Broken Shadow

by Jaine Fenn

  Markave lowered himself into a seat across from her. The concern on his face was turning to confusion, with a hint of alarm.

  She had considered possible ways to approach this conversation. She had even rehearsed a short speech, talking about the problems the House currently faced and how they could work together to save it. But now he was in front of her she couldn’t start spouting justifications. Instead she blurted: “I want you to marry me.” She sucked her lips in, as though trying to take the words back, then exhaled in a rush and added, “For the sake of the House.”

  Markave’s eyes went wide. He blinked, then bowed his head. When he raised it again he said, “I am not sure what m’lady means.”

  “I mean… no one will have me.” Which sounded insulting, when she put it like that. But she’d said it now. “And I need to marry, because Etyan never will, and we need continuity.”

  “Continuity.” Her steward’s voice was a flat whisper.

  “Yes. I…” She could not bring herself to talk about possible heirs, not with his dying son in the house. Instead she said, “You are one of the most important people, most important men, in my life. And you are vital to this House. If I am married, there is some hope for House Harlyn.”

  “M’lady’s words make some sense.” Again, just a whisper, but from his tone he was not entirely appalled by the idea.

  “Believe it or not, I would rather marry you than any of my peers.” Which was true enough. “But I will not order you to do this. Given…” she nearly said “our history” but that implied a closeness which had not existed, save briefly in her adolescent mind “…past events, I will understand if my proposal is not acceptable to you. If this offer is not something you can countenance just say, and it will be as though this conversation never happened.” Except it would have. Just making the suggestion had changed things between them forever, she now realised.

  “I…” He looked at his hands, then at her – or rather over her shoulder. “I need to think about this.”

  “Of course. Take as long as you want.”

  “May I go now?”

  “Yes. Please. I mean… Markave, I’m sorry to have to foist this on you.”

  “M’lady never has to apologise or explain.” He stood, bowed shallowly, and left.

  CHAPTER 37

  Dej had seen a city before, in Shen. Buildings of many sizes and styles, crammed together, covering a big hill. She’d been overwhelmed by the noise, the smells, the sheer chaos of the place.

  This was different. This was a skykin city. The houses were the same design as their tents, bright domes with open sides. Some were connected to form bigger structures, while others stood alone. There were gaps between the dome-houses, streets and open squares; the squares, and some streets, had stuff growing in them, bushes and vines, some of which had rioted free to overwhelm the nearby domes.

  Her instinct was to duck down, hide and observe, avoid being seen. But, she quickly realised, there was no one here to see her. No figures walked the streets, no sounds drifted up from them. She risked extending her senses.

  Nothing. Unless the people were in their houses, and the houses somehow stopped her sensing them. But that wasn’t what it felt like. This city felt empty.

  She crept down the slope to the nearest dome, ready to run if she was detected. But the closer she got the more certain she was. There was no one here.

  The dome was open, with no sparkly curtain. A scattering of low tables and beds and some empty shelving took up some of the space but overall it was bare. Dust had blown in to coat the furniture nearest the openings.

  She checked the next house along. Same thing: some furniture but everything portable gone.

  The city was deserted; had been for some time, by the look of it.

  She wandered through the empty streets and squares, sometimes brushing aside or slashing at the plants that had grown up between the houses in order to clear a path, sometimes giving up in the face of a wall of foliage.

  As she neared the bottom of the valley she heard running water. Pushing through a living wall of blue-green stems she found a stone-lined channel with pure fresh water running down it. She unslung her pack and filled the waterskin; this was the best water she’d found for months! Then she paused. Why not stay here?

  She had ready-made shelter, as much as she wanted for the taking. Water too. Food might be tricky; nothing she’d found so far appeared edible, but then she hadn’t really been looking. And she could always go foraging.

  Assuming she wanted to live in a dead city.

  It felt fitting, in some ways: empty life, empty place. On the other hand, settling here would put an end to exploring, and there was more to see. And it meant giving up on having company, acknowledging there would never be another person in her life. Except there would be, and that growing complication had to be her priority. Could she bring up her child here? Standing in the centre of one of the empty house-shells and thinking this Dej looked down at her belly, something she did a lot these days, triggering contradictory feelings of warm comfort and suppressed panic. Yes, she had shelter and water, but no way of feeding a baby.

  Still, she could stay for a while. She was spoilt for possible shelters. Perhaps one further up the slope–

  Someone was here. Not here as in nearby but as she thought about going upslope some part of her awareness had flicked that way, and touched another presence. She put her head on one side and concentrated.

  Definitely someone here, on the far side of the valley. A skykin presumably, though too far away to sense more than that. Should she try to hide her presence? She wasn’t even sure how. And they’d probably have sensed her too by now. Perhaps she should leave, given this place wasn’t deserted after all.

  No, if this person told her to leave she would, but she wasn’t going to flee like some frightened animal.

  She set off, homing in on the presence but keeping her other, non-skykin senses sharp too. This didn’t feel dangerous, but then neither had the cliff that collapsed and nearly buried her.

