Shadowforged (Light & Shadow) (23 page)

Trying to catch my breath and gather my thoughts, I looked around the High Priest’s chambers. They were small, and after the richness of the Palace, they seemed as cold and unwelcoming as my prison cell. The High Priest was doing his work at a table no finer than the one Roine used. A pomander sat at the edge of the desk; else, the whole surface was covered with books and papers. A small fire burned in the grate, and the only other furnishings in the room were heavy drapes, and a chair by the fireplace. The High Priest was indeed the ascetic they spoke of.

“You can guess now,” I said clumsily. All of my speech had disappeared from my head, and I was left with only my wits and my fear. He said nothing, only looked at me with his deep-set, far-seeing eyes. “She was afraid you might doubt her,” I explained. “That’s why she didn’t tell you. She began to learn of the rebellion after…well…” The High Priest raised an eyebrow.

“After I sent an assassin for her?” He smiled at my nod, a smile without happiness, only satisfaction. “How intriguing. How very intriguing. And she became a sympathizer? Tell me truly, don’t think of lying to me.”

“I’m not lying,” I shot back. “And if you ask me, it’s crazy.” He smiled.

“And yet she’s the noble, and you are the servant. Most interesting. So why are you here now, on her behalf?” The world shifted, uncertainty rocked me. I stared at him mistrustfully.

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?” He leaned forward to me, and his eyes narrowed when I did not respond at once. “Catwin…what should I know? Is the Lady Miriel in trouble?”

“Yes.” Too distracted to wonder how he might know my name, I crept closer, looking around myself fearfully, and he nodded to me to draw up a chair close to him. We leaned together like conspirators. “Miriel and—a friend—were speaking of the rebellion, and the King heard them. He had me imprisoned, he promised he would destroy her—I don’t know how long it’s been, and I don’t know where she is now. You mean the Court does not know?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Who was the friend?” When I hesitated, he raised his eyebrows. “If you want my help, you’ll need to give me what I ask. Who was the friend?” He was right, I did need him. I sighed and said a silent apology to Wilhelm.

“Wilhelm Conradine.”

“Ah.” The High Priest smiled, and I was relieved to see that he did not seem surprised in the least. “Yes, Wilhelm is a sympathizer. I have spoken with him of it.” His gaze sharpened. “Does he know of…me?”

“No, we did not tell him. We did not tell anyone.” I shook my head, and the High Priest nodded, pleased.

“Well, then. So what is it you want from me?” I stared at him, wondering if he was joking. Was it not obvious?

“Your help. For Miriel’s sake—because I swear to you, she would be a good Queen, she would aid the rebellion, and bring about the changes you seek. But we need your help, or the King will break the betrothal. He has sworn to crush the rebellion, out of anger at her. He must be persuaded to keep the betrothal, and not destroy the rebellion.”

“And you want my help,” he said, his voice expressionless. “To save the Lady and the rebellion. That is your goal—her safety, and the changes the rebellion would bring.”

“Yes,” I said impatiently. “I am loyal to her, and what she wants most is for the rebels’ cause to become reality.”

“Is it.” I sighed. Why was he doing this?

“Sir, if you do not help us, the rebellion will be lost. I swear to you, he will stop at nothing now. I know you’ve spoken to him before, and not persuaded him—but now you must. And please—please, you must convince him that she has done nothing wrong.” The High Priest clasped his hands together and stared off into the distance.

“I’m not sure I can convince him of that,” he said thoughtfully. “But if you say she wants above all for the rebellion to be safe…that, I may be able to accomplish. Now, you must go. Find your Lady—the King gave out that she had a fever, she may be in her own rooms. We have much to do, both of us.” I nodded and stood, then bowed and withdrew from the room. I put the High Priest out of my mind; I would come back to inquire as to his progress later. In the meantime, I needed to find Miriel, and help her escape.

I turned from the door and was setting off into the palace when Temar stepped out of the shadows, blocking my path.

Chapter 23

He smiled easily.

