Echo in Amethyst

by Sharon Shinn

  “She says that? To your face?”

  “Well, she thinks we can’t understand her, so why wouldn’t she say it in our presence? The only reason she doesn’t drown us in a river somewhere is that she likes the prestige of having three echoes.”

  He peered down at me, and by the uneven firelight, I could see the worry in his face. “She wouldn’t really do that. Drown you, I mean. Harm you in any way.”

  I made a scoffing sound. “She harms us all the time. Remember when we were in Camarria and she told everyone that one of her echoes had tripped and hurt its ankle? What happened was that Elyssa stomped on its leg in a fit of rage.”

  “But she—I mean—has she done that before?”

  Reluctantly enough, because I hated to leave his embrace, I pulled myself away from him and loosened the front laces of my bodice. Just enough so I could pull the gown down off my right shoulder and expose the long white expanse of my upper arm. Decorated with a cascading pattern of reddened scars, straight lines and circles. Slash marks and burns. I wasn’t sure if he could see the evidence in the uncertain light, so I lifted his hand and molded it around my arm so he could feel the patches of raised skin carved into the flesh. “Over and over,” I said. “It’s the first thing I remember. Feeling pain.”

  Slowly, as if afraid the pressure would hurt me, Jordan tightened his fingers over my mutilated skin. “Hope,” he whispered. I could hear the shocked horror in his quiet voice. “My dear.” The room was too dark for me to see clearly, but I thought his eyes glinted with unshed tears.

  “There’s more,” I said, pulling the dress back up to my shoulder. “On my stomach. On my back. On my legs. Anywhere I’m likely to be covered by clothes.”

  “Just you?” he asked. “Or all of the echoes?”

  “All of us,” I said, “though I have more marks than the others. When she was a girl, she realized that if she—if she hurt me enough—I would show an expression of pain. The other two never reacted, no matter what she did to them, so she didn’t bother with them very much. Just me.”

  “Does she—does she do it still?”

  “Not really. She seemed to lose interest when she was eighteen or twenty. When there were balls to go to and men to flirt with and she wasn’t so bored. She still hits us when she’s in a rage, but these days she mostly tries to keep as far away from us as she can. We’ve learned to stay out of her way.”

  “That’s why you’re so afraid of her,” he said. “You think if she learns that you’re conscious, she’ll harm you in some terrible fashion instead of simply letting you go.”

  I think she’ll kill me. “Yes,” was all I said.

  “Then we’ll have to have you safely in the palace with guards at the door when my father tells her she must leave you behind.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not sure it will work. She still has power over me. She can draw me to her—make me mimic her every movement. If she doesn’t want to leave me behind, she’ll just bind me to her and walk out the door, and I’ll have to follow. I’ll be helpless.”

  “I’ll hold on to you,” he promised. “I won’t let you be dragged out of the room. My father’s guards will escort her so far out of the city that her bond with you will be broken.”

  “Does that really happen?” I asked wistfully. “Is there a distance at which the connection between an echo and her original is simply snapped?”

  “I don’t know, but if there is, we’ll find it.”

  “I hope so,” I said, my voice very low. “I so much want to be free of her.”

  “Then maybe we shouldn’t wait,” he said. “You can come back with me to Camarria tomorrow—assuming we survive the night, of course! I’ll tell her that while we were trapped in this room together, I was astonished to learn you could speak—”

  I was gripped by ungovernable terror. “No—no—you can’t do that,” I pleaded. “Not until we’re at the palace and surrounded by your father’s guards. She will find a way to bend me to her will, and I’ll have to stay with her, but then she’ll know, and she’ll do something awful—”

  He cupped his hand around the back of my head and pressed his lips to my forehead, soothing me with small rocking motions. “Shh, it’s all right, I’m sorry. Shh now. Very well, I won’t tell her that you’ve gained consciousness and a voice. I won’t do anything until I have you safe in Camarria and she can’t stop me from taking you away from her.”

  “Thank you,” I said against his coat.

