Shadow's End (Light & Shadow) (3 page)

“Oh, we won’t say anything directly,” Miriel assured me. “No, we’ll just offer them what they want, we’ll make them think it’s their idea. If Jacces wanted to control this, he shouldn’t have started a movement of the people. It’s their movement—and if they want to
push for change, I will help them.”

“What if they don’t want to push for change?”

“If they didn’t want to push for change, they wouldn’t be forming mobs,” Miriel said, logical to the last. “And how can they be content?” I shrugged, and piled more wood onto the fire. Sometimes, I found it amusing that of the two of us it was Miriel, the high-born one, who was the revolutionary; sometimes, when I reminded myself that I had sworn to serve such a woman, I thought that I was putting my own head in the noose. Miriel must have seen the look on my face, for when I sat back and looked over at her, her face had gone grave.

“Will it be enough?
” she asked me. There was real fear behind the words. Miriel, who had always looked forward, who had so trusted in her wit and her charm, had learned the hard lesson that chance could overwhelm carefully-laid plans in only a moment. She had learned that enemies were everywhere, and that she was never, ever, safe. Now she had realized that she was not evading danger, only riding into greater uncertainty.

“Of course it will,” I said bracingly.
We had chosen our course—any of my teachers would have told me not to let our plans be shaken by fear.
Choose your escape, and go
, Donnett said.
Never look behind ye—it only slows ye down
. So I smiled at Miriel, hoping that she could not see the echo of her fear in my own eyes.

“We survived the Court, didn’t we?
” I coaxed her. “And these are true allies. Better than the Duke.”
Better than Temar.
And, in a burst of spite:
Better than Wilhelm.
Miriel, who blessedly could not hear my thoughts, who had forgotten Wilhelm for the moment, smiled at me.

“At last
. You know, for the first time in my life that I’m traveling somewhere, I don’t feel trapped. I’m afraid, but I feel happy, too—we’re going somewhere we chose, to people who are our allies.” Her temper and her brilliant charm alike were stripped away. She was only a young woman, happy and at peace with her life. “I wonder what it’ll be like,” she said thoughtfully, “not to have to look over our shoulders.”

“Get some sleep,” I said, hiding my face from her.
I did not have the heart to tell her that her words had touched off a wave of superstitious fear, so strong that it was all I could do to speak calmly.  “We’re getting close. We might arrive tomorrow.” I curled under my own blankets and wrapped my arms around myself, and told myself that it was time to cast away these superstitions: that Miriel and I were part of a pattern, that Temar was some strange, half-human creature, that I could know the future and that it was dark. But when my dreams came, they were nightmares, and I knew that the fear still lay in wait, in the back of my mind.

Chapter 3

“I don’t see
why
,” Miriel protested, for the eighth time in as many minutes. I frowned at her as I pulled on my other suit. It was marginally cleaner, but still covered in dust. I smelled, and I wrinkled my nose at that. Baths were one thing I missed, whole-heartedly, about the Court. Baths and good food; with so many kitchens, there had always been a tray of rolls or a meat pie left unattended. Here, food was scarce, and carefully watched.

“
You do know why,” I told Miriel sternly.

“Alright, yes. I do.” She waved her hand as if it were irrelevant. “But I’m so tired of being shut up in this room! Can’t I just—“

“No.” When we had arrived in the tiny town of Norvelt, I had hidden Miriel in a barn and sought out the Inn, oddly named the Widow’s Tears. I told the innkeeper’s wife that I had spirited my sister away from her lecherous master, and I must hide her and work for our keep. The woman had nodded sagely and offered to keep Miriel safe as long as she was hidden, not wanting lovesick swains banging on her doors at all hours of the night.

The woman was right to worry
—a girl like Miriel would draw attention anywhere, and most especially here. An unmarried woman, beautiful, with fine clothes to wear—all of it painted her as a whore. Even I was already receiving invitations crude enough to render me speechless, and I seemed only to be an exceptionally pretty boy. There was no way that I would be able to keep Miriel safe and seek our rebel sympathizers at the same time, and so Miriel needed to stay hidden, however bored she might be. Whatever her brilliant plans for taking control of the rebellion, they would only lead to disaster if I could not find trustworthy allies first.

“Just stay here,” I plead
ed. “I have someone to meet tonight—we could be gone tomorrow. It’s not for much longer.” Miriel only slumped back onto the bed, crossed her arms, and looked away. Her petulance was so childish that I left the room before I could laugh in her face.

As
I hurried towards the bar, I rotated my arms in their sockets and twisted my back, trying to stretch away the hours of work I had done. I had spent the past week helping out at the Widow’s Tears, doing everything from tilling the garden to restocking the wine cellar. The work was exhausting, but I did anything and everything I could. I would sleep from dinner until late in the evening, then creep downstairs to the taproom to nurse a mug of ale and listen. Above all, I never—ever—asked questions.

