Shadowforged (Light & Shadow)

by Katson, Moira

  The High Priest. If Miriel had wanted to wait for a time when an ally would be of the most benefit, this was it. There surely could not be a time when she needed help more than now. And—at last a plan fell into place in my mind—if I could get to the High Priest, he could tell me the mood of the court, perhaps the mood of the Duke. It was even possible that he might know where Miriel was.

  Now for the details of it. Chains first, then the door lock. Then run. I did not have time for bribery and persuasion—I would need to be quick and stealthy. And while I knew that I should wait to see how often the guards did the rounds, I did not have time for that, either. There was no time to waste, and no time to spend wondering where Miriel might be, and what disaster might have taken place. We would figure this out. We would. Our first objective had always been to survive, and now she needed me for that.

  Trying to let my chains clank as little as possible, I withdrew the lock picks and set to work. The locks were laughably simple, and in a few moments I was free. I stood and stretched, and took an inventory of my injuries. The back of my head was still tender, and the guard’s kick might leave a bruise, but the rest of my stiffness was from lying in chains. I ran through some stretches, trying to prepare myself. When I escaped my cell, I would need to run, and run fast.

  Carefully, I approached the bars and peered both ways down the hall. I had heard no sounds since the King’s party left, and there seemed to be no one about. Now I snaked one arm through the bars and began to work on the door lock. I looked behind me, and saw the shackles open on the floor. No time to hide them; the guards were not yet upon me, and I reckoned that I could make it to the other end of the hall before they could catch me. I could make it if I went now.

  My heart in my throat, I eased the door open and slipped out. Then I turned and ran, ran as fast as I could. As I neared the corner, I heard a shout behind me, and the sudden clamor of drunken guards roused from an easy round. I cursed, and tried to run all the harder. I did not look back; my world narrowed to the corridor ahead of me. I skidded past branches in the corridor, trying to take the ever-larger corridors, running as much by instinct as by any skill. I had never known this part of the palace. I did not know where I might be.

  After what seemed hours, but had likely been only a minute, I was rewarded with stairs. I took them two at a time, thanking Temar and Donnett silently for their endless drills. I thought the sound of the guards was getting farther away, and I was barely breathing hard. I got up the stairs and tugged at the huge door at the top. Locked. I fumbled for my picks again, and dropped them. The voices were getting closer, and I tried to force the lock with trembling fingers. The beatings the Lady had given me would be nothing to what would happen if they caught me—

  Finally, the click. I shoved the pick into a pocket, opened the door, and found myself aboveground at last. Being stared at by a score of guards, ready to go on duty.

  “What a fright!” I said brightly. “I thought I’d lost my key.”

  “Who’re you?” One of them asked, standing up slowly. The others turned from their places at dice tables. I tried not to swallow; I only had to make it to the door on the other side of the room. If I did not let them see my fear, they might let me pass. As much as every instinct was screaming at me to run, I leaned back against the closed door and crossed my arms.

  “I serve the Earl of Mavol,” I said loftily. “His Lordship has…business…with some of the prisoners brought in from the Norstrung Provinces. And he will not be pleased if you detain me.”

  They fell away, uncertain, and I pushed myself up and walked as calmly as I could through them. At the far wall, I heard my pursuers reach the door at last. As the guards swung around to see what the clatter might be, I shrugged at the few who still watched me, turned the corner, and took off as soon as I was out of sight.

  This was the armory. I should have known. It was time to use one of the strategies I had noticed for making my way through a crowd quickly. Accordingly, I pelted through halls, calling, “Message! A message for his lordship!” and, “Make way! A message!” The guards and soldiers obligingly fell away to make room, and I was hard-put not to laugh. They paved the way for my escape, and closed up in my wake. I could hear a clamor behind me, and could only hope that the soldiers were not so obliging to my followers.

