by Sharon Shinn
“But—it will seem—how odd it will be for me to disappear so suddenly!” Elyssa exclaimed. “Everyone will wonder and whisper questions—”
“Very likely,” Tabitha agreed. “I suggest you come up with some story that seems plausible that you can share with your friends. But the tale I intend to tell is that your father sent for you on urgent matters that he declined to discuss, and that I helped you undertake your journey with all speed.”
“You are—this is—I am not happy at this turn of events!” Elyssa said.
“I don’t much care if you are happy or not,” the queen said. “Who is ever happy? What I care about is that you are not compromised. I do not want you to spend more time in Camarria meeting with rebels and perhaps being observed by servants who are loyal only to Harold. Thus I am removing you from risk.”
“But if I—”
The queen turned her head to look out the window. “I have no more to say,” she announced.
We traveled for another half hour in silence. Beside me, Elyssa remained a ball of defiant fury, her hands in knots and her teeth clenched to hold back angry words. This was bad, and she had to realize that. If Marco was indeed a “known revolutionary,” the fact that Elyssa had spoken to him in the streets even once would be enough to brand her a traitor. I couldn’t imagine why Tabitha had decided to hide the truth from the king, but I had to think her motives were wildly suspect. No doubt there were more layers to this story, and probably some dark scheme of Tabitha’s at play, but in the end it didn’t really matter. The queen knew about Marco, the queen was sending Elyssa home, and Elyssa was absolutely powerless to refuse.
And an assassin was on the loose in the palace, and Cormac could be dead by nightfall—and Marco could be captured and executed before another day had passed, and we would know none of it. None of it. The agonizing uncertainty was almost too much to bear.
I shifted on my seat, unable to hold myself as still as Elyssa. Should I tell the queen? Now? Break my silence, destroy my anonymity—and probably suffer dire consequences? If Tabitha knew that Elyssa had conspired in Cormac’s assassination, surely she would report Elyssa to the king? And the king would condemn Elyssa to death, as he had condemned Marguerite.
And a noble’s echoes were always executed alongside their originals.
If I spoke now, I would surely die.
If I didn’t speak, Cormac would die.
I couldn’t help myself; I felt my whole body shrink down under a rush of fear. My hands twisted together and I started a gentle rocking. I was so afraid. Only silence would save me—but I could not be silent. I tried to calm myself enough to speak with some hope of coherence.
The queen glanced indifferently in my direction. “Your echo seems oddly agitated.”
“All my echoes have some independence when I am in a lax or indulgent mood,” Elyssa said.
“So I had heard, but it seems very strange to see one move with such autonomy.”
I opened my mouth to speak.
Elyssa snapped her will over me, and suddenly I was slaved to her. My hand lifted as hers did, my head tilted in an ironic nod to the queen. “But as you see, they are still entirely mine. I assure you, she will not cause you any distress or discomfort for the remainder of the journey.”
My mouth would not work. My voice would not come. Like Elyssa, I folded my hands in my lap and leaned my head back against the cushions of the seat. “Neither will I,” Elyssa added. “We will just complete the rest of our ride in silence.”
The carriage came to a halt just past the city limits. After the final few miles of warehouses and industrial establishments, it had been a relief to make it to the green and open spaces of less settled countryside. The air was fresher and the view was more appealing, although the mood inside the carriage was no lighter. So it was also a relief when we finally pulled up in front of a small but elegant inn.
“Here we are,” Tabitha said, glancing out the window. “You will find a room reserved for you under the name Devenetta. The proprietors know that is the name I use when I travel, and they will treat you with utmost courtesy.” She handed over a slim velvet bag. “I thought you might not have any money with you, so I have brought you enough to pay for a meal and any other expenses you might incur overnight. I have also taken the liberty of putting together an overnight bag with a few necessities.”
“It seems you have thought of everything.”
“I try to. It makes life less complicated.”
