Shadowborn (Light & Shadow, Book 1) (30 page)

I thought he would be less understanding of
this self-named philosopher, who denounced the very notion of a
monarchy, who said that all humans were created equal, and
separated by nothing more divine than gold. These letters claimed
that no man was given a divine right to rule, only that some men
were allowed to do so by the complacency of their people. That, the
Boy king would not be able to stomach—I would stake my own meager
pay on it.

But Miriel never spoke of the book again,
beyond leaving it below my spare uniform so that I would know to
return it. The next night, she made another peace offering: she
asked me to watch Cintia Conradine at dinner. She threw the request
over her shoulder while she dressed for dinner, as if it was
nothing. I gave a murmured assent as I tied on my new belt. As if
by magic, after my success in finding her the book, new clothes had
appeared for me: a shirt and tunic of fine soft wool, a belt of
black leather, and a pair of new boots with sheaths for my
daggers.

I had said thank you, somehow ashamed to be
so pleased by the gift. I had the fear that her offerings might
mean very little to her, who had jewels worth a fortune at her
fingers and her ears, and that my happiness would show me as the
commoner I was. I had bit my lip and did not speak much to her for
the rest of the night, but thought—or hoped—that I saw a pleased
gleam in her eye that I liked her gift.

“
Why Cintia?” I asked now,
and Miriel smiled at her reflection.

“
She’s the only other one
who has what I have,” she said, and I nodded. Cintia Conradine was
no beauty, though pretty enough, but she had the same allure as
Miriel: courting her would unsettle the Council, most particularly
Guy de la Marque. Other matches might be of no advantage, too low
for the king—but none could object on other grounds unless Garad
chose the daughter of the Commoner, or the daughter of the former
ruling house. And Miriel was right, if Garad was making what was,
to all accounts, an ill-advised peace with Ismir, might he not also
make an ill-advised match with a Conradine, to bind the country
back together?

Rumors of the king’s marriage had broken
through the court like a boar through bracken. The boy king had
been ill for so long that the court had not dared hope he would
live. Offering marriage to a sickly boy would have been uncouth; no
one had dared, and Isra had not sought allies in that way. Now,
still pale and thin—but stronger every day, the servants whispered,
not like the other times—the King returned to his throne in
triumph, and every man with a daughter began to see a path to rise
at court.

The Duke chose this moment to reveal his
knowledge about de la Marque’s planned marriage between his
daughter and the King, and the news raced through the court. The
men of the council shouted at de la Marque that he had taken too
much power upon himself, each of them swearing that his own
interest was the interest of the kingdom, no one mentioning their
own daughters, their own nieces.

But they did not shout for very long. Their
quarry was out in the open now, and the hunt was on. Every girl, no
matter how poor, had new gowns. Together, they were dazzling: each
bedecked in silks, dripping with as many jewels as they afford, or
borrow. Some of the elder girls laced themselves tightly in the new
fashions, with wide-necked gowns that came close to showing their
shoulders. Others chose demure gowns and fashionable veils over
their hair, playing for the Queen’s favor.

Miriel alone behaved as if nothing had
changed. When she left her rooms to go to dinner, it was as if the
truth of her near-murder faded away. She seemed to have no care in
the world. She danced and sang as well as she had ever done, opened
conversations with thought-provoking questions on any topic except
the King’s marriage, and continued to dress modestly in her
priceless gowns.

She treated the young men of the court with
her same sweet courtesy, and they, now completely overlooked,
flocked to her like bees to honey. Still, she never spoke to them
more than would be proper, she never smiled on them as warmly as
she did her female companions. Determinedly, she would greet
Wilhelm Conradine with a pleasant nod, and then ignore him
completely, choosing to smile at any of the other young men. She
let them single her out as the most desirable, and then she played
on her modesty.

It was not only Wilhelm that she ignored;
Miriel never even glanced up at the royal dais, save when protocol
demanded it. She seemed quite unaware of the King’s comings and
goings; she alone did not preen and posture when the King was at
dinner. I watched her and wondered at her reticence, and I was not
disappointed—a few nights later, Miriel made her move.

Chapter 25

Miriel had planned to catch the King’s eye,
and she chose her time carefully: it was the end of dinner one
night, when the children of the court left to return to their own
chambers for simpler, more suitable entertainments. Each night, the
boys would stand up and bow to the throne, and then leave, and then
the girls would step forward and curtsy, and leave as well.

It had always been an empty gesture, at most
a chance for the Dowager Queen to see the children and notice who
might be missing. With the King’s return, however, the once-empty
ritual had become the focus of the night. Girls fussed with their
hair, smoothed their gowns, fiddled with their necklaces. They
blushed as they all curtsied, and each had her own flourish to add:
the flick of a skirt, the curve of a shoulder. All save Miriel, of
course, who managed to curtsey as solemnly as if she was directing
the gesture solely to the Head Priest at Isra’s side.

