Shadowborn (Light & Shadow, Book 1) (20 page)

“
I really don’t think we
should,” I said, as firmly as I could. I saw something in her eyes,
and she looked down.

“
You won’t tell my uncle I
asked you to do this for me?” she asked, and I
swallowed.

“
Of course not.” I knew
what trouble she would be in. I did not even want to think what the
Duke would do if he thought she wanted to sneak about. Without
realizing it, I had walked into a trap. Miriel’s eyes flashed
upwards at me, and in a moment she had shifted again, no longer
persuasive.

“
You know I will do this,
with or without your help,” she said. “Some day when you are at
lessons, I will sneak away from my own, and if my uncle catches me,
I will tell him that you had known I meant to do this and you did
not tell him.” I only stared at her. I could not find any words, I
was so angry. Of all the reckless, stupid—so like a
noble…

“
Fine,” I spat at her.
“I’ll help you. But you do what I say. You listen to me.” I stared
at her, at her triumphant face. “Promise.” She
considered.

“
I’ll do what you say. I
promise.”

“
And you’re going to go
dressed as a maid,” I said, staring at her mouth, the delicate
point of her chin, her long lashes. “You’ll never pass for a
boy.”

So it was that two nights later, I lurked in
the shadows of a side corridor, and thought that I might be sick
with nerves. This was a bad, bad plan, I told myself. I thought
that my heart was about to beat out of my chest. It had taken all
my skill to get us here without being seen: counting seconds after
the guards passed a corridor, calling up the layouts of every
building we went through, slipping along side corridors and
teaching Miriel to walk purposefully, like a servant. And now we
were here.

I looked around the hall,
and felt, instead of the familiar contempt at the obliviousness of
nobles, a terrible fear that tonight would be the night one of them
looked, actually
looked,
at a servant. One of them would recognize Miriel,
and word would get to her uncle, and he would make good on his
promise to kill her—and, likely, me.

“
Can I come out of the
hallway?” Her voice was tight with excitement. I tilted my head
down to pitch my voice to her.

“
Quiet.” I scanned along
the row of tables once more. I had insisted that we stay here, at
the head of the hall. There were more people who might recognize
us, but I could not take the chance of a soldier or a petty
nobleman seeing Miriel. At the thought of a drunkard seeing those
eyes, that skin—

I knew how serving women were treated, and
the thought made me sick. I was sure I could help her before they
knew what was happening, and I was sure I could help her escape.
But I was not sure I could do it without killing someone, and I
knew that could not be done without questions being asked later.
Questions that would lead the Duke, inevitably, back to us.

And so, only slightly less dangerous than
waiting on the men: waiting on the noble ladies and their
daughters. Isra, the Dowager Queen, was pious and strict, and so
the ladies and the gentlemen did not sit together at dinner. Her
ladies in waiting had their own tables, just below the royal table.
These were the mothers of the girls with whom Miriel associated,
the women who would tell their daughters whether or not to speak to
the Duke’s niece.

Below their tables, the marriageable young
noblewomen. At fifteen, sixteen—a few desperate at seventeen, and
one or two who had been given leave to sit there at fourteen—these
ladies were decked out in the most extravagant jewels their parents
could afford, dressed in the finest silks and velvets. Their hair
was dressed with ribbons and, if they were lucky, with strands of
pearls or jewels. Each had the strained look of a woman on show, a
woman who knows that everything depends on her ability to catch a
man’s eye. They spoke to each other with studied indifference, as
if every male eye in the great hall was not trained on them: the
young men, hoping to make a love match, and the older men,
searching for a woman who would be an advantageous match for their
sons.

The women never looked towards the tables on
the other side of the room. They knew that the Dowager Queen
watched them, as well, on watch for immodest behavior. And so they
coquetted, laughed elegantly, turned their heads to show off the
length of their necks, or tossed their hair to show the gleam of
it, leaned forwards to each other across their table; it was the
most dishonest thing I had ever seen, and one of the most
fascinating.