The men were uneasy around me,
a strange lad with city clothes, an accent they could not place, and yet with calluses on his hands. I had sat over by myself, never trying to make it into their circle, only trying to hear what I could over the din, but the men watched me even so. They were farmers, blacksmiths, butchers—all of them with arms as big around as my head, it seemed, and I was too afraid to open conversation on my own account. Finally, earlier in the day, the Innkeeper himself had taken me aside.

“What’s yer game?” he asked me gruffly. “Don’t you lie. We’ve seen a dozen like you from the city. But yer the strangest of ‘em.”

“A dozen like me?”

“Spies,” he said flatly. “Sent by the King to see how we think and what we say.
And a week after they go there’re soldiers and arrests and men who never come home to their families.” I said nothing, only looked down at my feet. “But yer the only one as worked fer their lodging, and yer the only one as won’t ask questions. So what’s yer game, lad?” I had been waiting for this question for days, and I had half-expected it to be accompanied by a dagger between the ribs—I was so relieved now that I did not speak for a moment.

“I’m not a spy,” I said, as blunt as he was. “You know about my sister, I’d expect.”

“I hear she doesn’t look much like you,” he said, narrow-eyed. I shrugged.

“She’s my half-sister. From a whore, if you want to know.” I apologized silently to Miriel. “We ran away to the city and I was going to be a priest, only it was worse there. Her master wanted her, see, and I…” I hunched my shoulders. “I’d read a book,” I said, my voice low. “And then the letters. I was a fool, I thought I could talk to my teachers of it. But one nig
ht another student told me the City Guard was coming for me. So my sister and I ran away.” I prayed he was a sympathizer; I still was not sure when he said,

“A letter.
” His eyes were narrowed ever so slightly.

“If you don’t want my kind here, I’ll move on,” I said quickly. “I won’t make trouble for the town. Just let us leave. Please.”

“Your kind?” I had become certain, over the past week, that these men were sympathizers, and yet now, in the face of this interrogation, I felt my confidence flag. I let him see me trembling. It was not all an act; I was terrified.

“Sympathizer. S
ir.”

“Are ye then, really?” He looked at me and shook his head. “Ye know, I think ye may not be lying. But Jeram’s the one ye’ll have to convince. Tonight, I’ll have ye meet him.”

“Jeram?”

“Never ye mind. Come down to the taproom after dinner.”

And so here I was, dressed as smartly as I could be, my hair washed with water from the pump in the yard, my clothing brushed free of dust, and my heart in my throat. I had limbered up, half-afraid that this Jeram, whoever he was, would think it better just to knife me and have done with it all. I told myself that I was prepared for anything, but as I rounded the staircase, I realized that I had been wrong. Every man in the taproom was waiting for me, their chairs turned to the stairs, their faces set and cold. I had been so absorbed in my fear that I had not noticed the unusual quiet. At the bar, the innkeeper nodded to me. His manner was not greatly encouraging, but I tried to take comfort from it. Surely if they wanted to kill me, they’d just rush me, or throw a knife.

One of the men,
who I recognized the village blacksmith, stood slowly from his table, and looked me over. His eyes narrowed as he stared at me, taking in the fairness of my skin, the close-cropped hair, the black suit; I looked back, the work-roughened hands, the dirt under his fingernails, the air of authority he held. So this was Jeram. I had seen him before, but not known his name.

“We hear you’re a rebel sympathizer.” He had worked to strip the country drawl from his voice, and when I looked at him again, more closely, I saw past the brawny arm
s and soot stains; his eyes were unsettling, more intelligent than those of most priests, colder than those of most courtiers. I swallowed and nodded.

“I am, sir.”

“Prove it,” he said. I froze. Prove it? How could I possibly prove it?

“How?” I asked at length, and they laughed. I saw my death in their eyes. “Anyone could have read the letters,” I said desperately. “How can I prove to you what’s in my heart?”

“Try,” Jeram said, merciless. And I did—I tried to think of anything Miriel had told me about the letters, I tried to think of philosophy and pretty words. I tried to think of the tenets of their cause, and how I might make these men believe that I held to those tenets. What came out of my mouth, however, was something else entirely.

“I was born in the village at the base of the Winter Castle,” I said.
“In Voltur.” It was like a dream; the words came forth entirely without my volition. “My mother nearly died birthing me, and the healing woman for the Duke took me in. I grew up there, without a family. When I was twelve, I was sent to Penekket to serve at the Court.” I tried to stop myself, choose my words, but my voice continued without a pause. “I had heard of the rebellion, but I thought it was foolish. I thought that anyone who sympathized signed his own death warrant.” They stirred, and I flinched. Still I heard my voice go on. “Then I saw what the Court was doing to me, and to my…sister. We had started to go dark. We were surrounded by lies and…” I shook my head. “Everyone wanted to use us. She was the one who turned me to the rebellion with her own belief. A month ago, we decided to run away. We just took our clothes and went. We didn’t have a plan, we just came here, looking for the rebellion. We didn’t know where to go or what to do, but having a roof over our head and fine clothes…it wasn’t worth it anymore. We were being…twisted.”

