by Sharon Shinn
He turned his head just enough to kiss the inside of my palm. “I wanted to be the one to say it first. So you could be sure I meant it.”
“I will believe you anyway.”
“Then I love you.” As I dropped my hand, he lifted his own to smooth my hair behind my ear, then curled his palm around the back of my head. “It’s so odd,” he murmured.
Indeed, everything about this night was odd—I might have said impossible instead—so I wondered what exactly he meant. “What is?”
“Your face,” he said. “I have known Elyssa more than half my life and hated her most of that time. Just glimpsing her across a roomful of people could turn my mood absolutely bleak. And yet I look at you—” He stroked my hair again, then traced a finger along one eyebrow, down the curve of my jaw. “You look exactly like her, and yet I have the precise opposite reaction. I see your face. I see you. Whether I see you across the room or lying on the pillow next to me, I am filled with more gladness than I could have imagined. And yet it’s the very same face.”
“I’m never sure,” I said. “When all the echoes are with her, I’m never convinced you’ll be able to tell us apart. That you’ll know it’s me.”
“I always know,” he said. “I always will.”
“There has to be a way,” I said. “Even if you marry her. There has to be a way we can manage—” I didn’t know how to express it. “More of this.”
“I hope so,” he said. “It seems like you will be safer if you are in some other city, as far from her as you can be. But I imagine, if we marry, she and I will lead very separate lives. Surely there will be room for you in mine.”
“She’ll expect to bear your son or daughter,” I said. “So your lives can’t be completely separate.”
He was silent a moment. “Well, my father sired one child with Tabitha,” he said. “Though I was never sure how he managed it. I’m not positive I’ll be able to do even that much. Looking at her and knowing she’s not you—” He shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll be able to summon desire.”
Reprehensibly, I began to giggle. Rolling to his back, he started to laugh, too. “And then,” he went on, “there will be echoes in the room as well, and I’ll be even more distracted, imagining what it would have been like if you were still with her—”
I pushed myself up on one elbow so I could look down at him. “The echoes won’t be in the room,” I corrected. “I told you, remember? She sends them away when she wants to be intimate with a man.”
“It will still be most awkward,” he grumbled.
“What was it like tonight?” I asked. “Without echoes?”
He thought that over. “I would have expected it to seem strange to me,” he admitted. “Everything else about these past two days has been strange, not having echoes at my back. I have felt—unwieldy—out of balance. As if the echoes always propped me up or weighted me in place. I haven’t been able to navigate stairwells without clutching the bannister. I have felt too dizzy to stand for long.” He glanced over at me. “But as soon as I found you in the temple, that all went away. And I have felt right ever since.”
“I’m glad,” I said. “I would not have expected that.”
He sat up, pausing on the way to kiss me. “No,” he said. “But then, from beginning to end, I never expected any of this. I never would have predicted you.”
He came to his feet and began collecting his clothes. “I wish I didn’t have to go,” he said as he pulled on his pants, “but I do. The situation at the palace changes hour by hour, and the first courier from the battlefront usually arrives by dawn. I must be there.”
“Of course,” I replied. “Will you tell your father you have rescued me?”
He tugged his shirt over his head, then sat next to me so he could put on his socks. “Yes. And I will suggest the idea of keeping Elyssa’s echoes away from her as a surety for good behavior.”
“She won’t care. She doesn’t like her echoes.”
He leaned in for a quick kiss. “The point is not to force her cooperation. The point is to get you away from her. So it doesn’t matter if she cares.”
I frowned. “But I wish there was some way to force her cooperation. If you let her loose in Camarria and she makes contact with Marco again—or have you already arrested him?”
Jordan sighed and began working his feet into his boots. “No, despite the fact that you helpfully pointed him out that day we all went to the garden. One of my men was going to follow him home, but we were all distracted by the news of war and—the upshot was, Marco slipped through our fingers.” He stood up and pulled on his jacket. “I don’t know if she’s found some way to communicate with him.”
“Elyssa left him a letter that day in the garden, but I wouldn’t think she’s had another chance to write to him. Trima refused to carry notes for her—Trima’s her maid, you know.”
“But my father has long suspected that a few of the servants in the palace are employed by rebels. Any one of them could have agreed to carry notes instead.”
“You should fire those servants!” I exclaimed.
He laughed. “Oh, if only we knew which ones they were.” He held his hands out to me. “Come, my dear, walk me to the door and lock it behind me. I will see you tomorrow around dinnertime—unless the news is so dire I cannot get free by that hour. Then I will arrive later. But I promise you I will be here at some point tomorrow evening.”
I climbed out of bed and escorted him to the door, where we paused a few moments for farewell kisses that slowly grew more intense. “I hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to say goodbye to you when you were naked,” Jordan murmured as he rested a hand at my waist. I could feel him exerting all his willpower not to stroke his fingers higher. “But I must go. I will see you tomorrow.”
A final kiss and he was gone. I shut the door and threw the lock and then stood with my ear pressed against the wood, trying to catch the faintest last reverberation of his feet upon the stairs.
