SHADOW WEAVER

by Claire Merle

  “Prince Jakut, heir to the throne of Caruca.”

  It is a lie. When we left the Prince he was about to descend to the King's departing ceremony. He will be trying to stop the bloodshed, not trap everyone inside the palace.

  Tug steps wide, pushing me back, arcing up his sword to fight.

  “No,” I say, reaching for him. “If it is the Prince's wish, we will return as we have been asked.” Tug holds the soldiers in his fixed glare. He could take both men. But I do not want their deaths on my hands.

  Finally, he lowers his sword and we step back slowly across the central ruby stairway. The men quickly lose interest, hurrying off in the direction of the throne room, and the fighting.

  “Come,” I say to Tug when they can no longer see us. We turn about, quickly exit the vaulted hall and continue, keeping to the darkest passages and galleries, moving more cautiously to avoid other encounters.

  Minutes slip by as we search for an exit away from the throne room. I have the sense we are going in circles and getting nowhere, when we enter a corridor with peacocks painted on the walls. I recognize it from the Duke's memories. At a silver-leafed door halfway down, I stop to try the handle. After a beat, Tug realizes I have stopped and pulls up a few paces ahead.

  The door is locked.

  “In here,” I say. He joins me, launching himself at the door with his shoulder. The wood around the lock splinters. The door swings open.

  We tumble into a bright room with miniature chairs and tables, colorful wooden toys, and animal paintings on the walls. Six beds are lined up by the windows. Two cots sit in a curtained-off corner. Two young maids stand to face us, trembling but defiant. I sense seven other minds in the room but can see no one. I quickly shut the nursery door.

  “We will not harm you,” I whisper to the children hidden under beds and in cupboards. Then I hurry to the arched windows on the far side and climb up onto one of the waist-high ledges.

  We are on the western side of the palace. Below, lay the palace gardens surrounding the barracks. I crane out to look at the entrance gates. Beyond the tall sunburnt walls, an army winds up the adobe city, carrying emerald flags. A green snake slithering though a red desert.

  There is a four-metre drop to the gardens below. I am in no state to try jumping. Tug joins me on the ledge. Then he strides back inside and begins stripping sheets from the children's beds and knotting them together. The maids stare at us as I go to join him.

  “I'll do this,” he says. “You change.” His eyes shift briefly to the thick drape cornering-off the baby cots. Two minds are crouched behind it.

  “Would you help me with my dress?” I ask one of the maids.

  Trembling, she ushers the children out from behind the curtains, pulls the drapes closed around us, and helps me unfasten my buttons. By the time I am wearing my trousers and tunic, Tug is tying a long strand of knotted bed linen to a window pillar.

  He nods at me. I climb up on the ledge, catching the eye of a boy around Kel's age who has braved peeping from his hiding place to watch. I hesitate. What will happen if Lord Strik takes the palace? What will happen to the children?

  “Mirra,” Tug says. His deep voice sends a rumbling reminder through me. Save Kel. The rest comes after.

  I sit down, grip the first sheet and lower myself over the edge. My arrow injury near the shoulder burns as I dangle, taking all my weight on my arms. I move slowly. My back faces the gardens and the palace wall, so I only have my awareness of movement in the mind-world to alert me of danger.

  Tug holds the sheet wrapped around the pillar in case my weight loosens the knot. Once I am halfway down, I can no longer see him. He is obscured by the wall and window ledge.

  A small trickle of something runs across my arm and along my back. I focus on the gardens, and potential threats. On whether my shaking muscles can take the strain.

  The sheet runs out. I glance down. My feet are suspended above a grassy square of lawn, part of a patchwork of squares chopped up by stone paths. Ordinarily, I would jump without hesitation, but my bruised ribcage flares with pain at the smallest of jerky movements, and I'm worried about landing.

  I hang for a moment. The muscles in my arms are turning to mush, and the moisture gathering at the waist of my tunic, making my back sticky, is growing denser. I have no choice but to let go.

