Counting Shadows (Duplicity)

by Olivia Rivers

  “Why wouldn’t he? I mean, our country is well-protected, but it’s nothing compared to Shale’s army. He’s taken over five countries in the past three years. It’s just stupid to think he won’t overtake Irrador. And he’s—”

  Farren holds up a hand to stop me. “You don’t have to tell me, Faye. Believe me, I know.” He continues gnawing at his lip, his jaw working back and forth. “I have a theory.”

  “And that is?”

  “Well, Shale is a Mage.”

  “That’s not a theory, Farren. We already know he uses magic.”

  He rolls his eyes at me, and gives me his classical shut-up-for-one-moment-and-listen look. “That’s not my theory.” He uncrosses his legs, looks around anxiously, and then crosses them again. “Here’s what I’m thinking: If Shale uses magic, then why couldn’t he use it on us?”

  I shrug. “I don’t see why he couldn’t. He’s obviously responsible for the border raids.”

  “But that’s the thing. It’s so obvious, but very few people realize that.”

  I open my mouth to ask what he’s going on about, but then it hits me. Of course. It is obvious. And if Farren is right… My stomach suddenly feels like it’s full of icicles. “You think he’s somehow blocking us from noticing him? That he’s using magic to make us all oblivious?”

  Farren nods. A small drop of blood wells on his chewed lip, and then drops down his chin. He wipes it away with his sleeve, and frowns at the stain it makes.

  “You have to do something,” I demand.

  “I’m not king. Seven more months, remember?”

  “Of course I remember. But that’s no excuse to just sit back and let Shale mess with our minds.”

  “I’ve tried, Faye. The Council won’t listen to me.”

  “Then try harder!”

  He scoffs. “You’re one to talk. When was the last time you even paid attention to politics?”

  I probably should try to come up with a comeback. But I just shake my head and say nothing, because I know he’s right, that I should pay better attention to Irrador’s politics.

  Or at least that’s what my conscience tells me. But I learned to ignore that annoying little voice the moment I set out to avenge Ashe.

  Farren stands from the chair and stretches. “We can’t seem to have a discussion tonight without disagreeing.”

  “Can we ever?”

  He chuckles and shrugs. “No, not really.” His expression softens into that affectionate smile he’s given me as long as I can remember. “I’m going to retire for the night. You should, too. It’s late.”

  “How can you sleep, knowing what Shale is up to?”

  “Like I said, it’s just a theory. I don’t know anything.”

  “But you’ll tell me when you do?”

  He scoffs. “How about you try coming to a Council meeting, and learning political information the traditional way?”

  “Tradition is so bland.”

  He just rolls his eyes and starts out of the room, but says over his shoulder, “I mean it, Faye. Get to sleep. You have a big week ahead.”

  I nod, despite knowing that I’ll be up for hours poring over the letter Derrin gave me. It’ll be in code, of course. Derrin loves his codes.

  Fire. Surrounding me, everywhere, the flames licking at the wooden cabin. I cough and stumble toward the door, throwing my arm over my mouth to keep the smoke out. Ahead of me, there’s a clear path leading outside, untouched by the accelerant I doused the cabin with.

  “Please!” a voice calls from behind me. It’s deep and masculine, but strained by the smoke. “You can’t just leave me. The windows are jammed, I can’t get out!”

  I glance over my shoulder. A young man stands across from me, trapped in the corner of the room by the fire. He stares at me with eyes as red as the flames.

  I could unjam the windows for him when I get outside. But then why block them in the first place?

  “Goodbye,” I say.

  I walk out the door, his screams following after me.

  I startle at the fire in front of me. But then I blink a few times, and realize it’s safely contained in the fireplace. The fireplace in my chambers, far from any wood cabins.

  “Faye?” Farren says tentatively.

  I can only imagine what my expression looks like. My skin feels clammy, and I’m breathing too fast. I swallow hard, trying to remember where our conversation left off before the vision struck.

  “Goodnight, Farren.” My words are a whisper.

