Echo in Amethyst

by Sharon Shinn

  “So sweet little Marguerite killed Lord Jamison,” Deryk said. “Now what?”

  Darrily shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  But all three of the Banchura triplets, and every one of their nine echoes, looked aghast. The one I thought was Leonora spoke with difficulty. “It is—in Camarria—murder is always punishable by death.”

  “Death? Don’t be ridiculous,” Cali said sharply.

  One of the other triplets spoke up. Lavinia, maybe. “But it’s true. It is one of the ways King Harold has been able to maintain such low crime throughout the city. Throughout the whole province of Sammerly, really.”

  “But he can’t simply execute a high noble,” someone said.

  “There will be a trial, I suppose,” Lavinia replied. “But if they have evidence against her— Oh, this is dreadful!” She burst into tears and blundered into the arms of her sisters, who were also weeping.

  The others all looked at each other, stunned. “But Marguerite is a high noble,” Cali repeated, as if such a station was inviolable.

  “And Cormac’s intended bride,” someone else answered.

  “I can’t believe the king will have her executed.”

  “Cormac would never agree to it!”

  “Cormac!” cried a woman in a hysterical voice, and everyone swung around to gape at the speaker. It was Vivienne, who was usually so quiet and withdrawn. “Cormac will never stand up to his father, never gainsay him, no matter what disastrous course Harold embarks on! Oh, that poor woman! I fear there is no hope for her.” She pressed a hand to her mouth and turned jerkily away. A moment later she was running in through the wide doors of the palace.

  The nobles left behind just stared at each other. Lavinia pulled herself free from her sisters’ comforting embrace and wiped her cheeks with a bit of lacy cloth. “I must go see for myself,” she declared. “Maybe it isn’t true.”

  A chorus of agreements following this statement, the whole group moved off in one untidy cluster, into the palace and up the stairs toward the women’s guest suites. But as soon as we arrived, we knew that at least some of the rumors were accurate. Armed guards were standing at the open door to what I assumed was Marguerite’s room, and from inside we could hear the inquisitor’s voice raised in a blunt interrogation. Marguerite’s replies were so soft we couldn’t catch the words, but it scarcely mattered. Malachi sounded very sure he already knew the answer to any question he posed.

  We had been standing uneasily in the hallway for only a few moments when a young servant girl came pushing through our ranks. “Let me through— Excuse me, I need to get past— Let me through!” she cried, utterly beside herself. I tried to get a good look as she shoved her way past. Was this the maid who had masqueraded as an echo? Did she love her mistress or hate her? What would become of her once this terrible day was over?

  She burst into the room, calling out Marguerite’s name, but a few moments later she was being dragged out the door by some of the inquisitor’s men. She was still howling and protesting, begging them to let her go, swearing that she did not betray her mistress. She looked so desperate and wretched that I had to turn away when the inquisitor’s men hauled her off to someplace where she would cause no more trouble.

  The inquisitor himself emerged a few moments later, looking grim but triumphant. He cast one indifferent look at the crowd of nobles gathered in stunned silence and turned his head to speak to one of his men. “Clear the hall,” he said, and then strode past the spectators as if they did not even exist.

  His assistant was more diplomatic. “You should all go to your own rooms now. Very unfortunate things are happening here, but it does no good to stand around watching.”

  Darrily stood her ground. “My room is just down the hall.”

  “Well, then, perhaps it’s time to go sit in the parlor for a while until the whole situation calms down,” the guard said. “Come along now. Everyone disperse.”

  Ultimately, the whole mass of nobles did stream through the corridor and down the stairs to one of the parlors where they frequently gathered. Even the guests who hadn’t been on the excursion to the ruins soon found their way to the room. The only ones missing were Cormac and Jordan. And Marguerite.

  They were a changed group, though—no longer flighty and restless and full of laughing gossip. Most of them sat in a tight circle in the center of the room, their echoes fanned out behind them, and spoke in low voices or not at all.

  “But how can he do it?” Cali burst out suddenly. “If Harold executes Marguerite, won’t the governor of Orenza rise up in rebellion? Isn’t civil war what the king wanted to prevent?”

  “That’s what I was told,” Vivienne said wearily. “And now civil war could very well come anyway.”

  “This is the worst day I’ve ever spent in Camarria,” said Leonora darkly.

  Lavinia just looked at her. “The worst so far.”

  “What happens to her echoes?” someone asked. “Will they be executed, too?”

  “Why bother?” someone else replied. “Anytime an original dies, his echo falls dead beside him. No need to waste the arrows.”

  I stirred on my chair and tried not to let my surprise show. Was that true? If Elyssa’s heart stopped beating, would mine stop as well? Would that be the case even now that I had gained some independence from her? I had always known my actions were tied to hers, but I had not realized that my very life was dependent on her continued existence. It was not a pleasant thought.

  Deryk spoke up, his voice holding a certain ghoulish pleasure. “Oh, but when a noble is executed for treason, the echoes are always put to death at the same time,” he said. “It’s symbolic, you know. Echoes were created so no one could ever be certain which body contained the real person, which one was just a shell. To make sure a traitor is well and truly dead, the king must cut down the echoes alongside the original.”

