by Sharon Shinn
All I could come up with was, “Well, then.”
It wasn’t an invitation, but it wasn’t a refusal, and he interpreted it as acquiescence. He dropped his mouth on mine with a heavy pressure, brought his hands around to squeeze me against his chest. I felt flushed with guilt and delight and madness and sensation. I pulled back just so I could lean forward again and press my mouth to his with even greater urgency. I felt one of his hands move from my shoulder to the back of my head, holding me in place so I couldn’t easily break the kiss again. He held me even tighter, bending me backward over the railing, so I was even more dizzy and off-balance. My foot slipped as I shifted against his weight, and then I did break free, laughing as I clutched his arm to keep from toppling over.
“Eek! I’m going to go tumbling off the bridge!” I exclaimed.
He cradled me closer and dropped a kiss on the top of my head. “No, you won’t,” he said. “I won’t ever let you fall.”
I rested my forehead against his chest, taking a moment to steady my breathing. “That’s a nice promise.”
“I mean it.”
I could think of so many potential answers to that, from You won’t mean it when you learn the truth to Why have you decided to give your heart to me? I couldn’t decide what to say, so I just shook my head and remained silent.
“Unfortunately, I can’t stay out here much longer and prove it to you,” he went on. “I have more work to do for my uncle.”
I freed myself from his arms and made a great show of smoothing down my skirts and patting my hair in place. “Perhaps I will run into you sometime tomorrow or the day after,” I said in a demure voice.
He grinned at me and took my arm in his, turning me toward the palace and walking me down the arch of the bridge. “Count on it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Nothing of any significance happened the next day, unless you count a few more kisses shared with Nico, but the following day just cascaded with disaster.
It began innocently enough, when Marguerite announced her intention to visit the temple instead of joining the other nobles as they went off to inspect some new bridge that was under construction. I had started to hope that anyone spying on Marguerite had just decided that she was extremely devout; at any rate, I was clearly never going to be able to convince her to curtail her visits to the temple. So Patience and Purpose and I donned plain dresses and tried to match Marguerite’s pious expression, and off we went.
I walked beside Marguerite, my head bowed at the same angle as hers, while the echoes followed a pace behind. This allowed the two of us to converse in low voices while we walked, though we tried to make sure our lips hardly moved so no one realized we were talking.
“Do you expect a letter from Taeline already?” I asked.
“Maybe. If the courier was as fast as the priestess implied.”
“I wonder if the news about Jamison has made it all the way to Oberton.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s traveled to every city in the Seven Jewels by now.”
“But she probably had to write her reply to you before she found out about him.”
“No doubt. I wish so much I could talk to her about all this, but—” She shrugged. I copied the slight movement as I tried to guess what Marguerite hadn’t bothered to say. But she’s too far away and no part of this story can be committed to a paper that anyone might read.
I had always assumed Taeline was more of a go-between than a spiritual counselor, but now I thought perhaps the priestess fulfilled both roles for Marguerite. “If she was here, would you tell her? What really happened?”
Marguerite was silent a moment. “Probably.”
“She wouldn’t report you to an inquisitor?”
“As I understand it, it is safe to confess to priestesses. I suppose now and then one of them has betrayed a confidence, but I’m sure Taeline never would.”
I couldn’t think of too many people, including all the priestesses I had ever met, that I would be willing to trust with the knowledge that I had committed murder. “Maybe once you’re home,” I said. “You can talk to her then.”
Marguerite was silent a moment. “Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever make it back to Oberton,” she said, her voice even softer than before. “Don’t you? Sometimes I have this feeling that something will happen—here—” She swept her arm out to indicate all of Camarria. I belatedly made the same gesture. “I might be engaged to Cormac and pressured to stay here for the duration of the betrothal. I might be arrested for murder. Either way, I’ll never be able to go home.”
“Don’t talk like that,” I said.
“I try to be as brave as you are,” she said. “But I’m really just a coward.”
“I’m not brave,” I said. “I just don’t know what else to do.”
By this time, we had arrived at the temple of the triple goddess. As always, once we crossed the bridge, we circled around to enter the door guarded by the representation of mercy. We all paused before the statue and touched our fingers to our hearts, then stepped quietly into the sanctuary.
The place was more crowded than usual, so we couldn’t all sit together. Marguerite took a place on the aisle of the second-to-last pew, while the echoes and I settled in the row behind her. As always, I tipped my head down just as the others did, but I kept my eyes open and let my gaze dart all around the room, just to watch what everyone else was doing. There were six priestesses—more than usual—moving among the penitents, so I figured the crowd would empty out relatively quickly. And indeed, within twenty minutes, everyone sitting in Marguerite’s row had already risen and departed.
So she was sitting by herself, her head bowed and her hands clasped, when one of the white-robed priestesses entered her pew from the other side and slid soundlessly down the bench to sit beside her.
“May the goddess have mercy on your soul,” the priestess said in low tones. “What brings you to the temple today?”
Marguerite started so violently that Patience and Purpose jerked upright on either side of me. I didn’t react quite so spasmodically, but I admit I was staring. I recognized that voice.
