by Sharon Shinn
“Yes,” she said, still in that level tone. “I have risked a great deal for you.”
His voice softened. “Well, it’s not me Malachi and his men will be looking for. I have been in Camarria more than two weeks, and apparently they think Jamison has only been dead a few days. I don’t think I will get swept up in their net.”
I felt Elyssa relax at his words; she had been genuinely worried, I realized. Perhaps she cared for Marco more than she knew. “If not you or your fellow revolutionaries, who might have killed him?” she asked again. “A serious answer this time!”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, but it’s damned inconvenient timing.”
She was amused. “I said exactly the same thing when we first learned of his death! But why is it problematic for you?”
“Because Jamison’s death makes Malachi suspicious of everyone!” Marco exclaimed. “And causes security at the palace to be doubled, I would expect. It will be nearly impossible to get anywhere near Cormac for the next few months.”
Her amusement deepened. “Ah. So then Jamison’s untimely death puts the rebels at a standstill.”
“Something like that,” he said.
“Well, I can’t say I’m sorry to hear it.”
The sneer was back in his voice. “Oh, so you’ve grown fond of the prince and his brother, have you?”
She came abruptly to her feet. “I’m not fond of anyone. Don’t you remember?”
He was instantly standing beside her. The echo and I were the last to rise, but no one was paying any attention to us. “When can I see you again?” he demanded. “When can you come back here?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I have no idea who might be watching me even now.”
“A week from today,” he pleaded. “Around this time.”
She turned toward the entrance and began walking back, her pace slow as if she did not want to go. Marco fell in step beside her, the echo and I behind.
“If I can,” she said. “I make no promises.”
“You never do,” he said. “And yet there you always are.”
“I do not entirely favor of this war of yours,” she warned. “Do not take me for granted.”
He laughed and sketched her a mock bow even as they continued to stroll forward. “My lady,” he said, “I would never make that mistake with you.”
Elyssa paid a carriage-for-hire to take us back to the palace, seeming to be lost in her thoughts for the whole return journey. But she reverted to her usual liveliness when she led us to the breakfast room, where about half the noble guests were gathered, gossiping. Apparently, all of them had heard the news that Jamison might have been murdered, and they could not stop speculating about who might be involved.
“Of course, the last place anyone saw him alive was in Alberta—at your father’s house, wasn’t it, Elyssa?” someone asked, clearly intending to be provocative.
“So I understand,” Elyssa replied, smiling widely. “But if my father had wanted him dead, I think he could have found any number of places on his own property to bury the body where it would never be discovered. I think we must look for another culprit.”
Some of the nobles looked shocked at her answer; a few tried to stifle their laughter. Elyssa merely took a bite of a pastry and asked, “Has anyone planned an outing for this afternoon? It’s so dull just to sit around thinking about murder.”
In fact, the women from Banchura had organized an excursion to Amanda Plaza, so a large group set out shortly after the meal. More activities unfolded in the next few days, as men headed off to see horse races and women entertained themselves with shopping. I noticed that Lady Marguerite and Lady Vivienne skipped most of the group expeditions, but Elyssa was game for any outing. I didn’t think she particularly enjoyed these excursions, she just couldn’t bear to be left behind.
I didn’t care much for the shopping trip, but I did rather enjoy the excursion on the following morning, when a noble from Sammerly took about ten other guests to the site of a new bridge that was being built in a fashionable part of town.
“Garnet Reach will be the highest bridge in the city when it’s done,” the Sammerly man explained to those of us who shared his carriage on the ride over. “Taller than any building! They say it’s quite the engineering feat.”
The new bridge, when we arrived at the construction site, appeared to be about two-thirds of the way to completion. I took advantage of Elyssa’s lax control to crane my neck and stare at the marvelous combination of metal and stone. It rose at a steep angle over a pretty little public square built around a central fountain. As with the bridge over the Amanda Plaza, Garnet Reach seemed to have no purpose except to be ornamental, since anyone would have found it simpler to walk across the square than to climb up and over its high arch.
“Do you see that?” the Sammerly lord demanded, shepherding us over to the shadow directly underneath the span. “Here’s a grate where people can toss money for the goddess. You know it will be a game with people to stand at the very top and see how many coins they can drop in without having them bounce away.”
Lady Cali shaded her eyes and gazed up at the bridge’s underside, which from this vantage point was a highly exaggerated curve. “When will it be completed?”
“In a couple of months, I think,” he answered vaguely. “Cormac would know.”
“Well, I think it’s charming,” pronounced one of the Banchura triplets, whom someone had just addressed as Leonora. “I don’t know that I will ever go to the effort of crossing it, but it’s very pretty.”
Nobody could muster more admiration than that, so in a few moments we were all bundled back into our carriages and returning to the palace. It was almost lunchtime, and the rest of the day stretched ahead of us with a disquieting emptiness.
“How shall we occupy ourselves tonight?” asked Nigel as a group of us crossed the enormous palace foyer. “Shall we play cards again?”
“No, haven’t you heard?” Leonora exclaimed. “We’re organizing a musical evening.”