  “I don’t like it, though,” he added. “I’ll be so worried about you.”

  I lifted my head so I could smile at him. “I wish I could say I’m sorry, but that’s something I’m actually glad to know.”

  He lifted a hand to touch my face. “It’s still amazing to me,” he said. “That I’m sitting here talking to you. That you even exist.”

  “It’s amazing to me that you ever noticed me,” I replied.

  “There’s this lovely word they have in Ferrenlea, and I just learned it,” he said. “Amelista.”

  “I know that word!” I exclaimed. “Lord Bentam entertained a man from Ferrenlea and he was trying to explain it to Elyssa. She wasn’t very interested.”

  “It means I know you, or something like that.”

  I remembered the conversation from a few weeks back. I said, “‘I see you and you see me.’”

  “Yes. I feel that’s true with us. We see each other in ways no one else ever has. We share amelista.”

  It was a good thing he couldn’t see me blushing in the dark. “I am very glad it was you,” I said in a low voice, “who first set eyes on me and knew I was there.”

  It occurred to me that, since my gown was still half undone, he was seeing rather more of me than was strictly proper. I straightened the neckline, then reached for the laces so I could do up the bodice again. But Jordan pushed my fingers aside. I looked up at him inquiringly. He lifted his hands to my shoulders and tugged on the dress, sliding it lower on both sides until my arms were exposed down to my elbows and my back was uncovered down to my waist. His hands moved slowly up my naked arms, his skin so warm and mine so cool, and his fingers paused briefly at every bump and scar.

  Then his body lifted; he came to his knees and brought his arms around so he could run his flat palms over the skin on my back. There was one scar that was particularly long and deep, a gash that had bled for days and seemed to heal reluctantly. It started at the bottom edge of my right shoulder blade, crossed my spine at a diagonal, and ended at the lowest point of my left-hand rib cage. Jordan traced its whole ugly path with slow, sensitive fingertips.

  Still on his knees, he began moving around until he was directly behind me. I thought he wanted a better look at my scars, so I shifted a little to be closer to the firelight, and I drew my heavy hair over my right shoulder. Hiding nothing, letting him see every sad, marred inch of skin.

  He bent forward and pressed his mouth against the scar, first at the shoulder blade where the dagger had entered. Then on the next inch of ripped skin, then the next, then the next, until his lips were on the edge of my rib cage and there was no way he could miss the fact that I was barely breathing.

  Before I could speak—before I could think of anything I might say—we heard voices in the hall. Jordan and his echoes jumped to their feet, but he motioned me to remain where I was. “Stay hidden. It might be an advantage to us if the rebels do not realize you are in the room.”

  I shrank back into the shadows, pulling my dress back up and tightening the laces as Jordan moved to the center of the room, the poker somehow back in his hand. A moment later the door burst open and Renner strode in, his echo at his heels.

  “We have talked with your captain,” he said. “He says he will allow my men and me to leave unmolested if you will write out instructions to that effect.”

  “I will, if you bring me paper and ink.”

  “The governor’s wife says both can be found in the desk against the wall.”

  Jordan picked up
the candelabra and raised it to shoulder height so that the thin flames illuminated the whole space. Indeed, a delicate wooden writing desk was situated across the room, a single ladder-back chair beside it. I had the irrelevant thought that both pieces of furniture looked so uncomfortable that no one in this house must spend much time writing.

  “Then this should be settled very soon,” Jordan said, making his way to the desk and rummaging in its drawers. His echoes followed behind him, pantomiming his every movement. Once he unearthed writing materials, he dropped onto the chair and began scratching out a message. He wrote quickly and confidently, without seeming to worry overmuch about the phrasing.

  “No tricks now,” Renner warned. “Don’t pretend you’re guaranteeing safe passage while you’re telling him to slaughter the lot of us.”

  “You may read every word,” Jordan said, not even looking up. “And if you don’t like what I’ve written, I’ll throw the paper into the fire and let you dictate my letter.”

  “Well, I just might,” Renner said.