The carriage door swung open as a servant from the inn came over to help us out. Tabitha made no move to disembark so, after a slight hesitation, Elyssa took the servant’s hand and climbed down. All her echoes, still entirely under her command, swiftly followed. The ground was muddy with recent rain and we were all careful where we set our feet.
“Travel safely,” the queen said from the interior. “I will hope to see you again in Camarria in a few weeks or months.”
Elyssa apparently couldn’t bring herself to reciprocate the sentiments. “Majesty,” she replied, offering a deep curtsey. We sank so low to the ground that I thought I might get mud on the waist of my gown.
A moment later, the door was closed, the carriage had been turned around, and Tabitha was on her way back to Camarria.
Elyssa stared after her resentfully, then tossed her hair and strode toward the front door of the inn. The helpful servant picked up a large portmanteau that the coachman had tossed down and followed us inside.
The proprietor was a plump Pandrean woman who seemed eager to please. “Ah—yes—Devenetta! We’re happy to have you with us tonight. Your room is ready and I think you’ll find it quite comfortable.”
“Rooms,” Elyssa said sharply.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Rooms. I require a second room for my echoes—and my maid, once she arrives.”
“Oh, but the chamber we’ve reserved for you has beds enough for all.”
Elyssa slammed the velvet bag to the counter that held the ledgers and accounts. “Rooms,” she repeated. “Whatever it costs.”
“Yes, of course, my lady. I’m wondering—right down the hall, two doors away—is that close enough?”
“That’s perfect.”
We were something of a procession as the proprietor, her servant, Elyssa, the two echoes, and I climbed a narrow stairwell and proceeded down a short hallway. The echoes and I were shown to our room first, so I didn’t get a chance to view Elyssa’s, but I had to suppose it was rather grand, since ours was spacious and well-appointed. There were six beds, two washstands, a small table and various chairs. Clearly a room designed for nobles traveling with their echoes.
The instant the door shut between us, Elyssa released us—flung us from her, to be more accurate, with an emotion that read like loathing. I staggered from the force of that disowning, but I righted myself quickly enough and just stood there, taking a few deep breaths. Elyssa could not have wanted to shove us away any more badly than I had wanted to be shoved, but I still needed a moment to catch my balance. This was the first time since we had arrived at the palace that we had been in separate rooms, and I savored the sensation of freedom.
I put my hand to my heart as if I could press down on it hard enough to slow its rapid gallop. Beside me, the echoes mimicked my motion.
I studied them a moment. Neither one lifted her head to meet my gaze, but it was clear that somehow they were focused on me. Attuned to me. I put my hands to my cheeks; so did they. I lifted my arms to either side, like the triple goddess in her attitude of justice, and the echoes did the same. I touched my forehand, my heart, my lips, and they copied the ritual benediction.
In odd, isolated moments over the past week or so, I had noticed that the echoes seemed to be moving in concert with me, but I hadn’t had time to think about it much. Even now, I couldn’t really sort out what it meant. Obviously, Elyssa could gather us up and toss us aside whenever she willed it—but I had never attempted to bind the echoes to me whenever Elyssa
released us. It had never occurred to me to try.
What did it mean that they attached themselves to me whenever Elyssa turned them loose? Merely that they could not function on their own, and I was the closest living creature with a form they understood?
Or did it mean I was developing a personality, a power of my own? And that one day I might be strong enough to wrench myself free of Elyssa—and take her echoes with me?
It was hard to fathom. Hard to picture such an impossible future. I only knew that, for the moment, the echoes and I were functioning as our own closed unit, all in accord. I lifted my hands again so I could drape my arms over their shoulders, and they wrapped themselves around me, around each other, as we drew into one tight cluster of community and support. They were part of me and I was part of them. It was inexpressibly comforting.
