Broken Shadow

by Jaine Fenn

  Dej looked around, dazed, ready for the next threat. But all the attackers were down.

  Etyan lay off to one side, curled tight. His eyes were open but he was pale as milk, whimpering under his breath. Dej staggered over. His hands, pressed to his stomach, were red with blood.

  She fell to her knees beside him. “Etyan, no. You idiot…” Words failed her. She could feel his life ebbing.

  She was dimly aware of someone kneeling next to her and looked up to see his sister, her face stricken. “Oh Etyan,” Rhia murmured.

  He focused on them, distracted from his suffering by the presence of the two women in his life. He tried to smile but his teeth were clenched in agony.

  Rhia whispered, “Don’t leave us, little brother.”

  But he was. Dej put her hand on his sweat-sheened forehead. “You saved us, Etyan. And…” She had to say it, for so many reasons, “I love you.”

  Beside her, at the same time, she heard Rhia murmur, “Love you, little brother.”

  Etyan’s gaze sharpened for a moment. “Love you…” he breathed, “…both.” Then he was gone.

  CHAPTER 66

  It was quite a view.

  Rhia wondered if any other shadowland had built a city in a lake. Crazy idea. But the Zekti had pulled it off. From the top of the Eternal Isle the crowded islets of Mirror formed a chaotic pattern of pale gold on dark water; up here it truly did look like a mirror of the cloud-speckled sky.

  High overhead a pair of gyraptors traced lazy circles; the rest of the sacred birds must be feeding behind the Hall of Eternal Guardians. They had plenty to eat. The eunuchs had offered the chance to “rest above the Isle” to her brother, but that was not to be the fate of his mortal remains. She suppressed a shudder. It was just dead flesh. Not her Etyan. He was gone, having died trying to do the right thing, finally. And his legacy would long outlive him.

  She had been prepared to argue that Captain Sorne had earned the “honour” of going to the gyraptors, rather than being sent to the pyres as poor Captain Deviock had been, but to her great relief it now looked like he would survive, thanks largely to Sadakh’s ministrations, although the poison from Alharet’s blade would leave lasting effects.

  Dropping her gaze she saw Francin coming up the steps. She moved over to give him space on the stone bench.

  He sat, and she turned to him. “Well? Did they reach a decision?”

  “Of course not. The eunuchs’ skill in seeing the big picture is matched only by their ability to argue about small details.”

  “But you think they will make you regent eventually?”

  “Eventually. I’ll be living here anyway so I may as well make myself useful.”

  “And no one brought up any, ah, previous complications.” Some of the eunuchs must have known the duchess was on the Eternal Isle; no doubt they had encouraged her to stay hidden, but the temptation to avenge herself on her husband had proved too much for her fractured mind.

  “Expedience and pragmatism are the laws they live by.” They also had their spies, and no doubt knew that the tunnel entrance was guarded by a large military force, well-drilled and armed with iron. Given the choice between pitting Zekt’s minimal militia against such a force and allowing Shenese evacuees into Zekt without a fight, the eunuchs had capitulated. “Between you and me, I’d rather deal with gently squabbling but adaptable advisors who consider every contingency than strutting nobles mired in their own interests.”

  “So you won’t reinstitute the Council?”

  “At this stage, the priority is to evacuate Shen. How far we recreate it here remains to be seen. Which reminds me; I’ve had confirmation that your, ahem, man Markave will be coming through the tunnel in the next group.”

  “Thank you. Any news on Brynan?”

  “No. I think you must assume the worst. Much of the city was lost.” Reports from the first evacuees spoke of a great fire that started in the lower city and burned for days. It had not reached her townhouse; she still had what remained of her study. And she still had a noble House, insofar as any Shenese did now. With a husband. And an heir, perhaps.

  “So,” continued Francin, “when do you leave?”

  “First thing tomorrow.” She had unfinished business to deal with this evening.

  “And you are sure you’re strong enough?”

  A fortnight on from their flight from Shen she had just about recovered, though Francin still looked drawn. Then again, he was too busy to rest. “We cannot afford to waste any time. We must know if the serum works.” She smiled. “Besides, I’ll get some rest in the cart there.”

  “I’m no doctor, but I am not sure being unconscious counts as rest.”

  “I might not be unconscious for long. We don’t know.”

  “There is a lot we don’t know, Rhia. Does it really have to be you?”

  “Cousin dear, do you even have to ask?”