  As she got closer, stalking through the empty buildings and overgrown streets, she picked up the gender of the person – male – and a sense of age; he was old, whoever he was, near the end of both his life and that of his animus.

  Which hopefully meant he’d be less likely to harm her. Or patronise her.

  She found him in a small dome which had been partially reclaimed from nature, the foliage pulled back from one of the wall-gaps.

  She hesitated a dozen or so paces off. He knew she was here.

  Was he going to come out? Or should she go in?

  Of course she should. But perhaps she should go in armed. She swung her pack off her back and pulled the sword free. But she kept it lowered as she walked up to the open side of the house-shell and peered in.

  A figure lay on a raised bed over the far side. Even as she looked his way, he spoke. “This is unexpected.” He sounded weak, but calm. Unflustered.

  Dej was about to lower the sword when she remembered the skykin hunters, how they’d drawn her in, flashing then hiding their presences. They hadn’t meant her serious harm but even so, once she stepped inside she’d be trapped. She hesitated on the threshold, and looked closer, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Definitely just one person, lying still on a bed.

  “If you’re going to come in, come in. And if you’re going to stab me with your sword, get on with it.” Amused now. And still calm.

  “Why would I stab you with my sword?” she asked, the words coming out hoarse after weeks of silence.

  “Why carry a sword if you don’t intend to use it?”

  “Caution.”

  “Very wise.” She got the sense he was subsiding, fading out for a moment. Then he focused again. “So what are you? Besides pregnant and paranoid, I mean.”

  She was being patronised again. Toyed with. “I’m a traveller. And that’s all you need to know. What are you?”

  “Oh, I’m dying. Alone, I t
hought.”

  She found herself unexpectedly upset at the idea that this stranger was dying, though that could just be her animus, trying to preserve its own. “Can I… help?”

  “If you can bring yourself to use that sword you could speed things along.” Her eyes were adjusting now and she saw his grimace. “But I suspect you won’t be able to, will you?”

  That wasn’t what she’d meant but she decided, on impulse, to test their joint suspicion. She sprang forward, raising the sword. Three steps, and it felt like she was wading through mud. After five steps she gave up. She threw the sword to the floor with a grunt.

  “Thought not,” the dying skykin said.

  She was inside now, and able to take a proper look around. The man was a shrunken shape under a beautifully woven blanket. Beside the bed, a half-empty backpack and an empty waterskin hung on a stand. Seeing where her gaze fell he said, “I brought food and water with me. I needed to convince it I’d at least try to live while I waited for my body to give out.”

  “This isn’t your home then?”

  “Not for many centuries, no.”

  “You came back here to die?”

  “In peace, yes.”

  “I’m happy to leave you to it if that’s really what you want.” But this didn’t make sense. “Are you clanless?”

  “Do you see any clan-mates here?” His voice sharpened for a moment, an acid ironic tone that reminded her of the crèche tutors.

  “No. So you’re…” she didn’t want to say “half-bonded” or some similarly insulting term. “Your animus is dying. Not just you.”

  “That’s right. Just like yours.”

  “Except I’ve no plans to die just yet.”

  “Good for you.” He gave a wheezy sigh, and subsided further into the covers. “I’d forgotten how exhausting people can be.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  His eyes, which had been fluttering closed, opened at her response. “What’s your name?”

  “Dej.”

  “You can call me Yrif, if you want.”

  A seer. She’d only met one seer, and she’d prefer to never meet him again. “I don’t want. Anyway, if you aren’t fully bonded you don’t really have a right to that title.”

  “Arguably true.” He fell silent, possibly thinking or possibly resting. “Call me Jat then.”

  She pointed at the waterskin. “Do you want me to get more water for you, Jat?”

  “My animus does. I… I should probably send you away. I’d nearly managed to escape my lives, but perhaps the world hasn’t quite finished with me yet.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Aha…” he gave a dry croak that might have been a laugh. “Ah yes, I imagine you have questions. Fetch me a drink and I might even give you some answers.”

  CHAPTER 38

  The next day a letter arrived from Etyan. Rhia had not seen Markave since their conversation, but she needed to give him space to consider her offer. She read the letter alone in her study.

  Ree,

  I’m so sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing, offering myself up at the Council like that, but it probably just made things worse. Of course no one wanted me. I’m a freak and a monster.

  I can’t stand it in the city, it’s so crowded and dark, and everything reminds me of when I had a life there. I have no life now. I may as well be miserable here at the villa as anywhere! Don’t worry, I’m not going to run off again, and if you need me you can send for me. I know this is a difficult time for you, but I’d be no use to you, even if I was there. I’d just make you more stressed, worrying about me too. It’s better that I’m here.

  I’ve told Mereut to keep the wine cellar locked. Like I said, I’m done with running away, inside or outside my head. But I do need some time alone, to think.

  with love – E.

  She refolded the parchment. Perhaps it was for the best, at least for now, that Etyan remove himself from the city. He was still a mess but he was behaving rationally. All his life she had urged him to think, and now, having run out of other options, he was finally doing so.

