Mask of Shadows

by Linsey Miller

  No surprise that she knew her poisons.

  Water settled over my skin. The air was thick with it—drops of it beading on my arms and the damp scent of dirt filling my nose. My shoes clicked softly against the boards laid over the ground, designed to keep us off the plants, and a bee flitted through the purple bittersweet over my right shoulder. Ten leaned over a cluster of snowbells.

  “Do not touch anything while you are in here unless I tell you to do so.” Emerald circled behind a worktable in the center of the floor. Her green cotton tunic and brown trousers were well made but comfortable looking, and mud streaked her gloves. A tiny butter-yellow flower clung to her sleeve. “If you do and it’s poisonous, I cannot guarantee I can save you. Or that I’ll try. I’ve more important things to do than fuss over you. Among other things, we’re looking for a certain intelligent drive in all of you to stay alive. Touching plants in a greenhouse full of poisons doesn’t breed confidence.”

  I tucked my hands into my pockets. I was fairly comfortable that no one could harm me in here without being caught, and I was rested enough to yank my hands free in time to block a blow. It was only last night, but I already felt worlds better without paranoia and exhaustion hanging over me.

  “Anyone in this world could kill you if they tried hard enough, and the same is true of plants.” She picked up a small yucca root. “I’m sure most of you have eaten this one way or another. There’s a reason yucca is treated before it’s eaten.

  “As a member of the Left Hand, you’ll use poisons that kill quickly with little effort, if you use them at all. You’ll encounter all sorts.” She beckoned us forward with a finger and pointed behind her to a forest of dangling white flowers and thorny blossoms. “I’m going to show you the most common poisonous plants and describe their symptoms. Odds are that you won’t know you’ve been poisoned until it’s too late, unless you’re well trained. In the coming days, I will test you on how to detect them in your food and drink. Avoidance is the first key to survival.”

  “But wouldn’t learning how to survive them be more useful?” Fifteen pointed to the yucca on the table, fingers crooked. He was a boxer through and through. “Knowing how not to die?”

  “I’m not here to keep you alive. I’m here to make you deadlier than you already are. I am here because whichever of you rises to the top and becomes Opal is going to need to know this, not because the lot of you could be poisoned,” Emerald said. “Your survival depends on you, not me.”

  No one else asked questions. Emerald led us through the room—a silent parade of furrow-browed auditioners. She lingered over a bundle of long green stems crowned with blue flowers and swarming with swan moths. Another bunch of the same plant with yellow flowers was next to it. She plucked a leaf.

  “Eating is not the only way to die.” She rubbed the leaf between her gloves, crushing it till it was paste. “Touching one of these with your bare skin could kill you.”

  Great.

  Emerald exchanged her gloves for a fresh set and led us to a corner with small flowering shrubs that had dangling orange blooms and a deep pleasant scent. Another plant growing in its shadow had small green leaves with wicked points and bell-like white petals that deepened to dark velvety purple. The contrast was pretty.

  “There are certain qualities that give away a plant’s defenses.” Emerald bent at the waist and plucked up one of the white bells. She held it close to the left eyehole of her mask. “Bright colors where they shouldn’t be.” Purple stripes lined the stem of the plant. “Thorns and spikes, shiny leaves and white sap—all indicate that a plant is probably poisonous. If you have the misfortune of tasting one, it will be bitter.”

  She laid the stem next to its mother plant and held a hand over the dangling orange flowers. This shrub displayed none of those characteristics.

  This was going to be fun. My mice would be fat and happy so long as no one tried to poison me, and I’d know what flowers to avoid if stranded and starving in a garden.

  Emerald led us around the greenhouse, pointing to flowers and berries as she went. I committed them to memory—thorns, three leaves, bright colors—and hung back behind the rest of the group. The glass walls were practically impenetrable with their climbing vines and walkways. Eleven was either plotting or resting.

  Five and Six were gone. If I stayed in these sessions, no matter how much I needed them, I’d be dead by morning. I needed time to plan my survival. These lessons were too predictable—same times, same places, every day—and the others had the advantage when I was stuck in these sessions.

