Shadow's End (Light & Shadow) (24 page)

“Whose, then?” Miriel wondered aloud. She took my hand and pried my fingers, gently, from the hilt of the knife, dropping it aside. “Catwin. Are you okay?” She looked up at me, and whatever she saw on my face, she bit her lip. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, and she wrapped her arms around me.
At that, I finally dragged my gaze away from Roine’s body, and reality slammed down, crushing the air from my lungs. I closed my eyes, buried my face in Miriel’s shoulder, and began to cry.

I should have known, I thought. It had been right in front of my eyes, and I had never guessed—all of the
se years, it had been there for me to see, and I had been willfully blind. Who had known that Miriel could betray the rebellion to her uncle’s troops? Only Roine. Who had warned Jacces of who I was, and told him that Miriel and I might be with the King on the night of his murder? Temar might have guessed, but only Roine had known, for a fact, where I would be. Who had known where I was, to send an assassin while Miriel and I worked with the rebels? Not one of our enemies had known where we were—only Roine.

There were no words for the depth of this betrayal. I could have accepted the hatred of Isra, of the Conradines, of the High Priest. I had known, always, that Temar might one day be my enemy, and I had prayed that he would be the one to betray me. But it could not have been him, for I knew to watch him, I knew not to trust him.
It was only Roine who had been with me, for so long, that I could never have suspected her. My first memories were of her smile. It was she who had taught me the hymns of the church. She had watched me grow up, from an infant, and all the time she had known that she would one day strike at me, to take my life.

I wanted to scream, I wanted to throw something, tear down the tent, curse the Gods for whatever twisted trap we had been caught in, all of us. But I only wrapped my arms tighter around Miriel, bit my lip until I tasted blood, and cried silently, feeling the sobs shake my body. It was
not fair, I thought, and I felt like a child, wailing about being denied sweets—it not fair, not fair. Why did I have to know? Why could I not have gone to my death tonight, never knowing that it had been Roine? Of all the moments in my life, the betrayal had to come now, and of all the things I wanted, I realized that I had wanted to go to my death with the love of those I held dear.

And I could not even have that. I choked back a sob and straightened up, trying to calm myself enough to breathe evenly. Miriel was looking up at me, her gaze searching my face for clues.

“Catwin?” she asked tentatively.

“I have to go,” I said softly. Tears came to my eyes, and I blinked them back. I tried to smile at her, but my mouth was trembling.

“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered, pleading, but I shook my head.

“I do.
What would you do in my place?” At that, she looked down and nodded.

“
The same. But I hope you come back,” she said, in a rush, and I could hear a sob in her voice. “I don’t know what to do without you.”

“You’ll survive,” I said, trying not to break down. “I promise you, you can survive anything. You’ve got Voltur now. You can go be a philosopher in the mountains if you want.” She gave a sound that was half laugh, half sob.

“I could do that,” she agreed, and she stood up on tip-toe to hug me. “Be safe, Catwin. Don’t give up. Come back if you can.”

“I will if I can,” I agreed. Easy to say so; there was no way I would have that chance
; it would take all my skill even to make it to Kasimir’s tent. “Be safe, yourself.” I slipped out of the tent without meeting her eyes; determined as I was, I knew that I could not leave her if I saw her cry. I pushed my way through the crowd of men at the fire and made my way to the edge of the camp, edging my way between tents and ducking out of the way of messengers and patrols.

There
, facing into the darkness, was the tent Temar had described to me, a single blue ribbon on one of the tent poles. I squared my shoulders and walked towards it. There was only one test left, and that would be not to waver as Temar pleaded with me to stay.

“I’m here,” I said, as I pushed aside the tent flap. “Are you ready—“

The tent was dark and empty. Temar had already gone.

For several long moments,
I stood, frozen, in the darkness. I knew without question that Temar had gone hours ago, as the sun set; he had set out for the Ismiri camp as soon as we had parted. Perhaps he had watched, to make sure that I was truly setting out to find Roine—to make sure that I was not going to try the same ploy. Then he had slipped away, a shadow disappearing into the dusk, and by now, Gods willing, Kasimir was dead.

Temar had known that I would understand what he had done—where he had erred was in believing that I would not follow, both to assure that the mission was completed, and to give him
even the merest chance of escaping. It was wishful thinking to believe that I would accept defeat so easily.

Grimly, I checked each of the tiny pockets in my shirt, the sheathes in my boots, and began to run through the series of stretches, trying to bring my mind to stillness. I had no poison for my daggers, no wire, no ether-soaked rag to silence any guards who might see me. But that did not matter; I had accepted this mission as my purpose, and the elegance with which I accomplished it was nothing to me. All I needed was to get close enough for one of my knives to find its target.

