Shadowborn

by Joseph DeVeau

  “Did you tell her?” Asher asked.

  “Most of it. Just to be sure, I left out the parts that touched on you and—“

  “No,” Asher said. “Not Aeryn; my mother.”

  “I did,” Merek said, matter-of-factly.

  “And?”

  “She’s pulling together everything she can.”

  Asher frowned. “She’s not a fighter. You really should have left her out of this all those years ago.”

  “She may not be a fighter in the way you are, but she is a fighter in her own right. And a bloody good one too,” Merek said. “You need to give her more credit. I would never have been able to keep all the Lords and Ladies from seeing the truth without her. Not to mention that Aeryn would still be on the street, in a cell, or in the ground, without her.”

  Asher nodded thoughtfully, then Drifted and slipped away silently.

  And so it begins, Merek thought, leaving in the opposite direction of his former son-in-law-to-be.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” Aeryn said the moment Merek finished talking, her face a deep crimson. “It seems like a pretty significant oversight that you have a bloody Shade working for you.”

  “With me,” Merek corrected.

  “With you. Whatever.” Aeryn flung up her hands, nearly overturning her glass of wine in the process. Normally she would not drink wine—up until recently she had only had a few sips of the stuff her entire life—but this conversation had been anything but normal. She had gulped down three glasses already. “He’s still a bloody Shade. Not to mention the fact that you promised to tell me everything, then promptly left this out.”

  “I said I would tell you ‘everything that involves you,’” Merek said. “There is a difference. I could not afford to place my contact in jeopardy until I was sure you were willing to see it through.”

  Aeryn sighed. “Ever since I crossed that damn wall it’s been one snooty, double-talking noble after another,” she said to herself, just loud enough that Merek could not help but overhear. He tilted his chin up just so. Fists clenched, she held back from knocking his chin up even further. Barely. “Well this involves me. End of story.”

  “You’re right, it does now.” Merek nodded as if leaving her in the dark this entire time had been no big deal. “So here’s what we were thinking—“

  “Who is ‘we?’” Aeryn demanded. “I think I deserve to know the name of this Shade that I’m trusting my life to.”

  “I don’t know how much you’ve heard, but my daughter—“

  “Bethany,” Aeryn said. “What does your long-dead daughter have to do with anything?”

  “Yes, Bethany,” Merek said, irritated at the interruption as if this was all somehow Aeryn’s fault. “She was engaged to be wed to a young man named Asher.”

  “And?”

  “That’s it. Asher is the Shade and my contact.”

  Aeryn’s jaw dropped. “Asher. As in Mareen’s son, Asher?”

  “Yes. “I see you do pay attention when it suits you.”

  Aeryn was pretty sure he added that last part just to annoy her. How hard was it to remember one name, especially when that name touched on what most Ladies she met considered the biggest tragedy—and opportunity, for some—of their lifetime: the brutal murder of one of Maerilin’s most powerful Lord’s and his family?

  “So Mareen knows? I thought you two hated each other?” Aeryn asked. In any case, Mareen certainly had it out for her.

  “No,” Merek said. “Just because we don’t always see eye-to-eye doesn’t mean we hate each other.” He chuckled. “Though I’ll be the first to admit there have been times when I wanted to give her a good throttling.”

  “What about her perpetual attempts to court you and make her house the strongest in the city?”

  Merek raised an eyebrow. “You heard all that from Alys, didn’t you?” Aeryn nodded that she did. “Figures. That bloody woman will be the death of me. Don’t let her fool you. Behind a body fit to make a god jealous beats an ice-cold heart that lusts after power to choke the most envious king and gold to sicken the most frugal banker.”

  “Yeah,” Aeryn said, “I’m beginning to figure that out.” She paused, thinking for a second before asking, “If what you say about Mareen is true, then why did she start that vile rumor about me being your Mistress? Why hang the incident with Jins and his gang in the Lord’s market over my head? She’s been blackmailing me from the very moment I met her.”

  “I don’t know about any incident in the Lord’s market,” Merek said, narrowing his eyes. “But I thought the one about you being my mistress was a singularly brilliant idea.”