I spared a moment to look at Cintia
Conradine. She was one of the most careful, the most reserved.
Once, she cast a look over at the noblemen’s table, but only to
smile at her brother Wilhelm. Cintia’s success in finding a husband
would rely on the unpredictable currents of court favor, and to be
sure, she did not have favor now. The Dowager Queen’s eyes rested
on Cintia more than on any of her companions, as if Isra would
catch her out at something. As if, from Cintia’s demeanor, Isra
could determine the family’s loyalty.

Isra herself sat in state, to the right of
her son’s empty chair. Her throne might be set lower, but there was
no doubt in anyone’s mind that the ruler of Heddred overlooked
tonight’s feast. Isra wore a gown of purple, so heavily-embroidered
that it might have been cloth-of-gold, and if her golden circlet
was plain, she was adorned so heavily with rings and bracelets that
it was wonder she could hold up her arms.

As always, the Head Priest sat at Isra’s
side. He ate and drank little; he had the hollow face of a true
ascetic. It was said that Isra consulted his advice in every
matter, seeking her guidance from the words of the scriptures. He
was a fanatic for the early church, Temar had said, determined that
the church and the country should return to its early purity of
spirit. He wanted the priests, whom Roine so disdained, to give up
their jeweled robes and priceless works of art, and devote
themselves to the care of the people. The High Priest was not a
favorite amongst his followers, but he was the head of the church,
and he had the favor of the Dowager Queen; they could not dislodge
him. He led the church with the single-minded, almost fanatic
intensity.

It was said, also, that his advice bordered
on the mystical, and that he sought his own guidance from ancient
prophecies and visions. I could hardly believe that, knowing how
deeply pious the Dowager Queen was, but still, I spared a moment to
watch him carefully, in the ways that Temar and Donnett had taught
me. This man had the ear of the Queen, and she had control of the
kingdom. It would be worth knowing who he was, and who he had been
before he entered the church. It would be worth knowing what he,
who sat at the right had of a woman dripping in gold, thought was
purity of spirit.

If I had not been so terrified of what
Miriel was getting up to, I would have been watching everything and
everyone—a task that seemed, to me, entirely at odds with the
bladework and grappling I was learning, and yet was something that
Temar absolutely insisted I learn. He was trying to teach me to
watch without expectation, let my mind be carried on the currents
of what I saw.

It was one thing to learn sparring in dark
cellars, Temar had said—but another thing entirely to learn to be a
Shadow in the court, watching the undercurrents and coming to
outright combat only rarely. As a Shadow, I was trained to strike
quickly and kill quietly, but that should be only the smallest
piece of what I did. The majority of my task was watching and
giving advice, and then, only rarely, acting as the unseen force of
Miriel’s will.

I turned my gaze back to the young women,
younger than the marriageable girls: dressed in simpler clothing,
gazing around themselves as if to drink in every glimpse of the
court. Children, nine or ten and younger, were never allowed to
court at all, and the young women Miriel’s age were only allowed to
be a part of the court at dinnertime. Isra had decreed that they
were there to learn proper manners, not to be shown off as
potential brides. In reality, they were there to remind the court
of the Lords who had daughters, and a great deal of marital
bartering went on at the Lords’ table.

On any given night, Miriel would be sitting
one or two tables down from the older girls, depending upon the
mood of the other maids; the seats closest to the throne were
highly coveted. Tonight, after a council meeting in which the Duke
had been accused of trying to subvert Guy de la Marque’s influence,
Miriel was in disfavor. Her seat had not been kept open for her,
but instead another girl had moved up to take her place.

I looked over at Miriel and saw her draw her
gaze back from Wilhelm Conradine; purposefully, she retrained her
gaze on the maidens’ table. Unconsciously, she was fidgeting with
her sleeves and shrugging her shoulders; the rough fabric of the
serving girl’s gown I had found for her was irritating her skin.
She was nearly unrecognizable, dirt smeared on her face and her
neck so that the lily whiteness of the skin would not give her
away. She had tucked her curls up inside a cap, and instead of her
own boots, she was wearing a pair of mine.

“
We should go,” I said to
her.