All of the pain of Roine’s betrayal, all of the fear that was coursing through my veins, all of the hurt of losing Miriel and Temar—all of it would be gone soon. I would sleep, knowing that my life and my death, both, had been given to defend thousands of lives. Jeram would go home to his wife and children, Donnett would see his sister and her babies once more—I could smile for that, at least.

I was straightening up to set out at last when I heard, faintly, the shout go up from a patrol and dashed outside, the cry ready on my lips as I recognized Temar, sprinting towards me out of the darkness.

Chapter 26

“
Hold!”
The patrol reached me a moment after Temar collapsed into my arms. I could see his eyelids fluttering. “Hold,” I repeated, my heart pounding. “He’s Heddrian, he’s one of us. Temar?”

“It’s done,” he whispered. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth, seeped through his shirt to soak my fingers; my hand was moving, searching, trying to find the injury, but all my fingers found was a mess of blood.

“You,” I said to one of the men. “Go to the King, speak only to him, and tell him to summon Miriel DeVere, and to tell her that Catwin’s mission is done. She will be able to tell him what that means. Do you have that?”

“Miriel DeVere—Catwin’s mission,” he repeated blankly.

“Go now, all of you!” They ran, and I stumbled into the tent, barely getting Temar to the bedroll before my own legs gave out. “I need to get a healer,” I told him urgently, and he smiled sadly, reaching out to take my arm as I stood to go.

“It is too late,” he said softly.

“Where is the wound?”

“All…over.” He gave a gasp of pain, and his face twisted. “Please…stay with me.”

“I should get a surgeon—“ I broke off as he moved his hand, and I saw the wound in his side. The fabric had torn, and I could hardly see the flesh for the mess of it; bone glinted against the blood.

“My stomach,” he whispered. “The poison is in my blood now. I don’t have much time left.” Silently, slowly, not knowing what to say, I dropped back to kneel at his side.

“It’s done,” he said again, trying to smile.

“You went without me,” I whispered, staring down at him with tears in my eyes, and he smiled at me.

“I couldn’t let you go,” he said softly. “You know that.” One of his hands closed around mine, and I squeezed my fingers, feeling my face crumple; there were tears running down my cheeks. The events of the night rushed back to me, overwhelming.

“Roine tried to kill me
,” I said, hearing my voice crack. “All the time, it was her. All of the times they came for us.” I shook my head. “I don’t know how to live with that,” I confessed. “I thought I’d die tonight. But now…”

“Is she dead?” His voice was urgent, his fingers gripping mine tightly.

“Yes. Miriel killed her.” I shook my head as Temar gave a laugh that trailed away into a cough. He was smiling wryly, to think that the girl he so despised had done what he would have, in her place.

“Miriel? Thank her for me.
She…freed you. As you freed me.” I shook my head and wiped tears away, trying to find words to say, trying not to think of the fact that he was dying, his blood soaking into the ground. I closed my eyes against the pain, and heard his voice, as if from very far away.

“Mihail did not betray Dragan at the Battle of Voltur.”

“What?” I opened my eyes and frowned at him. “What do you mean?

“He did not mean to.” Temar’s dark eyes were full of pain. “I snuck into their camp and I pretended …told him I’d put poison in his wine, and I’d only give him the antidote if he told me their battle plans. All…” He grimaced in pain. “…a lie. His family was executed,” he added. “I’ve never told anyone. Only Eral knew.”

“You’re the one who won the Battle of Voltur,” I said, awestruck, and he shook his head. He was pale, sweat beading on his skin.

“
They were planning something, anyone could see. No time to go for help. Eral was…he was a good commander. But we had nothing. We needed luck. I had sworn that I would lift him up.”

“But why?” When he did not answer, I felt my heart seize. “Temar?”

“My name is Necthan,” he murmured.

“What?” His eyelids fluttered slightly. He looked up at me, trying to breathe through the pain.

“Necthan.” He gave a grimace. “I wanted…someone to know.” He gasped, and gripped my hand, and I saw fear in his eyes at last; panic rose up in me. “Please—do one last thing for me.”

“Anything.” I was shaking, my fingers wrapped tight around his, leaning close to hear the thread of his voice.

“Bring my ashes home,” he whispered, in my ear. “Tell my sister, we are free. Tell her what you did, and how I died.” His eyes began to close.

“Where is your home?” I whispered. He did not answer, and I squeezed his hand. “Temar? Necthan? Where can I find your sister?” I thought he was gone, but his eyes opened once more and he smiled truly, a smile of remembrance.

“The Shifting Isles.” His gaze was faraway. “I should like to know that my body came home.” I could barely see for the tears, but I nodded.

“I’ll do it,” I promised him, nodding, and he reached up to touch my face. I leaned my head against his hand, and tried not to sob, and he smiled at me.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I’m not afraid.”

“I don’t want you to die,” I whispered. I could hear sobs and knew they were my own, and he brushed the tears from my cheek with his thumb.