Gretta did not arrive before twilight, which made it unlikely that she would arrive before mid-morning, since coachmen disliked traveling at night for fear of harming their horses. I could feel Elyssa’s anxiety rise as the sun set, and she paced the confines of her room with so much energy that my body swayed every time she made the turn from the door toward the far wall. I could almost hear the thoughts bouncing around in her head. Is the prince dead? Is Marco captured? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.
Some of the same litany was playing out in my own mind, though I was more desperate for news of Cormac and Jordan than I was for information about Marco. I thought I might be just as anxious as Elyssa, though I was trying harder to rein in my emotions. I didn’t pace, at any rate. But my hands were knotted in my lap and my thoughts circled with a continuous panicked keening in my brain.
A servant girl brought us dinner, setting it on the table after casting us one doubtful glance. Most likely, she wondered how we might go about eating if our original wasn’t there to guide us, and then she decided that was not her concern. As soon as she left, I led the others to the table, where we made a hearty meal. The same girl returned about an hour later to bring us water and collect the dishes. She cast us another dubious look and mumbled something about letting her know if we needed anything. I kept my face blank the whole time she was there and let her form whatever conclusions she would.
Clearly, Elyssa didn’t care if we were able to eat or clean up or get ready for bed. She didn’t come down the hall to check on us; she didn’t resume her control over us to ensure that we ate when she did or washed our faces when she picked up her own damp cloth. So I took care of myself and the echoes, and was just as happy to do it. I even locked the door to make sure no one crept into the room at night while we were sleeping.
Then I stood for a moment with my hand on the lock, wondering what would happen if I refused to unlatch it in the morning.
No doubt the innkeeper had a master key and we would be unceremoniously rousted from the room. And that gesture of defiance would snag Elyssa’s attention and result in terrifying punishments.
But what a thought. What a dream. How wonderful it would be if I could lock us in, and no one could make us come out, and Elyssa had to ride back to Alberta without us.
I led the echoes to our beds and we all slid under the covers. Then I lay there a long time, staring at the ceiling and watching the faint play of moonlight across the plaster.
What had happened to Cormac? Had Jordan lost two brothers in less than a month? Would he ever forgive me for not finding a way to tell him what I knew? Would I ever see him again—ever have a chance to speak to him in some contraband whispered conversation? Or would Elyssa be permanently banned from the royal court, and Jordan lost to me forever?
If I ever saw him again, would he even remember me?
What was going to become of me?
Despite the fact that I could not answer a single one of these questions, I was so exhausted that I quickly fell asleep. Around me I heard the gentle breathing of the echoes, each inhalation and release timed exactly to mine.
The next morning, the echoes and I had risen, dressed, and eaten breakfast by the time I caught the welcome sound of a commotion in the innyard. I flew to the window and was vastly relieved to see two carriages pull up and one of them disgorge Gretta. She shouted up at the coachman to hand her a particular piece of luggage, then crossed the yard with a purposeful stride.
She was halfway up the stairwell when Elyssa opened her door and stuck her head out—and the echoes and I did the same. Elyssa was so impatient to talk to the maid that she didn’t seem to notice or care that we had synchronized ourselves to her again.
“Gretta! You’re finally here! Tell me what’s going on at the palace.”
“You won’t believe it! So much has happened,” Gretta puffed as she carried the suitcase into Elyssa’s room. The echoes and I followed right behind her as if certain we belonged. But we prudently clustered on the other side of the room so we didn’t draw too much of Elyssa’s attention.
“Well? Tell me!” Elyssa demanded.
Gretta opened the suitcase and began pulling out hairbrushes and underthings. “A man tried to kill the prince!” she announced. “Isn’t that awful?”
“Cormac or Jordan? Is he dead?”
Gretta motioned for Elyssa to sit down so she could begin combing out the tangled curls. “Cormac. And no. He’s still alive.” I felt a sigh of relief rush through my body, though I tried to make no sound. Gretta went on, “He was hurt, though—a big gash on his left arm, but the surgeon said he’ll be fine. It was so funny—they said his echoes all started bleeding, even though the attacker didn’t even touch them.”
