Shadowforged (Light & Shadow) (4 page)

As if the danger was the King’s opportunity to speak to Miriel with the eyes of the court on both of them. As if he had been lured away by dancing, and could be kept from her with such a simple ruse. Did Isra truly believe that if she only kept the King away for an hour, he would forget his infatuation and turn meekly to Marie with a proposal on his lips? The corner of my mouth quirked; I sobered at once as I realized that I was wearing the Duke’s predatory smile on my face.

As the King left the hall without a backward glance, I thought I might be the only one who saw him murmur a few words to a page. Certainly, neither Isra nor de la Marque watched as the boy set off around the room, but I traced him as he walked towards the boys. He waited until each group began to withdraw, and then he detained Wilhelm. A word only, and Wilhelm nodded. I watched him leave, wondering if I might have been mistaken in what I saw, but as I waited for Miriel’s table to be dismissed, another page crept up beside me.

“A message for you,” he said awkwardly, unsure how to address me. “The lord says he’d be pleased to see you at the usual place.” He was wide-eyed, sure that he was speaking to a lordling’s mistress, unsure as to what the lordling might see in a girl who wore breeches. I was not minded to disillusion him; I nodded.

“Of course.” I sent him away with a bow, and then I looked about for Temar. As I gazed about, I caught Miriel’s eye. Just the slightest quirk of an eyebrow from her, just the tiniest nod in return from me. I escorted her back to her rooms, and went to find Temar.

I found him outside the Council chamber; he looked far from pleased to see me when he saw me standing in the hallway.

“Yes?” he asked. His usual ready smile for me was nowhere to be seen. His arms were crossed across his chest, his face set in a frown. His stance was unwelcoming, but there were too many people who might hear; I went close and stood on tiptoe to murmur in his ear.

“We’re to meet the King. Midnight, the wine cellar, our building.”

“Report to me afterwards.” Temar’s face had not changed in the slightest. At a loss for words, the gulf between us too wide for me even to think what to say, I bowed and left.

Chapter 4

“Check the hallway,” Miriel ordered. She had set aside her fine jewelry, and exchanged her gown for her nightgown and robe, beautiful and modest, tied to the neck. She had twisted and turned in front of the mirror, getting ready, but there was little to be done with such a simple tableau. In the end, she had only dabbed rosewater on her wrists and her neck, and told me that it was time to go.

I opened her door as quietly as I could and peered down the hallway, both directions. I saw one pair of guards on their rounds, but no one else.

“We’re going a different way tonight,” I said.

“Why?” A note of mistrust appeared in her voice. She wondered what Temar might have instructed me, and I tried to swallow down the resentment that she should doubt me already, on the very first day we had the chance to act as allies. In truth, I could not have said that I trusted her, either. Words whispered in the darkness were one thing, but outside of the confines of her rooms were a dozen or more who would use us for their own ends. I tried to tell myself that neither of us would be able to look at the other without doubt yet, that such a thing would take time. When my silent admonishments to myself did not work, I resolutely turned my thoughts away; I had to trust, or I was lost. What else was there for me?

“If anyone sees us, we can say we were called to the Duke’s rooms,” I explained. Knowing she would be more carefully watched, and without Temar’s advice, I had done the best I could to guarantee that her reputation would not be irrevocably damaged if we were seen. Miriel nodded at this idea, biting her lip, and we set off with Anna glaring after us.

Donnett had once told me how the Palace Guard would patrol a building, and so I was able to lead us out of their way with little trouble. We walked quickly, and I hoped desperately that no one would see us. I knew we would make a noteworthy pair if anyone caught a glimpse of us down a hallway: Miriel with her dark hair and her striking looks, dressed all in white like an angel; and myself, fair hair drawn back, dressed severely in black.

We made it to the Duke’s rooms without being followed; I had lingered, each time we turned, to see if anyone would poke their head around a corner to watch us. Then we dashed down most of a long corridor and Miriel took a moment to slow her breathing before nodding to me to open the door to the cellars. I preceded her, as I always did, my left hand close to one of my little razor-sharp daggers, where it lay concealed in a pocked of my shirt. But I need not have worried: as usual, only the King awaited us—and, in a corner, Wilhelm. I bowed deeply, and gestured Miriel down the stairs.

The King held out his arms to her, but she hesitated, instead holding out her hands. Even in this moment of reunion, of triumph that he wanted her still, she would not be led into indiscretion; even with the Duke’s assurance that drawing back would only lure the King on, I marveled at Miriel’s daring. Who denied a king?