“I thought that I would die alone,” he said softly, “and my family would never know my fate. But you are here, to guard my passing, and one day, my people will know that I kept my promise. This is a good death.” I could feel the life leaving him, but he smiled at me. His hand slipped away from my face. “I love you, Catwin. Be safe.”

“I love you,” I whispered, but h
e did not hear me. His eyes were open, but he did not see me anymore. He had died with a smile on his face, and I was left in the darkness, holding his hand, stifling my sobs into my palm. I sat in the tent, holding his hand, and the sounds of the camp faded away. There was only me, and Temar lying at my side. I did not know how much time had passed when the sound of voices, and pounding feet jolted me from my haze. I looked around as the voices grew closer.

“Catwin?” Miriel flung herself through the entryway of the tent and stopped as she saw me sitting by Temar’s body. Behind her, Wilhelm and Gerald Conradine pushed their way into the tent, and I saw Guy de la Marque slip in, quietly, behind them.

“What is this?” Gerald Conradine demanded. His eyes swept around the tent, looking into the corners, where danger might lurk in the shadows. Miriel bristled at his tone, but I could hardly find the energy to care.

“This man killed Kasimir,” I said, and Gerald’s eyes narrowed at me.

“How do you know? Who is he?”

“That’s the Duke of Voltur’s servant,” Guy de la Marque said. His eyes were fixed on Temar’s face. “I remember seeing him in Council meetings. So he was an assassin, then. I always wondered.” I saw a flash of humor, unexpected, in his eyes. “You know, I
had
always suspected that Eral meant to kill us all.” He fell silent when Wilhelm looked over at him.

“We heard the commotion in their camp, but we did not know what it was,” Wilhelm said to me
, gently. He came to kneel by my side in the mud, heedless of his fine clothes. “Is he dead?”

“Yes,” I said shortly, and the King looked over at me, noting my grief. He reached out and put his hand over mine.

“This man will be given a hero’s funeral,” he assured me, and I saw genuine kindness in his eyes; for the first time, I felt hope that perhaps Heddred might truly change for the better under Wilhelm’s rule.

“Thank you.” Somewhere, distantly, a shout went up in the camp, and I heard the clamor grow. The men looked around, nervously, to the tent flap.

“Your Grace,” Miriel said softly. She cast an apologetic look at me. “That is surely the envoy. You should go, to accept their surrender.” She looked, as ever, only in the direction of her hopes; she was like a beacon, I saw Wilhelm’s tension ease in the face of her steady belief.

“Indeed.” He nodded to me, courteously, and stood.

“We should stay on our guard,” his father warned, and Wilhelm gave a placatory smile.

“And we will,” he said simply. “Will you come, my Lady?” He held his hand out to Miriel, but she shook her head. She stepped back, managing to look as if she had not noticed Guy de la Marque’s narrow-eyed look; his good humor had fled entirely.

“I will stay with Catwin,” Miriel said softly, “and keep vigil.” The men filed out silently, and Miriel knelt at my side in the darkness, her gown pooling around her.

“He said to thank you,” I said, into the silence.

“For?”

“Roine.” Miriel smiled a little.

“And I would have thanked him if I’d had the chance—he went without you, didn’t he?” I nodded, unable to speak for grief, and she reached out to touch my hand. We sat for a while in silence, and then, tentatively, she asked: “Who was he, then? Did you ever know?” I shook my head, my eyes fixed on Temar’s face.

“I don’t know.” It hurt to admit that, to know that I would never truly understood Temar; Necthan, I told myself. I had a sudden memory of him, dark-eyed and secretive, telling my twelve-year-old self that the Shifting Isles were nothing more than legend. He had hidden all of it, a-purpose, and even at the last, confessing his sins to me, he would not give up his secrets.

I wanted to do nothing more than sleep, lay my head down and lose myself before I could think. I could feel my mind working, thoughts spinning, a jumble of memories.
Those whom fate has touched…well, let us say that they are drawn to one another.
And, so sharp a pain I could hardly breathe:
It is the Gods’ will.

“Breathe,” I heard Miriel’s voice. “You have to breathe. Here, move my hand.” She reached out, tentatively, as she must have seen Roine do; the memory hurt. “In. Wait. Out. Wait. Keep breathing, Catwin.”

Weariness dragged at me, bone deep. Exhaustion, understandable, began to leech the strength from the grief, and I felt my eyes begin to slip closed. How long had it been since I had slept? I leaned against Miriel, feeling the comfort of her warmth.

“I promised him that I would bring his ashes home,” I told her softly, and she nodded.

“I won’t let them take his body. Sleep now, Catwin.”

“Wake me if…” If there was a battle. If she was in danger. But I could hardly finish the sentence. “Stay near Wilhelm.”

“I’ll be okay,” Miriel promised me. She lay me down on the ground and swung the cloak from her own shoulders, draping it over me. Her smile was the last thing I saw before exhaustion claimed me.