The Wounded Shadow

by Patrick W. Carr

  I looked up to see Bishop Gehata moving toward us through the crowd, attended by a half-dozen cosp.

  “And it appears,” I finished.

  Chapter 29

  Bishop Gehata and his attendants came through the crowd, the assembled nobility parting for them like the waves coming off the prow of a ship. The bishop’s eyes flicked to Bolt before they resumed inspection of their intended target. Me.

  “This can’t be good,” I said.

  I tried to assume a relaxed pose, but the linen binding my wound kept me from taking a deep breath, and the strain of remaining upright made me sweat. Chances were the bishop wouldn’t be taken in by any stories of dalliance between Gael and me.

  At five paces, I copied the genuflections the rest of the nobility offered him, careful to match them exactly. When I straightened he stood before me, almost close enough to touch, but not quite.

  “Greetings, Lord Dura,” the bishop said. “Lord Rory. Lady Gael,” he nodded.

  “Bishop Gehata.” Gael curtsied with enough grace to make the movements of the cosp look awkward.

  The bishop turned a slow circle, catching the eye of the nobles leaning in around us. “I wonder, Lord Dura,” he said without looking my way, “if I might have a word with you—privately, of course.”

  The nobles around us melted away, each finding some reason to be engaged elsewhere. I recognized the expressions they wore—fear, followed by relief—had seen them any number of times in Bunard when Duke Orlan or his wife threatened me.

  The bishop’s guards encircled us, ostensibly to ensure our privacy in the middle of the throne room, but the space between my shoulder blades started to itch. On the dais, Bolt watched us as he observed court, trapped there by a line of nobles claiming to hold the gift of kings. With the queen’s death, Gehata held temporal power in Cynestol, and Errant or no, throne room or not, everyone else submitted to him.

  “To what do we owe the honor and pleasure?” Gael said, sliding her arm through mine, a motion that might have been intended to convey protection.

  The bishop smiled. “The Archbishop is too ill to attend court. He sends his regrets.”

  I kept myself from gaping while my heart struggled to free itself from my chest. “The Archbishop is ill? Is it serious?”

  Gehata tempered his ever-present smirk. “The Archbishop is old. Every illness is serious.” He surveyed the throne room. Most of the nobility shied from his gaze. “How goes the search for the heir?”

  Around us, the cosp tightened their ring, edging closer.

  If I’d noticed it, Gael couldn’t have possibly missed it, but she kept her gaze on Gehata. “I wouldn’t know, Your Eminence.” She nodded toward the dais. “I will be happy to ask Errant Consto, if you wish.” Her arm loosened in mine, but instead of moving away, she shifted her weight to the balls of her feet. No one inside the circle of the bishop’s guards could possibly have misinterpreted her stance.

  “Hardly necessary,” the bishop said. He turned to survey the nobles with amused disdain. “It’s doubtful in the extreme he will find the heir here. If one of the nobles present held the gift of kings, I’m sure they would have presented themselves before now. Few of them realize that the last Errant is not the sort of man whose favor can be purchased with a few blandishments and empty promises. They lack the character to comprehend men of absolutes.” His gaze landed on me. “Do you know the liturgy, Lord Dura?”

  I nodded. “I was one week from taking my orders when the call from my king came to muster for war,” I said. “Once I’d spilled blood, the priesthood was denied me.”

  Gehata shook his head, his smile of condescension plain. “You’ve been misinformed, Lord Dura. There is no proscription against a man joining the priesthood if he’s spilled blood.”

  I gave the bishop as direct a look as I dared. “Oh, I don’t doubt the priesthood has its share of murderers.” I paused until the bishop’s eyes widened at my affront before I continued. “It was the burden in my heart at killing, Eminence, that kept me from the priesthood. I felt unclean.”

  He nodded in pretend sympathy, forced from my insult by the frank admission. “It doesn’t sound as though you were entering the Absold, Lord Dura.

  “No. I never desired any order but the Merum.”

  “So you do know the liturgy,” he pressed.

  I bowed my head in admission. “I’m more than passingly familiar with it.”

