Shadowforged (Light & Shadow)

by Katson, Moira

  I did not know what to think. Although I was the one who studied combat, Miriel was the one with a head for army maneuvers. As young ladies were not taught such things, she had read of them in my books, and now I went to her when I had questions about something Donnett or Temar had taught me. I was memorizing the layout of the map, so that I could ask Miriel about it later.

  But Temar was waiting for a response now. I pointed to the green figurines.

  “Green is the Kleist army?” I asked, and he nodded. “Is the rest of the Royal Army at Penekket?” He nodded once again. I was running out of questions. “Who commands the Kleist army?”

  “Edward DeVere,” Temar said, surprising me. “Guy de la Marque will need to be with the King, of course, and DeVere knows the land.” I nodded. My surprise had been foolish. The DeVere family did indeed own that land, stretching from the Western road at the north, almost to the Bone Wastes in the south. It had been their proximity in the West that had first allowed the Duke to seek them out as potential kinsmen. They had been happy enough to sell a second son to him, and ignore the fact later.

  Temar noticed neither my wandering thoughts, nor my lack of skill in deciphering the map. He had been tense all the time we were speaking, and now he said, worriedly,

  “The guardsmen will hold Voltur, and a detachment will wait to make sure there’s no sweep behind Dusan’s party.” I heard real fear in his voice, an echo of the Duke’s own. The Duke had raged at the stupidity of allowing the Ismiri army—even a detachment—across the border, and he planned for the possibility of the King’s assassination, but his one true fear was that of Voltur falling back to the Ismiri. Temar, in his strange, almost symbiotic bond with the Duke, had taken on the fear as his own. It was a danger from which he, in all his skill, could not shield his lord.

  “But the Duke likes this plan,” I said, cautiously. It was an attempt to comfort him, and I felt foolish when Temar snorted, his fear forgotten.

  “Of course not. He looked to Voltur and the Royal Army to keep the Ismiri at bay, he always feared an invasion. Now we’ve let them over the pass ourselves and stretched the armies out. No, he doesn’t like the plan. But it’s the best that can be done if the King keeps insisting on this.” He looked over at me, and I realized that the last portion was a question.

  “He does,” I said. “Unchanging.”

  “And Miriel says?” I tried to keep my shoulders from stiffening at his habitual suspicion.

  “The usual. That peace is to be desired, she supports his plan for a golden age.”

  “Huh.” He did not ask more, and I did not offer it, and neither did we mention the suspicion that ran between us. That was the rule now. We lived in a half-truce, bought by determined silence. It was more bearable to behave as if nothing had changed save the greater cooperation between Miriel and the Duke. It was certainly better to pretend that such cooperation was real.

  Accordingly, neither of us mentioned that one of the two had nearly overset the plans of the other, that both of them would gladly see the other dead at their feet, and that there was a strong possibility that one had tried to kill the other and pin the death on his political rivals. By denying the enmity between Miriel and the Duke, we denied the root of our own.

  If we were two other people, perhaps, we might have believed that this truce could last forever. Perhaps it truly would have lasted. Yet we faced the truth that it could not work for us. We might be human, no more and no less than the thousands that crowded into the palace walls, but we were also Shadows. Both of us were accustomed to watching for danger, and laying traps to seek enemies out and kill them in their lairs, before they followed us to our own. Neither of us would be able to let such an accomplished enemy lie in wait indefinitely.

  Both Temar and I knew that a reckoning was coming between the two of us, and that it would happen when one of our masters turned on the other. We also forgot this fact, half out of convenience and helplessness, and half because our illusion of friendship was so convincing that we had begun to believe it. The most painful times were when the inevitability of it broke through the illusion we had built up, when I remembered that one day he would be a sworn and declared enemy. We were making it worse, pretending to this friendship, but I do not think that either of us knew what else we could do. Certainly, I did not.