“Hello, Catwin.”

I froze, uncertainly, and Temar was on me in an instant, his hands sliding up my arms, his breath in my ear; I was pressed up against the wall, my arm twisted behind my back and his face inches from mine. I saw the pain in his eyes, the fight of divided loyalties, and had a moment to wonder what it was he felt, with his mouth so close to mine and our gazes locked together. I saw his gaze flicker, and then he shook his head slightly, as if to clear it.

I had always known what would win out if it came to a choice between me and the Duke. I faced into the thought, as bravely as I could, gritting my teeth against the fact that I understood his choice—I would have made the same choice for Miriel.

“So where is she?” Temar asked, conversationally, the brief moment of conflict forgotten. He was his usual self once more.

“Don’t give me that,” I said, to buy time. I was thinking furiously. Temar would never ask me if he knew: he would ask me what I was doing here. He would taunt me that I did not know where she was. He would ask where I had been. He must, in truth, not know. Which meant that Miriel was
not
in her rooms.

The grip on my wrist tightened and I bit my lip to keep from crying out in pain. “Answer me, Catwin. Where is Miriel? Her rooms are locked and quiet.”

“The King has her,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster. “I would have thought you would know that.”

“Has her where?”

“In his chambers,” I lied blithely. Temar frowned.

“Doing what?” At my hesitation, he tightened his fingers once more, and I twisted desperately, dropping and then lashing out. We ended up in a sprawl on the floor, fingers locked on each other’s throats, cold fury in his eyes and matching anger in my own. Slowly, by mutual agreement, we loosened our fingers and backed away from each other. I crouched, wary, back against one wall, and curled my fingers. My legs were still tensed to spring. He looked back, his eyes betraying nothing; only the faint hunch of his shoulders showed that he, too, was waiting for a fight.

“Nothing improper.” I weighed the options. If he did not know that Miriel was in trouble, he surely would soon. And when the Duke knew that Miriel did not have the King’s heart wholly in her grasp, his response was always the same:
get him back
. That would give me the freedom I needed to find her, and formulate some sort of plan. “The King is angry with her,” I explained.

“We know that well enough,” Temar snapped. He was rotating his arm gingerly, where I had wrenched it. “Since the King took away the Duke’s command in the South. What in the name of Nuada did she do?“

“Nuada?” I asked, baffled. His face flickered.

“Nothing,” he said tersely. “
Answer
me.”

“He thinks she’s sympathizing with the rebellion,” I said wearily. I had not wanted to tell Temar, for fear that this would give him the final key, but I could not think of a lie quickly enough. Indeed, I saw recognition flare in Temar’s eyes, and I could only hope to recover for this. “He has it all wrong,” I said, trying to mimic the tone of muted frustration. “He never
listens
to her, he thinks—“

“What’s the truth of it?” Temar demanded. He was coiled, ready to grab for me, and I held up my hands.

“Oh, leave off! I’ll answer you. She doesn’t…she’s angry at the Duke for treating her like she’s nothing. It’s true! You know it is. And you had to know she’d resent it. Well, she thought she’d teach him a lesson and get the King to give command to someone else. Only, he took it wrong. He thought she meant not to send soldiers at all, and now he thinks…” I sighed, as if weary, and hung my head.
Please,
I thought.
Please let her be Queen by the time the Duke has a chance to get back at her for this.

“So she tried to betray her own family—“ Temar’s disgust was plain as day “—and in return she’s stripped the Duke of his power and lost her own? You know, Catwin, I’d laugh if it weren’t so—“

“
Shut up
.” He stopped, surprised. Even I was surprised. I would not have expected such an outburst from myself, but all of it had crashed in at once: the fear, and the guilt, thinking of his feelings and wondering if he ever—
ever
—thought of mine. Wondering what it meant that when he forgot himself, he smiled at me, and yet I saw my death in his eyes.

“What?” His voice was cautious.

