Shadow's End (Light & Shadow) (12 page)

“It’s not tonight,” I said, a weak comfort. I held up one finger to caution her from believing the next words. “But unless you can
find a better alliance, you’ll have to marry Arman.”

“I can’
t!” She was trying to believe the assurance she saw in my eyes: that somehow, we would escape this. But the fear was real. Miriel had survived this far, and she was now realizing that when all of this was over, when the treaty was signed, there was nothing more for her. She had no bargaining power, and if we could not escape, she was at her uncle’s mercy. If he insisted on her marriage, then married she would be—she would disappear into the life of a noblewoman, and become nothing. She knew as well as I did that the treaty would be a cold comfort then.

“Miriel—we know nothing of him. He could be very kind to you.” It was what a sister would say, what a mother would say.
Don’t fear, he could be a nice man
. It was the best that I could offer her, and that truth was bitter. I tried to find anything to make it better. “He’s an intelligent man, a great man at court. You can still do good for the country. You’ll benefit your family. The Duke will be pleased.”

“If he didn’t care that we were kidnapped, how much can he care whom I marry?” Miriel folded her arms, and I saw that, although she knew she had never been in danger, she was deeply offended that her uncle would care so little. I felt my mood lift at her wounded pride, and stifled a smile. I saw her eyes flash, and then she saw the humor in it; the corner of her mouth quirked.

“Don’t talk like that,” I soothed her. I heard the faint creak of floorboards as Temar crept away, and I raised my eyebrows at Miriel. “Would you like a bath? And a proper gown? And some jewelry?”

“I don’t want to go to dinner,” she said, so honest that I stopped on my way to the door and turned back to look at her. “I don’t want to see him.” Only I would have known that she meant Wilhelm. I bit my lip, then pointed to her side, where the treaty was hidden in its little leather cylinder. Miriel closed her eyes and nodded, and I saw her lips form a silent prayer. I watched her for a moment, and then opened the door and looked about for a page.

“Some water for my lady,” I said. “And please send the maid in directly when she returns with the gowns. We will want the white and blue, I think.”

Chapter 12

After months of rough, unwashed linen, and scratchy woolen shirts, it was strange indeed to wear my own suit, so soft it felt like a caress, and that over clean skin. The black fabric was unfaded, the Celys crest picked out sharply in black thread. The boots were made for me—I remembered Miriel insisting that I replace them, that they were too old, and I could have laughed at the thought. It seemed a luxury indeed, now, to have boots made just for me, no matter if they had scuffmarks on the heels. I folded a band of black cloth to keep my shorn, freshly-washed hair out of my eyes, and then turned to watch Miriel.

She was resplendent in one of her old gowns, laced tightly so that it still fit her small frame. She was as she always was: beautiful beyond belief. But something had changed, something was not quite right—she no longer glittered quite as brightly, her whole attention was no longer devot
ed to being the most brilliant, engaging maiden of the Court. As she prepared, she did not turn her head this way and that, practicing her responses, but instead looked into the mirror gravely; she could no longer summon the smile that had been her mask, her shield. Her eyes met mine in the mirror, and she saw my curiosity.

“We didn’t come here for this,” she said, looking around at me. “We came here for something far greater, something that—“ She broke off, and I saw that she was speechless in her anger. “My Gods, there’s a
war
,” she said, struggling to put words to it. Her voice was tight. “People will die, people are already dying, and we came here for something that could shift the whole world even without the war, and they don’t care about any of it! It’s still all dancing and banquets and alliances—and for what? What does
any
of it accomplish?”

“Shh.” I looked towards the door and she halted her tirade at once, but I could see her struggling to control herself. “We have to do this,” I reminded her.
It’s not for long
. She understood that, but as she bowed here head and fiddled with her priceless bracelet, the sapphires and diamonds sparkled in the low light, and I understood part of what was causing her so much distress. Before, jewels had not mattered—they were an adornment to wear, or not, to set Miriel apart from the other maidens as the most stylish and sophisticated. Now, Miriel had seen poverty. She knew that a whole village might not create such wealth in a year as she wore on her wrist right now.

I stepped closer and took her hands in my own. “Remember what you are,” I said seriously, my voice pitched low. “You have done what even Jacces could not do. You carry the hopes of all the rebels and their families, and you will see their dreams made real. Smile for that, if nothing else. When we have the treaty, we can go
, find a way to escape—until then, we must be here.” She bit her lip and nodded. “And everything you see, that you dislike—those are the very reasons you are here now.”

Miriel smiled and gripped my hands. Some of the tension had gone out of her. “Yes,” she said simply. “You are good to remind me. Oh, Catwin, what would have happened if we had not met each other?”

