Shadow's End (Light & Shadow) (16 page)

“I thought I might help,” I said, holding up the basket. “I know you’re shorthanded.”

“That would be good of you,” she said si
mply, but with the same bemused look she always gave me now, as if she did not quite know me.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her, and she shook her head.

“I’ve never understood why you came back,” she said softly. I frowned as I rolled a bandage tightly and secured it with a pin. Then, as the thought sank in, I put the next bandage down and looked up at her.

“That’s what you want to know? We left without a word, we ran away, and you want to know why we came
back
?”

“Yes,” Roine said, after a moment’s pause. She gently poured a liquid into a series of wooden bottles, and began to place stoppers in them, securing the pegs with dabs of wax. “You went to the rebellion. Why did you come back? You’re not one to leave a task unfinished.”

“I really can’t tell you,” I said miserably, and I saw a look of pain cross her face.

“What are you afraid of?” she asked quietly.  “That I would think less of you?”

“What?” I frowned at her, and her brow furrowed.

“Have you not come back for revenge, then?” For the second time in a few moments, I was completely taken aback.

“Revenge?” I managed, and she tilted her head to the side.

“You were grossly mistreated,” she said simply. “You were put in harm’s way, and so was Miriel, you were to be used as pawns, both of you. I assumed that the only reason you would come back, would be for vengeance.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head, and her eyes flared.

“Then why?” she demanded fiercely, leaning over the table, her face close to mine. “Why would you ever come back here? Have I managed to convince you of
nothing
? The Court is dangerous, Catwin. It is no less full of murderers and liars than it was when you left—and more dangerous, there’s a new King. Is Miriel trying to throw herself at him, too? Have you come back to watch while she makes herself a concubine?”

I sat silent in the face of her anger
, trying to ignore the rise of my own. Miriel had been called worse, and had shrugged the words away; there was no sense in being offended on her behalf. And of course Roine would have hoped that we would leave, and not come back. I had been consumed with guilt for leaving her, without remembering that she had always pleaded with me to do so. I leaned forward to her, touching her hand lightly.

“It’s for a good cause,” I said, as softly as I could. “It’s for the rebellion.” I expected one of her long sighs, for her to tell me that she was proud of my courage, but her face twisted as if she were in pain.

“For the rebellion,” she said flatly, and I saw that I had not eased her mind in the slightest part. To have me out of harm’s way, only to come back and place myself at odds with all the Court, must be very bitter to her.

“I’m sorry,” I said helplessly, but there was no changing her mind. She turned away from me and went to help a patient, her face taking on the serene patience she had when she tended to the sick. I watched her for a long time, but she did not come back, and at last I placed all of the bandages I had rolled neatly in the basket, and left without a goodbye.

When I slipped back into the Duke’s rooms a few minutes with the freshly laundered sheets, Temar gave me a sharp look. I had no will to spar with him, to pretend. I only pushed my way into Miriel’s rooms without a backward glance, made the bed, and then curled up on my cot and stared at the wall until I drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

Chapter 16

There was little to be done in light of my conversation with the High Priest. The most important thing, Miriel and I agreed, was that he not suspect us, and she had pointed out, bitterly, that he could hardly suspect her of being his rival when neither of them could gain an audience with the King. There was nothing for us to do but wait, and hope that Wilhelm would send for us, and so we sat in the Duke’s rooms and tried not to go mad with impatience. We were studying—she, a history textbook, and me, the few drills I could reasonably practice in our cramped rooms—when the Duke returned from a Council meeting with a grim smile. I was wary at once; I never liked it when the Duke smiled. The Duke was only pleased by two things in this world: his own rise, or the fall of his enemies, and both of those meant more upheaval in a court that was already unsteady.

“Joyous news,” he said, as he rounded his desk, and before I thought to stop myself, I
shot a look at Temar. We rarely met each other’s eyes these days, and then only with mistrust—but now, before his face went blank with his usual look of indifference, I saw a flash of pity in his eyes. My heart sinking, I looked over to Miriel, who had not noticed the look between me and Temar. She was looking elegantly interested, with a half smile and curious tilt to her head; despite her demurrals, I saw her beginning to use her pretty mannerisms once more.

“What is it, my Lord Uncle?” she asked, scrupulously polite. He gave her a curious look. He was perplexed by her lack of spirit, and mistrustful of it, but try as he might, he could find no evidence of the two of us plotting against him. Then he remembered his news, and he smiled once more.

“Oh, the very best of news,” he assured her. “There is to be a special banquet in celebration.” Miriel, tilting her head to watch him, had gone very still. She knew something was wrong, but she could not think what might be coming.

“Oh?” she asked, tentatively.

“Yes,” he said simply, and then, to all appearances, he sat down to his ledgers and missives and forgot her entirely. I saw her clench her teeth at the rudeness, and I saw, too, Temar’s small smile at the evidence of her temper. Temar had no pity for Miriel.

“My Lord Uncle,” Miriel said, her tone measured. “What is the news?”

