Cast in Secrets and Shadow

by Andrea Robertson

  “Do you need something?” the Low King asked her.

  “I don’t care what our arrangement is, that was utterly heartless,” Ara hissed at Lucket. Her stomach roiled with anger. “How dare you.”

  Lucket raised an eyebrow and replied, “You’re speaking of the princess, I assume?”

  When she simply glared at him, he blew out an indulgent sigh.

  “You need to learn to look past the surface of things, Loresmith. It will stop you from embarrassing yourself.”

  When she scoffed, he tsk’d in reply.

  “I didn’t need to view the wound. A description from Lahvja would have sufficed, but that would have forestalled a necessity that all of you shirked. The princess was horribly wounded. She is disfigured. That is not a tragedy, it simply is.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Your concern, Lahvja’s tenderness, and Teth’s defensiveness made it glaringly obvious each of you blames yourself in some way for the princess’s injury. The more you attempted to conceal the details of what transpired, the more imperative it became for me to intervene. Your current course has been leading you to some climactic moment of revelation when Nimhea would reluctantly bare her wounds and you would fall all over yourselves trying to reassure her that nothing has changed. And that’s true, nothing has changed, at least nothing that matters—but due to your selfish guilt you don’t believe that, and your poorly hidden hand-wringing will eventually convince Nimhea she is forever altered and has lost some essential part of herself. You may not mean to do this, but that would be the result, and it would do more damage than any physical wound could.

  “By inserting myself into the situation I removed all the trappings of pity and dread. I laid the situation bare and presented it for what it truly is: a warrior has been wounded in battle. That’s what Nimhea is, a warrior. She needed to be reminded of that. Now, if that is all our arrangement dictates, then I have work to do.”

  Robbed of speech, Ara simply watched as Lucket and his companions rode out of the fort. She stood alone in the dark, pondering his words.

  21

  There are no back roads in Sola.

  Ara had never seen so many people in one place. A mass of bodies pressed northward, all destined for the Great Market. Most were on foot and brought with them carts and baskets full of wares. Some guided herds of pigs or goats or flocks of ducks, geese, or chickens.

  Their wagon lurched along the choked route, surrounded by this hubbub of other travelers. Bright sunbeams streamed down on them in the warm late spring air, but a steady breeze chased away the stifling heat and humidity that had dogged their journey through Vijeri.

  Sola was unlike Vijeri in so many ways. The major trade route they traveled was straight and broad, unlike the narrow, twisting trails of the jungle. The sun shone down on them unobstructed by a crush of trees and vines. Ara could turn in any direction and see for miles. The rolling hills of Sola, covered by farm fields, lay open for all to see.

  It made her feel terribly exposed. They were in disguise, traveling as merchants so they could safely enter the Great Market and find the hidden worshippers of Nava who lived there. But traveling in the open air, surrounded by so many strangers, and the regular passing of imperial patrols up and down the road filled her with unease.

  Shading her face with her hand, Ara strained to see the Great Market rising in the distance. It rose up amid the fields, like a great ship with sails in patchwork colors, utterly incongruous with its surroundings.

  “It’s always changing,” Teth remarked. He’d assigned himself the task of driving the wagon, and sat comfortably, legs stretched out in front of him with the reins settled in his hands. Sitting alongside him, Ara couldn’t stop herself from stealing glances at him. Her eyes drank in his finely carved profile and the strength of his arms and sureness of his hands as he guided the horses.

  They were close enough that her arm too often brushed against him or their thighs pressed against each other. Each slight touch heated her blood and sent shivers over her skin.

  It was intolerable, but she didn’t know how to make it stop. No matter how hard she tried to keep any romantic feelings in check, her body ignored her.

  “Different shapes, different colors,” he continued. “It all depends on who’s there. There’s an original marble pavilion at the center of everything, and what’s left of Nava’s temple, but those are the only parts of the Great Market that stay the same.”

  His voice was friendly and even, hinting at no internal conflict like the one Ara battled with. She thought it must mean that when he’d agreed to a friendship and nothing more, he’d truly decided that was for the best. It made her sick with disappointment and ashamed for her hypocrisy.

