I was so slow at these things. “And?”
“He withdrew, on his own terms. Now I must withdraw to even it. It will leave a space, to lure him onward.” Her voice was dreamy; she was far away, strategizing.
“How will you do that?” I asked, and that jolted her from her reverie.
“I don’t know.” She squeezed her eyes shut, coming back to the present abruptly. “I’ve done so well, but now, when it matters most—I don’t know. I can’t think of anything.”
“My Lady?” a voice called, and Miriel rose to her feet, her hands running over her hair, pinching her cheeks, checking her gown. We were not ready for the King to come so early. We had not had time to prepare. A head poked around the makeshift flap: Wilhelm. He took our silence as an invitation, and slid into the room.
“My Lord,” Miriel said. She curtsied, as she always did. “Has there been a change of plans? Am I to dress in servant’s clothes, then?” She spoke with the flirtatious banter of the court, but Wilhelm remained grave.
“I regret to inform you, my Lady, that the King is going to be detained. He will not be able to see you tonight. He asked me to bring you his regrets.” Miriel’s nose flared, as if she could smell the danger somewhere in his words.
“Where is he?” she demanded.
“He is dining.” But Wilhelm looked down rather than meet her eyes.
“With whom, then?”
“Efan of Lapland, Nils Torstensson and his wife…and the Lady Linnea.” He named Nils’ daughter, a girl with eyes as blue as ice, skin like milk. High cheekbones, a beautiful smile, and the power of the West behind her. Miriel’s eyes flared.
“What are they discussing?” She had no right to know, and neither did Wilhelm. She should not have asked; he should have disclaimed and bowed over her hand. But his eyes were full of pity. He said the worst thing.
“I am sorry, my Lady.” There was an uncomfortable silence, and Miriel sank down onto her bed, amidst the piles of furs. Etiquette was forgotten, she was white as snow.
“I’ve lost him,” she said flatly, and I felt her fear. Speaking to the Council was one thing, declarations of interest in crowded banquet halls, open negotiations… But a private dinner, with the King himself in attendance rather than de la Marque—Miriel was right. The King had moved beyond his ploy. He had indeed pushed Miriel to one side, and now he would replace her with a woman who brought connections.
Wilhelm had been watching Miriel closely, now he knelt at her feet.
“My Lady, will you forgive the impertinence of a question?” The look she turned on him was at once hopeful, and chillingly cold. She was impatient, being distracted in her moment of fear, and she did not want him close for fear that her tightly-held composure would fail; but he might yet help.
“Yes?”
“You loved him once, did you not?”
“I loved him as soon as I met him,” Miriel said carefully, choosing words that she might defend to Garad. Wilhelm looked her straight in the eye, his jaw set against what he had heard, and I knew it took all of Miriel’s self control not to tell Wilhelm that she had only ever wanted to love the King, but that she knew now she did not—and that she loved another.
“And do you love him the same now?” Wilhelm asked her. She did not recover from her surprise fast enough. Her hesitation told him everything. “Then…is it that you wish to be Queen? That is why you fear losing his love?” He spoke as if he did not understand the pull of ambition, and had hoped for better from her.
“No,” she whispered fiercely. “And yes. I wanted to heal this country, bring it to enlightenment. What better way, than to have the throne?” That, he understood. He nodded.
“And so you court him and advise him—but you love him not?” His voice was thick with hope. Miriel bit her lip and nodded. “You do this only for Heddred?” Another nod. His voice dropped to a breath. “For the rebellion?” There was no mistaking the leap of joy in her eyes.
“I always hoped that you felt as I did,” she whispered. Then she remembered herself. Joy changed to ambition in a moment. She leaned closer still. “I could help them, if I was on the throne,” she said urgently. “Will you help me, my Lord? For them?”
“Do you know what it is you ask?” he whispered back. This time, she did not pretend to misunderstand his words. Nor did she flinch from it. She nodded, drawing back and looking down at him, where he knelt.
