by Sharon Shinn
I took a deep breath and focused on the echo’s dark face. His eyes didn’t quite meet mine; his smile was rote and remote. But I could follow his movements well enough. I could survive this dance. I concentrated ferociously on the music, on the subtle shifts of the echo’s body.
But for every step, every beat, I was tinglingly aware of Nico, dancing with Purpose just a few feet away from me.
Purpose. Had it really been sheer luck that she was standing where she was, the farthest away from Dezmen’s two echoes? Or had she deliberately positioned herself there, realizing that one of us would be paired up with an ordinary man, and that I should not be the one to have that man as a partner? But the echoes were incapable of independent reasoning. Weren’t they? Even I hadn’t thought the situation through that thoroughly. Even Marguerite had not. How could an echo have analyzed the danger and moved so subtly to avert it?
It had been chance. It must have been. Nothing else made any sense.
The dance with Dezmen finally came to an end and, to my relief, he did not ask Marguerite for a second one. But as the nobles and their echoes churned through the room, looking to partner up again, I started mentally reviewing where the next risk might lie. Of the twelve men on the dance floor tonight, there were four who had only two echoes, and any one of them might solicit Marguerite to dance at any point. I had to stay alert; I had to make sure that, whenever the numbers were unequal, I always paired up with an echo. I could not risk even a single dance with Nico.
Though I couldn’t help a brief, wistful speculation about what it would feel like to waltz with the inquisitor’s apprentice.
The next few dances held no particular terrors, but by that time I was too tightly wound to completely relax. If any of my partners had been human and capable of speech, they would certainly have asked me what was wrong because I was jumpy and frequently clumsy. My hands were as cold as theirs. I never quite focused on their faces because I was constantly trying to glance around to assess if we might be in danger. By the time the third hour of the ball came to a close, I had developed a real version of one of Marguerite’s imaginary headaches.
It was probably midnight when the crowd paused to take another refreshment break. Marguerite had snagged a glass of lemonade and joined the Banchura triplets on a set of sofas, so our mulberry-colored gowns provided dark contrast to their cascade of aqua and teal and cobalt.
“Have you noticed?” Leonora murmured with her goblet against her lip. “Elyssa’s injured echo is still missing.”
“That poor creature has been confined to Elyssa’s room for the entire time they’ve been here,” said Letitia, the sister who appeared to have the kindest heart. “She must be absolutely wretched to be separated from all the others.”
“Do you think Elyssa should have brought the echo downstairs anyway, but made her sit out the dances?” Marguerite said curiously.
“A very good question!” Lavinia exclaimed. “I suppose Elyssa was right to leave her upstairs because I’m sure the echo would try to dance if she was here with the rest of them. The impulse to conform would be too strong to allow her to sit, even if her leg is broken, don’t you think?”
“What would your echoes do?” Leonora asked.
It was a serious question now that Marguerite had revealed herself as someone with unconventional echoes. She thought it over before replying, “I’m not sure. Even when I release them, we’re never more than a few feet apart. If I was halfway across a ballroom? I’m not positive one of them would sit quietly and wait for my return.”
“We could experiment,” Leonora suggested. “Have Dezmen dance with you and don’t allow that dancing master, or whoever he is, to pair up with your third echo. See what happens.”
“I don’t think so,” Marguerite said, sounding amused. “It would be just my luck that she would grow agitated and start throwing herself through the crowd, determined to find me. Think how embarrassing for poor Dezmen! And for me!”
“Maybe some other time. Not at a ball,” Lavinia said. “We’ll all go walking in the garden and see what happens when you try to leave one of them behind.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Letitia said. “The weather is supposed to be fine.”
Marguerite’s attention had been caught by a disturbance at the door. I saw the way her body grew still as she trained her eyes in that direction, and I saw Patience and Purpose grow equally focused, so I looked the same way. At first I didn’t understand what had made them so uneasy. A man stood just over the threshold, his gaze flicking across the crowd as if he was counting bodies. He wore severe black and was almost as expressionless as an echo. From this distance, it was hard to tell his age or station, but I put him in his middle fifties and supposed him to be an employee of the crown. Not a servant—perhaps a secretary or a financial advisor …
Or an inquisitor.
On the thought, I felt my stomach clench. Yes, of course. He had that still, coiled look of latent power that I had seen in Del Morson, the governor’s inquisitor back in Oberton. He was about the same height and build as Nico, so this could very well be Nico’s uncle. During the short time that we had been in the palace, he had not bothered to show himself to Cormac’s guests, though I had assumed he was observing all of us from some invisible lair. I couldn’t imagine what had drawn him out of hiding tonight to make a very public appearance at a very frivolous event.
Or rather, I could. The thought made my stomach knot even more tightly.
“Who’s that?” Marguerite asked.
“Can you be a little more specific?” Leonora replied gaily. “There are dozens of people here.”
“At the door. He just arrived.”
The triplets and all their echoes turned their attention that way. Marguerite took the opportunity to glance briefly at me. Her eyes were filled with dread, and I was sure she could see me very properly mimicking her expression.