  Forcing her attention away from Teth, Ara waved at Joar, who walked alongside the wagon leading their riding mounts. Though admittedly not one for chatter, he seemed especially subdued in contrast to the din all around them. He briefly dipped his chin in acknowledgment of her greeting. He’d traded his kilt for trousers and wore his harness over an undyed open-collared shirt. There was no way to disguise his height and girth, but he’d donned a cowled hood of dark gray to hide his Koelli features.

  It must be jarring, Ara thought. To embark on a journey of solitude only to end up with us on this crowded road.

  She wasn’t particularly unsettled by their current surroundings, but it was still surprising to find herself in a throng of travelers. Admittedly, Lucket’s suggestion of disguise had been a good one. Buried amid so many people, muffled by so much noise, it was a fine way to hide in plain sight. He’d also been right about blight plaguing Sola’s fields. In her mind, Sola had been a golden country. As a child, Ara had known it to be the land that fed the kingdom. Blessed by Nava and populated by people with skin of deep bronze and brown.

  Sola still had golden fields, but they were broken by swaths of dry gray soil too easily picked up and cast about by the wind, and Ara was reminded of Lucket’s words.

  History brought you here, and you’ll need its lessons if you expect to win this game.

  Gazing at the stripes of gold and gray, Ara understood that what began with the Gash hadn’t ended there. The empire had found yet another way to reave the earth and leave it barren.

  How long would it be until all the fields were dust?

  It was only a matter of time before the empire, desperate to keep its armies across the globe fed, chose to let Saetlund go hungry. Ara wondered how many other conquered kingdoms were already starving and if that was the source of their unrest and uprisings.

  With a shake of her head, she silently cursed King Dentroth’s naivete for believing that Saetlund would remained untouched by Vokk’s insatiable appetite. His kingdom could have been ready for the onslaught but had instead been unforgivably vulnerable to conquest.

  It must be hard on Nimhea, Ara thought, to bear the conflict of claiming her inheritance while simultaneously rejecting the legacy of her father’s inept rule.

  “I’m going into the wagon for a bit,” Ara told Teth. Her musings pressed her toward a conversation with the princess. One she’d been avoiding, but could no longer shirk.

  Teth offered her a crooked smile. “Whatever pleases milady.”

  She rolled her eyes at him and jumped off the seat onto the ground. Their pace on the crowded road was slow enough that it was easy to walk to the back of the wagon, open the rear door, and climb inside.

  “Hello, Ara,” Lahvja said as Ara ducked through the door. She reclined in Nimhea’s arms, her head resting on the princess’s shoulder.

  Along with Lahvja’s words, she was greeted by bright and pungent scents of herbs, potions, and tinctures that they would sell in the Great Market. Fortunately, their wares didn’t require a great deal of space, leaving plenty of room for people to ride and rest inside the wagon. The top half of the split rear door was fastened open to allo
w light and fresh air in but still keep the wagon’s interior dim enough to foil any prying eyes.

  Hesitating, Ara asked, “Would you prefer to be alone?”

  “I think we can behave,” Lahvja laughed as Nimhea ran her fingers through the summoner’s mahogany waves.

  Ara smiled at her, then asked, “How goes it for our hidden travelers?”

  “Strange to be sequestered with a giant wolf,” Nimhea said from the bench where she sat beside Lahvja. “But otherwise well.”

  Lucket had deemed Huntress and Nimhea’s bandaged face “too conspicuous” to travel in the open; thus, wolf and princess had been remanded to the interior of the wagon in daylight hours. Huntress lay on the wagon floor, her head resting on her paws. The giant wolf looked calm, but not particularly pleased about her current mode of travel. Ara wondered if the beast had ever ridden in any kind of transport prior to this. Likely not, and it spoke to Huntress’s loyalty to Joar that she would obey his command to remain inside what must be a strange and uncomfortable means of travel.