“I said shut up.” I scrambled to my feet, and he followed suit, uncurling with his feline grace and standing ready for another fight. Once the words had started, they would not stop. “You hate her, and you always have. I don’t have to know why, but I’m sick of it, and I don’t have time for you to tell me, anyway. We’re
fixing
it. I went to talk to the High Priest to have him go talk to the King, and now I’m going to go get her a gown so that she can go to the King and apologize and make it all right. It’s a lovers’ spat, he’ll be more in love with her than ever by tomorrow morning. So get out of my way and let me set this to rights.” 

Temar had gone quiet, he was looking at me with an expression I could not read. Before I could demand again that he move, he stepped out of the center of the hallway, leaving the path open. He made no move to stop me with force, but as I went to step past him, he held out his hand.

I looked up at him, and saw his eyes go cold and hard. I felt my lips part at that, the breath leaving me in a rush. At last, as I watched the last traces of emotion bleed away from him, I could see what I had missed, all these months. It was gone so quickly that I could hardly put a name to it—regret? Guilt? Sympathy? It was there no longer, and I could take no joy in knowing that something trace of friendship had remained; I was terrified. Now, in Temar’s face, there was only resolve. And I knew what Temar was capable of, if he set his mind to it.

“Be warned, Catwin,” he said, softly. “You’ve upset my plans, and if you ever stand in my way again, I will kill you.” His voice sounded far away, the echo of himself. He did not wait to see if I understood, only dropped his hand and walked away, leaving me looking after him with tears in my eyes.

I hurried to Miriel’s rooms, biting my lip until it bled, angrier than I had ever been in my life. He had cared for me, I knew that now. I had seen that when he had defended me to the Duke, and now he had let me go when he could easily have hauled me off to the Duke’s rooms—or, at least, tried to do so. But none of that caring had stopped him from remembering that he was my enemy, and if any of it remained now, it would not stop him from hurting me. I believed every one of his parting words.

How many times?
I demanded of myself, mouthing the words silently, biting my lip against the start of a sob.
How many lessons will it take?
I had been given chances, dozens of them, to cut this weakness out of my heart; and the Gods could have borne witness, in this moment, that I wished I had done so. We were assassins, Temar and I, we were killers; it was foolish for us to love, and more foolish still for anyone to love us.  I, of all people, should know better than to hold such sentiment for him.

But I, of all people, had seen also that he was caught between logic and instinct—and that was the crux of it. My steps slowed, and I leaned against the wall, hunching over as if the pain in my chest were true, a wound of flesh and blood instead of emotion. As long as I saw that struggle in Temar, I could not hate him; I could not even blame him, however much I might believe that I should. If ever there had been a chance of that, it had been in the moment when my anger spilled out, and it had been wiped away when I saw him press down the guilt he carried with him. I could not hate him, and without hatred, I could not cut away the rest.

Logic against instinct: the cold truth that an ally with doubts and divided loyalties was no more than an enemy in disguise, and the instinct that led the two of us not to glare, and posture, but instead to smile, to search out the spark of empathy in each other’s eyes. However misplaced it might be, we had I closed my eyes for a moment, feeling the cold of the wall seeping into my skin, and I prayed that Temar had not pushed his instinct beyond reach.

I opened my eyes, and had a moment of confusion. Looking around myself, I realized that my feet had brought me not to Miriel’s rooms, but to Roine’s. I hesitated, caught by the desire to run, and avoid her censure, but I found myself moving forward inexorably. She might still be disapproving, she might barely speak to me anymore, but I needed nothing more, in that moment, to see her and remember who I had once been, before the Duke named me a Shadow. I stopped for a moment, wondering who reminded Temar of his past, then I shook my head, and pushed open the door.

She turned from her work table to regard me. Her eyes took in my tears, and she was at my side in an instant.

“What’s happened?” she demanded, her voice low and urgent.

“I can’t tell you.” A mumble. A look away. Roine would not understand. She would tell me that to love an assassin was foolishness—and to explain that I could see beneath that, see what Temar was and had once been, was to remind her that I, too, was an assassin. Roine never wanted reminders of that.