  Sadakh sat back from his magnifier-frame with a sigh. The last of the blood was still viable after two weeks, thanks to Dej’s cleansing moss. Now the most urgent work was done, he should probably look to getting the rest of the new workroom set up.

  The palace staff were a little perplexed at his presence so near the waterline and kitchens, but compared to other recent events finding the eparch had been assigned this odd little cubbyhole was barely worthy of comment. He could have set up his workroom in the priory; he had mentioned his other interests to his poliarchs, and they had taken it well. But he still preferred to keep his spiritual and medical explorations separate. And having a secure base on the Eternal Isle would be useful.

  He had wondered if he would set foot on the Isle again after the attack at the priory. Rhia Harlyn had shared her belief that the late prince’s sister was behind the incident, although some of her reasoning had been below the standard he would have expected from Observer of Shen. Patently she had not told him everything.

  Naldak’s interrogation of the surviving attacker confirmed her theory. The intruders were Mekteph’s regular city thugs. When they were contacted by the prince’s sister they already had an internal map and knowledge of a postern gate – presumably courtesy of Sholrew – as they had been awaiting the call to assassinate the eparch when the prince died. Given one of their previous jobs had been the attack on Klimen, Sadakh had been unconcerned when Naldak’s interrogation had ended in the man’s death. None of the bodies would ever be found.

  The one body of interest to him, that of Etyan Harlyn, had served its purpose now. His sister had said her goodbyes before Sadakh started his work. It would have been hard for her to think of the body’s ultimate fate, drained of the fluid that animated it. But she acknowledged the necessity; or, as she had put it, “Do what you have to do. This is bigger than any of us.” The boy’s lover had not said her final goodbye, being a little busy to visit when Sadakh began his work.

  Still so much work to do…

  His ghost was back: yes, she was almost certainly an illusion, a product of his own mind born of guilt and trauma, but we need our illusions, especially when we are facing a stark and terrible truth. Like the end of the world.

  He had been so obsessed with prolonging his own life he had been blind to other, wider possibilities. Yes, he would die soon enough. But until then he would not waste a moment when he could be working, whether to save bodies or souls.

  He had yet to tell Rhia the truth about the skykin, how the world was out of balance below as well as above. He would, one day. She would be able to deal with it. And the blood-serum he was creating thanks to her dead brother might yet be the salvation of both shadowkin and skykin. After all, when it came to it, they were all one people.

  “You know you have your father’s smile?”

  Dej’s own smile felt stuck to her face. Her daughter had that effect, whenever she looked at her. It was like the Sun came out, like the world stopped being a mean and shitty place and became instantly wonderful, because it contained this glorious creature; her little girl.

 
The wet nurse had said that Jin – or Jinia as she called her, using the longer, shadowkin version of her name – was too young to smile, that babies took a while to develop that particular response. Ordinary babies perhaps. But Jin was special, unique. And that wasn’t just a mother’s love talking.

  Dej stroked the back of her daughter’s hand where she’d wriggled free of the swaddling. It felt soft to her, but the wet nurse insisted that her girl’s skin was nothing like as soft as a shadowkin baby’s.

  The last rays of the Sun were disappearing behind the roof opposite. Dej spent much of her time out here at the moment, in the priory’s huge central courtyard.

  “Would you like some music, little Jin?”

  Jin loved the flute, though playing it reminded Dej of Etyan. So many things reminded her of Etyan, still. She could never forgive the stupid, awful thing he’d done; the only person who might’ve done that was long dead; they could never have been together again, not once she knew about the rape. But her last words to him hadn’t been a lie. She hadn’t been sure when she spoke them, had said what he needed to hear, but yes, she still loved him, despite everything. Part of her always would. That was why she’d named their daughter after his own mother, whose love he’d never known.

  Dej shifted the swaddled bundle to cradle her child in her crossed legs, freeing up both hands to play the flute.

  “Shall I hold her?”

  Dej looked up to see Rhia Harlyn standing off to one side. Rhia smiled and added, “That is, if you would like me to.”

  Dej shrugged, then made herself smile back. “It’s all right. But you can sit with us if you want.” As Rhia joined her on the matcovered ground Dej added, “I’m guessing you’ve come to talk, rather than hear me play the flute.”

  “I have.” Rhia leant back against the wall, “I’m leaving tomorrow. Just in case… things go wrong, I’d really like to know Jinia’s status.”