  As if reading Ara’s thoughts, Nimhea laughed softly and said, “I’m very careful to remind myself that she’s not a lovely furry rug to bury my toes in.”

  When Ara joined in her laughter, Huntress lifted her head and bared her teeth in a way that wasn’t altogether menacing, but bore a remarkable resemblance to a grimace.

  “Don’t worry,” Nimhea said to the wolf. “I won’t forget.”

  With a low growl, Huntress laid her head back atop her paws and closed her eyes.

  “She’s an extraordinary creature,” Lahvja observed in a reverent voice.

  Nimhea offered her own grimace. “That’s one word for it.”

  With a chastising cluck of her tongue, Lahvja pushed Nimhea upright. “I think I’ll keep Teth company for a while. I need to stretch my legs and enjoy the sun.”

  “Not fair,” Nimhea muttered, but happily accepted Lahvja’s kiss on her cheek.

  The summoner opened the back door and hopped out of the wagon, while Ara joined Nimhea on the bench. She was pleased to discover that the important road was well maintained enough to spare the ride from too many jolts or wild rocking.

  “I’m surprised you wanted to leave Teth alone.” Nimhea shot Ara a sidelong glance. “In fact, you seem to be leaving him alone rather frequently of late. Did you two quarrel?”

  Ara’s heart sank, but she steeled herself for what she had to confess. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that . . . about a lot of things.”

  Nimhea’s brow furrowed. “That sounds ominous.”

  Ara couldn’t keep her eyes from drifting to Nimhea’s bandages. “You don’t remember what happened in the swamp?”

  “Thankfully I don’t remember the pain or shock of receiving this wound.” Her fingers gingerly brushed over her cheek. “I remember the tentacle lashing out, striking at me, but nothing else until waking in the healer’s home.”

  Grinding her teeth, Ara forced herself to say, “Do you remember shouting for me when I went to help Teth?”

  Nimhea nodded slowly and frowned, but didn’t otherwise reply.

  “You asked for my help, but I ignored you,” Ara continued, swallowing the jagged stones that had filled her throat. “I went to Teth . . . and he didn’t need my help at all. He was fine.”

  The princess simply gazed at Ara for several moments.

  Ara hurried to fill the weighty silence. “It was wrong of me. I made a terrible choice and you suffered for it. I’m so sorry. I regret what I did so much.”

  “You think I should be angry with you.” Nimhea spoke slowly, tilting her head to regard Ara more closely.

  “Anger isn’t a strong enough emotion,” Ara replied. “You should be furious. I wouldn’t blame you for hating me. Your wound—”

  “Is terrible.” Nimhea cut her off, voice tightening. “But not your fault.”

  “But—”

  Nimhea held up her hand. “Do you think I would have left Lahvja? If she’d been the one in Teth’s position, do you believe I’d have made a different choice than you did?”

  Ara’s heart stuttered, and she could find no words.

  “I despise what happened to me.” Nimhea blew out a frustrated breath. “And I wish it hadn’t, but I don’t blame you. Not in the least.”

  Rigid with disbelief at Nimhea’s pronouncement, Ara said quietly, “I blame myself, and I won’t stop regretting choosing Teth over my duty as Loresmith.”

  “What duty is that?” Nimhea asked sharply.

  Ara was surprised Nimhea hadn’t already come to the same conclusion she had. “That I can’t favor one Loreknight over another. I have to think of the mission first, of our purpose.”

  Nimhea considered that, then replied, “The mission will always be important, but you’re forgetting something. You may be the Loresmith, but you’re still human. It’s a mistake to ask yourself to be more.”

  “Is it?” Ara shot back. “I’m responsible for all of you. If I choose my personal feelings over the good of our company, I put everything that matters at risk.”

  “What you feel matters, too.”

  “But you could have died,” Ara said, her hands balled into fists where they rested on her thighs. “If we’d lost you, the Resistance would fail and Saetlund would be lost. You’re the queen our people have been waiting for.”

  At this Nimhea slumped against the side of the wagon. “I wonder if that’s still true.”

  “How can you say that?” Shock rattled through Ara’s bones.