  Long after the damp dimpled my skin, Emerald removed her gloves and shooed us from the building. The heat outside scoured my lungs and dried me out, and I twisted my head toward the sky. It was well past midday. Maybe we were lucky and Five and Six had killed each other.

  At least there were no high spots here for archers to pick us off.

  “This way please.” Ruby’s red-collared servant bowed before us and started walking down a path.

  I glanced at the others. Eleven and Five had slipped back into the crowd, and Two and Four followed the servant. I followed them with Eleven shuffling behind me. Five’s light, confident strides a few paces behind me echoed in my head. I touched my side.

  Lady bless. Was them killing each other too much to ask?

  Twenty-Two

  A long semicircle table set for a banquet but devoid of food greeted us in Ruby’s domain. There were eight chairs around the table and one seat at the head, slightly raised from the rabble. Ruby lounged across it.

  “No.” He waved a hand at us, head lolling back as though he were rolling his eyes, and held up a finger. “All wrong already.”

  We all stopped. Five laughed.

  Ruby leapt out of his seat and stalked toward us. “I am Lord Ruby of Our Queen’s court, the fourth of the Left Hand. You wait to be granted permission before entering a person’s room—especially if that member is of the Left Hand.”

  I backtracked to the door and narrowly avoided bumping into Two.

  “You do not approach Our Queen without bowing and waiting for her to approve your approach. Forgo bowing with everyone else—the Left Hand is above them.” Ruby herded us all into a straight line and stood at the end, back pin-straight next to me. I drew back my shoulders to match him. “Once you’re welcomed into the room, approach until you’re three paces apart and then bow.”

  He swept into the perfect bow, his back straight and feet apart—a holdover from the days when mages wore runes on their feet and bridging the gap brought the magic to life. I copied him. Everyone else followed suit.

  “A good rule of thumb is to stay horizontal in the time it takes you to take a breath. Continue bowing. I’m going to check your form.” He straightened and eyed me. “All honorable nobles hold the same place in Our Queen’s heart now, and the only ones above them are the members of the high court, the Left Hand, and Our Queen. If you cross their paths while living here, you will bow to them as they pass and stay bowed until they are out of your sight. Understand?”

  I nodded.

  “Don’t nod while you’re bowing. Just say yes,” Ruby muttered to me, checking my spine with a palm. “And straighten your back.”

  He moved down the line. I curved my spine toward the floor, shoulders popping, and lifted my chin. At least bowing was the same for ladies and lords. Learning two sets of rules under Ruby would’ve been unbearable.

  Five had perfect posture. Of course.

  Ruby corrected everyone and shooed us back to the door.

  “What a pleasant happenstance!” He fluttered a hand over his chest, faking surprise, and gestured to the table. “Do take a seat.”

  I straightened up and stopped. In the corner of my eye, Five stopped too. Copying him made my skin crawl even if he did know his stuff. Ruby tutted as Eleven sat down at the table, and he dragged her back to the door to wait for his permission to enter again. Ruby launched into a monologue on proper manners and the traditions of byg
one nations joined together, and I studied Five instead of listening. I was here to be Opal, not learn the history of sitting at tables.

  Five wasn’t paying attention either. He’d a good betting face—gaze steady, nodding at all the right points when Ruby’s voice pitched to note an important fact. Five had replaced the knives I’d stolen with a smaller set and a stiletto in his boot, and I feigned peeking around Fifteen’s arm to get a better look at the table. A bird’s beak paring knife rested against his thigh. Each bore the mark of a raptor with its tail feathers splayed.

  Breakfast rolled in my stomach. Paring knives were for taking off skin.

  Five glanced at me. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

  “You’re not as frightening as you think,” I whispered back, hidden by Fifteen’s broad shoulders.

  “I don’t have to be frightening when you flinch at shadows.”

