(Shadowmarch #2) Shadowplay (21 page)

“Ah, but it meaning so much to me—that is my fault, without doubt. It has seized me—rooted itself in me like mistletoe on an oak. No, I could never be such a noble tree as Skyfather Perin’s oak.” He laughed brokenly. “It does not matter. I told no one. I made it my secret mistress, that mirror and what it contains, and I went to it afire with shame and joy. I spoke to no one because I was afraid I would have to give it up. Now it is too late. It’s gone.”

“Then it will be good for you,” said Chert. “If it is an illness, as you say, then you can be cured now.”

“You don’t understand!” Chaven turned to him, eyes wide and face pale. “Even if I survive its loss, it is a terrible, powerful thing. You do not think Hendon Tolly and that bastard traitor Okros stole it for no reason, do you? They want its power! And what they will do with it, the gods only know. In fact, it could be only the gods can help us.” He dropped his head, folded his bandaged hands on his chest—he was praying, Chert realized. “All-seeing Kupilas, lift me in your hands of bronze and ivory, preserve me from my folly. Holy Trigon, generous brothers, watch over us all…!” His voice dropped to a mumble.

“Doctor…Chaven,” Opal said at last, “do you…can you do things…with any mirror?”

Chert gaped at her in astonishment—what
was
she talking about?—but Chaven stirred and looked up, hollow-eyed but a little more composed. “I’m sorry, Mistress. What do you mean?”

“Could you help our Flint? Help him to find his wits again?”

“Opal, what is this nonsense?” Chert stood, feeling bone-weary in every part of his body. “Can’t you see that the man is ready to drop?”

“It’s true I am too tired to be of any use just now,” said Chaven, “but it is also true that after abusing your hospitality in many ways, there are things I could…explore. But we have no mirror.”

“We have mine.” Opal revealed the small face-glass she had been holding in her palm. She had received it as a wedding present from Chert’s sisters, and now she held it out to Chaven, proud and anxious as a small child. “Could you use it to help our boy?”

He held it briefly, then passed it back. “Any mirror has uses to one who has been trained, Mistress. I will see what can be done in the morning.” A strange light seemed to come into his eyes. “It is possible I could learn something of what Okros does as well.” He passed a hand over his face. “But now I am so tired…!”

“Lie down then,” said Opal. “Sleep. In the morning you can help him.” She giggled, which alarmed Chert as much as Chaven’s blubbering. “You can try, I mean.”

The physician had already staggered to his pallet in the corner of the sitting room. He stretched out, face-first, and appeared to tumble into sleep like a man stepping off a cliff. Chert, overwhelmed, could only follow Opal into the darkness of their own bedchamber.

Sister Utta had just finished lighting the last candle, and was whispering the Hours of Refusal prayer when she noticed the girl.

She almost lost the flow of what she was saying, but she had been practicing the rituals of Zoria for most of her life; her tongue kept forming the near-silent words even as she observed the child who stood patiently in the alcove, hooded against the cold.

“Just as you would give your virtue to no man, so I shall hold mine sacred to you.”

How long has the child been standing there?

“Just as you would not turn your tongue to false praise, I will speak only words acceptable to you.

“Just as you did walk naked into darkness to return to your father’s house, so I will undertake my journey without fear, as long as I am true to you.”

Ah. I know her now. It’s young Eilis, the duchess Merolanna’s maid. She is pale. It will be a long time until the spring sun, if the weather keeps up.

“And just as you returned at last to the bounty of your father’s house, so will I, with your help and companionship, find my way to the blessed domain of the gods.”

She kissed the palm of her hand and looked up briefly to the high window, its light dulled today by the cloudy weather. The face of her gloriously forgiving mistress looked down on her, reminding her that Zoria’s mercy was without end, but Sister Utta still could not help feeling as though she had somehow failed the goddess.

Why has prayer brought me no peace? Is it my fault for bringing an unsettled heart to your shrine, sweet Zoria?

No answer came. Some days of deep sadness or confusion Utta could almost hear the voice of the goddess close as her own heartbeat, but today Perin’s daughter seemed far away from her, even the stained glass window without its customary gleam, the birds that surrounded the virgin goddess not flying but only hovering, drab and distressed.

Utta took a breath, turned to the girl in the heavy woolen cloak. “Are you waiting for me?”

The child nodded helplessly, as if she had been caught doing something illicit. After a moment of wide-eyed confusion she reached into her cloak and produced an envelope with the seal of the dowager duchess on it. Utta took it, noting with surprise and sadness that the girl snatched her hand away as soon as the transfer had finished, as though she feared catching an illness.

What is that about?
Utta wondered.
Am I the subject of evil rumors again?
She sighed, but kept it from making a sound. “Does she wish an answer now or shall I send one back later?”

“She…she wants you to read it, then come back with me.”

Utta had to repress another sigh. She had much to do—the shrine needed sweeping, for one thing. The great bowl on the roof of the shrine needed filling so the birds could feed, a journey of many steps, and she also had letters to write. One of the other Zorians, the oldest of the castle’s sisterhood, was ill and almost certainly dying and there were relatives who should be told, on the chance—however unlikely—that they would wish to come see her in the final days. Still, it was impossible to refuse the duchess, especially in a castle so unsettled by change, when the Zorian shrine had scarcely any protectors left. Hendon Tolly was openly contemptuous of Utta and the other Zorian sisters, calling them “white ants” and making it clear he thought the shrine took up room in the residence that could be better employed housing some of his kin and hangers-on. No, Utta needed Merolanna’s continued goodwill: she was one of the few allies the sisterhood still retained.

