Counting Shadows (Duplicity)

by Olivia Rivers

“And you have his tattoo.” I keep speaking to stop the pressure behind my eyes. I can’t cry, not twice in one day. “You have his exact tattoo. He had the same flames tattooed on his back and shoulder.”

  “You’re upset,” Lor says slowly.

  I scoff and turn away. “Of course I’m upset. I’m talking about my dead friend to you.” I gesture to him. “Some filthy prisoner who lied to me.”

  “If you’re upset, then you’re sincere,” Lor continues. “I think you’re telling the truth, Faye. You really had a friend with my tattoo.”

  I glare at him. “What’s your point?”

  “I’m not sure yet,” Lor says. “But I’m relatively sure about one thing.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Your friend was Prince Jaylor, and heir to the Angel Throne.” A small smile spreads across Lor’s lips. “And he was my twin.”

  SIXTEEN

  I laugh.

  This is what I get? I say Ashe’s name, break my promise, and expose my feelings. And this is what I get in return? Some delusional claim from an equally delusional prisoner?

  Lor stares at me, and it hurts. I’m not sure if it’s his gaze or the laughter that’s causing the pain. Maybe both; everything hurts at this point. He looks at me in the eyes again, with that disconcerting way he has. I wonder how a crazy man can have such a penetrating gaze.

  “My brother had a scar,” Lor says quietly. “Just above his left eyebrow. It looked like a tiny fishhook. I used to tease him about it and say he was destined to the greatest fisherman ever, while I was destined to be the greatest Angel King.” He shakes his head. “I guess neither of us turned out great.”

  My laughter cuts off. Lor is right in front of me, but all I see is Ashe’s face. His delicate features, his thin lips and dark hair. And his eyes, so black they’re fathomless. Above his left eye is the distinctive scar Lor speaks of: a tiny, jagged fishhook that is even paler than the rest of his skin.

  “You knew him,” I whisper. “You knew Ashe.”

  Lor simply nods.

  My legs weaken. I stumble toward my dresser and lean against it, allowing my knees to wobble and nearly give out. My heart pounds, and I don’t even try to calm it.

  “My brother was stolen away when he was twelve,” Lor says. “Someone wanted his powers. They were stupid enough to think Jay would actually give away his ability.”

  “That was his name?” My mind is whirling too fast to even try to absorb his other words. “Jay was his real name?”

  “No, that was just what most people called him. His real name was Jaylor, the same as mine. We were twins, so we were given the same name. It’s a custom in our lands. And it’s a confusing one, so to make things easier, I took the last half of the name, and Jay took the first.”

  Even as he speaks, I think of the first time Ashe met my twin cousins. When I’d introduced them, he’d peered at them curiously, and then whispered to me, “They have different names. Are they disgraced?” Only he’d whispered a little too loudly, and I had been forced to drag Ashe away from my cousins’ Guardians before they pummeled him.

  Ashe had expected them to have the same name. Probably because some part of his memory, a part he didn’t even realize was there, remembered that he shared the same name with his twin. The twin that now was right in front of me, still giving me that disconcerting stare.

  Lor’s other words slowly filter into my mind, and I bite my lip as I absorb them. “You say Ashe had an ability. Would it be enough of a motive for someone to want him dead?”

  Lor cocks his head to the side as he considers my question. It’s a habit Ashe used to also have, and I wonder if Lor remembers that. His gaze evaluates me, and I straighten a little, urging my wobbling knees to work again.

  “His ability wouldn’t cause motive,” Lor says slowly. “It’d cause obsession. Enough for entire countries to want him dead.”

  “Why?” It’s the only reasonable question I can think of.

  Lor’s face darkens, like it did when I questioned him in the prison, and he shakes his head. “I don’t think I should tell you that.”

  “What? But I have to know. I deserve to know. Ashe was my friend. He was my… everything.”

  I look down, afraid to meet Lor’s gaze. I shouldn’t have let the truth slip out like that. It makes me sound weak, helpless… empty.