  He sighs and shakes his head. “Get some rest, okay? I’ll see you in two days.”

  THREE

  Farren strides out of my chambers, his shoulders straight as ever. Sometimes I wish I could be like that: the perfect child, everything Father expects.

  But then I remember wishes are useless.

  The log in the fireplace crackles, sending a shudder rippling through me. I haven’t had a vision of death since… Ashe. I used to get them all the time when he was my Guardian. Always a man about the die, always with the pure-black eyes of my Ashe.

  And always me as his killer.

  But this time, it’d been different. The man’s eyes were red, not black. Why? Why was I even seeing these visions? They can’t be real. Unlike my other visions, these ones aren’t just images and sounds and scents. They contained thoughts. My thoughts. Which is impossible, because I’ve never killed anyone.

  Yet.

  I let my head fall back and my mind wander away from the vision. Farren said he’d see me in two days, but he visits me weekly. He probably just misspoke.

  The remnant of the fire catches my eye as it casts shadows over the room. First on the mantel, then the couch, then the chair, quickly flickering and slowly fading. It reminds me of Ashe’s wings, how they used to shimmer in the sunlight. I watch the fire until it dies, leaving one last shadow strewn across the entire room.

  FOUR

  The man you seek lies in the Royal Prison. Third floor, seventh cell.

  The decoded letter was so simple that my heart stopped beating. But now I walk down a dungeon corridor, my heart hammering to make up for those long seconds it stopped. The air up here is thick and reeks of sewage, and my chest is tight with anxiety as I struggle to breathe.

  The Royal Prison sits high on the top of a cliff, with the ocean surrounding it on three sides. It’s an ancient building, four stories high and made of stone-work sealed with Mage magic. It’s also bitingly cold, and I keep my jaw clamped shut to stop my teeth from chattering. My footsteps echo off the stone walls, mixing with the steps of the guard escorting me. This guard—Hirard, he told me when I demanded his name—will probably be fired for taking me up here, but that doesn’t matter now.

  I reach one finger up the sleeve of my dress, stroking the dagger handle pressed against my forearm.

  “Now, ya’re sure the king wants ya in here?” Hirard asks. He has a drawl that sounds just as stupid as he is.

  “Of course I’m sure.” I smile up at him and move the letter in my hand closer to him. “You see? It’s all written here.”

  In my finest royal handwriting, the letter says: ‘It’s truly a pity you never learned to read. Your mother would be ashamed.’

  Hirard nods agreeably and hands the letter back to me. It’s the third time he’s pretended to read it. “King’s orders, eh?”

  “Yes.” My cheeks are starting to ache from keeping up this smile, but I can’t give up my act now. “He wishes for me to complete a quality investigation.”

  It’s my own little joke, although it doesn’t make the smile any more bearable. Father has never cared about the well-being of criminals or prisoners; he lets the Grand Judge deal out ruthless punishments, and has never bothered to improve the conditions of Irrador’s prisons.

  Especially this one.

  “Well,” Hirard replies, after pausing for a second, “I ‘spose it’s better to check now than never.” Then he stops and squints at me. “But why’d His Majesty send a girl?”

/>   I do my best to puff out and look offended, which isn’t that easy, since my lungs have stopped working. “I’m the assistant of the Grand Judge,” I say, reciting my already-prepared lie. “It’s been a position my family has held for years. And you’d do best to respect it, unless you wish to be trapped in here for good.”

  His eyes grow wide. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He hurries forward a little faster, me trailing along beside him. For a second, I wish I’d given my real identity when I arrived at the prison. Then maybe I wouldn’t be stuck with such an incompetent guard. But I quickly rethink this, realizing that I’d probably be dead if any of the guards knew who I was.

  The corridor we walk down is empty, except for our footsteps and the light seeping in through the barred windows. Hirard decided it would be best to take a back way to the third floor. According to him, it would be “scarring” to lead me past the rows of cells and prisoners that line the main pathway.

  He obviously has no idea what kind of company I keep during my nightly walks.

  “Now what cell did ya need to see?” Hirard asks. “The seventeenth?”