“That sounds like fun,” Cali said, but Nigel looked wary.
“What—you’re bringing in professionals or—”
“No!” another triplet replied. “We shall perform—all of us! Or at least, any of us who have musical abilities. We’ve asked the servants to set up a special room, and anyone who wants to can play and sing. Everyone else can listen.”
“How delightfully provincial!” Elyssa drawled.
“Yes, well, no one’s asking you to perform,” said Leonora. “Or come make fun of the rest of us who do.”
“But I wouldn’t miss the chance to see everyone’s hidden talents on display.”
“Talents?” asked a man’s voice behind us. “How will they be displayed?”
Almost as one, the six nobles and their echoes swiveled around to greet the new arrival. All of the women looked delighted to see Prince Jordan, but not one of them could have felt her heart bound as wildly as mine did. Elyssa hung back a little, but the Banchura women all surged forward, patting him on the arm and murmuring condolences about his brother. He was dressed in sober black and looked like a raft of driftwood in a sea of compassionate blue.
“Thank you,” he said finally, holding up his hand to indicate he was done with expressions of sympathy. “It has not been easy, but we are coping as best we can. But Cormac wants you all to know—I want you to know—that we are very much aware that we have guests in the house and we cannot ignore you any longer.” He made a point of touching each of the nobles with his gaze, and then he looked straight at me. I stared right back, and I saw him give the briefest nod. “We want you to know that we have not forgotten you,” he said, and I knew he was speaking directly to me. “And we hope you realize our thoughts are with you.” He emphasized the word hope very slightly. I felt the faintest smile curl my lips and then I cast my eyes down, breaking the gaze. Otherwise I was afraid some stupidly giddy expression would cross my face and someone would surely notice.
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br /> “That’s thoughtful of you,” said Leonora. “But we realize what a difficult time this is. If you wish us gone, we would all be willing to pack up and leave in the morning.”
“No—that’s the last thing my brother or I would want,” he said. “Cormac thinks he will be ready to join you again tomorrow night. Perhaps at a simple dinner.”
“We would welcome that,” said another triplet.
“But what is this activity you are planning for tonight?” Jordan went on. “I know you have been forced to devise your own entertainments.”
“A musical evening where anyone who wishes may get up and perform,” said the third triplet.
“Does it not sound fabulous?” Elyssa asked. “Does it not make you wish you were not in mourning so that you could attend?”
He glanced her way, briefly looked at me again, and answered seriously, “I do wish I could be there. I find myself enjoying every conversation with our guests, even the most unexpected ones. Alas, I am doubtful that I will be able to leave my father’s side tonight. But perhaps tomorrow.”
Leonora patted his arm again. “We understand. We’re just glad we’ve had this chance to see you and to tell you how sorry we are.”
A few more words along these lines, and then Jordan bowed and continued on his way. The rest of us headed straight for the dining room, where servants were already laying out the noon meal. Afterward, some of the nobles went off to practice their musical selections, others gathered to play cards, and the rest simply retreated to their rooms.
Since Elyssa had absolutely no interest in either cards or music, she had little choice but to head upstairs. Once inside our room, however, she seemed to find it difficult to settle, and she spent at least a half hour pacing. The echoes and I sat motionless behind the screen, trying not to breathe, hoping she had forgotten our existence. It was a relief when she flung herself onto her bed and willed herself to sleep.
The air behind the screen was close and stifling, so I rose from my narrow bed and crept out into the main chamber. It was a risk, of course, but I could feel the drugged drag of Elyssa’s dreaming; I didn’t think she would wake any time soon.
There was a divan set right before the window, positioned to catch the afternoon sun, but I didn’t sit. Instead, I stepped up to the window and rested my forehead against the glass, gazing down at the streets and shops below. All those people hurrying by, bent on their own errands, carrying on their own individual lives. What would it be like to be one of them? To wear a red dress because I wanted to, to cross the street because there was something intriguing on the other side, to drink wine or not drink wine or laugh or weep or merely breathe? Autonomous and unafraid? Would I know what decisions to make? Would I be able to earn money, decide how to spend it, learn how to cook, feed myself, clothe myself, rely on no one but myself to navigate my days? I longed for freedom, but what if it destroyed me? I had never even walked out of a room of my own volition. How could I manage an entire life?
A slight noise behind me made me spin around, sending one fearful look toward the bed. But Elyssa was still deeply asleep, curled in an unhappy knot under the covers, her face drawn into a closed ball of worry. The sound had come from behind the screen—and it came again. A shuffle of feet, an awkward bump against a piece of furniture, another footfall on heavy carpet.
And then the echoes stepped out into the room, the hurt one limping along with the aid of the other one. They had their arms around each other’s waists and their gazes trained on the floor as if studying the pattern of the roses worked into the rug. But they were making their way slowly in my direction. Following me to the window.
Following me.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Somewhat to my surprise, almost all the noble guests attended the “musical interlude” that night, though my guess was that most of them only showed up because no other entertainment was available. However, a few of them genuinely seemed excited about the event, and I myself was rather looking forward to it. It had to be better than pretending to play cards.