“Of course. Would you not ask the same of me?” She held his eyes until he nodded, but anyone could have seen his misery. “Nothing matters more than this,” she pressed him. ”Nothing. If you feel the same as I do, you will know that. And so you must help me.”
“I will help you,” he said. He had been defeated with hardly a struggle, no match for her conviction and his own honor. Miriel had been right, after a fashion: Wilhelm Conradine knew what could and could not be, and like her, he was driven to help the rebellion. He would pursue that end all the more ardently, for having given her up. “I will do what I can, I will remind him of his promises to you. I will press him to meet with you. I will praise your wit and your intelligence. But I must go now, quickly—my father seeks me. I told him I would be gone only a moment.” Without letting his eyes leave her face, he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. Then he left without a word, slipping out the opening of the tent and into the night.
Miriel’s face was almost laughable. Her lips were parted, she was staring after him longingly after the brush of his lips against her skin. But when she saw me watching, she remembered herself. Her gaze turned to one of triumph.
“I did it,” she told me. “I said I would take his loyalty, and now I have it.” She saw my face. “Oh, don’t say it again.” I felt a hot rush of anger at her dismissal.
“Fine,” I snapped. “Then I’ll say this: his love for you was only embers until you fanned it, and now you’ve made it a fire. And you’re a fool if you think you can hold it in your hands and not get burned. He thinks he’s giving you up for a great cause, doesn’t he? It’s very romantic, dreadfully romantic. Like a ballad. But that’ll wear thin. And then, he’s going to do something stupid.” I thought she would flare up at my impertinence, but instead I saw only fear.
“I don’t have any choice,” she said. “He’s the only weapon I have, Catwin.”
“And be careful of yourself, too,” I warned her. A shadow crossed her face.
“I don’t have any choice,” she repeated, and I sighed. There was a moment of silence as she struggled to push away the emotions I knew she wanted to savor. She said quietly, “So what do we do now?” At her sadness, I remembered what I, too, had forgotten in the face of her tryst with Wilhelm: the King’s infidelity.
“We could talk to the Duke,” I suggested, and at the instant denial, I insisted, “We should. He’s going to find out anyway.”
There was nothing she could say to that. We padded over to his tent, and it was hardly five minutes later that he leaned back from his makeshift desk and said simply,
“I told you to keep him. I told you that if you could not, we would need to discuss why you could not do such a thing.” We froze, both of us, unwilling to believe our ears. First the love of the King, then a sworn ally—the ally whose anger we had counted on, but whose ambition we had never doubted—going back on his word. It could not be so. Not all at once.
“I need your help to do it.” Miriel’s lips barely moved.
“I cannot enchant him for you,” he pointed out. “All I can do is pave your way, and I have done so. Every tool you needed, I have given you. I secured a place at court for you. Now you must do your part.”
“Make a bid for marriage.” Miriel’s face tightened when he laughed in her face.
“Oh, no,” he told her, still chuckling. “I won’t do that. It would be laughable. Surely you know that. We have merchant blood. We have no army. We make more enemies than allies for him. You are no fitting match for a King.”
“But you said…”
“I ag
reed that if the King was mad enough to defy the Council for you, I would back you. I hold to that. If he is not…” The Duke tapped the desk with his fingers. “I will not make myself a laughingstock to put you forward.”
“What will happen to us if he’s lost, then?” She challenged him. She got nothing for it.
“I believe you mean, what will happen to you,” he said coldly. “And the answer is that you will probably be ruined. They’re already saying that you let him have you and now he’s lost his interest, did you know? If you fail to get him back, the rumor will stick. And if the rumor sticks…” My blood turned to ice. Miriel swayed where she stood.
“What do I do?”
“Get him back,” the Duke said bluntly. “For I am not sure you recall the deal we made. But I do. I remember you telling me that if you rose, I would rise as well. But if you are no use to me, then I will be no friend to you. Go.”
We fled, back to her tent, and Miriel leaned against one of the posts, her hand clutched to her side as if he had knifed her. She was blinking back tears.
