by Sharon Shinn
Perhaps Cormac will have had Marguerite arrested for treason.
Or, more truly, executed for treason. And me right alongside her.
It was hard for me to envision any future that allowed me to live happily in Camarria. But I had to pretend. “Perhaps,” I agreed. “He has been most attentive to her the past two nights. He seems to find her company restful in the midst of all his grief.”
“Will she marry him if he asks her?”
“How could she say no? He will only propose if her father and the king come to an agreement. If she believes the stability of the realm depends on her marriage, she could not possibly refuse him.”
He folded his arm and dropped his head onto his bent elbow so his eyes were on a level with mine. He still held my hand in his. “And if the king and the governor come to no such agreement? If Marguerite returns to Oberton? Would you stay in Camarria—if I asked you to?”
My heart started to pound. He was serious. He was not merely flirting, he was not pretending to court me simply to gain information about Marguerite. He was in love with me. He hadn’t said it, but I knew that expression. I had felt it on my own face. It was the visible transcription of the heart’s deep secret.
Sweet beyond reckoning and disastrous beyond telling.
“I don’t know,” I said.
The truth was, I didn’t know what choice I would have made if I had been free to choose. I couldn’t leave Marguerite now—absolutely not—I could never leave her if we couldn’t come up with some reasonable explanation for the loss of an echo, an explanation wholly disconnected from a summer journey up the Charamon Road. But if we were just ordinary women, just mistress and maid, not bound together by terrible circumstances? Would I leave her then to follow my heart? I couldn’t imagine having a better job than serving her—but could I have a better life? If the situation had been different, would I have been willing to leave her so I could be with Nico?
It would have been a difficult choice. But I thought I might have bid her goodbye.
Now I would never know.
Nico’s eyes were still focused unwaveringly on mine. “What would help you make up your mind?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said again.
“I love you, you know. I’m not just playing.”
My smile felt a little lopsided. Or maybe just sad. “That’s good to hear, though I don’t know why.”
He kissed my fingers again. “Why I love you?”
“There are so many girls just like me.”
He laughed softly. “Are there? Funny, I’ve never met any of them.”
“Well, I don’t know what might make me special.”
“I like that you’re strong, and you’re not afraid, and you just wade in and do things, instead of hanging back and waiting for someone to show you the way,” he said. “I like that you laugh even when you’re angry. I like that you try to be fair-minded even when you’re sure you’re right.” He dropped my hand, but only so he could reach up and touch my hair, my cheek, my shoulder. “I like your face. I like your smile. I like the sound of your voice. I just like you. I don’t know a better way to explain it.”
My heart was breaking, but I forced myself to smile. I wondered if he would like that about me as well—my ability to lie to the people who cared about me the most. “So now I should list all the qualities I find appealing about you?” I said.
His answering smile was warm. “I wouldn’t presume to make such a demand.”
No reason not to tell him, though. Maybe my words would give him something to hold on to once he realized how deeply I had betrayed him. “I like that you’re a sophisticated man with a country boy’s heart,” I said. “Just when I think, ‘Oh, he’s too fine for me,’ you say something that reminds me where you came from. I like that you make me laugh even when I don’t want to laugh. I like that you know so many things, but you still want to learn new ones. I like that you mention your mother in conversation—most men don’t, you know.”
That amused him. “They don’t?”
“They pretend they were hatched in a cave or something, and are wholly responsible for their own raising.”
“I’ll have to pay more attention to my conversations with men.”
Now I was the one to reach out and touch his face, his arm, his body. “I like the way you look,” I said softly. “I never thought I would be with such a handsome man.”
I really thought he might be blushing. “I have some muscles, I suppose.”
I laughed. “You’re very attractive,” I assured him. “Any girl would say so.”
“I’ll take your word for that.”