  My feet hit the ground. I bend my legs to buffer the impact. Pain shoots through my ribcage like a fist of knives. My legs buckle and I fall on my side. I shove my fist in my mouth to muffle the agony pouring from my throat. I want to twist and writhe but that only makes it worse.

  Within seconds Tug has made a herculean descent and is crouched beside me.

  “Don't hold your breath. Breathe, Mirra.” My eyes prick with tears. Tug's hands gently check my ribs. I push them away, unable to take any more pressure.

  “You have to get up.”

  “I can't.” He wraps an arm beneath my shoulder on my injured side. I grunt, lean into him for support, but standing plunges me into a black pit of agony.

  “Give me the Nocturne Melody.”

  “There is poison and the antidote coursing through your blood. The effect will be unpredictable.”

  “Give it to me!” I hiss.

  He takes out the phial bottle, pops off the lid, and holds it to my lips, allowing a small sip.

  I clench my jaw, tears falling freely, washing my lips in salt. He helps me to stand again. We stagger forward two steps before he stops, hands me the bottle of painkiller. I drink until it's empty. Until the agony softens to a misty haze of distant pain.

  Down on the ground, the palace gates and the fighting seem a long way off. We are surrounded by ferns, lush green bushes, hundreds of brightly colored flowers, tall hedges, and little fountains. This corner of the vast mountain gardens is a haven for private walks away from the bustle of the Ruby Court. If it is possible to access the soldiers’ barracks from down here, then the entrances are expertly hidden.

  We head for the palace wall, stopping to let me catch my breath, or when I sense others encroaching on our whereabouts. Our search for an exit, a tunnel, a secret door, is accompanied by the rumbling drums of Strik's army growing closer.

  My mind joins my body to drift in the Nocturne Melody fog. I think of the snowy mountains in the north. The sky full of scintillating stars. The black-market town of the Hybourg stretched out in the valley below.

  “What were you thinking?” I ask Tug. His arm is wrapped around my waist. I feel his breath on my cheek but I cannot open my eyes wide enough to see if he has heard my question. I am not sure I have even spoken it out loud. But then he answers.

  “When?”

  “After I almost threw your wolf dog over the cliff. You stood looking out over the Hybourg, not even watching to see if Brin brought Kel back.” He leans me up against a wall. Chalky, rough stone scratches my cheek. I sense him turning to face me, one arm still wrapped against my side.

  “I was wondering if I'd already lost.”

  “Lost?”

  “This strange game we are all playing. I was wondering if I'd already lost and was too blind to see it.”

  I fight the weight on my heavy eyelids. His face appears to me as a blur of beast tattoos over weathered skin, dark eyes, lean, well-cut features.

  “You can win my game for me,” I say, the tears in my throat choking my words. “Return to the barracks, steal a soldier's uniform. There is no other way out.”

  “And what about you?”

  “Alone you have a chance of escaping the Red City, sending word to the Duchess and going back for Kel.”

  “While you stay here?”

  My eyes are closing. I slump further into Tug's arms. He lowers me carefully to the ground. It is obvious to us both now. I'm not going to make it.

  His rough hand sweeps back the hair from my cheek. “I'm not good at living with regret,” he murmurs.

  “Then don't regret anything. Keep Kel safe.”

  “Stay alive. I wil
l come back for you.”

  I shake my head. “Just Kel.”

  “Stay alive, Mirra. You hear me?”

  “Yes,” I murmur.

  But his voice is far away. I am floating, riding a boat down a river, and on the riverbank, Carucan priests in flowing white robes pray to the gods. Candles burn in a spiral of light. The King lies dead on his pyre and a strong wind blows a hundred flags, their white silk bleeding blood red.

  Forty-Five

  The aches and pains of my body burn through the fog of my mind. I grow conscious of the buzz of insects nearby, a strong scent of sweet blooms, my cheek flushed from too much sun, the thin padding of grass beneath me. I open my eyes. The sun is no longer high in the sky. Two hours must have passed since I fell into a drugged sleep.

  I lie still, registering the silence. The sounds of clashing swords, shouting, and screaming are over. The drums of Strik's approaching army gone.