“Are you alright?” I asked her, knowing she was not. “I’m sorry I told you to ask him.” I felt the fool, but she shook her head.
“You did right. I would have done the same.” She pressed her face into her hands. “What are allies for, if not to help each other?” she demanded. She dropped her hands and stared at me. “He should have helped me. I won’t forget this.”
“What are you going to do?”
“We,” she said wearily. “What are we going to do.”
“I protect you,” I said. “I always know what I’m going to do.”
She nodded, looking exhausted. “It’s always me. I have to come up with a plan. Always me.”
“I would help if I could,” I said, stung. “But you know I’m no good at this. All I know is you have to stay the best at things, at everything. Remind him you’re the best.” She nodded, unmoved by my anger. “And you should refuse to see him,” I said suddenly. It had been her own idea, only an hour past, but her brow furrowed.
“What—if he deigns to summon me?”
“He will,” I predicted. “He’s too honest not to.” She looked doubtful.
“What do I tell him?”
“That he was right. That meeting him is too risky. That he must give you up, and you do not bear him any ill will, but you cannot bear to see him.”
“That might work,” she said, struck. She paused, and I wondered if she was remembering, as I did, her first meeting with Garad, where she had told him that their love was impossible, and so dared him onwards.
“You have to find some way to stay out of his reach,” I said, echoing Temar’s words.
“Yes. And so we start again. I have to make myself irresistible. Again. Don’t I? Yes.” She sighed. “And find some way to make Linnea less attractive to him.”
“They’ll push another one up in her place.”
“I only need to hold him long enough for him to make me Queen,” she said grimly. “If I can do that, then I am safe.”
Our journey back was quiet. There were no entertainments, only the long days on the road. There were no rumors, either—the King kept his dinners secret, and those who watched Miriel knew that she was not sneaking to his tent at night. He still sent her eloquent letters, and Miriel and I composed letters back, beginning her artful withdrawal from him.
We had no way to know if he had even noticed, but far from being defeated, Miriel seemed as sunny and confident as ever. It was part of her charm, I thought: when there was a plan, Miriel believed in it wholly, without reserve. She picked her path, and set her heart to it. She never again spoke to me of her fear; we looked only forward, the two of us, and we spoke only of our goals. As we entered the city, Miriel sighed in relief.
“Now the game begins again,” she told me as we rode. “No more waiting. I will win him back.” I did not respond. I looked up at Penekket Fortress as its shadow fell across us, and I shivered.
Chapter 16
Miriel was given an opportunity to retreat almost at once. When we returned to court, it became known—with the speed that only rumor can summon—that a man had arrived who claimed to be the envoy from Mavlon. He had come to honor the relationship between the two countries, he explained, just as the King had honored and recognized Mavlon by sending his own envoy. He had asked, very courteously, to take up residence in the building that housed the other envoys and, in the absence of any senior nobles or the King himself, the steward had looked over the documents bearing the seal of Mavlon and had acquiesced.
It was uproar. Mavlon’s King Jorge had ceded the throne of his own free will centuries ago, claiming that his countrymen must choose their own leaders and determine their own destiny. Though some had tried, the monarchy had never been reclaimed, and Heddred had ceased to recognize the country as a power in its own right. Garad’s choice to send a spy masquerading as an envoy had set off a firestorm. The very Councilors who had approved his quick thinking were now disclaiming their own role in the matter.
Troubled and alone, he sent a message for Miriel to meet him in the cellars, and she sent back a regretful note saying simply that such would not be fitting. It seemed that scarcely had we sent the plain-liveried pageboy away that he was back, panting, with another note: the King must see her, he had need of her advice. Miriel wrote back that she dared not meet with him, and gave the pageboy a silver coin and a dazzling smile for his troubles.
Wilhelm arrived next, looking disgruntled. He had clearly been summoned from his own lessons in combat, for he was wearing loose clothing with the dust of the courtyards, and he stank of sweat. He was embarrassed to be seen in such a state, and not best pleased with Miriel for being the cause of it all.