“Ah, well—it is to be announced at the banquet,” he said. “But I suppose I could tell you now. The Queen, Gods protect her, is with child.” Miriel went white, and her uncle’s smile grew. I hated him, in that moment, more intensely than I had hated anyone. I wanted to hit him, wipe the smug smile off his face, scream at him for telling her the news this way. He had wanted to see where her heart lay, it was true—but he had wanted to hurt her, too. He reveled in her weakness, and more than that, he had turned—where before he had been careful to guard his allies, and his anger and vengeance had been sparked only by treachery, now he was no more than any other cruel man. Something in him had broken.

“Should I send for a seamstress, my Lord?” My voice was clear, and I thanked the Gods for it. The last thing either of us needed was for him to see my own weakness, as well.

“No,” he said negligently. “She can wear…oh, the pink gown. Pink is the Queen’s favorite color.”

“I will go make ready, then,” Miriel said simply. She curtsied, her gaze fixed on the floor, and left the room, and her uncle smiled after her.

“Smile, girl,” he called after her. “The whole Court will be rejoicing—don’t give them cause to think you aren’t pleased by the Queen’s condition.” He made no attempt to hide his amusement. I paused at the door, standing between the Duke and my lady.

“Any news of the Ismiri, my Lord?” I was desperate to stop this torment
, to give her a moment alone, away from his spite and the pity she would see in my eyes. The Duke gave me a suspicious look at the question.

“What’s it to you?”

“My kingdom has been invaded, sir, and I am in the path of the army. I should think my interest would be expected.”

“Careful, Catwin.” His voice was dry
, a memory of the calculating, cold-eyed enemy he had been before. “Your rudeness was amusing before, but I grow tired of it.” I gulped.

“Yes, my Lord.”

“And since you ask—the army is no more than a week out, I would guess. Perhaps less.” He gave a grimace. “This will all be over shortly, one way or another. We can only hope that Kasimir is as rash on the battlefield as he is in politics.”

“Or that his brother will
be put in command,” I murmured quietly. More and more, we heard reports that Kasimir’s younger brother, Pavle, was wavering in his devotion to the invasion. But nothing would stop Kasimir’s march; we heard that he had terrified Pavle into following his every order, and I had no doubt that Pavle would lead an army against Penekket if that was what Kasimir ordered. The Duke snorted, but it was in agreement.

“No one would follow Pavle,” he said. “The boy’s an idiot. If he were in charge, none of them would have marched against us
at all.” He was back at work again, examining a map, and so I only bowed and went to find Miriel.

“Are you alright?” I asked her, as I slipped into the room, and she turned to look at me, eyes red-rimmed.

“Don’t
pity
me,” she said sharply, as I had expected. “I can’t stand to be pitied, Catwin, you know that.” She turned back to the mirror, and began looking through her jewel box. “Pearls, I think,” she said, in a remarkably steady voice.

“Your uncle says the army should arrive within the week.” It would not comfort her, but it might distract her. She looked over at me wordlessly. “Spies are telling us that the men in the ranks think Pavle is wavering; it makes them uncertain.”

“If only there weren’t Kasimir to contend with,” Miriel said drily. She took a slow breath, and I saw her put aside her worry for a moment. “Still no word from Dusan, then?”

“None. Kasimir may have silenced him somehow, and if not…what could he do now? He can say it wasn’t his wishes, he can try to call the army back—but none of it will be in time.”

“Perhaps Pavle’s wavering is a sign that he
has
tried to do something,” Miriel said thoughtfully. “He may have tried to call the army back. No one believes that this was his doing, after all—not even those who fought against him in the first war.”

“As long as they follow Kasimir, it won’t much matter,” I said. I swallowed, trying to ignore my fear.
In Voltur, every family, every building, bore the scars of war, but now I was learning that I had been a child of a peaceful age. The thought of an army advancing towards us, treading the ground that Miriel and I had ridden together, filled me with terror. I could hardly think for fear; it took everything I had not to show it, and I lay awake at nights, staring at the ceiling in frightened wakefulness. Many a night, I had padded out into the quiet hallways and perched on a window seat, staring out one of the arrow slits, looking west to see if I could spot the campfires of our enemy.

Miriel saw my fear, and she came to sit by me on my cot.

“Surely you aren’t afraid,” she said softly. “We’ll be very safe here. No one has ever breached the Fortress.”

“What about the people outside?” I asked, before I thought. I had nightmares of running through the streets and alleyways of the palace complex, hearing screams behind me. There would be the thunder of hooves, and fire everywhere, and every time I woke just as I rounded a corner and found myself trapped, Ismiri soldiers behind me and Kasimir himself ahead of me, lowering a spear to run me through. From Miriel’s silence, I knew that she understood the fear, even if she had not had such dreams herself. She swallowed.

“We have to keep the Ismir from getting to them,” she said. “Gods willing, we will stop their army in its tracks. They’ll be readying themselves, they’ve been lying in wait. The men of the Council should ride out soon, you know—that will give them heart.”

“Will they?” I asked skeptically, thinking of the Councilors: men more accustomed to comfort than valor. Those who were already war heroes might well go with the troops…but then, Gerald Conradine and Guy de la Marque would hardly want rivals for their affection amongst the troops. But Miriel nodded.