Then I put out the lights, crawled back in bed, and wrapped myself around the pillow where Jordan’s head had rested. It carried the scent of his body, a scent I would have recognized anywhere, a masculine blend of sweat and leather and something like cloves. I hugged the pillow tighter and inhaled more deeply and couldn’t decide if I should weep that he was gone or revel in the fact that he had been there at all.
Or simply marvel at the unbelievable shape my life had taken.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
When I woke, my first coherent thought was, I need to go to the botanical gardens.
I had lain awake half the night, unable to settle my mind, thinking back over the last hour with Jordan, thinking ahead to the next days and years and months. Finding this elegant, solitary room an even stranger place to be than the temple with its abandoned echoes.
I had never been alone before. The closest I had come was the midnight foray through Lord Bentam’s house when I went searching for food, and even then, Elyssa and the echoes were only a few rooms away. But now there was no one at my back, at my side, reminding me to move and breathe and turn my head, assuring me of the endless replicability of existence. All by myself, I seemed so finite and fragile, as if the smallest mishap could carry me away and no one would remember that I had been in this world at all.
To distract myself from a building sense of spinning, formless terror, I started thinking about Marco and how much of a threat he still posed. I wondered if I could find my way back to that seedy tavern where Elyssa had met him so many months ago. If I could tell Jordan where it was, royal guards could keep watch on the place until they caught Marco coming or going. But we had only been there once and I wasn’t sure I could retrace our path. I fell asleep as I mentally tried to reconstruct our route. In my dreams, I found myself hopelessly lost, still searching for the tavern as I endlessly wandered the streets of Camarria.
But I woke up remembering the one place that I might be able to find on my own. And the one place Marco might act
ually go, looking for Elyssa.
Instead, I would go looking for him.
I washed up with the water that had been in the room when I arrived, changed gratefully into one of the clean dresses Jordan had brought me, and answered the door when a maid arrived with a generous breakfast tray. I smiled at her because it seemed like something a kind mistress would do; she shyly smiled back.
I had never randomly started a conversation with a stranger, but I had such urgent need of information that I plunged right past my uneasiness. “If I want to go to the botanical gardens,” I asked her, “what’s the best way to get there?”
“Oh, it’s so easy from here,” she said, crossing to the window and pointing. “See that street? You follow that until you get to the big redbrick building with all the flags. Then you turn right and it’s only a few more blocks to the garden.”
I didn’t remember the building until she mentioned it, but then I could instantly call it to mind. We had traveled past it often enough. “Thank you so much,” I said.
“But it’s chilly out,” she warned. “You’ll want to wear your cloak.”
“I will.”
As soon as I had devoured my breakfast and bundled up, I gathered my keys and my coins and set out on my adventure. Stepping outside of the inn’s front door felt like the bravest, rashest, most foolhardy thing I had ever done, and I stood for a moment right in front of its cheerful painted sign, wondering if I had the courage to walk away.
What if I couldn’t find the gardens after all? What if I couldn’t find my way back? How long would I roam through the streets of Camarria, begging strangers for help but unable to tell them who I was or where I belonged? I hadn’t thought to ask Jordan or the maid the name of the inn, and I couldn’t read the words on the sign. I studied the letters a long time, trying to commit them to memory so I could trace them out if some kind soul offered to come to my aid. But what if I remembered them wrong? What if no one I asked was familiar with this small, quiet place?
I took a deep breath. Then I would ask to be taken to the temple and I would throw myself on the mercy of the abbess. She would help me—she would get word to the palace. I would not be lost forever.
I must do this. I must take the first step away from the last place where I could claim a shred of belonging.
I straightened my shoulders, turned my face into the biting wind, and set off in the direction the maid had indicated. The streets were still half-deserted as a consequence of war, but even so I encountered plenty of people striding around on their own business. Some brushed by without speaking, some nodded politely, but no one gave me a second glance or seemed to wonder why I was out on my own without an echo or an original to ease my way. The longer I walked, the more confident I became. No one would notice me. No one would wonder. I looked like an ordinary woman out for a brisk walk on a cold and overcast day.
I could not let my incredulity distract me from my task.
The redbrick building was easily found, the proper turn made, and the gardens located exactly where they were supposed to be. I had a moment of panic at the gate, when the bored attendant reminded me that I needed to pay an entrance fee. “Oh,” I said, digging for the coins in my pocket and accidentally dropping a few of them on the counter. She had told me the price but I wasn’t sure which coin would cover it. Fortunately, she plucked the right one out of the pile and waved me inside.
Elated that I had made it this far without a misstep, I hurried into the garden and down the winding path that I had taken with Elyssa. The day was gloomy enough that I practically had the whole place to myself, though I did spot a pair of determined lovers strolling hand in hand without the benefit of gloves. The other three people I saw all appeared to be workers clearing away winter debris.