Miriel did, and he did not reproach her for it. He understood at once what she meant by holding back from him, and he cupped her small hands in his own, the overlarge hands of a growing boy. He even knelt at her feet.

“Forgive me,” he said warmly. “I was so glad to see you. But, never—I shall never ask anything dishonorable of you.” All of the passion of youthful love and honesty was in his face. I thought of the Duke’s words, half promise and half threat, that the King would do precisely that before the year was out. “I shall protect you from the gossips,” the King assured Miriel. “And so I must ask you to forgive me once more.” I blinked at the sight of an anointed King, on his knees before a merchant girl’s daughter, and begging her pardon.

“Forgive you? Why so, your Grace?” Miriel stared down at him in pretty confusion. I marveled at her ability to be so many different women, a dozen Miriels, who might know anything the King wanted her to know, and be ignorant of whatever he wished her not to know, who might never have been poisoned, who could be completely unaware that she was the target of intense hatred. To see her, I would never have known she had faced an assassination attempt.

“For neglecting you at dinner this evening. I could see the gossip at your arrival and I knew—“ He broke off and squeezed her hands. “Ah, I would shield you from all of it, if I could.”

“When you marry, all of this will be forgotten,” Miriel said sweetly. She smiled a sad smile, but her tone was like milk. I, who had been waiting all evening to see how she would play this meeting, realized now what she meant to do. I raised my eyebrows.  “Which is why you must do as you have done, your Grace. I do not reproach you, for I know why you must—believe me when I say that I know what must be. Do not speak of shielding me. We must shield
you
.”

“To what purpose?” He could not fathom what she meant.

“For the sake of your marriage,” Miriel said, her brow furrowing. “You must marry soon, your Grace. You and I know that our friendship is honorable. But if I were to speak with you at dinner, dance with you—it would give grist to the gossips, and I would never do that. I cannot stand between you and your duty. Your Queen must feel secure on her throne.” It was masterfully done. At last he saw what she meant, and he shook his head violently.

“No, no—I swear to you, my Lady,
you
will be my Queen.” It was a moment of victory, but Miriel did not revel in it.  It was too fleeting: promises of the young, given in the dark of the night. She smiled sadly and, seeing that her point had hit home, twisted the knife.

“Oh, your Grace, I wish so much—“ She broke off and blinked away tears. “But they will never allow it.”

“The Council?” His voice grew dangerous. “It is
I
who am King, my Lady.”

“Your Grace—“

“Call me by my name,” he pleaded.

“I cannot!” The words were ripped from her. “I cannot do such a thing. It is to break my heart when you marry— and you
must
marry for advantage.”

“What advantage would be greater than to have a Queen at my side who could advise me?” he asked persuasively. “Whose counsel I could trust?” She paused, as if struck by this—as if there were no counter to his logic.

“I…”

“Just think on it,” he begged her. “If you would not wish to be my Queen, I…but I would rather have you than any woman the Council would suggest.”

There was no safe answer. Careful of talking herself into a corner, Miriel only gazed at him, wide-eyed, her lips slightly parted; to look at her, one would think no words could be sweeter to her ears.

“Now,” he said tenderly. “I have been sorely in need of your counsel.” He led her over to the great wine barrel where she always sat, and lifted her up, smiled up at her face. “Did your uncle pass along my regards? I did not wish to send a message to you, for I knew my pages would be watched, but I told him—“ Miriel never wavered. She pretended that we had not been held, fearful, in seclusion, wondering what lies the King had been told, wondering if he cared for her still.

“Of course. Your words were a great comfort to me. I thank you, your Grace.” He smiled and squeezed her hand.

“Good. Have you heard the news from Ismir?” I marveled at how quickly he cast aside love talk for statecraft, but Miriel was quick to match him. If only she loved him, I thought sadly, they would have made quite a pair. We could throw her towards the throne without the artful lies we needed now. But then I might as well wish for Miriel to have royal blood. There was no time to mourn what could not be.

Don’t be soft
, I told myself, and I shook my head to clear it.

“The slander that Duke Kasimir repeats?” Miriel frowned. “I try not to listen. It is beyond belief.”

“They say he grieves deeply for his cousin,” Garad said, fair to a fault.

“He may,” Miriel said, unimpressed. “A man in grief may say anything. It is not Kasimir that I blame.”

“It is not?” He blinked at her.

“No.” Miriel shook her head. “I blame Dusan. He must grieve as well, but he does not spread such slander—and so he must know that to do so is wrong. And if he knows that, is it not his duty to be clear that the accusations are Kasimir’s alone? Is it not his duty to be just to a fellow King?”