  He smiled, but his eyes held all the glittering malice of a viper. “Then you’ve heard it said not to seek the living among the dead.”

  I nodded.

  He stepped closer, almost close enough for me to touch. “The opposite advice could prove wise as well.”

  I turned the proverb over in my mind, but shook my head, feigning ignorance in case I was mistaken. “Your Eminence?”

  All expression fell from his face. “Don’t seek the dead.”

  The bishop’s gaze darted over my left shoulder for the barest fraction of an instant before he plastered his smile back on his face. “Where are my manners?” he said. “I haven’t introduced you to my cohort.” He nodded toward the man on his right. “This is Lord Forwaithe.”

  We exchanged handshakes and I felt the strength of his grip through my glove, grinding my knuckles into butter.

  “And this is his betrothed,” the bishop said with a dip of his head. “Lady Mirren.”

  She extended her hand toward me, her long delicate fingers reaching. A weight hit me from the side, not hard enough to knock me down, but I was propelled away from the bishop and through his ring of guards.

  “Begging your pardon, Eminence,” Rory called as he pushed me toward the dais and Bolt, “but Errant Consto demands Lord Dura’s immediate presence.” Without waiting for a reply, the scrawny little thief pushed me toward my guard so hard I almost fell. Gael had no choice but to follow.

  “When we get to the dais,” Rory muttered in my ear, “talk to Bolt as if you’re being reprimanded.”

  “What?” I asked. “Why?”

  “Brilliant, yah?” Rory hissed. “I’ll explain later.”

  I gave up on trying to resist and instead walked ahead of Rory fast enough to keep him from shoving me. More than a few nobles were laughing at the sight of a skinny adolescent pushing a grown man around. Stopping to insist he explain wouldn’t have helped much.

  We joined Bolt on the dais, where he sat listening to the petition of a woman clothed in a revealing orange dress. She looked like a half-peeled piece of fruit. I kept my gaze in place, just.

  “Lord Dura,” Bolt said, “may I present the most recent supplicant to the throne of Cynestol? This is Duchess Naranha.”

  I reached out to take the proffered hand as Rory slid into view over the Duchess’s shoulder, his gaze intent on mine. A moment later I fell through Naranha’s light brown-eyed gaze and into her thoughts. Reaching into the stream of memories, I lived the most recent parts of her life, tracing each event back in time until just before Queen Chora had been murdered. Other than a divorce and marriage within the last week, neither of which created memories of strong color, nothing in her mind suggested the duchess had come into the gift of kings.

  “It’s my honor to meet you, Duchess Naranha,” I said after I let go of her hand.

  “The pleasure is mine,” the duchess said. Turning to Bolt, she nodded. “I trust you will do what is best for Aille, Errant Consto.”

  “No matter the cost,” Bolt said. The edge to his voice caught the duchess’s attention for a moment, but when he didn’t bother to elaborate, she turned on one heel and rejoined the crowd.

  “Boy,” Bolt said to Rory in a voice that sounded like rocks breaking. “What in the name of all that’s holy would make you show your backside to Bishop Gehata? You’ve just made a very powerful enemy.”

  Rory leaned in to whisper his answer, his hands cupped on both sides of his mouth.

  “Can you hear them?” I asked Gael.

  “No.” She shook her head. “I thi
nk that’s the point.”

  Bolt’s squint, his usual expression, departed for a moment before I saw him force it back into place.

  “Kreppa,” he whispered. He stood to address the rest of the court. “Friends, I hope you’ll excuse me until this evening. There are matters I must attend to.”

  Instead of leaving by the main entrance, he guided us out the back, through the kitchens, taking turns at random in the hallways beyond until we found our way to the outer wall. We circled around, back to our quarters. By the time we got there, spots of fatigue danced in front of my eyes. Once we were inside, I collapsed into a chair as Bolt threw the bar on the door.

  “Here, Willet,” Gael said handing me a glass of wine and a waterskin. “You need a drink. The loss of blood is making you weak.”

  “Among other reasons.” I looked at Bolt and Rory. “Things are worse than I know, aren’t they?”