“Yes, that’s the way it works,” Elyssa said impatiently. “So Cormac survived? That’s good news! Did they catch the man who assaulted him?”
“He got away, can you believe that? Malachi was so angry!”
“How did he manage that?” Elyssa wanted to know. “The place is filled with soldiers and servants.”
“Somebody said he was dressed in palace livery, so no one noticed him. Someone else said, no, he climbed out of a window and waited on the roof until everyone stopped looking for him. And someone else said he hid in the midden under the day’s trash. I don’t think anybody knows.”
“Do they know who he was? And why he wanted to kill Cormac?”
“The footman said that Malachi said he was a revolutionary. But I heard that some of the nobles thought that it might have been Lady Marguerite’s father, avenging the execution of his daughter.”
“I don’t think there’s been enough time for Orenza to send in an assassin. Marguerite just died yesterday.”
“Well, if I was the governor of Orenza, I’d certainly want to kill the prince,” Gretta said.
Elyssa was silent for a moment. “Yes,” she said finally. “So would I.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
We were back in Alberta at Lord Bentam’s house after a long, tiring week of travel. As with the outbound journey, Elyssa insisted that Gretta and the echoes ride in one carriage while she had the second one to herself, but I didn’t think any of us minded. Gretta might find echoes odd and unnerving, but I thought she preferred us to Elyssa.
The day we arrived back at the house, she gave her notice. I was willing to bet we would never see her again.
There was, of course, much consternation when Elyssa showed up, weeks before she was expected, with tales of intrigue and attempted murder. Both Hodia and Bentam were displeased and full of questions—but each one was focused on different issues. Hodia worried that Elyssa had behaved badly and been sent home in disgrace, having forever ruined her prospects for marrying a royal or even a high noble. She subjected Elyssa to dozens of interrogations, demanding to know how often she had interacted with Jordan, if she’d ever spoken to the king, and what other nobles had been invited to the palace. She was convinced that Elyssa was hiding information from her—and of course, she was right—but Elyssa calmly answered her questions and claimed that she had maintained good relations with everyone, even the queen.
Bentam was more
angry at the crown than suspicious of Elyssa. “To think that the king believes he has the right to murder high noblewomen in the plaza in front of the entire population of the city!” he raged, for news of Marguerite’s death had preceded us down the Charamon Road. “The goddess knows he’ll pay for that bit of arrogance!”
“Do you think the governor of Orenza will rebel?” she asked.
“I would be shocked if Lord Garvin wasn’t even now raising a small army.”
“And Alberta? Is it arming itself, too?”
He gave her a cold and mistrustful look. “Why do you suddenly want to know?”
They were having this conversation in his study the night after she arrived. The door was closed and the only witnesses were their echoes, motionless in the shadows.
“I have always wanted to know,” she replied sharply. “But you would never share your plans with me. I could have helped you—I could have listened for secrets every time I visited the home of some high noble loyal to the crown—but you would never take me in your confidence.”
“I was never sure of you,” he shot back. “You love wealth and status more than you love Alberta.”
She came to her feet with a graceful, disdainful motion. The echoes and I rose quickly behind her. “More than I love you, maybe,” she replied. “It’s not the same thing.”
That elicited a harsh crack of laughter from him. He was probably reviewing all the things in the world he loved more than his daughter.
“And I’ve never been sure of you, either,” she went on. “Do you want me to marry the prince and secure special privileges for Alberta? Or do you want me to marry the prince and murder him in his bed? Or do you want me to pretend to be planning a wedding to the prince while you secretly raise armies to march into Camarria? I don’t know what you’re plotting, so I don’t know how to prepare.”
Now his laugh was a little more genuine. “All those things,” he said, waving a hand. “What I want—what we all want—are concessions. And failing concessions, we want change.”