Then again, perhaps the duchess was ill herself. Utta felt a clutch of worry. For all they were different, she liked the woman, and there were few enough among the castle folk these days with whom she felt anything in common.

“Of course I will come,” Utta told the girl. She opened the letter and saw that it said nothing much more than the maid had suggested, except for a curious coda in the duchess’ slightly shaky hand,
“if you have a pair of specktakle glasses, bring them.”

Utta did not, so she waved the girl toward the door of the shrine and followed her, but she could not help wondering what the duchess wanted of her that would require such a thing: Merolanna was an educated woman and could read and write perfectly well.

As she followed the girl Eilis through the nearly empty halls Utta could not help noticing how the interior of the residence seemed to mirror the weather outside. Half the torches were unlit and a dim gray murk seemed to have fallen over the corridors. Even the sounds of voices behind doors were muffled as though by a thick fog. The few people she passed, servants mostly, seemed pale and silent as ghosts.

Is it the fairy folk across the river? It has been a full month now and they have done nothing, but it is hard not to think of them every night. Is it the twins disappearing? Or is there something more—may the White Daughter protect us always—something deeper, that has made this place as cold and lonely as a deserted seashore?

When they reached the duchess’ chambers, Eilis left Utta standing in the middle of the front room surrounded by a largely silent group of gentlewomen and servants, most of them sewing, while she went and knocked on the inner chamber door.

“
Sor
Utta is here, Your Grace.”

“Ah.” Merolanna’s voice was faint but firm. Utta felt a little better: if the dowager duchess was ill, she did not sound it. “Send her in. You stay outside with the others, child.”

Utta was surprised to find the duchess fully dressed, her hair done and her face powdered, looking in all ways prepared for any state occasion, but seated on the edge of her bed like a despondent child. Merolanna held a piece of paper in her hand, and she waved it distractedly, gesturing toward a chair high and wide enough to hold a woman wearing a voluminous court dress. Utta sat down. Because she wore only her simple robes, the seat stretched away on either side, so that she felt a bit like a single pea rolling in a wide bowl. “How may I help you, Your Grace?”

Merolanna waggled the piece of paper again, this time as if to drive away some annoying insect. “I think I am going mad, Sister. Well, perhaps not mad, but I do not know whether I am upside down or right side up.”

“Your Grace?”

“Did you bring your reading spectacles?”

“I do not use such things, ma’am. I get along well enough, although my eyes are not what they were…”

“I can scarcely read without mine—Chaven made them for me, beautiful spectacle-lenses in a gold wire frame. But I lost them, curse it, and he’s gone.” She looked around the bedchamber in mingled outrage and misery, as though Chaven had disappeared on purpose, just to leave her half-blind.

“Do you want me to read something to you?”

“To yourself—but quietly! Come sit next to me. I already muddled it out, even without my spectacles, but I want to see if you read the same words.” Merolanna patted the bed.

Utta herself did not wear scents, not because the Sisterhood didn’t permit her to, but out of personal preference, and she found Merolanna’s sweet, powdery smell a little disconcerting, not to mention almost strong enough to make her sneeze. She composed herself with her hands on her lap and tried not to breathe too deeply.

“This!” Merolanna said, waving the piece of paper again. “I don’t know if I’m going mad, as I’m sure I already said. The whole world is topsy-turvy and has been for months! It almost feels like the end of the world.”

“Surely the gods will bring us through safely, my lady.”

“Perhaps, but they’re not doing much to help so far. Asleep, perhaps, or simply gone away.” Merolanna laughed, short and sharp. “Do I shock you?”

“No, Duchess. I cannot imagine a person who would never be angry at the gods or full of doubt in days like these. We have all—and especially you—lost too many that we love, and seen too many frightening things.”

“Exactly.” Merolanna hissed out a breath like someone who has waited a long time to hear such words. “Do I
seem
mad?”

“Not at all, my lady.”

“Then perhaps there is some explanation for this.” She handed Utta the piece of paper. It was a page of a letter, written in a careful and narrow hand, the letters set close as though the paper itself was precious and none of it was to be wasted.

Utta squinted. “It has no beginning or ending. Is there more?”

“There must be, but this is all I have. That is Olin’s handwriting—the king. I believe it must be the letter that came to Kendrick just before the poor boy was murdered.”

“And you wish me to read it?”

“In a moment. First you must understand why…why I doubt my senses. That page, that one page, simply…appeared in my room this morning.”

“Do you mean someone left it for you? Put it under your door?”

“No, that is not what I mean. I mean it…
appeared
. While I sat in the other room with my ladies and Eilis, talking about the morning’s service in the chapel.”

“Appeared while you were at the service?”

“No, while I sat in the other room! Gods, woman, I do not think so little of my own wit that I would believe myself mad because someone left me a letter. We came back from the service. It was the new priest, that peevish-looking fellow. As you know, the Tollys drove my dear Timoid away.” Her voice was as bitter as gall.

“I had heard he left the castle,” Utta said carefully. “I was sorry to hear he was going.”

“But all that doesn’t matter this moment. As I said, we came back from the service. I came here to take off my chapel clothes. There was no letter. You will think I am a foolish woman who simply did not notice, but I swear on all the gods, there was no letter. I went out into the parlor room and sat with the others and we talked of the service and what we would do this day. The fire burned down and I went to get a shawl, and the letter was lying in the middle of this bed.”

“And no one had come in?”

“None of us had even left the sitting room. Not once!”

Utta shook her head. “I do not know what to say. Shall I read it?”

“Please. It is eating away at me, wondering why such a thing was left here.”

Utta spread the piece of parchment on her lap and began to read aloud.