Shadow

by Jenny Moss

  This would not be welcome news to Fyren. Lord Callus was an influential member of the nobility. His castle was not far from us, just to the north. He was an irascible old man, firmly stuck in the past, people said, but with many followers amongst those who longed for the days of King Alfrid. Now that I thought about it, he and ancient Eldred were well-suited as allies.

  “I know that, Eldred,” Fyren said with a meaningful look.

  The adviser’s eyes flickered in Lord Oswald’s direction. “Your spy lagged behind. You should replace him with one not so inept.”

  Lord Oswald began to stand, his mouth open, his hand to his dagger, but Fyren gestured for him to sit. The young lord had a violent temper. His immaturity made me smile. He caught it and glared at me, his hand still on his knife, squeezing it. Did he think I was afraid of him? I glared right back until his face splotched red.

  I saw Fyren looking at me and smiling. But then his mouth grew thin and angry. He turned his attention back to Eldred. “What business did you have with Lord Callus?”

  “Two old friends visiting, Regent. That was all.”

  “No news of Erce?” Fyren asked.

  I looked at him, puzzled. Erce. I’d not heard the name before.

  Eldred paused, clearly startled. But then the emotion left his face. “I have not heard any.”

  Fyren waved his hand dismissively, not even looking Eldred’s way. The old man gave him a quick nod. I followed him out.

  I glanced back at Fyren. His eyes were fixed on us. I wondered what their conversation meant. And I wondered what the regent would ask of me now that he had had me released.

  Halfway up the stairs, Eldred turned and stared coldly at me. “You are filthy.”

  “I have been in the dungeon.”

  “She won’t let you in her chamber smelling as you do. And there is a banquet tonight.”

  I smiled. I would get a bath.

  Chapter Seven

  Eldred had allowed them to sit side by side. His eyes were on them as he drank from the wooden goblet he always used, the one with the E carved on the side. Awful man, I thought. He’d dangled the hope of a hot bath in front of me, and then had given me a rag and a bowl of cold dirty water. I had done my best, but dungeon grime still clung to my skin.

  Queen Audrey flicked her long lashes at Sir Kenway and let out a shallow laugh. She was not herself.

  Another dark vision had visited her, while she was being dressed by her ladies. I had seen the look. Ingrid had, too, for she reprimanded me with her eyes when she saw me watching the queen. The servants gossiped that the queen was cursed and the curse would fulfill the prophecy by destroying her mind.

  “What are you staring at?” whispered Piers, elbowing me in the ribs.

  He and I sat behind them, cross-legged on the floor, with a splintery board balanced on our knees. We shared a stale bread trencher, which on this night held a sweet chicken and rice paste. But I could eat little. I breathed in the stink of the many tallow candles and the tension in the air. No matter, Piers was ravenous.

  Although we were on the queen’s raised dais, we could see little on the lower floor. Too many feet and skirts in our way. But I didn’t need to see the faces of the fifty lords and ladies gathered here to know the mood. Only whispers and black smoke drifted up into the vaulted ceiling of the great hall.

  “You’re always looking at them,” he said, nodding toward the queen and her knight. Gripping his wooden spoon as if it might be snatched from him, he shoveled a large helping of the chicken into his mouth.

  “And Eldred is always looking at me,” I told him, pushing the trencher toward him. I fought the urge to lean forward and pinch Queen Audrey’s long white neck to see what Eldred might do. My eager fingers twitched.

  Eldred had told me to watch over the queen, always. Was evil lurking near her person? Was someone by her soup with a vial of poison? Did I see a blade drawn close to her? Ridiculous.

  He had pulled me aside before the banquet. “No one notices you, Shadow.”

  How many times had he said that to me?

  Sensing my insolence, I was sure, he became impatient. “Except when you make yourself known,” he said. “As you did when you were imprisoned. You should be at Her Majesty’s side.”

  As if that were my fault.

  “Be invisible,” he snapped. I had never seen him so agitated.

  It was because we moved closer to the day. The queen’s birthday. If she was murdered, would I be blamed for not protecting her or even for being complicit in the plot?