  Now my heart was pounding. At least two detachments of guards after me, and not an ally in the world. I headed for an exit and raced for the Cathedral in the Palace proper, preparing my speech in my head. If Jacces could see that it was in his interest to persuade the King to keep Miriel…

  It was a short dash across the frozen alleyways, and I disappeared quickly enough into the Palace, but I was cautious, still: I made for the servants’ corridors at once. I had snuck enough messages into the High Priest’s chambers that I could have walked these corridors blindfolded. I hurried, trying to compose a speech in my head—anything that would gain his sympathy. He was a ruthless man, he had tried to kill Miriel at least once. But now it would be different, I told myself.

  All of a sudden I felt light-headed. The thoughts that I had pushed away with my fear rushed back now. Where was Miriel? Was she alright? Had she already been held up to shame, the betrothal broken? What if she had been given back to her uncle? She would be sent back to Voltur, I knew that, or some other remote manor the Duke owned, and it would not be long until there was a story of an illness, a fever that had carried her away… This could all be for naught, and even if it was not useless, she was the one who was good at these speeches, not me. I was silent. I was unseen.

  I took my courage in my hands and emerged from the servants’ corridors in an antechamber of the choristers’ rooms. From here, I only needed to make my way behind the chancel, and I would be in one of the rooms that led to the High Priest’s apartments. I crept, conscious of how loud each footstep seemed in the vaulted chambers, and at last I raised my hand and knocked on the fine wood paneling of Jacces’ doors.

  I could hear a conversation cut off abruptly, and the door swung open almost at once. A man glared at me suspiciously.

  “Yes?”

  “I need to see the High Priest at once,” I said, swallowing. “It’s on behalf of one of the gentlemen of the court.” He began to close the door. “Wait,” I cried. “Please. Tell the High Priest I have another letter for him.”

  “Let her in.” The abrupt command confirmed my hopes: the High Priest had been just inside. The servant stepped back reluctantly, and I slipped around him to look closely, for the first time, at this man who was as much enemy as friend. A man who recognized me, and gave a satisfied smile to know my identity at last. He had been seated behind his desk, now he stood and held out his hand.

  “You have a letter?”

  “I would speak with you alone,” I said desperately. He looked me over, taking in my heaving chest, the fear on my face, and then he made a gesture, and his servant left the room silently.

  “Yes?” he said. I tried to find words, overwhelmed to be in the presence of a man who was second only to the King in importance, by virtue of his title, and the rival of the King, by virtue of his cause.

  Trying to catch my breath and gather my thoughts, I looked around the High Priest’s chambers. They were small, and after the richness of the Palace, they seemed as cold and unwelcoming as my prison cell. The High Priest was doing his work at a table no finer than the one Roine used. A pomander sat at the edge of the desk; else, the whole surface was covered with books and papers. A small fire burned in the grate, and the only other furnishings in the room were heavy drapes, and a chair by the fireplace. The High Priest was indeed the ascetic they spoke of.

  “You can guess now,” I said clumsily. All of my speech had disappeared from my head, and I was left with only my wits and my fear. He said nothing, only looked at me with his deep-set, far-seeing eyes. “She was afraid you might doubt her,” I explained. “That’s why she didn’t tell you. She began to learn of the rebellion after…well…” The
High Priest raised an eyebrow.

  “After I sent an assassin for her?” He smiled at my nod, a smile without happiness, only satisfaction. “How intriguing. How very intriguing. And she became a sympathizer? Tell me truly, don’t think of lying to me.”

  “I’m not lying,” I shot back. “And if you ask me, it’s crazy.” He smiled.

  “And yet she’s the noble, and you are the servant. Most interesting. So why are you here now, on her behalf?” The world shifted, uncertainty rocked me. I stared at him mistrustfully.

  “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?” He leaned forward to me, and his eyes narrowed when I did not respond at once. “Catwin…what should I know? Is the Lady Miriel in trouble?”

  “Yes.” Too distracted to wonder how he might know my name, I crept closer, looking around myself fearfully, and he nodded to me to draw up a chair close to him. We leaned together like conspirators. “Miriel and—a friend—were speaking of the rebellion, and the King heard them. He had me imprisoned, he promised he would destroy her—I don’t know how long it’s been, and I don’t know where she is now. You mean the Court does not know?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Who was the friend?” When I hesitated, he raised his eyebrows. “If you want my help, you’ll need to give me what I ask. Who was the friend?” He was right, I did need him. I sighed and said a silent apology to Wilhelm.