  “The seventh,” I correct.

  He lets out a long sigh. “Hmm. That’s awfully specific.”

  “It’s part of the quality testing,” I say. “I have to check a random cell, to ensure you can’t cheat on the test.”

  He bobs his head vigorously. “’Spose that’s only fair.”

  We pass six doorways, each an entrance to winding corridors that lead deeper into the dungeon. I’ve never been in here before, but I know exactly where each corridor would go. The visions of this place—of it’s outlay, its eerie silence, its reeking stench— bombarded me as I approached the prison. Now that I’ve arrived, the visions have faded to soft whispers in the back of my mind, but the nausea stays firmly planted in the pit of my stomach.

  “Well, here we are,” Hirard says as we near a steep staircase. “This will take us to the third floor.”

  I gesture for him to lead the way. My legs are sore by the time we reach the top of the staircase, and my heart beats out a frantic rhythm. I’ve made it. I’m here.

  But is Ashe’s killer?

  I hold my breath, trying to detect any noise. But there’s only the sound of my heavy breathing and Hirard clearing his throat. He gestures down the main hallway we’ve reached, each side lined with cells.

  “Well, have at it.”

  I shake my head. “These cells are empty.”

  “This is the section for demonic creatures, ma’am. And we don’t get many of those ‘round here.” He scrunches his face and gives me a curious look. “Don’t ya know that? I mean, if ya’re here for—”

  “Of course I know,” I snap. I scramble to find a reasonable explanation, and then give Hirard an appraising look. “You’ve just passed the first of eleven tests, Hirard. Each is specifically designed to ensure the quality of this prison. But don’t let me catch you lacking knowledge about anything else. Understood?”

  He does that bobbing-nodding thing again. “Of course, ma’am. Of course.”

  I give a tight smile. “I’ll examine the cell alone, Hirard. You may stay here.”

  “Err, ma’am?”

  I sigh. “What is it?”

  “Well, are ya sure ya want to go alone? There’s an Angel in that cell. Dangerous beasties, those are.” Hirard clears his throat again. “He’ll be put to death soon, for trespassin’ on human lands. Maybe ya could come back after?”

  I swallow hard, hoping Hirard mistakes my fast breathing for fear, and doesn’t recognize it as excitement. Could I have actually found him? I’d always guessed an Angel was tied to Ashe’s death, but… Could I have actually been right?

  “What was his crime?” I ask, my voice breathy.

  “Thievery.”

  I turn and pretend to examine the bars of the empty cell next to me, trying to hide my frown. If this is Ashe’s killer, then his crime should be something horrific. But still… Thievery can be bad. Maybe he tried stealing sensitive political documents, or maybe he injured someone while he was trying to escape.

  “Like I said,” I murmur to Hirard. “Stay here.”

  I don’t wait for a reply, and take a shaking breath to steady myself. Then I step forward, counting the cells as I walk down the hallway. One, two, three, four, five… My chest grows tight. He’s not here, I know it. He can’t be. It’s impossible. Besides, these cells are all empty, and—

  “Are you looking for someone?” an amused voice asks.

  Not just any voice: Ashe’s killer. It’s right behind me, and then in front of me as I whirl around.

  I face a dark cell, one far from any window and trapped in shadows. I take a step toward it, and then back, unable to see anyone in the darkness.

  Then a figure steps forward into a faint patch of light, and I let out a choked sound.

  It’s him.

  Young, about my own age. Tanned skin. Muscular and well-built, but taller than any Irradorian. Sharp facial features, strong jaw, and the scar that runs from his right eyebrow down to his bottom lip—

  The scar. It’s not there. I frantically scan the man’s face another time, but the scar is still missing.

  The man in front of me raises an eyebrow and leans against the bars of his cell. “You like something you see?”

  “No,” I blurt out.

  I don’t like this. I hate this. This man looks exactly like Ashe’s killer, but… he’s not. As I look over him a second time, I notice a few more subtle differences; this man is a little taller than Ashe’s killer, a little younger, and he has a tattoo on his collarbone. I can only see a portion of the black ink, but it’s enough to prove this isn’t who I’m looking for. Ashe’s killer didn’t have any tattoos.