  “You did? Why? It made me look the fool. I still look the fool,” Aeryn added sourly. “Half the Lords think they can bed me, the other half make comments about what they’ll do to me when they bed me, and all the Ladies wrinkle they brows whenever they look my way.”

  Evidently Lord Cedric’s comment in the sitting room had only been the tip of the iceberg. Annette had shared quite a number of stories with her the morning after the dinner party. There was something singularly horrifying at the idea of some of those stories coming out of the mouths of men three and four times Aeryn’s age.

  Merek laughed. “Think about it,” he said. “What better excuse could there be to allow a street urchin to be seen coming and going from a Lord’s house at will, and all without the slightest hint of suspicion?” Merek’s meaning began to dawn on Aeryn. He plowed on. “How else could I take you into my bed chamber and ‘teach you,’” Aeryn had a distinctly bitter taste in her mouth the way he said those two words, “what you needed to know, regardless of the time of day?” He smirked and held his arms wide. “It was something only a dirty old man could do.”

  Aeryn let the weight of his words sink in. It all made perfect sense now that she saw it from another angle. She opened her mouth to ask why he or Mareen had not told her before now. Like snuffing a candle, Merek grew somber and spoke first.

  “That is a conversation for another time,” he said. “As you know, the plan is, and always has been, to bring down none other than Nameless himself. Most people tend to rely solely on their strengths, building them up to such a degree that they completely forget about their weaknesses. That leaves them vulnerable. Kind of like how you took out those three cutthroats. Which by the way, you really need to be more careful about doing. I don’t mind you going off on your own—I’m sure they deserved it a hundred times over—but there was a trail of blood that led right up to my estate. If that Shade had been able to report back to the Voices about what he had found. . .”

  Aeryn sucked in a breath. It all made sense. Why Merek had only now told her about Asher, why the Shade had been there in the first place, who had killed him. . .

  Gods! In her careless haste to wipe Jins and his gang from the streets, she had nearly unraveled everything. It was not just her and Jynx anymore. She had to think about how her actions would affect others.

  “Good. I see you understand,” Merek said. “Now, as I was saying, clever people, however, hide their greatest weakness behind their greatest strength. With Asher on the inside, we have a fairly good idea of how they operate. The Shades are, for lack of a better term, nothing but privileged, elite soldiers, who get their orders and deliver their reports to the Voices. The Voices themselves are the officers, each in charge of a different aspect of Maerilin.”

  “But you said you don’t really know the hierarchy of the Voices. That they keep it a secret, even from the Shades,” Aeryn said. “And besides, what does this have to do with their strengths and weaknesses?”

  “I’m getting to that. To answer your first question: we don’t need to know their hierarchy. Knowing that they take orders directly from Nameless himself is enough. As for your second question: what greater weakness could there be than having a God as your general?”

  “What weaknesses? You said it yourself: ‘Nameless is a God.’”

  “Well for one, just imagine ho
w inattentive and indifferent you’d be with a thousand-year old God holding the reins and you but a flea along for a brief ride. Then imagine what would happen if you removed said God. . .” Merek grew animated. “Why, with the head cut off, the Voices and Shades would be thrown into chaos, leaderless. Even if they managed to hold themselves together, the blow to their morale, the thought their very God was dead, would be enough to send them running at the very sight of whoever accomplished the feat. It’s just a matter of time from then until they wither and die and Maerilin is free of their oppressive rule.”

  “That’s great and all,” Aeryn said, “but it still doesn’t remove the fact that everything hinges on us killing a God.”

  “That’s where you come in,” Merek said. “Nameless has to have a weakness; else he would not have an army of Voices, Shades and common soldiers all hidden behind giant walls and gates. Originally, we had planned for you to infiltrate their ranks as Asher had. With a Shade dying in my front lawn however, we decided it would be prudent to move as quickly as possible. That means that you will be. . .”