  Jordan finished with a flourish, then unscrewed one of the candles from its metal base, tilting it so the wax dripped over the paper. As it cooled, he pulled a heavy ring from his right hand and pressed the seal into the wax. Still sitting at the desk, he held the paper up for Renner. “Read it,” he said. “Let me know if you approve.”

  Renner snarled but crossed the room to snatch the note from Jordan’s hand, his echo grasping at empty air beside him. My guess was the Orenza man would have no idea how to word a letter begging for his own safety, so he was merely posturing when he demanded to see what Jordan had written.

  “It will do,” he said when he had skimmed the contents. “Once I deliver it, I will come back to escort you from the room. No matter what your man promises, I don’t believe he will allow me to walk freely from the building unless I leave this room with you beside me, a knife at your throat.”

  “That seems excessively dramatic.”

  Renner sneered. “It has been a season for drama,” he replied. Without another word, he exited the room, once more slamming the door behind him.

  As soon as he was gone, Jordan was on his feet and bounding over to me, his echoes in pursuit. “When Renner returns, you stay here,” he ordered. “I don’t believe he realizes you’re in the room, and I don’t want to give him another hostage. Once Renner is safely gone, I will find Elyssa and send her to collect you.”

  “All right,” I said. I put a hand to my temple. “What an evening this has been, from first to last! My head is spinning.”

  “Yes, and we aren’t out of danger yet,” Jordan said. “Anything could still go wrong—”

  There were sudden shouts in the hall, and the sounds of thudding bodies and clashing swords. Jordan whirled for the door. “As I said,” he murmured. “Trouble. Stay out of sight.”

  Almost before he finished the words, the door flew open and Renner flung himself inside, his echo a ghost behind him. “You’ve betrayed us!” he cried, waving his sword wildly. “Your guards have come bursting in from both sides—they’re attacking my men—”

  “That is not what I asked for,” Jordan said. “If you lead me to my captain, I will tell him—”

  “They’re being slaughtered!” Renner wailed, charging forward. “And you will die for it!”

  Jordan darted behind one of the wingback chairs, his echoes practically tripping over each other to fall in line behind him. Still brandishing his weapon, Renner feinted from one side to the other as Jordan kept the furniture between them. The clamor from the hall grew louder, full of angry bellows and howls of pain and the scraping metallic sound of swords engaging.

  “You can still ride away from here,” Jordan said. “If you harm me, you will die.”

  “Filthy lying royal bastard,” Renner panted. “I am dead anyway. I am taking you with me.”

  He shoved the chair so hard that it hit Jordan in the stomach, knocking him back into his echoes and sending two of them careening to the floor. Jordan caught his balance, but Renner had already darted around the chair and was slashing at him with a frenzied rage. Through all this, Jordan had retained his grip on the poker, his only weapon, and he wielded it with desperate grace, parrying all of Renner’s frantic blows. But Renner managed a lucky thrust or two. I saw blood start up from a cut on Jordan’s face, and I was pretty sure his left arm had been seriously wounded.

  Unable to sit still and watch, I jumped to my feet and scanned the room for a weapon of my own. Out in the hallway, I heard more screams, more heavy thuds, and then an urgent voice. “My liege! Where are you?”

  “In here! Under attack!” Jordan called back.

  The byplay seemed to enrage Renner even further, and he fought with the abandon of a man who had nothing left to lose. Grunting and swearing, he hacked at Jordan with his sword, kicked at him with his heavy boots, and succeeded in knocking him to the floor. Jordan flung up one arm to protect his head as Renner brought his sword down in a flashing arc. I saw blood well up as Jordan cried out in pain.

  I was already on the move, snatching up the coal shovel that rested against the hearth, and racing across the room with an inarticulate cry. Renner swung around in astonishment, but he was badly positioned to defend himself from the angle of my attack. I swung the shovel hard, first connecting with the wrist of his sword arm and then, when he dropped his hand, smashing him across the cheek. He cursed and stumbled back, his free hand coming up to cover his bleeding face.