  “Yeah,” Lor says softly. “I get it. He was everything to me, too.”

  I slowly look up. “You were close?”

  “We were twins in every sense of the word. I thought I was going to die when he disappeared.” He looks away and grits his jaw. “And I think part of me did.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Jay got the worst of it. Be sorry for him.”

  “I am.”

  Lor sighs and looks to the ceiling. “Yeah, I can tell. You’re hurting. Looking in your eyes is like looking in a mirror. You’re in as much pain as I am.”

  “So… You still hurt?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever stop. But I’ve learned to function without him.” He presses a hand to his forehead and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this. I hardly know you.”

  “But we both knew Ashe.”

  He smiles a little, the expression soft. “Yeah, we did. I guess that makes us similar, in a way.” He suddenly frowns. “Why… Why didn’t Jay ever talk about me?”

  “He didn’t remember you,” I say, making my tone as gentle as I can. “His memory was wiped by some sort of magic. He couldn’t help it.”

  Lor’s expression tumbles into one of grief, but then he shakes his head and grits his jaw. “At least he had someone.” He nods his head to me. “I guess that’s good.”

  I nibble at my lip and then say, “Then tell me about Ashe. Everything.”

  Lor raises an eyebrow at me. “You’re going to insist on calling him Ashe? Even though that isn’t his real name?”

  “Yes.”

  Lor says nothing, and there’s a pause. I count my heartbeats, which have slowed in the past few minutes. One, two, three…

  I take a deep breath and add, “He’ll always be my Ashe.”

  “And he’ll always be Jay to me,” Lor murmurs.

  “So are you going to tell me about him?”

  “Maybe. But not tonight.” He leans further back in the pillows. “Right now, I say we change the subject.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but Lor points to the wounds on his chest. “The injured guy gets to pick the subject.”

  “Since when?” I demand.

  “Since now. And I’m saying we change the subject to resting. In other words, you stop asking questions, leave, and let me sleep.”

  My mouth drops open just a little, but Lor’s eyes are already closed.

  “Promise me you’ll tell me more about Ashe tomorrow,” I plead.

  “Angels don’t make promises.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Once we make a promise, we have to go through with it, no matter what happens. If we don’t, we die.”

  My gut clenches as I think of Ashe’s one and only promise to me. Had he known the significance of it? Had he known he was putting himself in danger when he swore everything would be okay? Probably not. But I can’t help but to think that Ashe still would have promised, even if he knew.

  “You’re on my bed,” I say quietly, hoping Lor will move.

  “I’m a prince, sweetheart,” he replies, as if this is an excuse for everything.

  I sigh, knowing that I’ll be sleeping in the spare room tonight.

  “Fine,” I mutter. “Sleep here, if you really have to. But on one condition.”

  “What’s that, sweetheart?” he mumbles.

  “Take a bath tomorrow. You smell like a pig sty.”

  He chuckles, although the sound is groggy and cuts off short. “I usually don’t work with ‘conditions’, but I’ll accept yours. On one condition of mine.”

  I open my mouth to tell him to shut up and go t
o sleep, but he interrupts me.

  “You should also take a bath tomorrow, sweetheart. You smell like fear.”

  SEVENTEEN

  I stare at the ceiling of my guest room, counting the stone blocks. I reach twenty-eight—an even number, a good number—when Lor’s words echo through my head again.

  ‘You smell like fear.’

  Twenty-nine. Thirty. Thirty-one…

  I continue counting the stones, but my mind drifts away from the easy task. I wish I had something more difficult to do, something other than lying in an unfamiliar bed and counting stones. Something that would distract me.

  But I have no distraction, and all I can do is grit my jaw while my mind examines Lor’s words. No, it doesn’t examine them—it dissects them, tearing each syllable apart, slicing into each word in search of meaning. But no matter how I look at them, I keep coming to the same conclusion: Lor thinks I’m afraid.

  And I am.

  Lor has led me one step closer to avenging Ashe. I’ll find his murderer soon, no matter what Lor says, and I’ll kill him.