  It had been a dark and lonely winter. Temar’s anger had been expected, nearly a relief after the months of waiting for him to discover the secrets I held. I had borne it without complaint, telling myself that it was no more than I could expect. But when Roine’s pleading and tears had turned, also, into cold silence, and my tenuous alliance with Miriel had crumbled, I had felt very alone indeed.

  Now, with Miriel’s distrust less sharp, I could bear Temar’s suspicion. She would be glad when I brought her back a portion of the Duke’s plans, and asked for her help in deciphering them. But when I returned to Miriel’s rooms that day, I was greeted by a sharp glare from Anna, and Miriel pacing around the room in her best gown, looking panicked.

  “He’s sent for us,” she said bluntly. “Put on your good suit, quickly.” She prowled around the bedroom while I changed, looking in the mirror frequently, and I could hear her murmuring her prettiest phrases to herself. She liked to practice before she went to see the King; this unexpected summons had panicked her.

  “He said we were to be very discreet,” Miriel said, and I could hear the distaste in her voice. It was a matter of contention between the two of them that he insisted on discretion. Miriel never said a word against it; indeed, her words said the very opposite: that discretion was wise, that he must keep himself above the reproach of low people and filthy minds. But she was wondered what it might mean, that the King—having gone to the trouble of announcing his infatuation to the court—still took care to keep his meetings with her secret.

  Now, like Miriel was doing herself—I could see the fear in her eyes—I wondered if the King was planning to tell Miriel that he could see her no longer. He might well be entertaining offers of marriage from powerful groups within the Council. I racked my brain, and then I remembered Temar’s words to keep Miriel out of the King’s reach. I pointed to her gown.

  “That’s too demure.”

  “What?” She looked down, and then shook her head. “I look beautiful.” There was no narcissism in her voice; she was only stating a fact.

  “Yes,” I said impatiently, “but you look…untouchable.” She was dressed in the softest spring green, a heavy winter gown with elaborate brocade at the cuffs of the long sleeves, and a chain of crystals around her waist.

  “I’m supposed to be untouchable,” she reminded me. “My uncle even reminded you of that. I only put myself forward and flirt when we’re in the eyes of the court. Then I’m out of reach.” I thought of the subtlety of her flirting, the delicate flutter of her eyelashes, the tiny sway of her hips. She was masterful in her flirtation, entirely above reproach and yet with allure in every word, every gesture. But it was no longer enough, and most especially not enough if her suspicions about this meeting were true. I shook my head.

  “That won’t work anymore. You need to be proper, but you need to be within his reach.”

  “What if he’s going to tell me—“ she broke off, white-faced. “I’ll look a fool, if I display myself like a whore and he doesn’t want me anymore.” But she moved as I touched her shoulder, and I set to unlacing her bodice.

  “You won’t look like a whore,” I said. “And even if he is summoning you to say that, it’s not because he doesn’t want you. You’re to dress so that he knows what a mistake he’s making. Then be demure. You’ll get him back.”

  “Which dress, then?” she was intrigued.

  “The new deep blue, for summer.”

  “It’s too thin,” she demurred, but I shook my head.

  “That’s the point. You’ll be shivering when you arrive. It looks vulnerable.” I helped her into the gown and laced it as quickly as I could. She looked in the mirror and
nodded, noticing—with a professional eye—how the color made her hair gleam, how it set off her eyes. It was a deep, rich color, the silk so soft that one could hardly look at it without wanting to reach out and stroke it. Her skin was creamy, and she shone with youth. Freed of the heavy folds of the green dress, the sway of her hips could be seen. She nodded at her reflection, and then I helped her put a cloak around her shoulders and we set off.

  “My Love,” the King said, as she came into the room. As she did with him, Miriel gave a little shrug and the cloak slithered from her shoulders. I saw the King’s eyes take in every inch of her, and he swallowed. As I knelt to pick up the cloak, I commended myself on a job well done, and hoped beyond hope that he had not set his stubborn mind to giving her up.