  I feel dazed. Every inch of me hurts, but my heart swells with gratitude. I am alone. Which means Tug has left the Ruby Palace. It is a bittersweet realization. I will probably never see him again. If all goes to plan, Kel will be with our parents by the autumn, and Tug will be forced to spend the long-sleep in the north. By next spring, the fate of Caruca and my own fate will be already written.

  Approaching footsteps cut off my thoughts. I tuck my legs into my chest and pain stabs my side, bringing tears to my eyes. Mountain laurel and bright pink azaleas block the path from view. I listen as the footsteps pass. Then a voice shouts,

  “Over here!”

  Others come running. I breathe deeply in and out, despite the way it hurts. Don't panic. Not yet. They may be looking for something or someone else. Curled up on my side, I focus on the rich scents of the garden. Move on, I will the men. Do not see me.

  Leaves rustle. The laurel bush shudders. Then a figure leans over, blocking out the sun. He stares down. My heart flips over and lodges in my throat.

  I blink rapidly, trying to rid myself of the tears smearing my vision, and adjust my eyes to his face. A young, handsome face with a prominent scar drawing a line from the side of his lip to the bottom of his chin. My muscles tighten. Terror trickles down my spine.

  “It's her,” he says. The voice only confirms my fears. This man is the officer from the north. The King's officer who was looking for the Prince near the Pit, and who abandoned me in that tumbledown shed when he realized Tug and Brin were hiding nothing more than a wayward girl held against her will.

  “You want me to take her, Commander?” one of the soldiers asks, stepping forward as the high-ranking officer reaches down. He ignores the man, hauls me up roughly and throws me over his shoulder. I yelp and begin moaning as he carries me, my bruised rib crushed against his shoulder, my head smacking against his back.

  The mind-dulling effects of the Nocturne Melody vanish as adrenaline kicks in. I strain to look up through strands of hair at the soldiers following the commander. They scan the gardens furtively, watching for signs of trouble.

  A little jolt of hope lights me up. Had the Prince sent them? I push into the commander's memories, no easy feat with the agony in my shoulder and ribcage summoning me back to the present.

  The shape and texture of Commander Linx's mind is shimmering and brittle. I find my way in as easily as that day outside the Hybourg. If a castle made of glass and steel existed, rising to the sky in one sleek, smooth form, it would capture it well.

  I remain close to the edge, scanning recent memories to discover who has sent him.

  A torch lights his way. His footsteps and those of the man following him echo through the hollow network of tunnels. The air is close, pervaded by a smell of mould and rot.

  They reach an underground chamber. It is an old wine cellar, barrels stacked in rows, packing straw strewn across the floor, soaked through, making a nasty sludge under foot. Three dishevelled men are slumped against the nearest wall, heads hung low.

  “These two were carrying messages from the Queen,” the commander says, grabbing one of them by the hair at the top of his head and pulling back so that the man's bruised face is visible. “But this one, I think will be of particular interest, my Lord.”

  I shiver. The man who stands beside the commander, whose presence I sense though the commander does not look at him, must be Lord Strik.

  “And why is that?” the lord asks. The captive man they are talking about slowly raises his head to look at them. I am thrown from the mind-world like I have tripped over a precipice in a dream and the shock has woken me up.

  Tug! No! No, they cannot have caught Tug.

  I scream, kick my legs and bite down on the commander's arm, smashing my teeth through the light cotton of his tunic. He rips back his elbow and drops me. Blinding agony tears my body. For a moment all is black. Then I am conscious again, moaning on the ground while the commander shouts at his men to get the wench up. My eyes blur again with tears while my heart fractures into a thousand glittering pieces. Kel...

  “Commander Linx!” A female voice penetrates the dim hall. My senses are muffled but it sounded like Lady Calmi. The two soldiers with the commander, who have both taken one arm each by which to drag me across the wood floor, stop. The commander's boots spin around to face the woman.

  “I heard screaming,” she says. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “The girl is a traitor. We are taking her to the dungeons.”

  “You are going the wrong way.”

  “I'm following orders, My Lady.”

  “Orders from whom?”

  “You should be at the departing ceremony.”