“You would think far too highly of yourself,” I promptly, smiling, but I felt a sudden wave of dizziness, and I staggered as darkness rushed in.

“Are you okay?” As my vision cleared, I realized that I was clinging to Miriel to stay upright.
The great pattern I had glimpsed once before rushed back to me, I could see it spinning out indefinitely—and then it was gone, in an instant, the details slipping away from me.

“Yes.” I rubbed my temples. “Just…it’s nothing.” I shook my head. “We should go to dinner.”
I straightened my tunic and took a moment to steady myself. After a moment, watching me worriedly, Miriel bit her lip and nodded. She took a deep breath and straightened her back, dropped her shoulders, lifted her chin—and then we set off through the corridors, walking quickly and trying to ignore the whispers that surrounded us when the courtiers saw Miriel’s well-known face.

The change in the Court was visible at once
when we entered the banquet hall, it was as if the very flavor of it had changed. Without Isra Dulgurokov ruling the court, fiercely devout, the enforced formality had broken down. Families came to dinner together, or girls, arm in arm with each other, sometimes even a young man and a maiden would arrive together and no one even seemed to notice. The ladies still sat on one side, and the men on the other, even in this cramped banquet hall, but there was a steady stream of young men paying compliments to the maidens, sitting at their table and laughing with them. Instead of the quiet voices and clinking of cutlery, there was a roar of laughter and carousing.

On the dais, instead of Isra and the High Priest, the seats by the King’s left hand were occupied by Gerald Conradine and Anne Warden. To the King’s far right, Guy de la Marque and Elizabeth. I reckoned that I sa
w a faint, sardonic smile on Guy’s face—he alone, of those at the dais, had clung to his power when the Court had turned topsy-turvy. Like Isra, he had seen his power vanish when Garad came to his own; but where Isra had fallen, where Garad had fallen, Guy de la Marque and his kin remained.

And there, at the center of the dais, a beautiful pair: golden crowns on golden hair, a handsome king and his lovely wife. He was leaning to whisper in her ear, she smiling at his words. It was perfectly beautiful, and I wanted to scream with frustration that it was not Miriel there at Wilhelm’s side. I knew that in Miriel’s truest desires, she did not want to be Queen, most especially a queen in this Court. But it was one thing to know that, and another entirely to see Miriel’s rival in her place: sitting next to Wilhelm at dinner, advising him on policy, sleeping in his bed at night.

Miriel never wavered, she only curtsied deeply to the throne, gave a grave nod to the gentlemen’s table where Arman Dulgurokov sat, and went to her place. But, as it always had, her presence caused a stir. I saw that the Duke had not told his fellow Councilors of Miriel’s return; he had waited to see what each of them might do when she reappeared, and now his eyes were flicking about the banquet hall, resting on those who looked at Miriel and whispered to their neighbors.

At last, as I had guessed it would, the Duke’s gaze traveled to the dais. Gerald Conradine’s eyes had narrowed, and Guy de la Marque was smiling openly in triumph as he watched the girl who had lost the Queenship to his daughter. Marie herself had gone
rigid, staring down the hall at Miriel as if she were seeing a ghost, and at her side…

Wilhelm appeared not to have noticed Miriel at all. Even as the whispers rose, as Marie gave a swift look at her mother, as Gerald Conradine muttered something to his wife, Wilhelm devoted his attention to his food, to calling for more wine, to speaking with Marie as if he had not noticed her consternation
, as if he had not noticed the entrance of the woman he had passionately loved. I watched him, my head tilted to the side, and wondered at this. He did not have the look of a hound on a tight leash, but instead that of a man who is perfectly content.  I could not understand it, and when I looked over to the Duke once more, I saw him staring at Wilhelm as well, wondering.

So, for all his disclaiming, it had been a lie—the Duke would gladly see Miriel back in Wilhelm’s arms, if he thought it could be arranged. He would use his niece as a pawn once more, sell her to one man for a bride and another for a mistress. I hoped that Miriel had not noticed, for at the very thought of such a fate, I felt panic closing in on me. And Miriel could not afford to break down, not here.

“At the end of dinner, bring Miriel back to the Duke’s rooms,” Temar’s voice said, very close to my ear, and I jumped. He smiled that he had caught me unawares, and I gritted my teeth at his self-satisfied look.

“Very well.” I turned away from him, as if bored, and after a moment, he left.

I did not watch him go. There were few enough hidden alcoves here, no way he could attack me without dozens seeing it; I did not have to watch my back. I could devote my whole attention to the courtiers: their flirtations, their spats, their little alliances. And then after dinner, Miriel and I would hear whatever it was the Duke wanted, we might spar with him, but we would go away in a semblance of obedience—only to wake up the next morning to another day of the same. We had been away for so long, but I was already overwhelmed by the tedium of it all, and it was worse to be in this strange other court—the cramped banquet hall pressed tightly with courtiers, all in their silks and jewels, while the city sweated with fear. When the banquet ended, I was glad to escape with Miriel, and she went willingly, even knowing that the Duke had something planned for us.