  “My love, I have the most wonderful news for you,” he said, “but…also a most delicate question.” I melted away to the side of the room, laid Miriel’s cloak over a chair, and tried to become invisible.

  “Dusan has accepted your proposal!” Miriel guessed, breathless, and the King laughed, nodded, and grasped her hands. He was relieved to see her looking happy; I knew that she had put his cautionary words out of her mind in an instant. She must be seen to celebrate his good fortune. She sobered, however, as his face fell.

  “Please, your Grace, do not look so sad. This is the most wonderful news, surely nothing can be so bad as to cause you to frown.”

  “Oh, my love…” The King dropped into his chair and sank his head into his hands. “I must ask something of you, and it pains me—and it pains me that you might mistrust my motives.”

  “I could never mistrust your motives, your Grace,” Miriel said. “I am your loyal subject, you have only to command.”

  “I would never command you,” he said. He leaned forward to her, his eyes pleading. “The Council besieges me with proposals of marriage, and I must persuade them that I am open to reason, that my mind is not clouded by love.” From the distaste in his voice, I knew that he was quoting one member or another. “They have become quite obsessed with you, my dearest. They wish to know how often I see you, where we meet, what we speak of. I thought…I mean to say…”

  “You must put me aside, your Grace,” Miriel said sweetly. She spread her hands. “If I am the cause of mistrust, if the council commands you—“

  “The Council does not command me!” he burst out, and I marveled at her courage. She twisted the knife at the risk of his displeasure.

  “Of course not,” Miriel soothed. “But I would not be the cause of unrest. If you and I must part…” her voice broke, and she squared her shoulders. “Oh, your Grace. I will not cause you any difficulty. You will hear not one word of complaint from me. It will be as if we had never met.”

  “No, no!” He reached out and clasped her hands. “No, never say that we should part. Oh, dearest, I could never bear such a thing. Look at the tears in your eyes! No, it would be too painful for us.”

  “Then what?” She looked bewildered, hopeful.

  “I meant only that it might seem that I entertained other offers of marriage. I never would! Never,” he said emphatically. “I could not bear to marry another. But it would seem as if I could, as if I no longer watched you at dinner. I would speak nothing of you to the Council. I would meet you only when I was sure no one followed me—perhaps, sometimes, Wilhelm could carry messages to you. Would that be acceptable to you?”

  I marveled at a King, asking forgiveness of a girl such as Miriel. She had him in her thrall as deeply as ever, and I knew she was itching to throw a triumphant smirk in my direction. I wondered if I would always be able to see beneath the mask. Certainly, Garad did not; he was flushed with worry. He could see only a woman who might be upset with him.

  “Oh! Oh, yes.” Miriel smiled up at him. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Of course, your Grace. Only tell me what I must do. I will do anything I can to help.” She blinked back the tears she had so conveniently conjured, and smiled once more. “And then, please,” she begged him, “tell me more of the meeting with Dusan?”

  While we walked the twisting corridors back to our rooms, I stole a glance over at her and saw that her face was set not in triumph, but in frustration and fear.

  “Why are you worried?” I asked, curiously. “He could not bear the thought of parting with you.”

  “He thinks he cannot,” she said grimly. “But, right now—every decision he makes, he discusses with me. That is why he cannot bear the thought of parting. He thinks he cannot live without me by his side every moment.”

  “But this is only a false separation,” I said, determined not to understand.

  “No, he thinks it is false,” she said, trying to be patient. “He will think: I will not look over and smile at her, so that no one knows I am thinking of her, but I will still hold her in my heart and smile to think of her. And then the next night, he will think the same thing. And the next night, and the next night—and then one night, he won’t think it at all. And it will be the same with advice: first he will wonder what I would think, and write to me, and then one day that will be too much trouble. He will think nothing of it at all, but one day he will realize that he has been living without me at his side and he has not even missed me.”

  Her voice had dropped as she spoke, and now it was only a trembling whisper. Her hands were clenched, and I saw that her frustration had been a refuge against real fear. Her eyes were wide, and I reached out to touch her shoulder.