  “That’s horrible,” Cali said.

  Letitia shuddered. “I want to go home. Can we leave tomorrow morning?”

  There was a general murmur of agreement until Darrily spoke up. “But should we just abandon Marguerite?” she asked. “Or should we stay to speak our protests to the king? Even if we can’t change his mind, we can let him know how strongly we disagree with his actions.”

  “And what consequences may arise because of them,” added Nigel.

  “You might be right,” Letitia said reluctantly. “And there’s something else to consider. If we all leave the city, Marguerite may think we do not care what becomes of her. If we stay, perhaps it gives her the smallest shred of comfort.”

  “If we stay, and make Harold face us after he has carried out an execution, perhaps we shame the king,” Cali said coldly.

  Leonora sighed and slumped back into her chair. “Then we stay,” she said. “But the goddess knows these will be bitter days.”

  Dinner was somber, the card games that Deryk arranged afterward were doleful, and all the nobles sought their rooms well before midnight. Gretta was waiting for us, but she took one look at Elyssa’s face and elected to stay silent.

  I doubted that anyone in the palace slept that night. I know that no one in our room did.

  The next two days were just as quiet, just as tense, just as stuffed full with dread and anger and helplessness and disbelief. Things only got worse the afternoon of the second day because that was when the king held his brief trial of Lady Marguerite. Half the visiting nobles gathered outside the throne room, waiting as Marguerite and her two remaining echoes were marched inside by royal guards. The Banchura triplets attempted to follow them inside, no doubt to express their displeasure directly to the king, but the guards barred the way. It wasn’t long before the prisoner was escorted out again, and a palace herald shared the verdict with the waiting crowd.

  “Marguerite of Orenza has been condemned to death for the crime of murder,” he intoned. “She will be executed at eight o’clock tomorrow morning in Amanda Plaza.”

  The nobles were all whisp
ering furiously together, shocked and outraged even though they could not possibly be surprised. Almost as one, they turned toward the sitting room where they spent so much time.

  Elyssa didn’t follow them.

  She stayed put just outside the throne room as the others moved away, seeming to be lost in thought. But after a minute or two, she gave one quick, decisive nod and began striding down the hall. In a moment, we were in the wide foyer, ignoring Lourdes as she turned in our direction; in another moment, we were out the door and on the streets of Camarria.

  Elyssa didn’t slacken her pace at all as she set out in an unfamiliar direction. I had to remind myself that she had been to the royal city many times, even if I couldn’t remember those visits, and she probably knew exactly where she was going. She walked so swiftly that the third echo had a little trouble keeping up, because her ankle was still bothering her, but I took her arm to help her as best I could. The second echo copied my movements and added her own support, and we managed to keep from falling too far behind.

  It wasn’t long before we started passing through neighborhoods that were far less desirable than the ones that bordered the botanical gardens and Amanda Plaza. These streets were narrower, seedier, and a little more dangerous; the four of us drew no little attention from the men and women who hurried by.

  Abruptly, Elyssa stopped in front of a disreputable-looking building that seemed to be a tavern, judging from the smells of beer and bread drifting out. For the first time, Elyssa seemed uncertain, reaching a hand out as if to open the door, then drawing her arm back as if afraid to go inside.

  We stood there for about five minutes as she debated what to do, and then the door swung open and a man stepped out. He had the rough clothes and weathered skin of a laborer, but his face was young and cheerful. He gave Elyssa a bold and appreciative inspection before coming to a halt and saying, “Hello there, pretty lady, anything I can help you with?”

  She didn’t waste time being coy. “Yes. I need to speak to someone who rents rooms above this building. Can you take a message or ask the manager to come talk to me?”

  The man managed what he probably thought was a fancy bow. “I’d be happy to. What’s the name of the fellow you’re looking for?”

  “Marco Ross.”

  He laughed in disbelief. “Your luck’s in. He just strolled through the door and ordered a pint. Do you want me to fetch him?”

  She practically gasped with relief. “He’s here? Yes—please. Thank you so much.”

  “Always a pleasure to help a lady,” he answered, and sauntered back inside. Elyssa clasped her hands before her so tightly it hurt the bones. I knew because her agitation had strengthened her bond to her echoes, and all three of us were squeezing our own hands together just as painfully.

  It was only a moment before Marco came pushing through the door, looking astonished and worried.

  “Elyssa!” he exclaimed. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’ll do it,” she said.

  He was wholly confused. “Do what?”

  “I’ll unlock the door for you. I’ll let you into the palace.”

  He gazed down at her, caught completely by surprise. “What happened?” he asked in a quieter voice. “What changed your mind?”

  She made one short, sharp, angry gesture. “He has condemned her to death. As if he has a right to do that.”

  “Ah. The king has pronounced his sentence on Lady Marguerite. As expected.” He glanced around as if looking for a place they could talk in private. There weren’t many options. The street was noisy and dirty, but my guess was that the ambiance inside was even more vulgar. He settled for drawing her off the main road, into the questionable shelter of the alleyway between the tavern and a cobbler’s shop in the adjacent building. The three of us followed.