  I shifted away from him, anger bubbling up my throat till I thought I’d vomit all over Ruby’s dining table. I wouldn’t put it past Five to have ripped the flesh from Three’s body, leaving her to die. No slit throat or knife in the heart—

  No, in the neck.

  Like I told Five I’d do to him.

  Ruby clapped his hands, his words drowned out by the furious rushing in my ears, and escorted us from the room. I followed the others out, body numb and mind racing. Five had killed Three.

  Five had killed Three and used my words against her.

  I stared at the back of his neck, fingers itching and fury I’d only known as a child before I knew the words for rage and wrath coursing through my veins. He’d skinned a woman for no reason, and he was walking round normal as could be.

  Not a shadow but a monster still.

  I slid to a stop to keep from hitting him. The rest of the group followed Amethyst’s servant to the next lesson, and after watching every auditioner turn the corner, I dug my palms into my eyes and held in a scream. I’d killed but never tortured. There was no other word for what Five did to Three.

  Lady Isidora dal Abreu and Amethyst were addressing everyone when I slid through the door. No one noticed me coming in late—hopefully, they’d not notice me leaving either—and I leaned against the back wall while Lady dal Abreu talked about common injuries the Left Hand suffered. The white runes inked around her wrists, so small and fragile, matched the white stitches of her dove-gray dress. It cinched under her bust and matched Ruby’s gray trousers and ivory tunic. He leaned against the wall near the door.

  “How’re we supposed to practice this?” Fifteen asked. He gestured to the catgut, scalpels, needles, and bandages laying across the table next to him.

  Ruby pulled a knife from some secret sheath in his sleeve and sliced open Fifteen’s arm. “Practice on that and don’t interrupt.”

  “Since you would most likely be alone if injured, you will learn on yourself.” Isidora handed a bandage to Fifteen, who sniffled at the shock of the cut. She then glared at Ruby and he fled the room. “It’s not deep. Apply pressure and it’ll stop bleeding.”

  I held back my shudder. I could already stitch myself up and set a broken limb. I was Nacean, and we didn’t bleed ourselves unless we could send it back to The Lady.

  I’d better things to do.

  Twenty-Three

  I slunk out the door. Retracing my steps, I walked back to the road that led north and traveled into the woods, avoiding the path. The journey north of the eastern spires didn’t last long.

  The buildings were squat and stone, laid out like the curving mountain ranges covering the north. Erlend’s colors didn’t hang in the windows and decorate the doors, but they were scattered throughout, slightly brighter and more vivid than the rest of the paint. Servants, soldiers, and messengers paced the paths.

  Hidden behind a thick curtain of pine needles, I crawled into a tree and watched them pass. The messengers were the easiest to spot because their traveling clothes were acceptably nice for the palace grounds but functional. Each carried a letter with the name of the recipient on one side and Our Queen’s stamp on the other. Some hid the name. Most didn’t.

  They must’ve had to pass through the front gates and be approved by the guards to deliver their letters. No notes or people passed through the gates without the stamp of the guards.

  The curvy first letter of Seve’s name caught my eye.

  Looked like his name. Probably.

  I leapt out of the tree and followed the messenger, peeking under his arm at the hidden side of the letter.

  Definitely addressed to Lord Horatio del Seve. His seal was even stamped at the end of his name—a double-toothed kite spreading its wings after a storm, ready to strike again.

  He’d positioned it so it loomed over Our Queen’s seal.

  The messenger stopped at a two-story building, roof garden dripping with every flower native to Erlend, and bowed to the guard at the door. Thin paper window shades dyed the soft green of pines lined the upper floors. I slowed to listen.

  The guard, a broad-shouldered man with a spear in his hands and a sword on his belt—overarmed for show—grinned at the messenger. “I’ll leave it with his attendant.”

  I journeyed till there were no guards in sight and ducked back into the trees. If he wasn’t there, I was safe to snoop around his things and find the best way inside. The only door was guarded, but the windows were large and could be opened, and that garden had to have a door. I climbed an oak rising higher than the roof.