I lifted my hand to gesture at the room around us. “And I like that you brought me here—that you thought about how you wanted to be with me, and you schemed to make it happen.” I brushed my fingers against his lips, then nestled my hand inside his again. “And I like that you didn’t want to push me or persuade me. That you wanted me to be certain.”
“And are you certain?”
I leaned in to kiss him. “I’m sure I wanted this to happen,” I said very low. “But I’m not sure what I want to happen next.”
“You’ll think about staying? If Marguerite goes back?”
I hesitated, but what did one more lie matter? One way or the other, his heart would break even more completely than mine. “I’ll think about it,” I said. “I promise.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Not until dinnertime did I realize I’d forgotten to engage in what was arguably my most important task—uncovering any new information Nico had about Jamison’s death. Maybe he wasn’t trying to distract me from this goal, but he had done a good job of it nonetheless.
I had remembered to stop by the flower market, and I’d returned to the palace laden down with armloads of fragrant blossoms. Marguerite was feeling more cheerful, though she wasn’t able to manage lively, and she buried her face in one of the bouquets as if inhaling the scent of absolution.
“I want to wear dark colors again, as the court is still in mourning,” she said. “Perhaps the wine-colored dress with the black net overlay? And my onyx necklace.”
“Two days in a row?”
She shrugged. “Darrily wears her opals every day.”
“Then let’s get started on the headpieces.”
My design for the night was a simple clip that held three roses and a gauzy veil. By the time I had stuffed my own hair under the blond wig and carefully set the clip into the artificial curls, I felt like I had half the world balancing on my head; I wasn’t sure I would ever design another headpiece that was intricate and ornate.
“Well, we look sober but attractive, I’d say,” was Marguerite’s verdict once we were all dressed and observing ourselves in the mirror.
“Let’s hope the prince approves.”
Marguerite grimaced and led the way downstairs. I saw Cali and a few of the other women send speculative glances her way as she entered the salon, and it wasn’t hard to know what they were thinking. Is it really going to be you that Cormac marries? Do none of us even stand a chance with him? But Marguerite made her way across the width of the room, as far from the doorway as possible, as if to leave the field clear for any woman who wanted to set herself up as a rival. I saw Elyssa and Darrily casually position themselves by the door, turning their backs to it as if they didn’t even care who might step through next. I wondered if anyone was fooled.
Marguerite took a seat next to a dark-haired woman who might have been in her mid-twenties. She had a woebegone expression intensified by the severe navy color of her dress; the two echoes sitting behind her looked like they might burst into tears at any minute.
“May I sit here?” Marguerite asked politely. “Or are you waiting for someone?”
The woman gave her one long, considering look that held so much sorrow it could hardly be considered rude. “Please. Sit,” she said at last, and Marguerite settled beside her.
“I’m Marguerite. I’m not sure we
’ve ever been formally introduced.”
“No. I’m sure Cormac felt it was best to keep us apart if he could. I’m Vivienne.”
My attention immediately sharpened and I had to be careful not to stare. So this was the ill-fated Lady Vivienne of Thelleron. Not only had she lost the right to Cormac’s affection, she had showed up at court mysteriously missing an echo. One way or the other, she had had a hard time of it lately.
“I’ll understand if you tell me you’d rather not sit and talk with me,” Marguerite said.
Vivienne made a hopeless gesture. She seemed so dispirited that I had the reprehensible thought that she never would have had the nerve or energy
to kill a man. As nobody should, I reminded myself.
“When I set out for Camarria, I was angry with everyone,” Vivienne said. “Angry with the king for breaking my engagement, with Cormac for not standing up to his father, with you for simply existing. With my father, for making me come here when I knew, when he knew, that everyone would stare and point and say, ‘Poor Vivienne.’ But he insisted it would be worse if I didn’t come, that everyone would think Thelleron was out of favor. Maybe Thelleron is out of favor, I don’t know.” She shook her head. “But none of that matters now.”
“Why not?” Marguerite asked, her voice soft and sympathetic. “Has something changed?”
