by Sharon Shinn
Marguerite’s laugh was light, but it caused a dozen heads to whip around in her direction, since no one else had managed a mirthful exchange with either prince this evening. “I do not desire to be so singular,” she said. “Merely to be of some comfort to you in this dark time.”
At that moment, a footman stepped through the door to announce that dinner was ready. Cormac drew Marguerite’s arm through his and turned toward the door. I found myself instantly linking arms with one of his echoes.
“Sit with me tonight,” he said, leading her from the room. “Make this whole evening almost bearable.”
Goddess have mercy on my soul.
I don’t know how much food Marguerite managed to choke down that night. As always, I tried to emulate Patience and Purpose, and they appeared to serve themselves just as heartily as they would on any other occasion. For myself, I could hardly swallow a bite. I felt exposed, anxious, and afraid. Yet, judging by the expressions on the echoes’ faces, Marguerite was relaxed, entertained, sympathetic, and amusing in turn. If you’re not careful, he’s going to want to sit beside you every night for the rest of this visit, I thought as I stared at her back. How many days can you keep up this pretense?
Could she keep it up forever, if Cormac and the king could tear their thoughts away from Jamison’s death and bend their attention once more to the question of who should be the prince’s wife?
The interminable meal had moved on to its third course when the footman serving my table made an awkward turn and almost dropped a tureen onto the head of one of Cormac’s echoes. A titter of amusement swept through the nobles, while the other footmen in my line of sight looked mortified; a loud and public mistake was every servant’s worst nightmare. After a shaky recovery, the clumsy one moved slowly down my table, dishing out portions with a steady enough hand.
But I noticed something odd about his technique. He wasn’t paying close attention to the footman who was serving Cormac and Marguerite and the other nobles at their table; not only was he not well synchronized with his colleague, he didn’t even seem to be watching the other man. As a result, I had my soup as soon as Marguerite did, and I started eating when she sampled her first mouthful—but there was no soup in Patience’s bowl. Yet she, too, picked up her spoon and lifted it to her mouth, so that her movements were exactly timed with Marguerite’s.
I tried not to frown, since Patience’s face remained serene, but this had never happened in the past week. The echoes were always served as soon as the originals were, specifically so they could consume exactly the same amount of food. Obviously, Patience wouldn’t starve to death if she missed a few bites, but I couldn’t imagine that any royal servant would make such a gross error.
Trying to be discreet about it, I studied the footman as he moved down the table, sloppily dishing out food. Come to think of it, he had done a poor job of serving the earlier courses as well. He’d given me a much larger piece of bread than he’d given Patience, but my helping of fruit was smaller.
Have half the footmen in the palace come down with illness and been replaced by untrained workers? I wondered. This is what I get for spending all my time with Marguerite instead of dining in the kitchens, learning the gossip!
The graceless footman finished his task and turned toward the serving door to carry his tureen away. I watched him out of the corner of my eye and saw the other footmen trailing behind him.
One of them was Nico.
My hand clenched on my spoon and I had to hope no one heard my sharp intake of air. Nico was wearing a servant’s livery and a neutral expression—as were the rest of them—but now that I was paying attention I could tell that at least four of them were not truly footmen. Inquisitor’s men, I supposed. There to thread their way through the tables of echoes and see if any of them were missing.
This would be the best opportunity to count them, as they were arrayed behind their originals and likely to stay in place for at least an hour. Even the echoes of the Banchura triplets would be easy to tally, since they were all finally sitting still.
I wondered what Nico and his uncle would think once the meal was over and they realized that every echo was accounted for. Would they decide that none of Cormac’s invited guests could be responsible for Jamison’s murder? Would they focus their attention on other suspects? How could they not? My first reaction had been fear, but maybe it should have been relief.
Nico already knew Marguerite had three echoes with her in Camarria, but let that fact be confirmed by someone a little less biased in my favor. Let the inquisitor himself come stealing through the room, counting bodies and matching up faces. I would smile as widely as Marguerite, eat just as much food, gulp down just as much wine. Let him be convinced that Marguerite could not possibly be a murderer, and let him turn his eyes away.
Let us take one long, slow breath of relief.
I made it to the bridge that night only ten minutes before Nico did, but I had dropped down to a seated position again and pretended to be drowsing. I stirred sleepily when he sank beside me and stretched his legs out before him. His dark clothing made him look like a spilled shadow against the whiteness of the painted wood.
“There you are,” I said through a faked yawn. “I was hoping you could get here sooner. I’m usually in Marguerite’s room while she’s away at dinner, mending clothes and making sure everything’s ready for the next day, but tonight I was done early.” I turned my head to accept his quick kiss. “But I suppose you were busy.”
I thought this was a brilliant lie. He couldn’t possibly disprove it, since I knew exactly where he’d been the whole time I wasn’t patiently waiting for him on the bridge. And it would make it seem that I had a life apart from Marguerite’s—in case it might have occurred to him that I didn’t.
“Busy, though I don’t know if we’ve discovered anything useful,” he answered, putting an arm around my shoulder and drawing me close enough to nestle against him. “Trying to count all the echoes and make sure everyone has the right number.”