  That evening Markave asked if they could talk alone. She led him into the parlour, sat down, smiled, and waited for him to speak.

  Still standing, he said, “M’lady, I have been giving thought to your proposition but I am not sure how it would work.”

  “In what way?” So many ways, she thought despite herself, but she kept her tone even.

  “I am a commoner. I could never be the head of a noble House.” He sounded scandalised at the thought.

  “You would not be. I have taken advice on this. You would, in effect, be my consort, with no holdings of your own save what I grant you.”

  “I see.” He sounded relieved. “But if that is the case, how does this help House Harlyn?”

  “It would give the House an heir.”

  “An heir?” His voice was high, panicked. “Yes. It may be… our child, if we have one.” Hurriedly, she continued. “But if not, I have drawn up documents which make your children, by your first marriage, my legal heirs.”

  “How can that be? They are not of noble blood either.”

  “No, so once we are married I would formally adopt Tador and Kerne. There is legal precedent. It cannot be challenged in law.” Not that it would stop the Council trying if, this time next year, all that remained of House Harlyn was her self-exiled brother and Markave and his sons. Or son.

  “And you are sure this is the best way, for the House, m’lady?”

  “I believe so.”

  “I ask because… I heard there was some hostility from the Houses major at the Grand Council, and I can understand your ladyship not wanting to seek a husband amongst them. But perhaps one of the minor lords…?”

  “That is not going to happen. They would gain very little from it, given the terms I would impose, save the enmity of the Houses major.”

  “Are the majors really determined to bring about our downfall?”

  Rhia felt a flush of warmth at that “our”. “It appears so. But I – we – will fight them. And rather than doing so in the company of some minor lord thinking to take advantage of my House’s travails, I would do it with you at my side, Markave. You are… you have always been important to me.” Her face felt hot. “And I trust you utterly.”

  Her steward nodded once. “Thank you.” After a moment he said, “I need to speak to Tador, and to my sister, about this.”

  “Naturally. Please do that, with my blessing.”

  “I will visit them tomorrow.” His family had come to the house to see Kerne a couple of times since he had fallen ill; Rhia had stayed out of the way to avoid any awkwardness.

  The silence stretched. Rhia realised he was waiting for her to dismiss him. How would that work if they were married? She cranked her already forced smile wider, nodded and said, “I will keep you no longer.”

  He returned a smile as uncomfortable as hers, and left.

  She should tell Etyan what she was planning with their steward. But not yet. It may not even happen. Markave left around mid-morning, having first asked her, with that uneasy air he had developed, if she might watch his boy. Although she had finally been getting somewhere with the celestial model, she agreed at once.

  Kerne was not doing well. The fever had reasserted itself, bringing a cyclic delirium. He would twitch and grasp at the covers before falling back into an uneasy sleep, eyes darting behind lids as the disease infected his mind with formless horrors. It had been this way with Father too, and watching her apprentice now was an unwanted reminder of that earlier loss. But watch him she must: in this state the sufferer might swallow their tongue or fall from the bed.

  Markave’s first wife had died of rain-fever too. And that period, when they were both grieving, had been when she had come to see him, privately, as more than a trusted servant. It had been an odd, awkward attraction, never returned; she was not sure if Markave had even noticed. And it was long gone, replaced with s
omething more complex, a mix of familiarity, trust and mutual understanding that she hoped they might build on now.

  His second wife had died a traitor, something which still appeared to cause embarrassment, as though he were somehow responsible for her wickedness. He had not wanted to talk about it then, and she doubted he would now.

  Kerne gave a weird hiccoughing gasp, drawing Rhia back into the moment. His face showed raw horror, even as he subsided on the pillows. On impulse, Rhia took his hand, offering what small comfort she could. She had read, in the enquirers’ papers, that to touch an infected person was unwise, but the rain-fever did not appear to spread like other diseases, seeming to strike almost at random.

  Her touch appeared to help; Kerne sighed, his face settling into less anguished lines. She looked at his hand, calloused and hot in her grasp. When was the last time she had held someone’s hand? His nails were still bitten back to the quick; she never had found time to dig out that cure Father had given her.

  Markave was out all day. When Brynan offered to take a turn watching Kerne, Rhia fled to her study, tinkering with the celestial model, then when that was too much copying some papers. She was too distracted for mathematics.

  That evening she and her steward met in the parlour again, though this time they both sat down without anything being said. Rhia asked gently, “Have you reached a decision?”

  “I believe I have, m’lady.”

  “Good. I… just want to say again that whatever your choice is, I will honour it.”

  “Thank you.” He dipped his head, then raised it and managed to meet her eyes. “I will do it, m’lady.”

  She felt a genuine note steal into the smile she was wearing. “Thank you.”

  “It is, as you say, the only sensible course.” His own smile softened. “And it is not an unpleasant prospect, if m’lady will forgive me for saying so.”

  What was he saying? Did he have feelings for her, as she once had for him?