  “Do you presume to tell me what I should do, Commander?”

  The atmosphere ripples electrically. I strain my head to look up through the tangles that fall across my face, arms still held outstretched by the soldiers. I can only see the bottom of her silk dress, the back of the commander's legs.

  “I would not presume anything of the sort, Lady Calmi,” the commander says.

  “You have been misinformed.” Light shoes pad closer. Behind Calmi, I sense Sixe. “This girl is Baroness Mirra, the Duke's niece.”

  “I regret to inform you that she is no such person. She is a slave from the far north and she conspires against the Prince.”

  Blackness creeps across my vision. I struggle not to let the pain overwhelm me and realize I have started moaning again.

  “Put her down,” Lady Calmi orders the soldiers. They release my arms. I drop onto the polished floor, cheek smashing into the cool rosewood. “A slave?” Calmi continues. “By law, Caruca has no slaves, Commander Linx. Tell me how she has conspired against Prince Jakut?”

  “She is an imposter. And these are times of war. Anyone suspected of treason must be questioned.”

  “Treason,” she echoes. Her eyes wander briefly down to me, cold and impartial as though considering the commander's accusation. “So your loyalties have shifted,” she says after a moment. “The last time we met they did not lie with the Prince. What has changed your mind, Commander Linx?”

  Lord Strik.

  Calmi is clever. She is trying to get him to question the suggestions her grandfather has planted in the commander. I wonder if in all her years living with Strik, she has found a way around the power in his voice.

  “You do not trust me,” he says.

  “You claim allegiance to the Prince but you have not informed him of your return to the Red City. And now you are taking prisoners for interrogation. Whose orders are you following, Commander?”

  “The King is dead. Queen Usas has tried to steal the throne. The Prince is the rightful heir.” His words are stilted and flat as though he is repeating a mantra. I strain to look at his face and see it is slack, eyes glazed over. Calmi has failed to break or bend her grandfather's authority.

  I roll onto my side. “Calmi...” my words are a puff of air, a whisper. If Lord Strik interrogates me, if he forces answers I cannot prevent myself from giving, he will discover I am Uru Ana. He wil
l learn that I am with Jakut because the Prince does not remember his past. He will realize he is dealing with an unknown, dangerous ally. Jakut will never get close enough to take Strik's life.

  Calmi moves closer but Commander Linx draws his sword to block her way.

  “You cannot talk to the prisoner.”

  “If your loyalties are to the Prince, then they are also to me,” she says.

  “The ring on your finger shows you belong to another.”

  “A marriage arranged by the King to prevent his son from marrying me.”

  “You did rather well out of it, I heard.”

  A hard slap rings through the hall. My eyes shoot up. Commander Linx rubs the red welt on his cheek. Lady Calmi's chest rises and falls, the hate in her eyes blazing.

  “Take the prisoner!” the commander orders his men. They yank at my arms. Linx strides through the hall, the soldiers dragging me behind him.

  “Free Tug,” I croak, my voice drowned by the scrape of my body across the floor, and the soldiers' boots.

  Trying to understand the origin of this power will take you down a path as dark as the mind that wields it. Tug's voice resounds in my head. My racing thoughts calm, and I suddenly remember the magnificent light that surrounded the Prince in the great hall. Everything is at once clear.

  I weave together memories, showing Sixe the message I wish passed on to the Prince. I show him Tug being held prisoner. Tug promising me he would return Kel to my parents if I died. I show him Tug bringing me the Nocturne Melody after the bird-men attack, and finally this morning, Lady Calmi administering her poison.

  Tug is fit. If he can escape the Ruby Palace, he has a chance. But not me.

  Free Tug. Keep me drugged. And if that does not work, do whatever it takes to prevent Strik questioning me.

  If Strik discovers I am Uru Ana, my life is over. And it will be for nothing if the Prince fails to take Strik's life in return.

  Forty-Six

  In this rat hole there is only gray light, no telling evening sun from high midday heat. I feel as though I've been down here for days, but perhaps it is the pain stretching seconds into minutes, minutes into hours, because no one has brought me food and my body does not crave it.