  “Wilhelm Conradine.”

  “Ah.” The High Priest smiled, and I was relieved to see that he did not seem surprised in the least. “Yes, Wilhelm is a sympathizer. I have spoken with him of it.” His gaze sharpened. “Does he know of…me?”

  “No, we did not tell him. We did not tell anyone.” I shook my head, and the High Priest nodded, pleased.

  “Well, then. So what is it you want from me?” I stared at him, wondering if he was joking. Was it not obvious?

  “Your help. For Miriel’s sake—because I swear to you, she would be a good Queen, she would aid the rebellion, and bring about the changes you seek. But we need your help, or the King will break the betrothal. He has sworn to crush the rebellion, out of anger at her. He must be persuaded to keep the betrothal, and not destroy the rebellion.”

  “And you want my help,” he said, his voice expressionless. “To save the Lady and the rebellion. That is your goal—her safety, and the changes the rebellion would bring.”

  “Yes,” I said impatiently. “I am loyal to her, and what she wants most is for the rebels’ cause to become reality.”

  “Is it.” I sighed. Why was he doing this?

  “Sir, if you do not help us, the rebellion will be lost. I swear to you, he will stop at nothing now. I know you’ve spoken to him before, and not persuaded him—but now you must. And please—please, you must convince him that she has done nothing wrong.” The High Priest clasped his hands together and stared off into the distance.

  “I’m not sure I can convince him of that,” he said thoughtfully. “But if you say she wants above all for the rebellion to be safe…that, I may be able to accomplish. Now, you must go. Find your Lady—the King gave out that she had a fever, she may be in her own rooms. We have much to do, both of us.” I nodded and stood, then bowed and withdrew from the room. I put the High Priest out of my mind; I would come back to inquire as to his progress later. In the meantime, I needed to find Miriel, and help her escape.

  I turned from the door and was setting off into the palace when Temar stepped out of the shadows, blocking my path.

  Chapter 23

  He smiled easily.

  “Hello, Catwin.”

  I froze, uncertainly, and Temar was on me in an instant, his hands sliding up my arms, his breath in my ear; I was pressed up against the wall, my arm twisted behind my back and his face inches from mine. I saw the pain in his eyes, the fight of divided loyalties, and had a moment to wonder what it was he felt, with his mouth so close to mine and our gazes locked together. I saw his gaze flicker, and then he shook his head slightly, as if to clear it.

  I had always known what would win out if it came to a choice between me and the Duke. I faced into the thought, as bravely as I could, gritting my teeth against the fact that I understood his choice—I would have made the same choice for Miriel.

  “So where is she?” Temar asked, conversationally, the brief moment of conflict forgotten. He was his usual self once more.

  “Don’t give me that,” I said, to buy time. I was thinking furiously. Temar would never ask me if he knew: he would ask me what I was doing here. He would taunt me that I did not know where she was. He would ask where I had been. He must, in truth, not know. Which meant that Miriel was not in her rooms.

  The grip on my wrist tightened and I bit my lip to keep from crying out in pain. “Answer me, Catwin. Where is Miriel? Her rooms are locked and quiet.”

  “The King has her,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster. “I would have thought you would know that.”

  “Has her where?”

  “In his chambers,” I lied blithely. Temar frowned.

  “Doing what?” At my hesitation, he tightened his fingers once more, and I twisted desperately, dropping and then lashing out. We ended up in a sprawl on the floor, fingers locked on each other’s throats, cold fury in his eyes and matching anger in my own. Slowly, by mutual agreement, we loosened our fingers and backed away from each other. I crouched, wary, back against one wall, and curled my fingers. My legs were still tensed to spring. He looked back, his eyes betraying nothing; only the faint hunch of his shoulders showed that he, too, was waiting for a fight.