  They both nodded.

  “The Archbishop isn’t just sick,” Bolt said. “Rory overheard Gehata speaking to someone before he headed to you. Vyne had a stroke, and he’s not waking up.”

  I held out the empty wine glass to Gael. “I think I’m going to need a refill. I can tell by the way they’re looking at me that there’s more.”

  “Tell him,” Bolt said to Rory.

  “When Gehata came into court, he had six of the cosp with him.”

  “I noticed,” I said. “It was kind of hard to miss since the bishop seemed intent on letting everyone know he could ring me with steel if he wanted.” I shook my head. “Bullies are the same everywhere.”

  “I don’t think that was why he did that,” Rory said. “One of them wasn’t right.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Only five of those guards were physically gifted,” Rory said. “The one standing to your left was just an ordinary woman. I could tell by the way she moved.”

  “Lady Mirren?”

  “Yah. Twice, when the guards closed in, she came within a hair’s breadth of touching you. Then, when the bishop introduced her, you were wearing your gloves, but she extended her fingers so that she would have touched your skin.”

  I replayed the scene in my mind, as closely and exactly as my memory would allow. “Did you see her touch anyone else?”

  Rory nodded. “When the servant brought Gehata wine, she made a point of sipping from his glass before giving it to him. She made sure to touch the servant.”

  “Nobody suspects foul play so quickly as the guilty,” Bolt muttered.

  “That’s why you were watching me delving Duchess Naranha,” I said.

  Rory nodded. “You’re better at it than she is, but whenever you delve someone the blacks of your eyes get bigger for an instant. Mirren’s eyes got bigger than yours when she touched the servant.”

  I took a deep breath. “Do we have any way of getting word to Pellin or Toria Deel?”

  Bolt shook his head. “Not without a scrying stone, and the Archbishop surrendered his.”

  I tried not to get angry, again, that the Chief of Servants had kept her scrying stone at Pellin’s behest instead of surrendering it to me. I failed. Now, their suspicion had put us in danger. “Maybe there’s another way,” I said. “What about Chora’s? If we can get to her stone, we might be able to get word to the rest of the Vigil.”

  He sighed. “We can ask the chamberlain. He should have it safe-guarded, but that will only put us in touch with the other monarchs.”

  “We need to contact them anyway,” I said. “The threat of the dwimor against the monarchs is real, even if that’s not exactly what happened here.”

  “How can you be certain?” Rory asked.

  “Fair question,” I nodded. “And I wasn’t until tonight. The bishop favored me with a twisted quote from the liturgy to threaten me, something along the lines of ‘Why seek the living among the dead.’ That, coupled with the soldiers guarding the queen’s body, paints a picture.”

  “So there never was a dwimor?”

  I shook my head. “No, I think there was, but I think it was spotted, perhaps killed. Then I think Gehata used the presence of the dwimor as a cover to kill Chora. Knowing Vyne’s health was failing, the opportunity to take control of the Merum church and Aille was probably irresistible.” I shrugged. “It’s a theory anyway.”

  “What do you want us to do, Willet?” Bolt asked.

  I checked his expression for signs of sarcasm, but he seemed in earnest. “Me? You’re the last Errant.”

  “But I don’t hold the gift of domere. You do. Whoever Lady Mirren really is, she holds the gift—Laewan’s or Jorgen’s. This takes precedence over the search for the heir, and she’s your responsibility. You have to train her.” He shook his head at the look on my face. “There’s no one else.”

  “You’re assuming we can get to her,” I said. “If you think Gehata is guarding Chora’s body closely, what’s he going to do with someone who can see into the mind of his enemies?”

  My guard shrugged. “I didn’t say it would be easy.”

  “Easy?!” My voice scaled up an octave. “It’s going to be difficult enough to make getting to Chora look like a child’s game in comparison. We were too late to keep Cesla from killing Queen Chora—so that’s off the table. Our most important priority is to find the heir.” I stopped without bothering to say I still didn’t know why Cesla had wanted to kill the queen. Her death wouldn’t guarantee a fight for the throne or a disruption in the fight for the Darkwater.