Servants had set up one of the larger parlors as a performance venue, with a small stage in the front of the room and rows of chairs lined up to face it. They had managed rather theatrical lighting that kept the stage bright but most of the chairs in shadow. There was some jostling for position as individuals tried to find seats for themselves and their echoes near people they found congenial, and those who intended to perform insisted on sitting by the aisles. Elyssa and Deryk had hung back to whisper together, so by the time they entered the room most of the more desirable chairs were taken. They ended up seating themselves in the second-to-last row. There was room for Deryk’s echoes next to him, but I had to sit in the very back row, Elyssa’s echo on one side of me and a few empty seats on the other side. Unaccountably, there was a space of about five feet between the last row and the one in front of it, as if a section of seating had been removed for some reason. But as this put me even farther from Elyssa, I didn’t mind at all.
Once the performances started, I was impressed by the depth of talent on display. In particular, the Banchura sisters were excellent singers, backed by a chorus of their echoes who merely hummed along in harmony, as they were incapable of producing words. Still, the effect was gorgeous and a little eerie.
I found myself wondering if I could sing. I had never made the attempt—never even considered the notion. I tried humming the last few notes of the song I had just heard, but the faint vibration in my throat felt so foreign that I instantly stopped. If I ever was living on my own, I doubted I would take up singing.
The hour was relatively late, and a few audience members had already gone upstairs to seek their beds, when I heard the door behind me open as someone quietly slipped into the room. I didn’t look up until the newcomer dropped onto the seat next to me, three echoes settling down beside him. Then, keeping my head bowed, I cut my eyes over—to find Prince Jordan regarding me with a lift of his eyebrows. The room was not so dark that he would miss my start of surprise and the look of pleasure that crossed my face.
“I hope I am not unwelcome?” he asked in a low voice, once again putting the emphasis on the word he had decided should be my name.
“No—decidedly not,” I whispered back.
“I enjoyed our last conversation very much,” he said. “I have been wishing for a chance to have another.”
“And I have been wishing for a chance to tell you how sorry I am about your brother.”
He nodded gravely. “It has put the whole family in chaos. There has been no time, these past few days, to do anything but grieve.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“The blow has been most severe to my father,” he said. “His relationship with Jamison was always complicated by guilt as well as love, which is why, I think, he allowed Jamison so much license. He could not bear to punish Jamison for his transgressions because Jamison was the living proof of his own.”
“You sound like you are not mourning quite as much as your father.”
He made an uncertain gesture. When he rested his hand again on his thigh, his arm pressed slightly against mine. He did not move it away. Through the velvet of his jacket and the silk of my sleeve, I felt the heat rising from his body. “I found Jamison difficult to love,” Jordan said. “When we were younger, he was a bully. When we were older, he alternated between being resentful and being cruel. I always thought it was an object with him to see how far he could push my father. Cormac was closer to him than I was, but even Cormac would get fed up from time to time. And now Cormac is wrestling with his own guilt because he is the one who insisted Jamison stay behind in Alberta to make amends for some transgression. If not for that, Jamison would be alive today.”
“That must be very hard.”
“My stepmother, of course, is delighted that he is dead,” he went on. “Tabitha is not fond of any of us, but she hated Jamison.”
I was a little surprised that he was speaking so freely to someo
ne who was a complete stranger—and who was strange in many other ways—but then I thought perhaps he had had no one else to talk to these past few days. And, obviously, there was no risk that I could repeat his words to anyone. I was the perfect confidante. “Your stepmother isn’t fond of any of you?” I repeated. “Are you including your father on that list?”
Jordan nodded. “She is his second wife, you know. An Empara girl, chosen in a desperate attempt to keep peace with the western provinces more than twenty years ago. She hates my father and he hates her, but he at least attempts to maintain civility. Tabitha only makes an effort in public, and even then it is easy to read past her pretense.”
“It does not sound like a comfortable way to live.”
He exhaled a laugh. “No, there are days it is unbearably tense. Cormac and my father and I have a tight bond, and that has not changed, but everything else is extremely fraught.” Now he sighed. “I had thought at least Cormac might be happy when he married Vivienne, but now even that is to be taken away from him.”
“Do you dislike Lady Marguerite?” I asked softly, glancing at her where she sat a couple of rows away.
“On the contrary. From what I’ve seen of her, she is a gentle lady with a great deal of kindness. I have sometimes thought she was a little sad, but every time I had the thought she would smile and banish the impression.”
“What would she have to be sad about?”
He shrugged. “I think perhaps many of us conceal worries and disappointments from the world.”
It was a daring question, but in the dimly lit room, with my voice partly obscured by Cali singing, I felt oddly brave. “What makes you sad?”
We had been sitting side by side, facing the stage, trying as much as possible to appear as if we were not engaged in conversation at all. But now he looked down at me, deliberately and unwaveringly, and I did indeed read some melancholy in his fine eyes. “I dread the day I am forced to marry Elyssa,” he said. “I have always thought she is colder than my stepmother, and just as cruel. To be bound to such a woman for the rest of my life seems like a terrible fate.”