  “The gods haven’t shown me otherwise,” Nimhea said, smiling weakly. “A thief and an outsider were chosen to be Loreknights. I’m not worthy.”

  Gesturing to her bandages, she added, “And this. Who wants a queen with a ruined face?”

  Ara shook her head, remembering Lucket’s words. “Your face isn’t ruined. You are still the most stunning woman I’ve ever known. All that injury tells me—will tell anyone—is that you’re not the figurehead you were afraid people would see you as. You’re a true warrior. You make sacrifices for your people.”

  Nimhea sighed. “It’s not just that.”

  “What else?” Ara pressed.

  “I keep thinking about how Eamon must have traveled this road,” she replied. “I know I should put him out of my mind or else I should keep my fury at him alive and remind myself every day of how horrible his betrayal was and still is.”

  She closed her eye, and a tear slipped from beneath her lid. “But when I woke up in pain, half-blind, it wasn’t Lahvja I looked for; it was Eamon.”

  A painful wrench seized Ara’s heart.

  “I miss him every day,” Nimhea said softly. “Before he left I’d never spent a day without him. He was my best friend all my life. I thought he believed in me more than anyone. But he couldn’t, not after what he did.

  “Sometimes I think it’s too much. I want to stop. I want to give everything up and go find my brother. With every breath I think about what’s happened to him, where he is. I wonder if I would have ever started this journey had I known what it would cost me. I don’t think I would. If that’s the case, should I bother to continue?”

  Ara’s throat wanted to close, but she forced herself to speak. “Nimhea. I miss Eamon. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished he was here and how I still hope that he’s safe and unharmed. We all had come to care for him, to rely on him.”

  Feeling tears well in her own eyes, she drew a shuddering breath. “His choice cut us all deeply, and knowing how I feel, I can’t imagine how painful his loss is to you.”

  Nimhea nodded as she wept silently.

  “But, Nimhea, you cannot doubt yourself. The gods’ choices are as much a mystery to me as they are to you, but you are not being judged or punished. I’m certain of that. What I also know to be true is that you are vital. I believe in you. I
know the people will follow you. Without you we will fail.”

  Nimhea’s face contorted into a pained mask, and Ara took her hand. They stayed like that, silent with fingers interlaced, for a long time.

  When the princess at last drew her hand from Ara’s, she swiped the tracks of moisture from her cheek.

  “Thank you,” she said, meeting Ara’s gaze.

  Ara nodded, and the constriction of her throat eased.

  “I’m grateful you were so forthright with me,” Nimhea continued. “So let me do the same for you. Whatever this rift is between you and Teth, mend it. You’re punishing him and yourself for reasons I don’t believe are good enough. I can’t tell you what it means to be the Loresmith, but I can’t accept that denying love is demanded of you.”

  Ara winced at the sudden throb beneath her ribs.

  Overwhelmed by Nimhea’s words, her voice came out strangled. “I can’t thank you for that because I don’t know if I believe it.”

  “I don’t expect you to believe . . . yet,” the princess replied in a hard tone. “Only to listen.”

  22

  Breaking into the Temple of Vokk proved far easier than Dagger expected. A number of the wizards felt safe enough leaving their balcony doors open to let the warm spring air cocoon them while they slept. That was the problem with power—it inevitably led to hubris, and hubris led to mistakes.

  Saetlund had been conquered by the brawn of its armies, but the wizards dealt in magic. Magic so powerful and twisted they ruled by the people’s fear of it alone, which allowed them to operate unchecked. It also made them believe they were invincible, believe they were beyond the need to take measures against thieves and assassins.

  Arrogant fools.

  It made Dagger wish she’d been sent to eliminate one of them, even the ArchWizard himself. The bastard.

  But no. Her target was a boy . . . Well, at eighteen she supposed he was a man, but the intelligence she’d received about Prince Eamon described a slight, fragile creature prone to illness. This was no warrior prince, and given the bargain he’d made with the likes of ArchWizard Zenar, he was naive as hell. That made him a boy in Dagger’s mind.