  “Who—what are you—how—” he stuttered.

  Jordan had rolled to his feet, clutching his injured arm to his chest. “End this, Renner,” he said grimly. “I swear I will speak on your behalf—”

  “You do nothing but lie!” Renner howled and sprang forward.

  I shrieked, Jordan loosed an oath, and what seemed like a dozen bodies crashed through the open door. Maybe six of the newcomers wore royal livery; three of them sprinted to Jordan’s side, while the other three charged toward Renner. But more men poured into the room, and more, until there was so much noise and chaos I could barely follow what was happening. Almost whimpering from fear, I scrambled back toward the poor safety of the wingback chair, glancing around madly as I dove for cover. Jordan’s guards had pushed him behind them and formed a barrier between him and the fierce action among the fighters. I saw him slumping against the wall, still cradling his arm to his chest; his face was drawn in pain but his eyes keenly watched the combat.

  I heard a muted roar from the hallway, then the heavy sound of many booted feet running in unison. A moment later, a fresh cadre of guards shouldered through the door, all of them wearing purple sashes that I assumed marked them as the governor’s men. There had to be a dozen of them, and voices in the hallway indicated that another ten or fifteen were on the scene.

  Their appearance broke the will of the rebel fighters—all of a sudden, the brawling in the room stopped, and the few remaining insurgents flung their hands in the air. “Yield! Yield!” they cried, one after the other, dropping to their knees and laying aside their swords. The rest of the royal guardsmen slowly backed across the room to join the cluster around Jordan and his echoes—but I noticed that none of them surrendered their weapons.

  A tall, harsh-featured man strode to the door and called out, “We’ve secured the library!” An answering voice shouted back, “We’ve secured the rest of the house. All fighters have surrendered.”

  The tall man spun back and raked the room with his eyes, quickly focusing on Jordan. “Are you the prince? Are you hurt?”

  Jordan shoved himself away from the wall and allowed one of the soldiers to assist him across the room. It was not a simple trek, considering he was wounded, there was very little light, and the floor was littered with bodies. “Yes to both questions,” he said, “though I do not think my injuries are severe.”

  Before the soldier could reply, three more people rushed through the door. I had only met him briefly, but I recognized Lord Vincent, the governor of Alb
erta. He was shorter than Jordan, powerfully built, with a round face that was meant to be open and smiling. Tonight it was grim and weary. His two echoes looked even more discouraged and tired.

  “Prince! You are unharmed?” he demanded, bowing deeply.

  “Not quite that, but I survive,” Jordan replied.

  Vincent turned to give a quick order to the tall man, whom I assumed was the captain of the guard. “Start clearing the room of bodies,” he said. “Make sure anyone who is still alive is tended to.”

  “What of the wounded rebels?” the captain asked. “Tend them as well?”

  Vincent hesitated and glanced at Jordan. Who answered sharply, “Of course. We will sort out later who deserves what punishment, but for now, anyone who is alive should be cared for.”

  Vincent nodded at his captain. “As he says. And make sure a medic is sent to the prince as quickly as possible.”

  The captain turned away and began issuing orders to his men, who efficiently set to work on their gruesome task. I had been crouching on the floor; now I pushed myself back to settle against the wall in the darkest shadows of the room, where I hoped I would be unobserved. The echoes silently took their places beside me. We all peered around the chair as best we could to watch the drama unfold.

  Vincent and Jordan were facing off in the middle of the room, surveying each other with some distrust. I thought Jordan was swaying on his feet, but he made no move to sit down. Instead, he pulled himself up to take advantage of his greater height and spoke sharply.

  “What happened here tonight? How did rebel fighters penetrate the house?”

  “Renner Andolin presented himself at my door, announcing that he was here for my daughter’s party. As he has been here many times before, my staff admitted him. It was only after he was inside that his men came in from two other entrances, and my servants were overwhelmed.”

  “Surely you had guards within close call.”

  Vincent’s eyes gleamed in the firelight. “Surely you did. Yet they were caught as unprepared as my own.”