They watched me, silent and unforgiving, and I saw that they doubted me. It was not the story they had expected, but how could the
y believe it? I had been able to hold back only one thing, our identities, but like a wild animal close to danger, they could sense it. I closed my eyes and tried to think of anything that might stave off the attack, and then I heard a rustle behind me and a collective indrawn breath. I knew without looking that Miriel stood behind me, in all her beauty. I looked at her, and she smiled at me.

“Catw
in is telling the truth,” she said simply. She stood on the stairs above me, her head held high, her chin tilted proudly. Her beauty shone like a jewel, she was stunning. The men at the tables gaped, and Miriel smiled out at them. But her gaze did not waver from Jeram. Under her bright scrutiny, he cleared his throat and made an admirable attempt to remain focused.

“And who are you?” He was trying to be brusque.

“My name,” Miriel said, “is Miriel DeVere. I am the niece of the Duke of Voltur. Before the death of King Garad, the Gods protect his soul, I was to be Queen.” The rising tide of murmurs was cut off in a moment when she held up her hand for silence. “Gods willing, in time I would have turned Garad from your enemy into your friend. I believed that such was my calling in life.”

“Yer really th’Duke’s niece, then?” one of the men called, and I shot him a veiled look, marking his face.
Behind him sat another man, in finer clothes, his eyes narrowed at Miriel. I resolved to ask the Innkeeper about that one, if Miriel and I survived the night.

“Yes.” A faint smile touched Miriel’s lips. “But you should know that my uncle is no ally to me. It was I who argued against his plan to send soldiers here. He would let me die without a moment of regret, if it would serve his cause—and if I die here, he
will
use it to persuade the council to use force against the rebellion.”

“Is that a threat?” Jeram demanded, and Miriel smiled at him as if it were a great joke; despite himself, the man smiled back.

“Not a threat,” Miriel said, the gurgle of a laugh in her voice. “Call it a concise summation of the reasons no one should kidnap or kill me.” Jeram could not help himself, he chuckled. He was serious again in a moment.

“So what do you suggest we do?” he asked, and I saw that he was still alert for signs of betrayal. She was the one who could be the most convincing city spy sent so far, dazzling his men and turning their heads. I smiled despite myself; Jeram was so worried about Miriel that he had forgotten entirely about me, the one he had come here to interrogate. Standing at the base of the stairs, in full view of a dozen men, I marveled at the fact that I had become completely invisible; not a single man remembered that I was present.

I stole a glance at Miriel and saw the same mix of emotions I was feeling, reflected in her demeanor. Miriel had been made to be bright and shining, just as I had been made to be quiet and unseen. She reveled in drawing a crowd like a beacon, and I preferred to melt into the shadows. But for one of us to become wholly Light, and the other Shadow, had been the Duke’s dream—not our own. We lived as two sides of a coin because we knew no other way.

And we lived this way because it worked, beautifully. The men did not, could not look away from Miriel as she outlined the plan to them. They had never seen the work that went into every gesture, the careful crafting of the tableau
; they accepted her act as her true self. They watched her, and I watched them, marking who watched her like a fool, and who had a gleam in his eye.

“Hide me from my uncle,” Miriel said bluntly to Jeram. “He
will
send spies. Shelter me, and Catwin, and I will teach you all I know of how to outwit the Council and its army for long enough to draw up a treaty, a law, and sign it with the King.”

“We need an army
,” Jeram objected. “Not words on paper.”

“No
,” Miriel contradicted coolly. In a moment, she had turned to ice. “I can teach your men proper formations, and Catwin can train them on the uses of weapons, but it is extraordinarily unlikely that you could meet the King’s army in an open battle and win.” For a moment, she was truly her uncle’s heir: a woman well-versed in military history, with a keen grasp of army formations and a calculating mind. Her eyes swept around the room, marking the men Jeram would have as soldiers.

“
And if you defeat them, what then? The great lords will regroup, and we will face generations of civil war as the common people struggle with the nobles. Is that what you wish for Heddred?” She dared them all to say yes, seeking to hold their gaze; only Jeram would meet her eyes, and he did not speak.

“Just so,” Miriel said simply. “What we need, as a nation, is an understanding that the people should, and will, have a voice in their lives. What we need is to establish the mechanism by which the people have such a voice. What we
need
, is a treaty. A treaty for the King to sign, and thus show the Council that they no longer rule all. A treaty that promises that the rights of the people shall be enshrined in law.” There was a murmur, but this time it was Jeram who held up his hand for silence.