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I don’t think he could ever forget you that way. And it won’t last so long—you’ll have him back at your side before there’s even a chance for him to forget you.” Miriel took a deep breath, unclenching her hands and straightening her shoulders. She nodded.

  “I hope you’re right,” she said, but I knew she did not believe me at all.

  Chapter 12

  For a time, I truly thought that Miriel had been mistaken. The King sent whole sheaves of love letters, it seemed, pages upon pages of ardent prose—and, to my silent amusement, poetry—and Miriel sent back letters fully as lengthy. Despite herself, she was becoming caught up in his excitement for the upcoming event, and even I was impressed by the sheer spectacle of it. Garad was eager to tell Miriel every detail of his plans, and she was pleased enough to help him plan it all.

  It would have been difficult to remain indifferent. The meeting of the Kings was to be an event to end all events. A call had gone out in the city, in the outlying towns, and craftsman came by the hundreds, clambering into carts to be taken out to the plains east of the mountains. With them were sent long wagon trains of lumber, stone, and plaster dust, for there, on the plains, a veritable town was to be built just for this: the Meeting of the Peacemakers. Miriel and I giggled over the self-importance of the name, and even the Duke’s mouth twitched when we told him of it.

  Garad spared no expense; indeed, he was relishing the chance to show Heddred’s prosperity. Fields were bought from farmers and plowed under to make way for miniature palaces and elegant houses, stands of trees cut down to make way for inns, and then exquisite gardens built up around them. Royal servants were sent to be innkeepers, hostlers, pages, bakers. There was going to be a plaza paved with marble and inlaid with the crests of the two royal houses. Artisans set to work carving the sheaf of wheat, the symbol of House Warden, and the leaping fish, the symbol of King Dusan, into the woodwork of the mansions, adorning the lintels of the doors, the backs of the chairs. Everywhere one turned, there would be a gilded sign, a carving, a rich carpet, each with the two crests intertwined.

  Royal servants were sent out of the palace to inspect the wares of the merchants who had flocked to the city. One could barely move out in the streets, so thickly did they line the roadsides. Furniture, lamps, cloth, rugs, and baubles of all kinds were hawked from the street corners, everything carved with the sheaf of wheat and the leaping fish. The servants went proudly, the royal crest on their tunics, to search out the finest wares; they were also sent, more quietly, t
o search out the finest of the whores, and offer them passage to the village as well.

  The best goods were bought by order of the King and loaded into carts, an endless wagon train that now raised a cloud of dust one could see stretching on for miles. At the end of the train came wagons full of cured meats, whole wagons of onions or potatoes, casks of wine and dried fruits, sugar and oil. With them rode the royal cooks, looking put-upon and surly.

  In the bustle, I heard many of the servants sighing and shaking their heads, making grand statements about the vanities of the rich and how nobles never thought of the trouble for the common folk when they made such farfetched schemes. They did not bother to lower their voices to me. Temar and I might be considered strange, secretive, unusually close to the nobles, and potential killers, but we were also servants, and that counted for something—enough, at any rate, that servants did not always stop their chatter when we approached.

  Every day the complaints grew more prevalent, and the rumors grew more and more preposterous. In any given day, I was likely to hear a story or two on the fanciful side of plausible, and ten or more that could never have been true at all, at least one of which usually involved sorcerers or assassins. A few servants had even asked me to my face if I’d been told to kill any of the Ismiri nobles. Even as I rebuffed these, stories of the King’s tyranny spread unchecked.

  “—and said that any plasterer as didn’t report for duty would be killed!” one servant hissed to his companion.

  “Yer being crazy,” the other man said, heaving a bag of flour into the wagon. “How’d they know, then?”

  Or: “And who’s to stay with the little ones, then, if we’re all to go? They’re leaving a palace of children, I tell you, and it’ll be burned to the ground when we’re back.”