“Taeline!” Marguerite exclaimed. “But how are you— What are you doing here? Did you get my letter?”
Taeline nodded. “I had planned to write you with my news, but it was faster to bring it myself.”
“What news? Good or bad?”
“I hardly know. I’m being transferred to the main temple in Thelleron. Though I will spend ten days or twelve days in Camarria for training before my transfer is complete.”
“Thelleron! You’re being transferred! But you’re—that means—you won’t be in Oberton anymore?”
“That is indeed what it means.”
I thought Marguerite might say, I’ll miss you, if I ever make my way back to Orenza. Or, thinking ahead to how she would manage her covert communications, she might ask, Are there any other priestesses in Oberton I can trust? Or even, in the spirit of friendship, How exciting for you! Does this mean you are rising in the ranks?
But she didn’t say any of these things. She put her hand to her mouth (the echoes and I did the same) and turned her head away. I caught a glimpse of tears glittering in Patience’s eyes. Marguerite must be crying.
“I’m sorry,” Taeline said. “It’s why I wanted to tell you myself.”
Now Marguerite bowed her head even lower and covered her face with both hands. She tried to keep her sobs silent, but I saw her shoulders tremble and heard her draw a ragged breath. Beside me, Patience and Purpose were equally shaken.
I tried to manufacture tears of my own, but in truth I was dumbfounded. I knew that Jamison’s death had left Marguerite on edge and that every small setback assumed magnified significance, but surely this was an overreaction. There were other priestesses Marguerite could turn to for spiritual comfort. There were other methods Marguerite could use to communicate with a secret lover—
A secret lover.
And then, of course, I knew.
>
Taeline hadn’t been carrying messages for Marguerite; she had been receiving them and sending them in return. It was Taeline Marguerite loved, not some impoverished tradesman or married noble. And this was the most disastrous romance Marguerite could possibly have embarked on. There was no hope of happiness there. Assuming she didn’t make a match with the prince, her parents might have allowed her to marry a disgraced noble and found a way to make him respectable, but she would never be allowed to set up household with a woman. People among the professional and working classes did it from time to time, though they always suffered some prejudice for it, but neither high nor low nobles were allowed to admit such affinities existed. Not only was Marguerite likely to be married off to a man she didn’t love, she would be married to a gender that she didn’t care for. I could hardly imagine a situation that would be more wretched.
“I’m so sorry,” Taeline said again. “I didn’t think—perhaps it would have been better to put this all in a note. But I just thought at least I’d get to see you from time to time while you’re in Camarria—”
“Yes— I’m really— I’m glad for that,” Marguerite choked out. She still had her head turned away and was still trying desperately to control her weeping. “It’s just that—once I’m back in Oberton—if I ever am—”
“‘If’? What does that mean?” Taeline asked.
Marguerite shook her head. “It’s been so dreadful here. I can’t even tell you.”
“Now you have to tell me,” Taeline said.
Marguerite shook her head even more vigorously. “No. It’s so awful—and anyone might overhear—”
Taeline hesitated a moment, then rose to her feet. “Come with me.”
We all gazed up at her with our tearstained faces. “Come where?”
“There’s a private space where we can talk.”
Moving with the heaviness of despair, Marguerite pushed herself up and the rest of us stood as well. We followed Taeline to the middle of the temple and halfway around the ornate room that sat at the center of the three towers. I noticed that the sanctuaries dedicated to justice and joy were practically empty at this hour of the day. Or maybe they were always almost empty and I just hadn’t noticed. Maybe people always needed mercy more than they needed the other benedictions.
Taeline glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then she twisted a decorative knob on the ornate paneling. I was not the only one who gasped when a hidden door opened to reveal a small, shadowy room—which was actually, it turned out, the head of a staircase spiraling downward.
“A secret passageway?” Marguerite breathed, sounding as if intrigue had jolted her momentarily out of her grief.
“An underground complex,” Taeline corrected, ushering us all quickly inside then pulling the door shut after her. The five of us barely fit in the small space, so Marguerite and Purpose climbed down the first two metal steps and waited. I could see the stairwell curving down for maybe another twenty feet. It appeared to end in an arched corridor dimly illuminated by torches or candles or something else with a restless flicker.
Taeline said, “Apparently in the temple’s early days, the priestesses were quite fierce in their commitment to justice. They hid any number of political refugees here until it was safe to spirit them out of the city.”
Marguerite and I exchanged quick looks. “Is the complex used for the same reasons today?” she asked.
Taeline laughed and brushed past the four of us to take the lead as we descended. The metal stairs were slick under our feet and portions of the railing rusted under our hands, so caution was in order.
“I imagine the king’s inquisitor knows all about the compound, and it would be the first place he looked if some prominent criminal went missing,” she said. “But the priestesses keep the rooms clean and well stocked in case there’s ever a need for them. Some women will retreat here for a few days when they crave solitude. And it continues to be a place where it is safe to hold private and dangerous conversations.”