“Did Cormac give you a list of how many belong with each guest?”
“He did.”
“And did you find any that were missing?”
He was silent a moment, and I felt a spurt of fear. I turned my head to gaze up at him with what I hoped was an expression of innocent inquiry.
“Nico? You found a missing echo?”
“Or two. Maybe.”
I pushed myself to an upright position, and his arm fell away. “But how exciting! And how terrible! What did— What can you tell me? I don’t want your uncle to be angry with you but—I really want to know!”
“Well, you know Elyssa has been missing an echo practically since the day she arrived. So it was no surprise to see that there was an empty chair by her place at dinner tonight.”
“At dinner? You spied on everyone during the meal? That was clever.”
He smiled briefly. “Glad you think so. It was my idea.”
“So Elyssa is your suspect?”
“Probably not. The palace maids have confirmed that there is, indeed, an injured echo in Elyssa’s room. But so far we haven’t confirmed that anyone has seen the two healthy echoes and the injured echo at the same time.”
I gasped. “You mean—one echo could be dead. And sometimes the remaining two are with Elyssa, and sometimes one of them pretends to be the one that’s hurt.”
“Exactly. Although that would require the echoes to be capable of a level of sophisticated acting that I doubt any of them could manage.”
I spared a moment to think Purpose could probably pull off such a deception, but, of course, I didn’t say so. “But Elyssa’s echoes possess a certain amount of independence, don’t they?” I said slowly. “That’s what Marguerite told me. Maybe they could manage such a performance.”
“Yes—well—we will quickly find out,” Nico said. “Even my uncle is not prepared to go bursting into a noblewoman’s room at night unless he is positive she is guilty of a heinous crime. But so
meone will follow her in the morning, counting how many shadows trail her, and someone else will enter her room to see whether or not an injured echo inhabits it. So we should know very soon whether or not Elyssa is our culprit.”
“I hope she is,” I said. “Everyone dislikes her so much.”
“It would make for a very tidy ending,” he agreed.
Then I remembered. “But you said—there was a second echo missing?”
He nodded slowly. “Lady Vivienne of Thelleron. Cormac says she’s supposed to have three, but there were only two behind her at dinner. However, Cormac doesn’t remember if she ever had three with her at any point in the past week. Apparently, he has avoided her as much as possible.”
“Lady Vivienne—wait, she’s the one who used to be betrothed to Cormac, isn’t she, until he broke it off?”
“That’s right.”
“I can see why she might want to kill Cormac, then, but not why she would want to murder Jamison.”
Nico shrugged. “If she was hurt enough, or angry enough, those emotions could extend to everyone else in Cormac’s family, I suppose. And if Jamison taunted her or provoked her—as he very well might have—”
“Then she could have attacked him,” I finished up. “And she just showed up in Camarria, hoping no one would realize she was missing an echo.”
“As I said, Cormac didn’t notice. And I didn’t dance with her at the ball, so I couldn’t tell you how many echoes she had with her that night.”
I arched my eyebrows. “‘Didn’t dance with her at the ball’?” I repeated. “You were invited to that event? The prince must value you highly.”
Nico grinned. “No, don’t you remember? I told you I sometimes fill in as one of the ‘extra men’ when a nobleman only has two echoes and he wants to dance with a woman who has three. That’s what I was doing the other night at Cormac’s ball.”
“Then you’re the wrong person to ask,” I said practically. “Who were the ‘extra women’ at the ball? They’re the people who could tell you if Vivienne was one echo short.”
He flicked my nose with a finger. “What a clever girl you are! I should consult you every time I’m trying to solve a mystery!”
I laughed back at him. “So you already thought of that.”
“Indeed, I did. But two of the young women who had that role said they didn’t fill in for Vivienne, and the other one has left the city for the week. So, instead, we will spy on the lady for a day or two and see what we can discover.”
I frowned and settled back against his shoulder. “Lady Vivienne,” I repeated. “I don’t think Marguerite has had many dealings with her. At any rate, she hasn’t mentioned her to me, whereas she’s always talking about Leonora and Letitia and Lavinia.”
“Apparently Vivienne has kept to herself a great deal since she arrived. Which perhaps argues a guilty conscience.”
Marguerite had kept to herself a great deal, too, and for exactly that reason. I hoped he didn’t make the connection. “Or a broken heart,” I said. “If she truly loved Cormac, this situation must be almost unendurable for her.”
“I don’t think it has been easy for Cormac, either,” Nico said. “Even before all this happened with Jamison.”
I heaved a sigh of sympathy, which was only partly manufactured. I found myself wondering what Vivienne’s story was. Had her echo disappeared under mysterious circumstances that she would not easily be able to explain? Would Nico and his uncle consider her responsible for Jamison’s murder on no more evidence than that? What would Marguerite do if someone else was accused of the crime she had committed? Would she smile with relief and return giddily to her own life? I couldn’t think it of her, but if she did? What would I do? Could I allow an innocent woman to face those remorseless archers in Amanda Plaza?
I had been saying it over and over these days, it seemed, but the words rose unbidden to my mind. Goddess have mercy on my soul.