Soon enough I came to the bench where Elyssa and Marco had always met. He was not there, and this time I didn’t spot him loitering behind any statues or bushes. I tried not to feel a crushing sense of disappointment. What had been the odds, really, that he would be here waiting for her? He knew she was the king’s prisoner. He must guess that the royal family would be very interested in apprehending him. Even if he thought she could get away from the palace, why would he risk his own safety to meet her here? But I had so much wanted to do something grand and meaningful for Jordan, who had done so much for me—
“Elyssa.”
The voice came from behind me and I recognized it instantly. I couldn’t help a gasp as I whirled to face him. “Marco. You are here!” I exclaimed, keeping my voice low.
His dark eyes watched me with something between desperation and hunger. He was standing a proper distance away, but it was clear he was straining every muscle in his body to keep from lunging forward and wrapping me in a crushing embrace. “Yes, I come here every morning, but I cannot believe you have made an appearance,” he replied. “How did you get out of the palace unwatched?”
“I am far from certain I am unwatched,” I said, glancing over my shoulder. It wasn’t at all difficult to make my voice nervous and my mannerisms jumpy. “Let’s just say I had help escaping, but I don’t have much time before I’ll be missed.”
He came a pace closer and now there were only inches between us. “Don’t go back,” he said. “Come with me. Right now.”
I couldn’t help taking a step away from him—he was too close—but I covered my instinctive recoil with indignant words. “Are you mad? Of course I’m going back,” I said, trying to summon all of Elyssa’s contrariness. “I have a part to play in this complicated drama, and I’m going to see it through.”
“‘A part to play,’” he repeated, his voice flat with suppressed anger. “So you love me—but you’ll still marry the prince.”
I gave him a look from flashing eyes. “If that’s what’s required. I always told you I would.”
“I thought—after everything—” He shook his head. “Then why are you even here this morning?”
Now I let my voice falter and my gaze drop. “I just wanted a chance to see you. If I could.”
“I don’t suppose you have any news that would be useful to the rest of us.”
I shook my head and let a little anger of my own show. “They keep me penned up in my room away from all their councils. But I know there have been messengers riding furiously between the palace and the battlefront. I think they expect to know something within a couple of days. From what I can overhear, they are committed to negotiating a peace.”
Now he spoke in a sneering tone. “And all because the goddess took away their echoes! The poor sniveling lords and ladies can’t figure out how to walk through the room without two or three shadows at their backs!”
“It is almost comical,” I agreed. “For myself, I have never felt so free, but the rest of them are staggering about as if they have lost a limb.”
“I wonder …” he said, his voice trailing off.
I was seized with apprehension, but I kept my voice light. “Oh, I mistrust you when you use that tone! You wonder what?”
“If all that bends the king to reconciliation is the loss of his echoes—would he work so hard for a treaty if his echoes were already destroyed?”
“What are you thinking?” I demanded.
“If the temple burned down, say, with all the echoes in it. Would the king still try to negotiate for peace?”
Elyssa might have worn a different expression, but my own face showed disbelief and horror. “You would do that?”
He shrugged. “Why not? I don’t want a treaty—none of the fellows like me do! We want to see the king overturned and all the rules rewritten, or how will we ever get our share? If the king’s echoes are burned to ashes, then he’ll take up arms again and the war will go on. I like this notion more and more.”
Harold’s echoes burned … Jordan’s … Annery’s. Mine. All those exotic, mysterious, helpless, beautiful creatures gone in one murderous blaze. I was so appalled I could hardly continue to play my role. “Well, I wouldn’t mind losing the whole
lot of them,” I said in what I hoped was a callous way. “But you’d have to burn every temple in the kingdom to make this work. Because the high nobles whose echoes aren’t slumbering in Camarria will still press for an end to the war.”
I thought it was a very good argument, but he still seemed intrigued by his disastrous scheme. “Maybe,” he said a bit absently. “But if Harold is enraged enough—or wounded enough—it might not matter what the other nobles say. This could be a very good plan.”
I wanted to throw up. At this moment, I hated Marco more than I had ever hated Elyssa. But I had to cover my fear and my fury with a little laugh. “We’re good for each other,” I said. “We give each other ideas.”
He quickly focused back on me. “We are good for each other,” he said. “Do you think you can meet me again tomorrow? Maybe by then you will have gleaned a little more information from your secretive hosts.”
I was thinking quickly. Could Jordan lay a trap for Marco? How much time would he need? “Not tomorrow—the day after,” I said. “Or perhaps the day after that. I can’t be sure when I’ll be able to slip out.”
“I’ll look for you every morning,” he promised. “And I will understand that if you don’t show up, it’s because you couldn’t get free.”
“I will try to manage it in the next two or three days,” I said. “I’ll meet you right here by this bench.”
But Marco was shaking his head. “I saw two royal soldiers patrolling the garden when I arrived this morning. I almost left, except I thought they might be here to make sure the place was safe for the king to visit, and that you might be among the royal party. We need a new place. Somewhere the guards aren’t looking for rebels.”
“All right—then—let’s see—” I stammered, thinking wildly. The only other places I actually knew in the city were the temple and the palace, and both were ineligible as spots for meeting with anarchists. From nowhere, an image popped into my mind. “I know! What about the new bridge? Is it completed yet?”