  Fyren stood, his long cape touching the floor. His vanity sought fashionable clothes, which he wore well.

  The lady Fay sat in one of the coveted seats next to Fyren. I would not forget she was the one who had told the queen to put me in the dungeon. Fay’s father, Lord Westing, lived in a small manor house on the eastern coast. He’d been quite fortunate to place his wily country daughter as one of the queen’s ladies.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her looking at Fyren with undisguised longing. That explained some things. Turning slightly, Fay gave me a sharp look. I returned her gaze.

  Fyren lifted his gold goblet, and everyone did the same. Piers pushed ours my way, but I left it on the board.

  “Let us remember our…great King Alfrid, and this day, the anniversary of his marriage to…sweet Queen Anne.”

  I delighted in the look of irritation that crossed Eldred’s wrinkled face. Fyren’s speech dripped with sarcasm. Only he would dispute that King Alfrid had been a great king, but no one remembered Queen Anne as sweet. She’d been from a foreign land, and reserved and cautious, although all had known how much she’d loved the king.

  Sir Kenway stood, throwing a quick look in Fyren’s direction. The regent smiled and nodded.

  I knew all eyes were upon the knight, especially those of the ladies. He had a natural confidence. His form was long and lean, but his shoulders wide.

  “To brave King Alfrid and devoted Queen Anne,” Sir Kenway said in a strong, clear voice. He raised his cup in Queen Audrey’s direction. “The father and mother of our young queen.”

  Everyone stood. The cries went up. “To Queen Audrey! Our Audrey!”

  Piers and I stayed on the floor. No one noticed, so eager were they to toast the queen. She was the hope of Deor, the hope for prosperity, which was sorely needed. We were a country slowly dying. Our winters had turned long and bitter cold, and our soil was no longer fertile. We lived in an almost barren land.

  Queen Audrey was destined to marry some wealthy prince, anyone who could bring us the necessary riches. That was not Sir Kenway. I hoped a fat, ugly king would whisk her away and allow Fyren to govern in her absence. But what was it to me? I would be gone soon. It must be soon.

  After taking a sip of the too-sweet wine, I set the cup down. Piers had drunk all but the dregs. The board was unstable on our knees and the goblet began to slide. Piers tried to grab it, but missed. It thudded on the wooden floor, red liquid dribbling from it.

  Sir Kenway turned. I felt his eyes on me. My stomach twisted with a thrill of pleasure at the sight of his face. At the same time, though, I felt a rush of anger. Hadn’t he left me in that cell and not returned? Fyren had freed me, not Kenway. Because Sir Kenway would not dare disobey his queen.

  The queen said something to him. His face was to me, not to her, and I saw a quick look of impatience cross his eyes. But he turned to her, and she didn’t seem to notice his slight hesitation. An odd sensation came over me and I felt as if he still looked at me, as if his heart…I shook my head. What nonsense! I would not trust what I could not see. But then, I didn’t even trust what I could see.

  Piers’s gray eyes studied me.

  “Yes?” I asked him, raising my eyebrows.

  Using the rushes off the floor, he sopped up the bit of spilled wine.

  “You are not good company tonight, Piers,” I said. The queen was admiring a gold ring Sir Kenway always wore, lingering over it, her gold hair sweeping
his shoulder. Kenway looked uncomfortable. “Much too serious…and hungry,” I continued.

  Piers belched and patted his stomach. The queen tossed us a disgusted face and pinched her nose. But she was no longer stroking Sir Kenway’s hand. When she turned away, Piers gave me a wicked grin.

  Here it was—this other Piers. The one he showed me little of. Most of the time he was docile and quiet, but every now and then, an impish side appeared. I could not help but smile.

  He yawned.

  “Do I bore you?” I asked. “But how can that be, sir?” I patted my thick unruly hair. “You dine with such a fine lady.”

  He turned his small face to me. His eyes were large and serious, but his nose was tiny and his lips were those of a child. He claimed not to know his age, but I doubted that was true. Surely he was no more than ten.