It was my turn to say something, but the best I could come up with was, “If Vivienne and Elyssa are able to produce all their echoes, what will you do then?”
“I’m not sure. Expand the search, I suppose. But that could take weeks.”
“Would you expect all of Cormac’s noble guests to remain in the city while you kept looking?”
He turned swiftly to draw me into his arms. “I don’t know what Malachi plans, but that would be my preference,” he said huskily. “To have you here for months.”
“Even if it meant the mystery was never solved?” I whispered against his mouth.
“Even then.”
He kissed me and we stopped caring about the murdered bastard, the missing echo, the grieving king. I even stopped worrying about whether or not he was laying a trap for me and how much he would hate me if he learned I was lying to him. I just kissed him and shivered as he ran his hands along my body; I just reveled in the way my skin and breasts and mouth and heart responded to his eager touch. I pressed myself against him, silently asking for a deeper kiss, a more intimate caress. I had pulled up the tail of his shirt and now I ran my hands along the smooth warmth of his back. It was a delight to feel his muscles straining beneath the supple skin.
Just as he had the night before, he abruptly pulled back, panting with thwarted desire but looking very determined. “Not here,” he said.
“Nico—”
He kissed my forehead. “That’s another mystery we must both attempt to solve,” he said. “How we can find an hour alone together without too many people knowing about it.”
“You’re the one who’s familiar with the palace and the city,” I pointed out. I very huffily straightened my bodice and tugged down my skirts, making it clear that I wasn’t happy with the turn of events. “Tell me a place to meet you and I will.”
He brushed a hand across my cheek. “I just don’t want you to be sorry,” he said.
I stretched up to kiss him hard. “Do I act like I’m going to be sorry?”
“Sometimes people change their minds. Sometimes people wish something undone, but it’s undoable.”
Well, that had a certain resonance. “And sometimes they don’t care about consequences,” I said.
“You could stay in Camarria, you know.”
“What?”
“If Cormac and Marguerite don’t become engaged. If Marguerite returns to Oberton. You could stay. Plenty of work here for someone who’s as smart as you are.”
My heart was racing, but I attempted to answer playfully. “Becoming an inquisitor for your uncle.”
“He does have women working for him, if you were interested in that life. But there are plenty of nobles who could use an excellent maid.”
He was serious. That made it harder for me to catch my breath. “If Marguerite goes back to Oberton, I have to go with her. She needs me.”
“She could hire five people to take your place.”
“Yes, but—you don’t understand. Her life has been—it seems she has had so many advantages, but in many ways—it’s just that she’s so alone.”
He shrugged. I wasn’t sure in the darkness, but I thought he might look a little hurt. But the tone of his voice was sardonic. “In my experience, a noble will get rid of a servant at any time without a second thought. You’re far more loyal to her than she would be to you.”
“Maybe,” I said. I allowed a touch of desperation to creep into my voice. “I wish I didn’t have to choose. I didn’t realize this was going to be so hard.”
Nico pushed himself to his feet, then held out a hand to help me up. “Well, there’s only one solution,” he said. “We have to hope Cormac and Marguerite make a match of it, after all.”
I laughed as gaily as I could and held the crook of his arm as we strolled off the bridge. “That would be perfect,” I said. It would be horrific. “I will suggest that to her every chance I get. So you keep whispering her name in Cormac’s ear.”
“I will do so at every opportunity.”
We had just stepped off the final plank
when a shape moved toward us through the shadows. I had scarcely registered it as the body of a man before Nico dropped my arm and shoved me behind him, apparently ready to defend me to the death. I hadn’t even seen him pull a weapon, but clearly the person approaching us had.
“Put away your dagger,” said a deep voice, silky and amused. “I am completely harmless.”
I felt Nico relax and straighten, and he sheathed his blade. “Hardly that,” he retorted. “Though I’ll believe you mean us no harm.”
“In fact, my mission here is purely social. I would so much like to be introduced to your young lady.”
The man’s stealth, his purring voice, his complete command of the situation, had given me a few clues as to who he might be. But it didn’t make me any happier to be right. Nico touched my arm to urge me forward.
“Brianna, this is my uncle Malachi, the inquisitor of King Harold’s court. Uncle, this is Brianna, who serves as maid to Lady Marguerite Andolin of Oberton.”
I didn’t know the protocol of conversing with an inquisitor—I mean, unless he was torturing you, and then I imagined you just told him everything you knew, whether or not it was relevant to the topic at hand. Should I curtsey? Address him as “my lord”? Or should I remain silent until he gave me permission to speak? And while all these questions were chasing through my brain, more frightening ones crouched at the back of my mind. Why does he want to meet me? What does he know about my masquerade? What does he know about Marguerite?
He was probably used to people being paralyzed around him because he quickly took command of the conversation. “Hello, Brianna,” he said, reaching for my hand and holding it in a strong grip. “I understand you’ve set out to fascinate my nephew.”
Nico laughed, and I blushed. Even though it was dark, I was sure the inquisitor could see the flushing of my cheeks. He seemed like a man who didn’t require daylight. “I have been enjoying his company and hope he has been enjoying mine,” I said, because the answer could seem both genuinely demure and a little coy.