Vivienne caught her breath sharply as if she was fighting back a sob. She gestured over her shoulder. “You might have noticed—or maybe you didn’t—but I’m only attended by two echoes.”
There was just the slightest tremor in Marguerite’s voice. “And you should have three? Forgive me, I don’t know the details about everyone in the room.”
“I do have three,” Vivienne said, “but while we were on the way to Camarria, something terrible happened.”
It couldn’t possibly be as terrible as what happened to us, I thought. My guess was that Marguerite was thinking the same thing.
“Oh, no! What was it?”
“A wheel came off the carriage, and we tumbled into a ditch and we all got jostled around. My maid broke her arm, but one of the echoes, she—she broke her neck. The coachman and the guards pulled us out of the wreckage, but she—she couldn’t feel anything and she couldn’t move, and it was the most terrifying thing you can imagine.”
Very well, this was almost as bad as wrestling with Jamison and causing his death. I saw Marguerite shiver. Which would be worse—to have an echo that died, or an echo that lived, but in a paralyzed state?
“What did you do?” Marguerite asked gravely.
Vivienne put her hands to her cheeks. “I didn’t know what to do! I knew I had to complete my journey—I had to show that Thelleron has not been rejected by Sammerly, even if I have been rejected by Cormac.” Vivienne shook her head. “But when my echo got hurt—”
Marguerite reached out impulsively to take Vivienne’s hand. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. You don’t have to talk about it. We can discuss—I don’t know—fashion instead.”
“No—I want to talk about it,” Vivienne said. She pulled herself free from Marguerite’s hold, but calmed down a little. “No one else has noticed, or at least they haven’t asked me about it. They give me sideways glances, and they look away without speaking to me. Do they treat me so oddly because I’ve been spurned by the prince or because I’m missing an echo? I don’t know. I’ve felt so alone.”
“Well, you can talk to me,” Marguerite said. “What happened to your echo? Where is she now?”
“I had to leave her at the first inn we found,” Vivienne said, trying very hard to control the tremor in her voice. “The innkeeper and his wife promised they would care for her until help could arrive, and they sent their own son back to my father’s house with a desperate message. Of course, I paid them almost every coin I had! It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done to walk out of that inn and climb back in the coach. I could feel her eyes on me as I left the room. I could feel her straining to follow me. But—but—she couldn’t move.” Vivienne shook her head. “It was so terrible.”
“I can scarcely imagine anything worse,” said Marguerite. Though I was sure she could think of one thing. “And is she with your parents now? Has she made any progress?”
“Yes, she is with my parents. She has recovered some slight ability to move her hands and feet, but she cannot sit up on her own and she cannot walk. They think—perhaps once I’m back— There is some thought that she can’t move independently of my actions, that she doesn’t know how, but once I return—well, I can only hope so. I can only pray.” She glanced around the room as if she was in a prison cell. “If only Cormac would let us go home!”
“Yes,” Marguerite said. “I am looking forward to the day we are allowed to leave.”
Just then, Cormac entered, creating his usual stir. Elyssa and Darrily and their echoes crowded around him, barely allowing him to get three paces into the room, and a half dozen others moved as close as they were able. Marguerite continued her quiet conversation with Vivienne, not even glancing in the prince’s direction. When the servant announced dinner, Darrily was the one who went in on Cormac’s arm.
The meal passed easily enough, though I did pause to marvel at how quickly I had become accustomed to playing the part of an echo. I knew just what cues to expect from Purpose in front of me and Patience beside me. I knew how Marguerite would hold her fork and how often she would touch her napkin to her lips. I knew that I would remain completely invisible unless I did something to draw attention to myself. I could play this game forever, I thought.
If only I didn’t have to.