  Aeryn listened in rapt silence as Merek stuck her deeper into the roaring furnace. As if it was not enough for them to plan the downfall of a God that had ruled for so long his name had been forgotten to time—a thousand years come the spring anniversary—but Aeryn, a former street urchin, had to be the one to probe out Nameless’ weaknesses. It was pure, utter madness!

  Still, Aeryn admitted to herself a few hours later, walking through the noble’s market perusing items carefully laid out for display, stranger things have happened. Like her being called a Lady, wearing silk and trailed by a pair guards Merek had assigned to her as well as a porter ready to haul away her purchases.

  Okay, Aeryn corrected, leaning into survey a slab of raw meat that could feed a family of four for a week, perhaps they are not quite the same. She pulled back at a whiff of one of the corners going rancid. Cooking and spices would take care of it, but she was not planning to cook this meat.

  “Perhaps the Lady would be more interested in my brother’s wares?” the butcher asked, gesturing to the baker’s shop adjacent. “He makes the most delightful pastries; everything from cakes and crepes to chocolates and fudges. I’m sure you’d be happier at the smells over there than here with a nose over poor old Gill’s rack of meats,” he added with a self-effacing wave.

  Why did everyone always assume women, Ladies in particular, were weak, frivolous and needed to be coddled all the time? Aeryn ignored the butcher’s comment and moved down a foot to examine a set of steaks. Though much smaller than the slab, there were six of them, each pristine and beautifully marbled. More than once while living on the streets, she had ogled over the idea of feasting on a cut like this. Ironic that now she was buying them not for her, but for Jynx.

  With a start, she realized she had assigned all the strongest women she had known to that category. Emeline, the country healer, so old and frail at first glance, was hard as well-tempered steel, able to call down Gerald, a grizzled huntsman five times her size. Mareen, so soft and flabby on the outside, was sharper than a knife on the inside and every bit as crafty as a Master Woodworker.

  Most surprising of all had actually turned out to be Annette, her serving girl. Not only had Annette worked from before sunup to long after sundown each day of her life, but while doing so had managed to track all the ever-shifting alliances between the nobles, to keep abreast of, and steer clear of, their volatile moods, whims, plots, and schemes. Even if she was stiff-backed and too prim and proper for her own good. But Aeryn was working on that.

  “My Lady?” asked Gill the butcher.

  Aeryn looked up at the interruption. “What?”

  “Do you, ah,” Gill fidgeted, “have any questions?”

  Oh, right, the meat. “I’ll take these,” she said, pointing to the steaks.

  The butcher bobbed his head. Deftly wrapping one of them, handed it over, not to Aeryn, but to her porter standing just off to the side. “That’ll be—“

  “All of them,” Aeryn said.

  Gill raised his eyebrow, no doubt uncomfortable with a Lady purchasing something her cook would normally handle. Aeryn folded her arms and tapped her foot. He immediately jerked his head down and busied himself wrapping the others. Aeryn tried not to smile too broadly.

  “For all six, that be six gold,” Gill said.

  “Six?” the porter exclaimed. Both Aeryn and Gill turned to face the man whose face instantly flashed red. “Sorry, My Lady,” the porter said with a bow. “I did not mean to overstep my bounds.”

  Gill shrugged. “If I sell all my choice cuts to you, I’ll not have any for the next Lady that comes by.” He spread his arms wide as if to encompass the entire market. “I’ll lose business. I’m sure the Lady here understands.”

  “Oh I understand completely,” Aeryn said. “I’ll take that large slab there too. Cut up in a dozen pieces, mind you,” she added. When it had been wrapped and handed over as well, stacked from the porter’s hands to his chin, Aeryn pulled out her purse, which had once again been filled by Merek. She counted out six gold. “But for taking so much spoiling meat off your hands, I expect a certain, shall we say, ‘volume discount.’”

  “I couldn’t do better than twelve gold for the entire lot,” Gill said. How he managed to keep a straight face was beyond comprehension.

  “On second thought,” Aeryn said, turning her head towards the wafting smell of fresh-baked pastries and giggling as she imagined Alys would at one of Merek’s jokes, “perhaps I am in the wrong shop. Silly me. Porter, give the good butcher back his wares, we’ll be going—“

  “Ten gold,” the butcher said.