She looked into my eyes for a moment, and then she sighed, brushed the hair away from my eyes, and enfolded me in a hug. At this, I began to cry. I stood there, frozen with the fear of everything crashing down around me, and I tried to find words for what had gone wrong. “I have to go help Miriel plead with the King. Again. And lie. Again.” I gulped and pulled away to blow my nose into my handkerchief.  Roine sat back, watching me, her brow furrowed. “I’m sick of lying,” I said thickly. “I don’t think it’s worth it anymore.”

“Then let Miriel fight her own battles,” Roine said quickly. She swallowed. “Get out now, Catwin. Run away. Right now. You don’t want to be a part of what’s coming. Go.” There was real passion in her voice, and I shook my head regretfully.

“I can’t,” I said. “I took a vow to Miriel, that I would protect her. I have to go to her now. It’s just…it’s hard,” I finished, lamely. I looked over to her, and saw not her anger, which I expected, but a deep sadness. “You’re not angry?”

“No,” she said. She shook her head. “I knew how you would choose.” She took a deep breath. “Go, then. I won’t keep you.” I nodded; there was no time to waste, and certainly no time to talk to her of Temar. She would never understand that kind of loyalty, I thought, as I hugged her and left.

I was cautious as I approached Miriel’s rooms. No guards waited outside, as I had been afraid they might—the King, knowing of my escape, must be searching for me—but the door, to my surprise, was locked. I rattled it, and then, confident that the deadbolt was not in place, set to picking the lock. It was evening, with most of the Court at dinner, and so few enough people were about. Still, I was lucky that no one rounded the corner as I opened the door and slipped inside.

A sound caught my ear, the tiniest sound, and I pushed my way through the privy chamber and into her bedroom. Nothing. Not even Anna was here. I was just about to leave when I heard it again: a little scratching sound, coming from the wardrobe. Cautiously, seized by a sudden, superstitious fear, I drew my dagger. I yanked the door open and leaped back—

“
Miriel
?” Her eyes were wide in silent appeal, her mouth bound with a strip of cloth and her hands tied behind her back. I sheathed my dagger and set to work on the knots. Clever. Damnably clever, to hide Miriel in the last place the Duke would think of looking for her. Hide her, and know that if the Duke and Temar came looking for her, she would keep quiet out of fear of them.

“He said if I gave anyone a hint I was here, he would have me killed,” she whispered, when her gag fell away. “But I thought…I know how you walk. I had to try.” Her mouth twitched in an attempt at a smile. “I know you could kill anyone that had come in with you, anyway. Where were you? They took you away…” Her voice trailed off as she realized that she was babbling, and she took a deep, shuddering breath. I helped her up and then, on a whim, wrapped my arms around her in a hug. I felt her arms grip me as she hugged me back, both of us wordless in our relief to find the other unscathed.

“They took me to the dungeons under the armory,” I said. “But I got out. Listen. Your uncle doesn’t know what really happened. Promise not to be mad?”

She drew back and eyed me narrowly, but nodded. “I promise.”

“The King gave out that you were sick,” I explained. “But the Duke knew it was false. He sent Temar to find us, and…well, he found me. I told him that the king thinks you sympathize, but it was all a misunderstanding.” She opened her mouth to speak, but I shook my head. “I said you were angry that the Duke hadn’t given you enough credit, and so you tried to get his command taken away—but the King thought you didn’t want him to go because you were sympathizing with the rebels.” Miriel was staring at me as if I had gone mad and I shrugged, helplessly. “It was the best I could do,” I pleaded with her. “The Duke will be angry, but I couldn’t think of anything that
wouldn’t
make him angry. His command was already taken away—he knew something was wrong.”

“So, I’d better get the crown on my head or he’ll kill me,” Miriel said grimly, her babbling relief forgotten. She was all business. She waved a hand at me, distracted by her thoughts. “It was a good enough lie,” she said absently, and I sighed with relief. I had known it, but it was another thing entirely to hear her say it.