  “Has he always been like this?” Bolt asked Gael.

  She smiled. “Perhaps you should ask Rory. I’ve only known him for a little over a year.”

  Rory took the exchange literally. “No. He used to be a lot calmer before he got involved with the Vigil, yah?”

  “You all know I’m standing right here, don’t you?” I said. But Bolt was right. It didn’t matter that we already had one impossible task on our plate. Now that I’d had the chance to think about it, we had to bring Mirren into the Vigil. “Do you think Bishop Gehata is still in the throne room?”

  “Doubtful,” Bolt said. “‘Once you’ve won the battle it’s time to quit the field.’”

  It wasn’t one of his best. “Rory, I want you to follow the bishop and Lady Mirren. See where they go.”

  “No,” Bolt said. “He’s your guard against the dwimor, or do I need to remind you that I can’t see them?”

  I spread my hands. “You just told me I have to bring her in. How did you think we were going to find out where Gehata is keeping her? Our resources here are pretty limited.”

  I was happy to see him look at me in disgust. That’s how I knew I’d won the argument. “Go,” he said to Rory. “No unnecessary risks.”

  “Me?” Rory asked.

  “You. This time use my definition of risk, not yours.”

  The little thief slipped out of the room, careful to close the door behind him.

  Chapter 30

  Bolt sighed. “The nobles will be expecting us back in the throne room for the evening meal.” He looked at Gael. “You’ll have to lead the way. With Rory gone, you have a better chance of spotting an assassin than Willet or I.”

  Rory gone. Those two words made me feel naked and I almost laughed out loud at the insanity of a world where I depended on the eyes and knives of an erstwhile thief for safety. I looked at Bolt and Gael. “We need an ally.”

  My guard snorted. “An ally?” he asked. “As in only one?”

  I nodded. “If he’s the right one, that’s all we’ll need.”

  Bolt pointed at my face. “You’ve got that look again, the one that says you’re considering something foolish.” He turned to Gael. “One of the reasons I agreed to let you help me guard him was because I thought you’d be able to curb impulses like this. You’re a disappointment. Aer have mercy, these ideas of his make my stomach hurt.”

  Gael smiled and lifted one eyebrow. “You thought that? I’m a woman, not a miracle worker.”

  “You haven’t even heard
my idea yet,” I said.

  “I don’t have to hear it,” he shot back. “You’ve got that look on your face that says you’re about to take a very large risk and you’ll want our help with it.”

  “If he’s going to do it,” Gael said, “it’s probably better for you to know what ‘it’ is.”

  “What are the odds Rory is going to track Mirren right back to the cathedral?” I asked.

  Bolt shrugged. “Better than half.”

  “To put it conservatively,” I added. “And once he gets there, that’s all he’ll learn. All we’ll know is that Gehata has her somewhere under his thumb and so well-guarded we won’t be able to get anywhere near her.”

  Bolt nodded, his gaze speculative. “All true. You still haven’t gotten to the part that’s going to give me the flux.”

  “We need someone who can walk the halls, all of the halls, of the cathedral with impunity.” I ignored the look on Bolt’s face. “That gives us two choices,” I said. “Bishop Serius or Lieutenant Hradian.”

  “Serius,” Gael said. “He practically worships the last Errant.”

  “He might already know where Mirren is kept,” I said, rubbing my chin. “All we would have to do is get her out.”

  Bolt looked at me with disgust. “When you rub your chin like that it creates the illusion you’ve thought this through. Gehata knows Mirren holds the gift of domere, and he probably learned that from Archbishop Vyne.” He pointed one of his stubby fingers at my chest. “That makes it a pretty safe roll of the bones that he knows you hold the gift as well.” He shook his head. “If we were smart we’d leave Cynestol and let Gehata rule.”

  “You jest,” Gael said.

  My guard shook his head. “The history of the north covers a long and lurid day, girl. A bad person doesn’t necessarily make a bad king just like a good person won’t necessarily make a good one.” He looked at me. “None of those people in the throne room hold the gift of kings. Court has become a waste of time.”