  “—next door to buy some pastries instead. Much better for my constitution,” Aeryn hoped she was using the word correctly; she had only ever read it in one of Merek’s books. “Don’t you think?” The porter smiled and began setting down the wrapped packaged.

  “Nine. That’s my final offer,” Gill said hastily.

  Aeryn raised an eyebrow. “Five.”

  “Eight,” Gill countered.

  “Seven,” Aeryn said, cutting to the point and lightening the butcher’s eyes, “and you run next door and pack up a box of your brothers’ best pastries.” She had to admit, they did smell good.

  As evident by the speed at which he took off, the butcher was clearly getting the better deal. Aeryn knew she would have to work on that. After all, being a copperless street urchin hardly honed one’s bartering skills.

  The butcher returned a minute later with a mouth-watering selection of still warm cupcakes and sweet rolls. Aeryn handed over Merek’s gold with a perverse sense of satisfaction. The only thing that soured it—aside from the fact that as a street urchin, she had lived her entire life on less coin than she had just spent in five minutes—was that a good portion would likely go as a tithe straight to the pockets of the very God she was working to dispose.

  Back out on the streets, flanked by her guards and a porter struggled to walk beneath the towering weight, Aeryn started to look for a way to escape. Having a small procession trailing her was hardly inconspicuous.

  She thought about tripping her porter and running, but her guards would simply give chase. She could Drift, then in the confusion, run off. That had the glaring problem of Drifting in broad daylight, with dozens of eyes on her. Perhaps she could—

  Aeryn bumped into the back of the porter, setting his tower of packages rocking. She lifted her head from her feet. “What is going on?”

  “Soldiers, my lady,” said one of her guards.

  “A Shade too,” finished the other.

  Heart thumping in her chest, Aeryn looked around. “Where?” They could not be there for her, could they? How had they found her out? Was Merek still alive? Mareen? Asher? Jynx?

  The crowd parted to the side. The sound of heavy footsteps hit her ears.

  “Back up, my lady,” said the guard, his arm stretched out before her.

  Aeryn was alre
ady moving as the first line of the knot of soldiers appeared. Perhaps they were just passing by. Perhaps they were not here for her. Perhaps they were looking for someone else. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Aeryn’s breathing quickened to match her heart.

  The porter took a step. The already-wobbling tower lost its top-most package. Eyes widening, he snapped a hand out o grab it. A second package fell as he replaced the first.

  The second soldier appeared, followed by the third, then the misty black form that was the Shade, centered in the armed and armored knot.

  The porter forgot about the fallen package and backpedaled to get out of the way. The too quick movement, coupled with a heavy tower that was even then falling forward, set him careening off balance. He crashed to the ground amid a waterfall of wrapped meats. He let out a shrill scream of pain as his arm snapped to the side.

  The soldiers that surrounded the partially Drifted Shade ground to a halt.

  “What is the meaning of this?” asked the lead soldier. “Who dares impede the righteous work of a Shade?”

  Aeryn could not make out the Shade’s eyes, Drifted as he was, but she could make out the lump that was his head turning, surveying the frozen crowd. The porter meanwhile had rolled to his back where he lay sucking in ragged breaths. Tears welled in his eyes. His right arm twisted crookedly to the side, the skin stretched taught over the bone.

  The Shade’s gaze passed over Aeryn. Had it lingered? Had he found her out?

  “Well?” the lead soldier barked.

  Aeryn jumped forward and bent at the porter’s side. She could not leave the poor man withering there in agony while everyone was too petrified to help.

  “Help me get him up,” she called back to her guards.

  The Shade’s head swiveled and locked onto to Aeryn’s. She felt her veins thrum. There was so much she still did not know about Drifting. Could the man see the ability in her? Would he realize she was an imposter, a street urchin wearing Lady’s clothing? Could he see that she was plotting to bring down Nameless, his God? She turned and surveyed the porter’s ruined arm, lest she stare defiantly back into those black voids.