By this time, we had arrived at the bottom of the stairwell, where we clustered as we looked around. The passageway branched off in three directions, which I guessed ran under the three towers. Two of them were short, relatively well-lit hallways lined with five doors apiece. The third one tunneled off into darkness and gave the impression of continuing for a very long distance. My geography was weak underground, but my sense was that it pointed in the direction of Amanda Plaza. This might actually be the route the priestesses took to collect coins tossed into the grate at the feet of the statues.
In which case, Taeline was right. The inquisitor certainly knew about this place.
“A few of these rooms should be empty,” Taeline said, leading us into one of the shorter hallways. “Let’s find a place to sit and talk.”
We passed two rooms whose open doors showed priestesses either in silent contemplation or earnest conversation, but the third door we tried opened onto a dark and empty chamber. Taeline found an unlit torch, ignited it from one of the wall sconces, and used it to light three fixtures in the room. There were more furnishings than I’d expected—a plain wooden table and a half dozen wooden chairs, a severe cot shoved up against one wall, a small cedar chest in the corner. Still, the whole place had a distinctly cavelike feel. The stone floor was smooth but uneven; the walls, hacked from the bedrock below the city streets, were rough and imperfect; and there was the slight, pervasive smell of mold. I didn’t think this would be the place I would choose as a retreat if I wanted to meditate myself back into a state of peace.
On the other hand, if I was hiding from an inquisitor? I’d hole up down here and be grateful.
“Now,” said Taeline, taking a seat at the table and watching the rest of us settle in place. Her expression was expectant but unconcerned. I wondered what kind of iron nerve it took to maintain that level of calm all the time. “Tell me what’s happening.”
Marguerite folded her hands in front of her on the table, and the echoes and I did the same. In a flat voice, she said, “I killed a man and I’m afraid I’m going to be discovered and arrested.”
Taeline’s chair screeched on the stone floor as she started backward. So much for boundless calm. “You what? What happened?”
Marguerite had gotten the first sentence out with no trouble, but now the words seemed to stick in her throat. “Lord Jamison—you remember, I told you about him—”
Taeline nodded. “The king’s bastard son. He had quite a reputation.”
“We encountered him on the road when we were four days out from Oberton. He came across us as we were walking along a pretty path—some distance from the road—no one else was nearby. He attacked me. He tried to—tried to assault me. The echoes helped me fight him off, and one of them hit him with a rock and then he—then he fell to the ground and he—he was dead.”
“Goddess have mercy on your soul,” Taeline said, fluttering her hands across her body in a benediction. She was staring at Marguerite. “And his soul. What did you do?”
“We threw his body in a nearby lake and hoped no one would ever find him.”
“‘We’? You and your echoes? Was anyone else with you?”
Marguerite glanced at me and nodded. I shifted in my chair, adopting my own pose, and said, “I was.”
Taeline’s reaction was almost as violent this time as the last. “Who are you?” she demanded. Her eyes narrowed as she focused on my face, noting all the ways I did not resemble Marguerite. “You’re not an echo,” she said slowly.
“My maid. Brianna. She helped me fight off Lord Jamison.”
“But why is she—” Taeline’s voice trailed off as Marguerite broke down crying, dropping her head to rest on her folded hands. “One of your echoes died in the struggle,” she guessed. “Oh, no. Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“We thought we would raise less suspicion if Marguerite still appeared to have three shadows,” I explained. I leaned over to put my arm around Marguerite’s shoulder and hug her tightly.
“But it’s been a dangerous masquerade.”
“Everything about this situation is as dangerous as can be,” Taeline agreed in a grim tone. “But you must tell me the rest. No one knows what happened, except the two of you—and now me?”
Marguerite attempted to pull herself together, lifting her head and swallowing her sobs. “No one knows,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “I didn’t think— I was sure no one would believe my version of what had happened.”
Taeline passed a hand over her face. I could tell she was struggling to absorb the horrible details and all that they might mean for Marguerite, while summoning the serenity of a spiritual counselor. “Perhaps they would have,” she said, “if you had come straight to the temple to beg for intercession by a priestess of justice. But now—so many days after the event …”
“Had he been an ordinary man, I might have done so,” Marguerite said. “But he is the king’s son. His murder cannot be overlooked.”
“More than that,” I spoke up. “The inquisitor has a special interest in this case.” I filled them in on Nico’s observations about Malachi and the queen. “I do not think this is a situation in which justice will be tempered by mercy,” I finished up in a regretful voice.
Marguerite nodded. “So now I cower in Camarria, hoping no one discovers my crime. But since his body was found a few days ago—”
Taeline reached across the table to take Marguerite’s hands in a comforting clasp. “My poor dear,” she said quietly. “How very terrible this must have been for you.”
Marguerite stared back at her intensely. “I did not want him dead. You must believe me. When I saw what had happened—when I could bring myself to believe it— Oh, Taeline, you have no idea! And now! If the king’s inquisitor learns the truth—I would run away, as far as I could, but where would I go? I am so afraid and so sorry and so guilty, but I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t know, either,” Taeline said. “But I will think about it very hard!” Still holding Marguerite’s hands in hers, she glanced around the interior of the room. “Maybe this place could provide a refuge for you after all. I could ask the abbess if she would allow you to stay here—”