasant from Norstrung?” Miriel queried. She needled him on this, undermined him; it was her only defiance that he could see, and even though he could not understand it, it was a dangerous game. I frowned at her, over the King’s head, and I saw him frown as well.

“He cannot be. He is an educated man, he is well read. We have sent men to watch and ask questions, and none there know of this man, none could name who he might be. No commoner is so subtle. He holds to their cause, but he writes like…” The King frowned. “He writes like a priest, he writes like a philosopher. Like one of the men at the academies, perhaps. I told the envoy to seek out the academics in Mavlon.”

Miriel had stopped attending, she had gone very still; a change had come over her face. Garad, turned from her, did not see it, and in a moment she had composed herself. She settled her shoulders and regained the adoring half-smile she practiced and practiced. She drew a breath and said, lightly, “Your spy will be able to learn this man’s true identity, your Grace. It was clever to send him. But do you not need to return now? Wilhelm, what is the time?”

As we walked back to her rooms, she was fairly quivering with excitement. I waited patiently in silence, but she said nothing. She walked with her head up, and she smiled to herself, but she did not speak to me. She was cherishing a secret and when I could not bear wondering anymore, I said,

“So?” She looked towards her bedroom, and I waited until we could hear one of Anna’s predictable snores. “She’s asleep.” I said. “Tell me.”

She shook her head. “Tomorrow. I need to think first.”

But she did not tell me. As I slept, her excitement had turned to a melancholy such as I had never seen from her. The days passed and she spoke little, she hardly took the time to brush her hair or preen in the mirror, the life went out of her as soon as she returned to her rooms. I helped Anna undress her, and when we had gotten her into her nightgown and robe, she would go sit in a chair by the fire, holding a book but seeing nothing.

“Please tell me what has happened,” I said finally. She shook her head.

“It is nothing to us,” she said, and I felt a flicker of hope. She was no
t forgetting our alliance.

“You could use my help,” I said persuasively.

“No.” She shook her head again. “You’d ruin it.” She cut off my retort with a sad smile. “Not like that. You would learn the truth of it. And I can’t know the truth, Catwin, I really can’t.”

“It’s always better to know,” I said, quoting Roine. Miriel was as curious as I was, I could not think what she might not want to know.

“You don’t understand.” She closed her book and looked at me unsmiling. “You know as well as I do that Garad won’t hear me, he won’t listen, he wouldn’t ever favor the rebels. Yet, anyway. Am I right?”

“Yes,” I agreed cautiously.

“And we need his favor to survive, don’t we?” She waited for my acknowledgement.

“Yes.”

“So, until I am safe, I cannot speak to him of it. I cannot plead for them as I would wish to. Every day I swallow down my words and my thoughts, and I do nothing for the rebels and their cause, and it sickens me to my very heart, Catwin.” I would have jested at her melodramatic language, but she looked so sad that I did not dare. Unable to find words, I nodded.

“Every day at services, I pray for the rebellion. I pray and I pray, and that is all that I can do. I try not to hear of it, I can’t know anything about it—because if I know of it, I will want to speak for them. Do you understand? Yes. And so I can’t know this, I cannot know of this thing I suspect. What if I’m right?”

“You think you know who Jacces is,” I said slowly, and Miriel gave a little cry, a breathy sort of scream. I blinked at her.

“
That’s
all you heard?” she demanded. “I tell you all of that, and all you can say is that you think I know something?” I stared at her in surprise, and she picked up a china ornament and hurled it at the wall; I flinched as it shattered. She had barely moved for days, now she was violent in her anger, she threw herself out of her chair to stand before me.

“Do you not hear me?” she cried. “I am close to breaking, and what then?”

“You said you wanted to survive.” I was pressed up against the back of my chair. “You said we would have our revenge later, but we needed to survive. You said it was all we could do.”

“I didn’t know how it would be! So don’t throw that in my face.”

“Don’t—“ I snapped. I pushed myself out of the chair to stare her in the eyes. “You throw my vows in my face every day! You’re quick enough to remind me of
my
duty!”

“It’s not the same,” she hissed at me. “You don’t give up what you are for your duty. You don’t know what it’s like to wear a mask every day.”

“I don’t know?” I plucked at my black tunic. “What d’you think this is? Why do you think I’m here? Do you remember when we first came here, and the Duke told me what I was to be? Do you remember what he said? He said I wasn’t a person anymore, he said I had no soul any longer.”

“Oh, you didn’t believe that,” she said scornfully.

“I didn’t then,” I retorted, “but I do now. Now I know he was right. If it were just me, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t walk around this place and know half the people wanted to knife me for the sigil on my chest. But you’re here, and I can’t run away anymore. So every day I walk back into the court, and every day I watch for your enemies and I make them my enemies.”

“The King?” she challenged, and I nodded.

“He’s not my ally. He doesn’t have my loyalty, you do. Or the Duke,” I added in a whisper. “I watch him, even when you don’t. I remember he’s our enemy.”