  So what will I do after that? I won’t inherit the throne; I’ll have the taskless job of ‘princess’ my entire life. I know that my current Guardian is only temporary; Lor will eventually find some way to escape from here. And I won’t have a husband. Ever.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering what I’d admitted to Lor: “He was my… everything.”

  My life will be meaningless once I kill Ashe’s murderer. It may as well be over.

  And that scares me.

  EIGHTEEN

  I wake the next morning to a knock at my bedroom door. My heart pounds and I take in a deep gasp. No one should be in my chambers, not this early. But then I see the light pouring in through the windows, and I realize that it’s not early at all. It’s at least midmorning.

  I drag myself from the bed and yelp as I fall to the floor. My bed is shorter than usual. Then I blink a few times, clearing my mind, and realize that my bed’s height hasn’t changed. I’m just in a different bed that usual.

  That’s right. Lor stole mine last night.

  I straighten my nightgown and answer the door. Lor stands there, although it’s a different Lor than the one I encountered last night. This one doesn’t stumble or collapse at my feet; he stands proudly, shoulders straight, chin tilted up. His jaw is gritted, and he rubs at vambrace around his wrist. The skin around it is already raw.

  He nods toward the main door of my chambers, which stands behind him down a short hallway. “Someone keeps knocking at that door.”

  I peer around him, which is a bit of a task. Lor has a brawny build, and the dungeon has failed to strip all his muscle from him. It strikes me again how easily he could crush me, how quickly he could kill me, and how I could do nothing about it. But somehow I’m not scared of him.

  “Do you know who it is?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “Then go see,” I say. “I can’t answer in my nightgown.”

  He raises an eyebrow and gestures to his shirtless chest. “So it’s better for me to answer half-naked and reeking like a ‘pig sty’?” His voice turns sarcastic as he says those last words, and I know he’s mocking my previous comment.

  I shove past him, not even bothering to give a response. I’m not in the mood for an argument or a comeback. When I reach the door, I yank it open and put on my best I’m-having-a-bad-morning-don’t-you-dare-piss-me-off glare. I’m sure my rumpled nightgown and hair completes the picture of a very sleep-deprived, very angry, and very un-presentable princess.

  I want to hit something.

  But I resist the urge and try to focus my bleary eyes on the person in front of me. It’s Farren, looking just as perfect as ever. His tunic is ironed, his shoulders straight, and his crown balanced on top of his neatly combed hair. The only non-perfect thing about him is the frown on his face.

  “So I hear you’ve gone insane,” he says in a deadpan voice, not even bothering with a greeting.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Farren barges past me, into my chambers. He stops right where Ashe’s blood once dripped onto the floor. “Cut the bull, Faye. You know what I’m talking about. Choosing an Angel as a Guardian? What were you thinking?”

  I shrug. “It seemed like the best choice at the time.”

  “Why? What would possess you to Choose an Angel? I know you’re just trying to spite Father, but don’t you realize this will be my problem in a few months? As soon as I inherit the throne, this all falls on me. I’ll be the king with the unstable sister. I’ll be the one blamed for your antics. And you’ll be in danger from your own Guardian!”

  “I wouldn’t hurt her.”

  Farren whirls toward Lor, who stands in the hallway. An awkward silence takes over the conversation.

  “This isn’t about spite,” I mumble lamely.

  Farren takes in Lor, his eyes concerned. Then his gaze lands on Lor’s shoulders, and there’s a loud snap as Farren’s jaw clamps together. He inhales sharply through his nose. “Faye,” he growls. “This Angel has the same tattoo as Ashe.”

  “My name is Lor,” Lor says. “Not ‘this Angel’.”

  I shoot Lor a warning glance with a clear message: Now isn’t the time.

  Farren scoffs. “Is this why you picked him as your Guardian? Because he reminds you of the past you refuse to forget?”

  I glare at the stone floor. “I couldn’t forget Ashe if I wanted to.”

  “So then you admit it. This Angel—”

  “I said my name is Lor,” Lor repeats, this time his tone a little closer to a growl.