  But maybe he just got the tattoo after he killed Ashe. Maybe… No. He could gain a tattoo, but he could never lose a scar.

  This isn’t the man I’ve been searching for.

  The man in the cell hisses in a breath, reminding me that I said something offensive. “Ouch.” The way he speaks reminds me of Farren’s sarcastic drawl, only this man’s is much more practiced. He has a slight accent that somehow manages to make his husky voice sound elegant, but it just makes me shudder. His voice sounds so much like Ashe’s killer’s. “That hurts, sweetheart. Like an arrow through the heart. Words can kill, you know.”

  My chest constricts, knowing how right he is. Knowing he knows how right he is. It was words that killed Ashe, just a few whispers in the ear of Father. And, somehow, this man is tied to that.

  I glare at him, doing my best to look intimidating, despite the shivers crawling over my skin. “What’s your name?”

  He bows deeply, the motion even more sarcastic than his words. “My name is Lor. At your service, sweetheart.” He looks up and winks. “Any service.”

  “I’m not here to play games with you,” I growl.

  “Too bad.”

  “I want to know right now. What part are you playing in this? How do you know my Guardian’s killer? What did you have to gain from his death?” I gasp in air, suddenly out of breath.

  Lor tilts his head and stares at me for a long moment, his eyebrows raised in amusement. “You know,” he says, his voice softening to a tone that’s darkly patronizing. “Where I come from, it’s considered rather rude to come barging into someone’s prison cell and accuse them of murder. That’s usually done before the whole incarceration thing.”

  “Stop messing with me,” I snarl. “You know my Guardian’s murderer!”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  I clench my fist and take a trembling step toward him. “You look exactly like him. How could you not know who he is?”

  Lor’s face darkens, but he quickly replaces the expression with boredom. “You say he looks exactly like me?”

  “Yes.”

  Lor lets out a long sigh and nods curtly. “Well. Then that settles it.”

  My stomach does a leap. “What do
es it settle?”

  “You’re definitely looking for one of half-a-million people. Congratulations. Let me know when you find him.”

  “What?” I press a hand to my forehead and squeeze my eyes shut. “What do you mean? I know exactly what he looks like. He looks like…” I wave a hand at Lor. “How can half-a-million people look the same?”

  Lor shrugs, a smirk working its way onto his lips. “We’re Angels. We all look the same.”

  “That’s not true! I knew an Angel, and he looked nothing like you.”

  That dark expression flashes on his face, but this time, I barely see it before Lor replaces it. Then he laughs. “Sweetheart, I’m the only Angel on this continent, and I’m about to be put to death. Whoever you knew wasn’t an Angel. Maybe some type of demon. But not an Angel.”

  “He had wings. Just like y—” I trail off as I squint into the darkness. “You don’t have wings?”

  “I used to. But that’s another story.” He grins a crooked smile, one lip lifted slightly higher than the other, like this is somehow funny. “And there are plenty of other types of demons with wings. If he was an Angel, he’d have looked just like me.”

  I bite my lip and look away. I want to glare at him, put him in his place, but I can’t let him see my tears. He’s destroying my perfect, familiar image of Ashe. Destroying part of me.

  Lor tilts his head to the other side. “So, are you going to get me out of this hell-hole? Or are you going to leave?”

  “I’ll leave when I want.”

  He scoffs. “Then I’ll assume you’re not here to rescue me.”

  I shake my head. “No.” Lor would be worthless to me; he’d just be a look-alike reminder of Ashe’s killer.

  And I already live with enough painful reminders.

  Neither of us say anything for a long moment, until I let out a sigh. “I’ll be leaving now.”

  Lor smirks, the expression dark and angry. “Good luck finding your one-in-a-million man.”

  “I’ll find him.” I don’t know why I’m telling Lor this—someone who’s worthless, someone who’s about to die—but it feels necessary. “I will. And soon.”