  “She’s my daughter.” But Dej’s defensiveness was instinctive, a flash of the old Dej, too busy rebelling to wonder what she was rebelling against. “But yes, she’s your niece too.”

  “So you’ll let me make her my heir?”

  “If it’s allowed, yes. What with her being a girl.”

  “I am…” Rhia gave a bitter laugh “…not currently in contact with my lawyer, but I’m sure a way can be found, with your permission.”

  “Then you have it. But that doesn’t mean I’m giving her to you.” She’d let Sadakh take a sample of Jin’s blood, watching him like a hawk as he did so. But that was as much as anyone was getting of her girl.

  “No! Of course not. She’s yours.” Rhia leaned a little closer. “She is an amazing little creature though, isn’t she? May I…?” Rhia reached out a tentative finger. Dej nodded. Jin saw the finger and grasped it, hard. Rhia gave a half gasp, half laugh. “She’s so strong!”

  “Tell me about it.”

  Rhia looked up at Dej. “You’ll stay here until she’s weaned I assume.”

  “I don’t have much choice.” Dim and crowded as this place was, it was more pleasant than Shen city. “Should only be a couple of months though.”

  “And then?”

  “I haven’t decided. It won’t be safe for Jin in the deep skyland, so perhaps we’ll stay in the umbral for a while.”

  “It’s your choice.”

  “Yes.” Dej stroked her daughter’s cheek. “It is.”

  Coming back from darkness…

  It hurt: Etyan had been right about that.

  A burning, delirious agony had run through her body. But distant, after the initial pain, as though happening to someone else. It went on forever yet was over before she knew it.

  She was back in the moment now. Back, and changed.

  She drew in a long, slow breath. That didn’t feel so different. But the smells that came with it did. Richer, deeper, wafts of spice and lemon and growth and comfort. That urgent scent with no name but a hint of blue-green, here and gone. Yes, this was so much more than mere smell.

  Sounds too, came with echoes of knowledge; not just the wind in the umbral trees where her guard was waiting out the day but the other half-heard, half-sensed skyland noises; a churring summons, a low hum of contentment, a tiny cry of alarm. She was immersed in a soundscape of lives being lived.

  Even the feel of the ground beneath her was new, each tiny crack and stone a discrete thing, yet part of the land.

  The other sensation she had been aware of in the background, the drowsy warmth on her skin, suddenly intensified, sharpening to a fizzing heat. But not burning. The Sun must have come out from behind the clouds. Pure Sunlight, shining on her bare skin. For the first time in her life she felt its true touch, unshaded and without fear.

  Coming back from darkness… and waking up in the light.

  Rhia opened her eyes.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to everyone who helped with this one. The Tripod writers group – Mike Lewis, Jim Anderson, Marion Pitman, Andrew Bland and Mark Bilsborough – did their usual good work, along with beta-readers Sue Oke, Alys Sterling and Rosanne Rabinowitz. Thanks to ValleysPixie and Flick for expert advice on, respectively, pregnancy and horses.

  My ongoing gratitude to all my patrons, but especially my ‘top tier’ supporters James Anderson, Chris Banks, Shirley Bell, John Dallman, Gemma Holliday, Cathy Holroyd, Sara Mulryan, Pete Randall, Martin Reed and Teddy. The relevant page is at www.patreon.com/jainefenn should anyone wish to find out what all the fuss is about.

  Lastly, thanks for my marvellous new agent Sandra Sawicka, and to the new Robots, Gemma and Paul, who’ve pulled out all the stops to get this book to you.

  An imprint of Watkins Media Ltd

  Unit 11, Shepperton House

  89 Shepperton Road

  London N1 3DF

  UK

  angryrobotbooks.com

  twitter.com/angryrobotbooks

  An Angry Robot paperback original, 2019

  Copyright © Jaine Fenn 2019

  Cover by Andreas Rocha

  Set in Adobe Garamond Pro

  All rights reserved. Jaine Fenn asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Sales of this book without a front cover may be unauthorized. If this book is coverless, it may have been reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed” and neither the author nor the publisher may have received payment for it.

  Angry Robot and the Angry Robot icon are registered trademarks of Watkins Media Ltd.

  ISBN 978 0 85766 803 5

  Ebook ISBN 978 0 85766 804 2

  Printed and bound in the United Kingdom by TJ International Ltd.

  9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  For Dr Mark Thompson,

  who does the maths.