“Ooooh, I don’t know, but he’s a dour one, isn’t he?” was Lavinia’s irreverent response.
“He doesn’t look friendly at all,” Letitia agreed.
“He looks like he’s got bad news,” Leonora observed.
“Well, now that’s a shame. I wonder what news would be so bad that he couldn’t wait until after the ball to deliver it?”
“I hope nothing’s happened to the king,” Marguerite said in a worried voice. I was pretty sure she had no fears on that score, but the triplets instantly took up the thought.
“Oh, no! That would be awful!”
“I saw him at breakfast this morning, and he seemed just fine.”
“How old is he? I don’t think he’s even sixty yet. He’s a young man still!”
“Well, maybe it’s something else.”
“But what else could it be?”
It was clear, by the rumblings of the crowd around us, that others had noticed the arrival of the inquisitor and were also starting to speculate about what his appearance might mean. Prince Cormac seemed to be the last person in the room to realize that doom stood on his doorstep, but eventually even he felt the weight of the inquisitor’s gaze and turned to see who had come calling. By that time, everyone else had stopped whatever else they were doing to watch the drama unfold. No one raised a glass or took a step or spoke a word as Cormac made his way through the frozen crowd to the black-garbed figure waiting at the door. His echoes trailed behind him.
We all held our collective breath as the inquisitor murmured something into Cormac’s ear. The prince started back with a look of mingled anger and horror. “Are you sure?” he demanded. The inquisitor nodded and spoke again. His voice was too low for anyone but Cormac to hear him, though we all leaned forward in mute anticipation, straining to catch a syllable.
Cormac half-turned from the inquisitor and looked wildly around the room, but the person he sought was already headed his way—his brother Jordan, clearly deducing that something dreadful had happened to the family and bracing himself to learn what it was. The minute Jordan arrived at Cormac’s side
, the inquisitor repeated his news, and the younger prince looked just as appalled. The three of them conferred quietly for another moment while the rest of us stared and fidgeted and exchanged wide-eyed glances. Then, without a backward glance, Cormac and his brother strode out of the ballroom, their echoes and the inquisitor closely following.
Those left behind practically exploded with exhaled breath and then instantly began firing off questions. What happened? Was that the inquisitor? Did you hear what he said? When are we going to find out what’s wrong? We joined most of the dancers as they drew into a tight pack in the middle of the room, nobles in the center, their echoes arrayed behind them.
“Someone’s dead—I heard him say that much,” one fellow reported.
“They found a body, that’s what I thought he said,” a woman replied.
Other voices took up the tale, added their own queries and observations. “Whose body? Who’s dead?”
“I thought I heard a name. I thought he said ‘Jane’s son.’”
“‘Jane’s son’? You mean Jamison?”
“What? Jamison? The king’s bastard? Is he dead?”
“They found Lord Jamison’s body?”
“Jamison is dead?”
“Jamison is dead!”
I wanted to sag to the floor with guilt and fear. My heart had grown huge and unwieldy, and now it was trying to blunder its way out of my chest. How much worse it must be for Marguerite! But she couldn’t faint. She couldn’t break down.
Now was not the time to draw attention to ourselves. Now we must be as shocked and surprised and bewildered as anyone.
I supposed we could do no better than to follow the lead of the Banchura triplets. “What dreadful news,” Leonora said, touching her hand to her forehead, her heart, and her lips. Many others in the crowd did the same. “I confess I didn’t like him, but it’s always a miserable day when someone so young comes to an early end. May the goddess have mercy on his soul.”
“But how did he die?” someone asked.
“I suppose we’ll find out in a day or two,” Lavinia answered. “But I for one don’t feel like dancing anymore. It seems too heartless. I’m going up to bed.”
Most of the women murmured agreement and gathered up their skirts to follow her out the door. Most of the men shook their heads and collected into a smaller, more compact group to discuss the implications a little longer.
Marguerite followed the rest of the women out the door and through the hallways toward the guest suites. “Terrible,” someone would murmur after every few steps, and someone else would answer, “I know. Unbelievable.”
“Well, I for one might celebrate,” Elyssa said loudly as we were all climbing the stairs. When a few of the others cried out in reproach, she sneered. “He was a miserable, wretched man.”
“But he’s dead!”
“That doesn’t change who he was when he was alive.”
“I will say a prayer for him,” Darrily answered, “and let the goddess choose how to judge him.”
The general assent to that generous sentiment saw us safely to Marguerite’s door. Marguerite bid everyone a quiet goodnight, and we quickly slipped inside.
Once again—as seemed to happen almost every time we stepped across that threshold—the four of us fell into each other’s arms. This time we were all trembling so hard that we couldn’t even keep to our feet, but sank to the floor in one shivering, sobbing pile.
“They’ve found him,” Marguerite managed to gasp out. “Oh, Brianna, I am so afraid!”
I was afraid, too. Terrified. But I tried to steady my voice. “We only have two choices. As we’ve always had two choices,” I said, gulping back tears. “We stay, or we run. I will do whichever one you want.”
“There’s nowhere to run,” she whispered.