“I could hardly stand another moment,” she said, through gritted teeth. “After all we’ve been through, and it’s still gowns and dancing and who smiled at whom!”

“They’re only silly girls,” I said soothingly. “And we survived, didn’t we?” She shot me a look. Miriel disliked the charade and resented the lies we continued to tell, no matter if we both agreed that our survival with the Duke depended on holding to our story. We could not say who might hear an indiscreet word and carry a story back to the Duke; we must pretend, always.

As we wound our way through the hallways, I pushed ahead to create space for Miriel. The Fortress was grand, but it was housing every noble family and their retinue, and a large contingen
t of the army. The nobles were all housed on the upper floors, crammed together, and the corridors were a nightmare. I was so relieved when the guards at the Duke’s chambers flung open the doors, that it took me a moment to realize that Miriel and I were face to face with Arman and Isra Dulgurokov.

I faded hastily into the background, bowing as Miriel swept
into a deep curtsy and came up. Her back was straight, her head up, but her eyes were fixed firmly on the floor. She was the very picture of demure obedience, her voice low and sweet.

“My Lord. Your Grace. Such an honor.” I stole a glance at the
siblings, who stared at her contemplatively. They shared the same high brow and dark hair, and the same grey eyes. There, the similarities ended. Arman might not be tall, but he had the build of a warrior, trained since childhood; Isra’s petite, buxom frame and soft hands bespoke a quiet life. I had seen Isra each day at the Court as Miriel ensnared Garad, and I had learned her ways as any enemy will do. But I had known little of Arman, save that he was a man who whispered in corners, aligning Isra’s interests with the Nilsons and the Torstenssons even as Garad slipped out of their control. I did not know what he might be like as a man: cruel or kind, ambitious of his own account, or only a cats-paw for his sister’s hopes.

“I understand you returned to Co
urt only today, my Lady.” His voice was measured, his face open; that, I trusted little. His eyes were troubled, and I took note of it. “I hope you are recovered from your ordeal.”

“Yes, thank you, my Lord.” Miriel looked up to give him a smile. “By the grace of the Gods, we were not harmed.”

“We?” Isra asked. Her gaze darted to me. “You and your servant?” I bowed.

“My Lady.”

“This is Catwin,” the Duke said smoothly. “She grew up in Voltur with Miriel, and accompanied her to Penekket.”

“How interesting.” Isra’s tone suggested that a girl in pants would not be welcomed as a servant in the Dulgurokov retinue. “Very quaint,” she added, meaningfully.

“It is well for a girl to have friends from her home,” Arman placated her. He looked at Miriel. “My Lady, forgive me—I would not be so abrupt, but we have little time. Perhaps you and I could speak alone?” Miriel did not look at Isra, whose eyes had narrowed, nor at the Duke, who had gone very still. She did not look over to see if Temar was watching her, hoping to catch her in a lie. She did not look to me, to see if I might save her. I saw her draw on her courage as she met Arman Dulgurokov’s eyes.

“Of course, my Lord.” He held open the door to the room we shared, and she preceded him into it. As the door clicked shut, Isra looked over at the Duke coldly.

“My brother may think this is a good match,” she said icily, “but he is only a man, and easily overwhelmed by female charms. I am not so sure that you can make good on your claims.” Her tone was quietly venomous, but the Duke did not fear her. He smiled.

“I think you will find that you are now much diminished at Court,” he remarked pleasantly, as if speaking of the weather. “
An aging widow with no heirs to follow you, no hope for a husband of your own. The power in the Court is now the Warlords, and Gerald Conradine has no love for you.” Isra lifted her chin.

“And you think we would so demean ourselves as to take merchant blood?” she retorted. “For I think you will find that you, also, are much diminished at Court. Has Gerald Conradine any reason to love you? Why should my brother not marry one of the Nilson clan, one of the Torstenssons?
If he wishes to rise up, will he not want an army of his own?”

“
He will have one. With Celys, DeVere, and Dulgurokov united in one heir, we can lay claim to the entire west of Heddred,” the Duke said simply. Isra’s jaw tightened and she looked away. I gaped; we had gone from marriage negotiations and insinuation to open treason in a few moments, and the speed of it dizzied me. I had thought myself accustomed to court life, but this showed me otherwise.

“
You would be prepared to take care of the DeVere heirs?” Isra asked softly, her eyes narrowed. She had no such compunctions as I.