  “I didn’t expect it,” Elyssa said. “I couldn’t believe he would have the nerve to execute a high noble.”

  “She did kill his son, if the inquisitor has his facts right. You don’t think the king has a right to his vengeance?”

  “She was defending herself from the bastard prince!” Elyssa burst out. “It should have been Harold’s job to keep his son in check! And then for the king to decide—out of his own rage and grief—that an innocent woman is to die? If he will have his vengeance, well then, so will I.”

  Marco studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Thus do unjust kings make revolutionaries of us all.”

  “So I will help you,” she said. “When do you want me to unlock the door?”

  He thought it over. “When is the execution scheduled?”

  “For tomorrow morning.”

  “Will you attend?”

  She looked at him as if he was less than human.

  “I suppose not,” he answered. “Then that will be a good time for you to unlock the door. The inquisitor and most of his men will be out of the palace—half the world will be in Amanda Plaza—I can slip inside and find a place to wait until an opportunity arises.”

  “I’m sure there will be a guard or two left behind. If you’re seen entering through the doorway or creeping through the halls—”

  “No one will question me. I’ll be wearing the livery of a palace servant.”

  Even in her agitation, she was surprised by that. “Where did you come by such a thing?”

  He grinned. “Never mind that. What time can you be at the door?”

  “The—the execution is scheduled for eight. I will aim to be there by half past the hour. I imagine it won’t take long before someone notices the lock has been undone.”

  “I will be there directly afterward.”

  He had been standing so that his body shielded hers from the view of any passersby, but now she stepped away from the tavern wall and pushed past him. “But if you encounter me in the hallway, don’t speak,” she said. “Don’t even look at me. Don’t give anyone any reason to question me.”

  Marco pivoted to watch her. “Not ready to give your life for the cause, then?”

  She gave him a swift look. “As if you are.”

  He laughed softly. “But I am. Tomorrow I very probably will.”

  She froze. “What?”

  He shrugged. “What are the chances that I will find Cormac alone and unattended, and that I will be able to slit his throat before he calls for help? I may be successful, but my triumph most likely will come at the cost of my life.”

  She stared at him a moment. “Then I won’t do it.”

  He came close enough to lay his hands on her shoulders and give them a hard squeeze. “Elyssa,” he said. “What is more important? To fight against a tyrant or to keep one or two rebels safe?”

  “I don’t want you to die.”

  He shrugged. He still had not released his hold. “And maybe I won’t. I might be lucky. I will certainly be careful.”

  She shook her head, genuinely upset. “I don’t know, I don’t know—”

  He squeezed her shoulders again. “Elyssa,” he said again. “If you don’t unlock that door, I will try another passage. One way or the other, I am getting inside that palace and doing away with the prince. I will have my best chance at surviving this adventure if I come in through that back entrance. If you don’t unlock it, you seal my doom.”

  “I hate you,” she whispered.

  “No, you don’t,” he said, pulling her into his arms and kissing her. His mouth was so demanding on hers, her response so passionate, that my own skin and body reacted; I felt Elyssa’s sensations so clearly it was almost as if Marco had echoes. He kissed her even more deeply, backing her up hard against the tavern wall. The echoes and I lined up beside them, our own bodies grinding against the rough brick as if someone was pressing against us from the front.

  Elyssa made a sound and wrenched her mouth away, pushing her fists against his chest when he would have resumed the kiss. “No.”

  “No you will not open the door for me, or no you do not want to come inside with me?” he asked, his voice husky with amusemen
t and other emotions. “I have rooms just upstairs.”

  Now she broke free completely, smoothing down her hair and her skirts as if trying to smooth some of the wildness from her blood. “I will not come upstairs with you,” she said.

  He cocked his head. “But you’ll unlock the door?”

  She hesitated. “But I’ll unlock the door.”

  He reached out a hand to touch her cheek. It was an unexpectedly gentle gesture for someone who could be so brutish. “And if I live through the deed? And come seek you out at your father’s house? What kind of answer would you give me then?”

  She picked up her skirts and walked deliberately around him so she was back on the street. “If you live,” she said. “If this revolution really does come. Ask me again then.”

  “I will.”

  “All right. Then I’ll—I don’t know what to say. Perhaps I’ll see you later.”

  He glanced down the street, suddenly frowning. “Where’s your carriage?”

  “I didn’t use one.”

  “What, you ran all the way here from the palace?”

  “I didn’t think it would be so far.”

  “And so dangerous,” he said.

  She looked impatient. “No one bothered us.”

  He shook his head. “You were lucky. You’d better hire a vehicle to take you back.”

  Her laugh was so faint it hardly qualified as one. “I don’t have any money with me. I was so upset I simply walked out the palace doors without even bothering to change my shoes.”

  “Well, then. I can take care of that. Come on. There’s a carriage stand a few blocks away and I know the fellow who runs it. He’ll take you home.”

  She fell in step beside him as they strolled out into the street. Elyssa and her echoes still drew considerable interest as we passed through the neighborhood, but the attention was far more circumspect now that Marco escorted us. It was the only time in my life I could imagine being grateful for his company.