“I had not thought…” Garad blinked. “Ah, my Lady, you should be on the Council!” He laughed. “Why do they not see as clearly as you? You are correct, of course.” He was grave now. “I must write to Dusan, and ask him why he does not put a stop to these accusations. How quickly it is solved! Can you dissolve the rebellion so easily?”

His amusement was mixed with genuine hope. He did not see Miriel’s face flicker into blankness for a moment, and then back; when she smiled, he basked in the glow of it. At my side, Wilhelm shifted slightly, as if he would speak. I looked over, but he said nothing. I looked back to see the King clasping Miriel’s hands in his own.

“Ah, I cannot tell you—the Council is useless, they hem and haw, they told me I should send troops, and then when I finally would, they say I cannot—the violence has died down. I must bring this Jacces to justice, and they say that I cannot. But what else is there?”

“Do they say why?” Miriel asked. I could almost hear her, cursing her uncle for a fool for not telling her what to say about this. Then, she realized the fact just as I did—I saw the flash in her face—that the Duke had left her way clear to say whatever she would. If he were angry, she could always protest later, wide-eyed, that he had given her no instructions.

“Yes, they say that to quarter troops among the people would cause wider unrest.” His face twisted. “But there’s no other way! His mob killed a man, hung him from the rafters of a cathedral! It cannot be allowed to rest. They must be brought to justice, and the people must see the leaders of this madness crushed utterly.” Miriel tilted her head to the side, her face as relaxed as if she cared nothing for the people her King planned to kill.

“Have you sent another proclamation to them?” She was coming at it sideways, as she always did, and I sighed quietly. Miriel might say that she would put her quest for the throne ahead of the rebellion, but if there was a chance to avoid violence, she would play for it. She would be indirect, she would be sly—she would never let it come to open conflict—but Miriel would not stop trying to turn the King’s mind to tolerance. I would have been a fool to expect otherwise, and from my weary amusement, I knew that I had never truly expected her to hold to that. Her life had been threatened time and again, and it was no longer enough for her to sit quietly by as she was used as a pawn; I knew myself enough to know that I envied her that conviction.

The King did not understand this; how could he? He frowned at her.

“What do you mean?”

“You could send a messenger, to read a proclamation in each town. Explain that you have been a just King, a kind King. Remind them that they have prospered under your rule. Ask them to cease their…” She searched for the word. “…continued unrest. Tell them that now that they have ended the violence, they should give up Jacces, so that the matter of the murder may be closed. Remind them of the man’s wife and child, who were robbed of their family. Remind them that it is a matter of honor.” The people of the Norstrung Provinces would never give Jacces up; Miriel knew this. But she knew, also, that she might persuade the King to hold off on sending her uncle, and that was the most important thing. Her uncle would crush the rebellion with whatever weapons came to hand.

“I should not have to remind them of anything,” the King said sulkily.

“Indeed not,” Miriel concurred without hesitation; her smile was bland, her tone sweet. “But this way, if you are kind and gentle with them, and they do not cease their rebellion, none could complain if you were to send soldiers later.”

He was struck by this. “You think this could work?”

I could see that Miriel yearned to say,
of course not
. She knew, as a child of common blood, that commoners yearned for their rights as much as did nobles. She knew that these men, educated and wealthy, would not simply go back to their homes and be content to have other men rule their lives.

“Who can say how they think?” she asked instead. “But it should remind them that they can have no complaint of you.” She blushed at Garad’s smile.

“You are a wonder,” he said warmly. “You have solved these problems in minutes, when it takes the Council hours even to decide what to argue about.” Miriel gave a peal of laughter, and I saw his face light up.

It was strange to watch, I thought. He had refused to listen to her pleas, exposed her to unthinkable danger. He was so blind that he truly thought he sought honest advice from her, and not the blind agreement that had surrounded him his whole life. I, who knew how bitterly Miriel had been disappointed by him, could not help but think poorly of him, but I also could not help but think that he was pressed upon by forces no ordinary man endured. He did not seek advice to rule his country harshly, or levy taxes on his people to fill his own coffers. His view of a golden age was not evil, only childish. Beyond his blindness, he was growing into a kind man.

I watched them as they spoke, their heads bent together, her finishing the lines of poetry he quoted, him offering her books from the royal library. I saw him as Temar had once encouraged me to do so: as a man. I watched the man and tried to see where he ended, and the Boy King began. And I watched my new ally, wondering which of her smiles were artifice, and which were borne of her genuine affection for the man he wished to be, but could never be.