  “You like him?” he asked. He said it rather loudly. I felt the heat rise into my cheeks. I knew of whom he was speaking. The queen shot us a glance and Sir Kenway shifted in his chair.

  I raised the empty goblet to my lips, feeling a little off balance. I did not like the feeling.

  Piers grabbed my hand, holding it firmly. He turned it over, tracing the creases in my palm. “My mother said these lines mean something.”

  I jerked my hand out of his grip. Sometimes I could endure his affection, but other times it rattled me. I was used to slaps and pushes, not this. Physical touch felt to me like someone was reaching through my skin and brushing my heart. I could see I’d hurt his feelings.

  “What was her name?” I asked softly, trying to make it up to him.

  He ignored me. I chewed the inside of my mouth, unnerved at how vulnerable this small boy could make me feel. He came too close.

  I could not gnaw the guilt out of my mouth. Reluctantly, I laid my palm in his small hands.

  He let it sit there for a moment, but then took it. A sudden sense of loneliness rushed into my fingers. I was confused, but fought the urge to pull my hand away.

  Piers traced the lines on my palm again, his touch like ice that burned. “You have troubles ahead of you, Shadow.”

  I could tell the words flowed out of his imagination, but I let him continue, silently willing him to hurry. Coldness crept into my wrist.

  “But it will turn out in the end.”

  He smiled at me. He folded my hand over and pushed it toward me. Relief swept over me.

  “And will you be there with me?” I asked.

  It was the wrong thing to say. I had left him before. He must know I would again.

  “Why don’t you like to be touched?” he asked, disarming me.

  Sir Kenway put down his wine and leaned back in his chair toward us. Suddenly I felt the whole room was too close. I said nothing.

  “I miss my mother’s touch,” Piers said. “I can still feel her, though.”

  I studied his pale face. “How do you mean?”

  He patted his chest. “In here.” He leaned forward and whispered, “It’s like magic. I feel her spirit, hear her laugh.” He poked his finger at me. “Don’t you feel your mother there?”

  I slapped his hand away. “No.”

  “She’s there. You don’t try to find her.”

  “I have no shared feeling.”

  “We’re all connected, Shadow. My mother—and others—taught me that. We’re all connected to…”

  “To what?” I asked.

  But he shook his head and would not speak. I looked up to find Fyren’s eyes on us. He turned back, and I wondered why he was so interested in the sad words of a servant boy. I was also amused. Here they all sat together, the rich and powerful. And yet, they were intrigued by the servants dining on the floor.

  Later, with the queen’s white face finally pressed against her pillow, I stood by the side window, looking out onto the moonlit yard. I had lied to Piers. I, too, felt a connection with others at times. I did not understand nor like it. For whatever it was, it took from me and gave little in return. Or at least that was how it felt, as if I were being sapped of my very spirit. So my desire to escape was great.

  There was one I wished to know, and I reached for her. But my mother did not come, for she was long dead.

  Chapter Eight

  The queen cried out. I jumped up, expecting to see an intruder with a dagger. But there was only the two of us.

  She was asleep but restless. I looked down at her slumbering in her silk sheets, her head jerking from side to side. She moaned, then whispered, “No.” Still, she did not wake.

  In the past I would rouse her when she was trapped in these nightmares. But as I looked at her perfect face I remembered my nights on the hard dungeon floor. I lay back down on my pallet.

  I woke to the queen’s stillness. The room was a little dark, a little hazy with morning light straining to peek through the slats in the shutters. I lay on the stone floor, feeling its hardness beneath my straw pallet, knowing something was amiss. There was no movement in her bed.

  Slowly, I got to my knees, looking around for a sign of someone. But the queen and I were alone. I pulled myself up, peered over the edge of the bed. She lay still as stone. Her lips, silent. Her eyes, closed. Her face, so perfect, like a white marble effigy for a tomb.

  I gave a little cry and reached out to touch her. I never felt such coldness.

  I must have screamed because the guards, the gentle ladies, the old men were all around me.

  “She is dead!” screamed Hilda. The others broke into sobs. Ingrid looked at me with fierce eyes as if I had done this terrible thing.