“They always do. Don’t you remember the histories we read? Before the battle, the King and the Council ride through the lines and speak with the men. Like in battle, the King leads the charge.” She spoke academically, but a moment later, I saw it dawn on her what she had said. She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh, Gods.”

“They’ll never let him fall,” I said urgently, in the face of her rising fear. I rose, and pulled her with me to the far corner of the room; we had done experiments, to see where someone listening at a closed door might hear us. Miriel followed me, unseeing, and I took her by the shoulders to steady her. “Miriel, listen to me, no king has ever fallen in battle, not in Heddred. And he’s a boy, they’ll protect him all the more. None of the Ismiri will ever get within striking distance of him.” Miriel nodded, white-faced, but I knew she could hardly hear me. She was terrified. “Don’t think of it,” I advised her. Her fear turned to bitterness at once.

“Oh, shall I think of Marie being pregnant? Shall I think of her, sitting on my throne? Shall I think of the fact that Wilhelm loved me so little that he did not even care to look at me when I came back to Court?” She caught a glimpse of my face. “What?” she snapped. I drew closer, sure that I did not want Temar to hear me say any of this.

“I was not going to speak of this, yet—the High Priest said something yesterday. He said it was not a love match at all. Guy de la Marque would have people think so, but it was not.”

“Why would you not tell me that yesterday?” Miriel frowned. We had spent fully an hour discussing the High Priest’s motives, his ambitions, and the dangers he posed, but I had left this out. I had spoken around it, and Miriel, caught up in the emotion of speaking about the treaty, had not noticed my reticence.

“I did not wish to mention it,” I said awkwardly, and at her glare, I put up my hands to fend off angry words. “Alright! I wanted to see if it was true.” I drew close. “I was going to try to speak to Wilhelm myself. I thought…perhaps he might think that it was betraying Marie to speak to you. But I thought that if he knew what it was about, he might agree to see you. He would know that it was for a good cause.”

“And he didn’t think it would be betraying me to marry her?” Miriel asked sharply. She sighed when she saw my face. “I know. I know he must have had a reason. But to have nothing other than hope, and then to have that taken away…” She looked at me, her jaw set. “He will sign it,” she said firmly. “He may have forgotten who he is, but I will remind him. And then I will go, and he will never have to see me again.” I decided not to ask where she planned to go; in all my thinking, I had never come up with a place.

“I’ll go to find Wilhelm tonight,” I told her, barely whispering, and she nodded. “But at the ball, you must be happy—let the Duke know you are sad, but give him no reason to reproach you. He must not suspect anything.” She nodded, biting her lip, and went to make herself ready.

That night, the banquet was a roar of excitement, nearly deafening in the smaller banquet hall, and so overwhelming that I was pressed up against the outer wall of the room, watching things with as much detachment as I could muster. There so many toasts that the courtiers were all half-drunk by the time the first course was finished, and I was pleased to see that Miriel raised her goblet with a smile and a cheer each time. She spoke to the companions at her table, accepting their congratulations on her betrothal gracefully, and although her uncle had watched her like a hawk at the start of the banquet, he eventually looked away to confer with another Councilor; I breathed a sigh of relief. It was one obstacle removed. A moment later, I felt a presence at my side and knew that Temar had come to stand next to me.

“Hello.” I did not turn my head to look at him.

“How is she?” he asked me, to the point as he always was now. I paused.

“Dizzied,” I said finally. I looked over, and found him staring
quizzically at me. “To be freed, after so much isolation, only to come here. It’s so…close.” I could only hope that my own claustrophobia gave a ring of truth to the lie. “It’s not only that, though. A year ago, she expected to be Queen,” I explained. “And now the man she was betrothed to is dead. She saw the beginning of the war, at Voltur, and she was afraid to leave her mother there. Then the capture—then this. She’s betrothed again, and she’s afraid of the war. She doesn’t know what to think, she’s being charming and pretty because that’s all she knows how to do. To tell the truth, I don’t know what to think of it, either.” To my surprise, Temar was smiling, almost sympathetically. He reached out and laid his hand on my arm, and he leaned close; I blinked, caught off guard.

“I know you’re lying to me,” he said, very softly, in my ear. I felt my pulse pound to have him so close to me, speaking so gently, and yet his words sent ice water down my spine.

“Why can you not believe me?” I whispered back, passionately. Once, he had told me that the secret to a successful lie was to believe the lie while you told it, and I tried to believe this now. Gods knew, there was enough truth to it all.

“You’re asking the man who taught you to lie, remember,” he said. He was still smiling, his touch on my arm was still light. I could smell the soap from his skin, he was so close to me; the roar of the banquet had faded away. “I know a lie when I
see one, Catwin—even from you, now. I didn’t once, you know. I thought you incapable of lying to me; I was wrong. You didn’t know how big a mistake you made, when you deceived me for Miriel’s little charade. Because until I discovered your lies, I did not know what it was that I was seeing in you. Now, I do. I know when you lie to me, and I will find out your secrets.” The threat, finally, awakened the spark of anger that could free me from my spell. I shook my head.