As the meal ended, Cormac and his echoes stood up, extending their wineglasses in an impromptu toast. “I know these have been somber days here at the palace, and I appreciate all your patience and sympathy,” he said. “Even in my time of grief, I have not forgotten that I am your host, and I will attempt to provide some gaiety in the coming days. Tomorrow evening, we will hold another ball, and the day after that, I shall lead an outing to our botanical gardens. For tonight, I hope you will all join me for a musical evening in the green salon.”
Some of the nobles applauded, others raised their own glasses in response, and all of them seemed to grow lighter in spirit. I could tell everyone was thinking more or less the same thing: Are we done mourning the death of Jamison? Can we move on to our usual occupations of gossip and flirtation?
I was not deceived. Cormac might pretend that he was once more focused on entertaining his guests, but Malachi was still investigating each one as a potential murderer; the balls and botanical expeditions were merely attempts to distract the lords and ladies from that unpleasant reality. Not that it would matter to anyone in the room but Marguerite.
And me.
It was late before I made it to the bridge rendezvous, but Nico was still waiting. After our encounter earlier in the day, I had thought I might feel shy around him, uncertain, worried about what he might be thinking. But instead I ran up the wooden arch with my arms extended and cast myself into his embrace.
“It’s been so long since I’ve seen you!” he exclaimed as he covered my face with kisses.
I laughed through the pounding of my heart. “Barely twelve hours!”
“A lifetime.”
I nuzzled his throat. “I was so very busy all afternoon,” I said, “and yet I kept thinking, ‘I wonder when I can meet Nico in that old building again?’”
“How extraordinary,” he said. “I was thinking exactly the same thing. Every minute of every endless hour.”
“But I don’t know that I can get away much in the next few days.” I sighed. “Marguerite is feeling better, so there is much she needs me to do.”
“Yes, and my uncle has a long list of tasks for me as well. But just in case—” He dug into a pocket and produced a key. Even in the dark, I could tell it was a match for the one that had opened the padlock on the building we had visited this morning. “I had a copy made. Anytime you want t
o go there, you can get in. We could meet there, even if our schedules don’t allow us to walk there together.”
“Most excellent,” I said, slipping the key into my own pocket. “And then, if you fail to arrive, I can amuse myself by cleaning the place so that it has a more welcoming atmosphere.”
He kissed me. “I thought it was the most welcoming room I had ever been in.”
My laugh was accompanied by a blush. “Indeed, it has rapidly become one of my favorite places in the city.”
“But unfortunately, it might be a day or two before we can return,” he said on a sigh.
I glanced up with an assumption of hopefulness. “But tomorrow night—perhaps you could get free then?” I asked. “Cormac is having another ball, so Marguerite won’t need me for a couple of hours.”
I knew he couldn’t, which was the only reason I had been rash enough to make the suggestion, because I certainly wouldn’t be free, either. He sighed again.
“No, I must attend the ball as well, remember?” he said. “Playing substitute echo. A very dismal chore.”
“That’s right. I forgot. Are you still trying to determine if everyone has the proper number of echoes? Oh, but, Nico! I’ve learned something important!”
His voice sounded amused. “Have you? What?”
“Lady Vivienne—she’s the one who is missing an echo, right? Marguerite talked to her this evening, and she told me that Vivienne’s echo was injured in a carriage accident. She was paralyzed, isn’t that awful? Apparently they sent the echo back to Thelleron to be cared for by Vivienne’s parents. So she can’t be the murderer, can she?”
“She can’t be if the story is true,” he agreed. “We’re checking it out.”
I let disappointment seep into my voice. “You already knew.”
He kissed the tip of my nose. “I did. But I am impressed by your investigative skills. Do you interrogate Marguerite every time she comes back from a meal?”
I laughed. “No! But she is often in the mood to talk, and she can’t really have a conversation with her echoes. When she mentioned Vivienne, I started asking a few questions—very casually!—like, ‘How many echoes does she have?’ And then she told me the story. She said Vivienne was extremely upset, which makes me think she’s telling the truth.”