  “Nothing improper.” I weighed the options. If he did not know that Miriel was in trouble, he surely would soon. And when the Duke knew that Miriel did not have the King’s heart wholly in her grasp, his response was always the same: get him back. That would give me the freedom I needed to find her, and formulate some sort of plan. “The King is angry with her,” I explained.

  “We know that well enough,” Temar snapped. He was rotating his arm gingerly, where I had wrenched it. “Since the King took away the Duke’s command in the South. What in the name of Nuada did she do?“

  “Nuada?” I asked, baffled. His face flickered.

  “Nothing,” he said tersely. “Answer me.”

  “He thinks she’s sympathizing with the rebellion,” I said wearily. I had not wanted to tell Temar, for fear that this would give him the final key, but I could not think of a lie quickly enough. Indeed, I saw recognition flare in Temar’s eyes, and I could only hope to recover for this. “He has it all wrong,” I said, trying to mimic the tone of muted frustration. “He never listens to her, he thinks—“

  “What’s the truth of it?” Temar demanded. He was coiled, ready to grab for me, and I held up my hands.

  “Oh, leave off! I’ll answer you. She doesn’t…she’s angry at the Duke for treating her like she’s nothing. It’s true! You know it is. And you had to know she’d resent it. Well, she thought she’d teach him a lesson and get the King to give command to someone else. Only, he took it wrong. He thought she meant not to send soldiers at all, and now he thinks…” I sighed, as if weary, and hung my head. Please, I thought. Please let her be Queen by the time the Duke has a chance to get back at her for this.

  “So she tried to betray her own family—“ Temar’s disgust was plain as day “—and in return she’s stripped the Duke of his power and lost her own? You know, Catwin, I’d laugh if it weren’t so—“

  “Shut up.” He stopped, surprised. Even I was surprised. I would not have expected such an outburst from myself, but all of it had crashed in at once: the fear, and the guilt, thinking of his feelings and wondering if he ever—ever—thought of mine. Wondering what it meant that when he forgot himself, he smiled at me, and yet I saw my death in his eyes.

  “What?” His voice was cautious.

  “I said shut up.” I scrambled to my feet, and he followed suit, uncurling with his feline grace and standing ready for another fight. Once the words h
ad started, they would not stop. “You hate her, and you always have. I don’t have to know why, but I’m sick of it, and I don’t have time for you to tell me, anyway. We’re fixing it. I went to talk to the High Priest to have him go talk to the King, and now I’m going to go get her a gown so that she can go to the King and apologize and make it all right. It’s a lovers’ spat, he’ll be more in love with her than ever by tomorrow morning. So get out of my way and let me set this to rights.”

  Temar had gone quiet, he was looking at me with an expression I could not read. Before I could demand again that he move, he stepped out of the center of the hallway, leaving the path open. He made no move to stop me with force, but as I went to step past him, he held out his hand.

  I looked up at him, and saw his eyes go cold and hard. I felt my lips part at that, the breath leaving me in a rush. At last, as I watched the last traces of emotion bleed away from him, I could see what I had missed, all these months. It was gone so quickly that I could hardly put a name to it—regret? Guilt? Sympathy? It was there no longer, and I could take no joy in knowing that something trace of friendship had remained; I was terrified. Now, in Temar’s face, there was only resolve. And I knew what Temar was capable of, if he set his mind to it.

  “Be warned, Catwin,” he said, softly. “You’ve upset my plans, and if you ever stand in my way again, I will kill you.” His voice sounded far away, the echo of himself. He did not wait to see if I understood, only dropped his hand and walked away, leaving me looking after him with tears in my eyes.

  I hurried to Miriel’s rooms, biting my lip until it bled, angrier than I had ever been in my life. He had cared for me, I knew that now. I had seen that when he had defended me to the Duke, and now he had let me go when he could easily have hauled me off to the Duke’s rooms—or, at least, tried to do so. But none of that caring had stopped him from remembering that he was my enemy, and if any of it remained now, it would not stop him from hurting me. I believed every one of his parting words.