“
Just a moment.” She was
watching another of the girls intently; I recognized Elizabeth de
la Marque’s daughter, Marie. She was a beauty, with pale skin and
hair of a rich gold, shining like sunlight, like honey. The baby of
the family, I had heard, the apple of her father’s eye. I had heard
the servants whisper about what de la Marque might be planning for
his lovely daughter, and I found that I wondered, myself. Then I
remembered where I was, and who was at my side.

“
Dinner is almost over,” I
whispered to Miriel. “You need to leave before they get up.” And
before the Duke returned from a dinner meeting of the council.
Please, Gods, before then. Before he noticed her chair was empty
and before Temar was there to scan the hall. When Miriel did not
move, I said desperately, “You promised.”

She shot me a look, but stepped back
reluctantly, into the little side hallway. I was scanning the hall
for Council members. They did not like to sit long in their
meetings and miss their dinner, but neither did the like the King
to undertake his decisions without him. I could only hope that
their meeting dragged on, and the Duke was not here to find us out.
If anyone would pick out our faces in the shadows, it would be him.
When I heard Miriel exclaim in surprise, I felt my heart seize. We
had been found out.

I whirled and ran into the hallway, skidding
to a halt as I found Miriel laughing quietly, being helped up from
the floor by a young man in the plain clothes of a clerk. He was
pale, and strenuously thin, but he helped Miriel up with a firm
grip under her elbow. She was trembling with relief, and smiling
the radiant smile she showed to servants.

“
Oh, no, miss,” the boy
said. “I assure you, it was entirely my fault. Here.” He reached
down and picked up her shawl, handing it to her with a courtly bow,
an exquisite bow. I looked more closely, and when he looked around
at me, he had light brown hair and grey eyes. I saw the set of the
cheekbones, the thin mouth—

I stared at him in complete horror. I could
not find any words, not even when he flashed me a smile, clearly
enjoying my shock. His eyes took in the crest embroidered on my
clothes, and then slid back to Miriel.

“
But perhaps not a
servant?” He inquired smoothly. “For surely, no serving girl was
ever so fair, except perhaps the poor girl in the tale, who was
given a dress to go to the ball.” Miriel swallowed. Now she knew
that something was not quite right.

“
My Lord—sir—“ I stumbled
over the titles. He could not know, he
must
not know who it was who was
skulking around in disguise. But it was too late. He waved a hand
to keep me away, and I, not knowing what to do, felt my hands drop,
leaden, to my sides.

“
May I assume that I have
the pleasure of speaking to the Lady Miriel DeVere?” he inquired.
She was frozen with fear, but his smile was as warm as dawn
breaking, and mischievous. Miriel smiled back, in spite of herself.
“Don’t worry,” he said, and he held a finger up to his lips. “No
one will hear it from me. It will be our secret.” He shot a glance
at me.

“
Thank you,” Miriel
murmured. She had recovered, she sank into a beautiful
curtsy.

“
Now, I must go.” The man
bowed again. “My Lady, a pleasure to meet you.” He gave a nod to
me, and went out into the hall itself, walking close to the wall
and watching the nobles as they ate.

“
He was nice,” Miriel said,
looking after him.

“
We’re going.” I grabbed
her hand, heedless of protocol, and yanked her after me down the
hallway.

“
Catwin. Slow down!” I did
not listen. I half ran, tightening my hand around hers so that she
could not wriggle away. I ran until the sound of the banquet was a
faint roar, I ran out through one of the little-used alleys,
Miriel’s breath beginning to come short. I ran, determinedly
thinking of nothing, and cursing myself all the while. I should
never have agreed to this.

All was not lost, it was not, it was
not—

“
What’s wrong?” Miriel
demanded. “Why are you upset? Did you see—“

I kicked open the door of her room and
shoved her inside, then slammed the door behind us and slid the
deadbolt before grabbing her hand again and pulling her through the
receiving room and the privy chamber to her bedroom. When I saw
that it was empty, that Temar was not waiting for us, only then did
I admit to myself what had happened. I doubled over and shook.