  Farren pins him with a glare. “This Angel is just another part of your obsession with the past.”

  “I’m Jay’s brother,” Lor offers.

  Farren narrows his eyes. “Whose brother?”

  “Ashe,” I say. “His real name was Jay.”

  Farren laughs, although the sound is far from amused. “So that’s what this is all about. You can’t move on from Ashe, so now you’re going to obsess over his brother.”

  “I never—”

  “You promised,” Farren hissed. “You swore you’d Choose one of the men Father wanted you to. You said you were going to forget the past and move on.”

  I look to the ground. Lor shuffles his feet. Farren breathes like a horse after a hunt.

  Then my twin scoffs and shakes his head. “This is ridiculous. Why am I even arguing with you? You’re hopeless, Faye. Totally hopeless.”

  I grit my teeth. “I think you should leave, Farren.”

  He laughs again, the sound cutting into me. “Yeah, I bet you do. You’ve completely lost your mind, haven’t you? You want me to just leave you alone with an Angel.”

  I can’t meet his gaze. Instead, I stare at Lor’s tattoo. It’s worth it, I tell myself. It’s worth anything to find Ashe’s killer.

  “I really think you need to leave,” I whisper.

  “You already told me that.” He stomps toward me, only stopping when he’s barely a foot in front of me. “Here,” he snaps, reaching into a pocket and pulling an envelope out. “This came for you. More intelligence about Ashe’s killer, I’m sure.” He presses the envelope into my hand and sneers at me. “You’re losing your touch, Faye. Don’t you know that legitimate messengers attract attention?”

  “What…?” I can’t think of anything to say. I didn’t order any intelligence, and certainly not from a noticeable messenger.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. The rider who came galloping up to the castle today, riding like he had wolves on his tail? What did you do to scare him like that?”

  “I didn’t do anything.” I tap the envelope. “This isn’t—”

  “Don’t try to fool me.” He strides toward the door, his jaw and fists clenched.

  “Farren, wait!”

  He whirls around. “I thought you wanted me to leave?”

  “Just…” I bite my lip and trail off.

 
He points a finger at me. “Let me get this straight, Faye. You’re my sister, and I love you. I care about you. But you obviously don’t want my care. And until that changes, I’m not going to waste my energy on you. So either drop this revenge ploy, or don’t expect to see me anymore.”

  I take a shuddering breath and stare at the spot on the ground where Ashe’s blood once covered the stone blocks. His lie echos in my mind: ‘Everything is going to be okay…’

  If only he were still alive. He’d know how to handle this. He’d tell me what to do.

  I point to the door, not daring to meet Farren’s eyes. “Just go.”

  NINETEEN

  I light a fire when I get back to my room. The mirror next to my wardrobe reflects the flames, and I stare into the glass for a long time, silently hoping Blaize will reappear. As much as I don’t want to see him again, he’d be a welcome distraction from the envelope fisted in my hand.

  When Blaize doesn’t show, I walk over to my windows and pull the curtains over them, leaving the room sealed in darkness. The fire casts ghostly shadows on the walls, and I stare down at the envelope, wondering what’s inside. Nothing good, that’s for sure. But nothing seems to be good in my life at the moment, so that’s not much of a surprise. Before I can stop myself, I tear open the top more roughly than I have to, and yank out the letter. The message is simple:

  ‘Choose soon. Your country doesn’t have much time left. The invasion will come soon.

  Should you do nothing, your regret will likely kill you.’

  There’s no signature, but it’s not like I need one. Blaize. He sent this.

  I collapse onto my bed and bury my face in a pillow. I want out of this. Out of this situation, this decision, this life. Maybe Farren was right; maybe I am crazy for getting myself into this.

  I shake my head, and my hair falls around my face. I want to stay like this forever, hidden from sight, concealed from the crazy world outside. But I still have a choice to make. Kill Father, or let my country be captured. Either way, people will suffer. Giving the country over to Shale means thousands of people forced into slavery and battle. But a war against Shale could result in just as many Irradorian casualties—or more.