“My Lady, the King bids me ask you why it is that you will not agree to meet with him.” Clearly, Wilhelm himself was confused. He had done as Miriel had bid, and turned the King’s mind back to her, only to find that she now refused to meet with him. Miriel bid him come further into the room and smiled her mischievous smile.
“The King is wondering why I will not see him, is he not?”
“He is, my Lady.”
“I have him mad to see me now, do I not?”
“Yes, my Lady.” Miriel’s smile broadened, and Wilhelm could not help but smile back as he followed her logic. He bowed. “Ah. An excellent ploy. Shall we all meet at midnight, then?”
“No,” Miriel said sweetly.
“But now that he—“
“My Lord Wilhelm, I will not meet with his Grace tonight. You will explain to him that, although my heart breaks, I accept the wisdom that he and I must part.”
“He only meant to pretend—“ Wilhelm started, but Miriel held up a hand to cut him off.
“Regardless, that is what you will tell him. And tell him…” Miriel paused, trying to choose her words. Half of her allure—more—lay in the quick change of her tone and the flutter of her lashes. The words she spoke had never been even the greatest part of how she spoke to the King. What words could she now trust Wilhelm to deliver?
“Say that you pressed me to come to him now, and I begged you to leave before my will crumbled. Tell him that I miss him so much, my heart breaks with it, but I will do what is best for Heddred.” She looked straight at Wilhelm, and he looked back: uncomfortable, out of his depth. He was an honest man, was Wilhelm Conradine, an honorable man. He lied to his friend only because they were of two minds about the rebellion. To speak openly would be to lose one of his few allies, and yet he was uncomfortable even with his lie of self-preservation.
“Anything else?” he asked. Miriel smiled warmly.
“Tell him that I know he will choose the wisest course for Heddred, because I know how he yearns for peace.”
“Yes, my Lady.” Wilhelm left, with a wondering sort of look over his shoulder, as if he were not quite sure what had just happened.
I had my suspicions of where this would lead, and that night I made sure that Miriel ch
ose the finest of her nightgowns, and that her robe was laid out where she might snatch it up in a moment. I took it upon myself to order a bath for her, and saw to it that Anna brushed Miriel’s dark curls until they shone. Miriel accepted this without comment; she had the dead calm of a woman who has gambled everything and knows that her plans are hanging in the balance.
We went to bed together, and I lay in the dark for a long while, jumping at every little sound. I must have drifted to sleep, for I awoke with a start in the dark of deep night. The room was quiet and dark, the only light filtered in through the shades, from the oil lamps that hung out on the streets.
I lay very still, trembling. I was terrified that I had awoken to something far worse than an illicit tryst. What was the sound that had brought me from sleep? What if my instincts this evening had warned me of the wrong thing, and now there was an assassin in the outer chamber? My heart was pounding so loudly that I feared I would give myself away. Moving carefully so as not to make the bed creep, I stretched out my left arm for the daggers that lay with my clothing on my shelf—
The noise was faint, filtered through the bedchamber door and the door of the privy chamber, and yet I still jumped, every muscle tensing. It was the very lightest knock on the door of the outer chamber. I waited a moment, for the sound of someone moving into place in the other room—I was still not sure that this was not some sort of trap—but when nothing came, I got up as quickly as I could, snatching my clothes and my daggers and padding to the door.
A rustle, and I saw Miriel sit up. So she had been lying awake as well, waiting with me. She slid out of bed and tiptoed after me as I crossed to the door, eased it open, and went into the privy chamber.
“Wait here,” I breathed in her ear, and she nodded, moving so that she would be hidden by the door when it opened. I nodded to her, and scanned the room one last time for unusual shadows, the gleam of eyes or hair. Nothing. Satisfied, I lifted the latch on the second door and slipped into the outer room. The knock sounded again, hesitant.
Shadowforged (Light & Shadow) Page 15