  A little courtyard with a pond fed by rainwater barrels occupied one side of the roof, and a small dining area underneath a thick awning took up the other side. Furs and stained glass lanterns nicer than any I’d ever seen surrounded the table. I could picture Seve eating dinner wrapped in furs he’d bought—not hunted—under colorful lights more expensive than most people’s breakfast. He’d cleaned out the salvageable goods from the war and sold them to Shan de Pau. People weren’t treated as well as what he could sell.

  The very idea of him made me sick.

  I mapped out Seve’s rooms as best I could from the tree branch. A servant’s shaky silhouette flitted behind the window screens—back and forth from one side of the building to the next. I memorized the guards’ predictable movements.

  Timing my jump, I landed on Seve’s roof with a soft thud. I stilled—no footsteps or shouts, no opening door or nosy servants. I crept around the little nook, fingers drifting over deer hides and decorative elk antlers that hung with candles. The table was set for tea.

  A nightly ritual right before bed if the soft scent of valerian oil was anything to go by.

  I moved Seve’s bird-covered teacup aside and bowed over the table, taking a deep breath.

  My fingers slid over worked wood. An intricately carved puzzle box rested beneath my hands. I tapped one of the hinges and a piece slid down to reveal a lock. Not a puzzle box but a container made to look like one, made to make you look smarter. I picked the lock.

  The papers inside were nonsense—all bookkeeping and management and words I didn’t know because I’d no need for them yet. “Nacea” wasn’t anywhere on the list—just fallow land and beasts of burden getting restless. I set the papers aside.

  A small note fluttered to the floor.

  “Wait for Winter to move and the Storm will pass.”

  The writing was as controlled as Elise’s, but the ends were sharper and jagged. I tucked it back into the box.

  Whatever it meant, it couldn’t have been good. The plainness and small size of the paper—just tiny enough to be slipped from palm to palm without being seen—screamed secret correspondence. Seve was still snooping even if the war was over.

  Erlend’s last holdouts led by Lord del Weylin were tucked away in the impassable mountains, plotting their revenge against Our Queen as sure as I was plotting mine against them. A treacherous crown of ice and fog twisted around the peaks and protected them from Igna’s armies. No one from Weylin’s lands ever journeyed here.

  If not for the occasional threat
and raid, we’d have thought them all frozen and dead.

  I threw up my hands to stretch and smacked one of the silver lanterns. The filigree caught the light.

  Nacean silver.

  Nacean silver cuffs he’d no business having.

  I tore them from the wire, pried apart the glue holding them together, and stuffed them into my pockets. I’d nothing left of Nacea, and he’d all the things no Erlend should’ve had.

  Mother had worn silver cuffs when she’d married Father and again when the three of us were born. She never stopped talking about feeling good memories in the silver, remembering the weight of the cuffs on her wrists. They were for special occasions.

  I’d make him remember us, make us more than stolen relics and open graves.

  I paced the roof. The sides dripped in expensive gold paint and landscaped ivy. There were no trellises for me to climb and no windows for me to sneak in through. A tumbler lock protected the only door leading inside.

  I hung from the back edge of the roof by my fingertips. When I dropped and my feet hit the ground, I bounced up and rolled. The shock rattled my knees, but nothing hurt too badly. The small grove of trees behind me didn’t erupt in shouts from guards.

  Amethyst would’ve been proud.

  I raced back to my room, rage spurring me on, and slammed the door shut behind me. Of course Seve was here. I knew he was here, living well, no harm for what he’d done, but seeing it was a whole different world. And that lace!

  Of course he’d kept the nicest things. Of course he’d hoarded the last pieces of Nacea.

  But why was he still here? Why hadn’t Our Queen done anything about him? Wasn’t like he was hiding it with Nacean treasures hanging throughout his home away from home. How many more lived with him year-round up north? I collapsed onto my bed.

  Maybe, with Seve so close at hand and so close to dead, my memories of Nacea and shadows wouldn’t wake me.

  Twenty-Four

  Maud woke me up with a sharp rap on the door. Another night, another tutoring session with Elise de Farone.