  Eldred grabbed me roughly by the arm and pulled me through the arched doorway that led from the queen’s chamber to his. His nails bit into my skin. I jerked away.

  He thrust my drab red dress and cloak in my face and gestured for me to put them on over my wool shift. I slipped my dress over my head, thinking how quick he was for remembering to get my clothes. I belted my waist with my only sash and pushed my wide feet into leather shoes.

  Into his chamber floated the remaining two old men and Sir Kenway. Sir Kenway’s face had collapsed into grief. They took him to the other side of the room and whispered to him. I do not think he heard a word they said. He seemed in another place, dark and small.

  I noticed the looks my way. Larcwide gestured to me and shook Sir Kenway by the shoulder. He was roused from his shock and stared right at me, taking me in.

  Did they think I had killed her? I felt panic rising in my chest, remembering my nights in the dungeon. I could not go back there.

  Outside the wooden door that led into the passageway, I heard many voices, but one rising above the others. It was Fyren.

  I relaxed a little.

  Sir Kenway pulled me into a small back room, which was cluttered with leather-bound books and wooden bowls and long glass tubes. He put his finger to his lips and whispered for me to listen. His eyes were red, and he suddenly looked older.

  I listened.

  Voices coming from the crowded room were difficult to distinguish from one another, but they all asked the same question: Who had done this?

  Eldred’s deep voice rose above the others. “Everyone must leave. The regent and I must talk together.”

  I heard loud footsteps and the shutting of the heavy door.

  I couldn’t make out their words for they spoke in low voices. I cracked the door. It made not a sound, but Sir Kenway was beside me quickly. He gave my sleeve a sharp tug. I ignored him.

  The regent’s back was to me. Beside him was one of the queen’s guards, Geoff, who had disobeyed Eldred’s orders. He had remained when he had been told to leave. His broad shoulders were stiff. His short dagger was out of its sheath and in his hand. His fingers gripped the handle, tightening and repositioning the weapon.

  I could see Eldred’s face, and he might have seen me looking in at him. Some emotion flashed in his eyes, but I couldn’t read it.

  And then it happened.

  Geoff lunged toward Eldred, grabbing his arm and thrusting th
e dagger into his stomach. My mind wouldn’t accept what I was seeing. I tried to make it turn out right, like the queen’s adviser was only sick and in need of help. But Eldred collapsed onto the floor, a jagged spot of red widening on his gray cape.

  Sir Kenway grabbed me from behind and quietly shut the door. All was confusion with the screams of the old men and the yelling of the knights in the passageway.

  I was pulled toward the back wall of the small room. I leaned against the stone, cold even through my shift and dress and cloak, smelling the terror in the air. Sir Kenway snatched a lit torch from its iron holder. He pulled the ring and pushed his right hip into the rough stone beside me. The wall moved easily, making an opening not higher than my head.

  I knew magic when I saw it, but I didn’t speak. I couldn’t still the thoughts running inside my head. Was Fyren behind all this? Our enemies the Torsans, could they be in the castle? Geoff, one of their spies?

  Sir Kenway yanked me through the opening, shoving the wall back into place. It was not thick stone at all, but a door of wood with a false front. Not magic after all.

  “Come,” he said.

  He took my hand—surprisingly, his felt cool and sure—and we rushed down a tight twisting staircase that dropped into the pit of the Earth. The light from his torch flashed here and there on the steps below. The rapid scuffle of our shoes on stone echoed in the dark.

  After many circles around and down, my nostrils filled with the full smell of moist soil and the bare one of wet stone. We reached the bottom of the stairs, and I felt flat earth beneath my shoes.

  We walked in the tunnel beneath the castle for a long time, neither of us speaking. What was there to say? The queen was dead. All of the advisers might be dead. After fifteen years among them, I had not known friend from foe.

  I still did not.

  Chapter Nine

  The stone tunnel became a dripping, musty cave. No human skulls lay under our feet, but bats squeaked above us, their lit-up eyes like stars in a black sky.