“Then we stay. And we continue to play the masquerade.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
It was hard to know who would be able to glean the most information the next day—Marguerite the noble or Brianna the maid. We decided that I would go belowstairs early in the morning to grab a quick meal and learn what the servants were saying. Then Marguerite would dispense with her habit of morning isolation and join the other guests for a late breakfast. One way or another, we should find out just how much the inquisitor already knew.
I slipped down the servants’ stairwell and was headed for the kitchens when I heard a soft voice call my name. I whipped my head around and found Nico loitering in the hallway.
“I thought you must come down this way,” he said, still speaking very low. “Come walk with me.”
I could hardly find a better source of news, but I didn’t dare leave Marguerite alone too long while I engaged in a dangerous dalliance with the inquisitor’s nephew. I glanced back toward the stairwell. It took no great acting skill to appear willing but worried. “I can only be gone a few minutes. Marguerite—” I shivered. “She’s so upset. I imagine everyone is.”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the court cast in such uproar,” Nico said.
Well. I had to hear the details. I glanced at the stairwell again and nodded. He took my elbow and showed me down a back passage that led to a side exit. It fed into an ornamental garden that—as I was leading a double life—I had had no time to explore. It was only a couple of acres, planted with low, flowering bushes and stands of ditch lilies; painted white benches provided quaint seating areas beside a pond that glittered with fish. A wooden bridge arched over the tranquil scene, offering a pleasant view—and the assurance that no one could be hiding near enough to eavesdrop on a conversation.
We didn’t speak until we were in the center of the bridge, our elbows resting on the wooden railing and our gazes directed at the water feature below. For the first time since I had met him, Nico appeared entirely serious. There did not seem to be a single laugh left within him.
“The gossip is that Lord Jamison has been found dead,” I said, my voice low even though no one but the fish could overhear us. “Is that true?”
He nodded. “True. The royal family is shattered. Harold is in a rage, but Cormac is half wild with grief and remorse. He and Jamison quarreled when they were on the road, you know, and Cormac is now asking himself if it is his fault that Jamison is dead.”
“How did he die?”
“Drowned, apparently. Although the details are—puzzling.”
I turned to face him. “Drowned where? And what do you mean about the details?”
He continued staring down at the garden. “There’s a small lake on a property about a day and a half from here, just off the Charamon Road. Some children were swimming there a couple of days ago, and they found his body.”
“How gruesome for them.”
“I imagine so.”
“Did he fall in and drown?”
“It seems likely. Although, as I say, it’s puzzling.”
“How so?”
“His body was stripped to his underclothes.”
“Huh,” I said in a thoughtful voice, as if I was trying to puzzle out what might have happened. “Well—perhaps he went swimming, but he didn’t want to get completely naked in case someone else happened along. And then he tired and he went under.”
Nico nodded. “Right. That’s probably how it happened. But then, what happened to his clothes?”
“His clothes?”
“His trousers and jacket and shoes and rings. They’re all gone. Wouldn’t he have left them on the shore if he’d taken them off to go swimming?”
“Oh! I see what you mean!” I exclaimed, as if I was much struck by the observation. “Although—well—in some neighborhoods, if the locals found a pile of fancy clothes just lying on the ground, they wouldn’t ask too many questions. They’d just quietly gather up the goods.”
“That was my thought, too. The same is probably true of his horse. Which is also missing.”
“I think it seems even more likely the horse found a new home right away. Any farmer I know would have conside
red such a find a gift straight from the goddess.”
He nodded again. “But other things are odd. For instance, the body was lying on the bottom of the lake.”
I opened my eyes wide. “Should it have been floating instead? I’m sorry, I don’t know how these things work.”
He gave me a brief glance before resuming his study of the pond below us. “I don’t know much about it, either, but my uncle says if a body has been in the water long enough, it will rise to the surface. Unless there’s something holding it down.”
“Was there?”
He looked at me again and didn’t answer. I hesitated a moment and then summoned the sort of irritation I figured I would show if I was absolutely guilt-free. “Nico, either tell me what you’re thinking or stop dropping little hints and then shutting your mouth! You’re the one who invited me out here, so I think you must want to talk about it, but it’s fine if you don’t. I’ll just go back inside and try to keep Marguerite calm.”
“It’s just that there are so many details that don’t make sense,” he said. “My uncle has sent a whole team of men to the lake to find out what they can.”
“What details?” I asked. “Don’t be so mysterious.”
“There were a couple of rocks and branches. Stuffed down his underclothes as if someone had shoved them there. Weighing him down. As if to make sure he didn’t float to the top of the water.”
I allowed my eyebrows to shoot up in astonishment. “That is suspicious. Unless—”
“Unless what?”
“I never met the man, so I can’t judge. Was he the kind who might want to kill himself? If he wanted to make sure he drowned, maybe he weighted himself down.”
Nico stared at me. “It doesn’t sound like the Jamison I knew.”
I shrugged. “You said he’d had a fight with Cormac. Maybe he thought the king would be angry with him as well. Maybe he thought there had been a rift with his family that he couldn’t repair. Maybe he had done something shocking and someone was about to reveal it. I can think of a lot of reasons a man might end his life.”