Then, one night, as the girls turned from
their curtsies to leave, Miriel caught her heel in the rushes and
stumbled. When she righted herself, she was blushing, and she cast
such an anguished glance up at the Queen’s throne that for a moment
even I believe it to have been a mistake. I thought of the
thrashing she would get for this, and my throat tightened.

Everyone else who had seen, however, found
it deeply amusing. The Queen was watching Miriel with the faintest
hint of a smile playing around her lips; she was no supporter of
the Duke, it was in her interest to see Miriel falter. Miriel,
seeing it, ducked her head, and then cast another frightened look
up—just the quickest glance—at the King’s throne.

I saw her eyes widen when she saw him, it
was the most beautiful look of surprise I had ever seen. She looked
as if she had not the slightest idea of what to do to enchant him,
she stared at him as if she had quite forgotten herself for a
moment, then she swept another curtsy and ran after her companions,
head down, the Dowager Queen’s low laugh following her.

It had been masterfully done, and it was
over in a single moment, from stumble to curtsy. I doubted that
anyone had even noticed, aside from the Dowager Queen and the King.
She was smiling, she had not seen the moment of apparent surprise,
and she could not have understood it if she had. The King had the
good sense to share a smile with his mother, as if he, too, were
amused by Miriel’s clumsiness. As if I had not seen his fingers go
white where he gripped the arms of his chair, when she turned to
look at him.

I wondered what it must cost him not to gaze
after her as she hurried away. When she had looked at him, I saw
that he had been waiting, every night, for her to look up. He
wondered if she knew whom she had met that night in the hallway.
Now he believed—the fool—that I had not told her, and that she had
not known. He believed, from her downcast gaze and her startlement,
that she had not looked up before because she had never imagined
that she could catch the King’s eye. He believed from her blush
that she was embarrassed to learn it had been him she met that
night.

Unexpectedly, I felt a wave of melancholy
strike me. The young man we met in the hallway had helped her to
her feet before he saw her face, and he had not betrayed her
secret. He was as kind as he believed her to be, and he was
intelligent, and now that he had survived he was thrown into a pit
of vipers. He had not been prepared for this, everyone had deemed
him a dead man. It seemed incredibly sad to me that he should lose
his heart to a girl who was not real, only a puppet for
ambition.

Then I stole a glance ahead at Miriel, and
one back towards the young men’s table, where Wilhelm sat,
pretending that he had seen nothing. I felt my first wave of
distaste for power itself. If Miriel’s uncle had not had such
ambitions, she would have been able to talk and laugh with Wilhelm
as much as she wished; they might have been married, if they were a
good match still in a few years’ time. He would not look so sad,
and she would not be so determined.

Then I shook my head. It was ridiculous that
I should find this sad. Seducing the King had always been Miriel’s
purpose. Even she had never lost sight of it. She was choosing her
own path, and the King was far from helpless. He could have any
woman he chose. And yet: there was something heartbreaking about
watching her tactics find their mark. My gaze, jaded by even this
few months in the court, was not yet so jaded as that.

Before I left the hall, I
craned to see Temar and the Duke. Both were grim, troubled. It had
been well-played and subtle, but I knew the Duke worried.
She was always setting herself
forward
. Miriel would be called before her
uncle to explain herself, I thought, and I needed to warn her of
that.

“
I saw an opening and I
took it,” she said, later that night. Her voice was clear and
unapologetic. Only I, standing at her right shoulder, could see
that her hands were clenched behind her back and shaking with fear.
“It was a way to inspire his pity and demonstrate modesty. He must
know that ‘I do not set myself ahead of the other girls. Now he
believes that I think myself unworthy.”

The Duke watched her, narrow-eyed.

“
I do not like surprises.”
As always, his voice made me shiver.

“
I am very sorry, my Lord
Uncle,” Miriel said. She looked truly scared, as I knew her to be.
Either she could not mask her fear, or she did not do so
a-purpose—I could no longer see for certain, when I looked at her,
what was practiced and what was real. I thought that just now she
stood to gain from appearing vulnerable. She knew it, too, I
thought—only it was not my pride that suffered when she apologized
to him, but hers.

She pushed down her pride every day when she
stepped aside to let the other maidens go ahead of her, and when
she did not answer back to their taunts. It was a wonder she did
not choke on the indignity of it every day she spent in court, let
alone now, in the face of her uncle’s arrogance. I offered up a
silent prayer to gods I did not believe in that she would not undo
her progress with angry words.

“
Go,” the Duke said at
length. “But Miriel—“

“
Yes, my Lord
Uncle?”

“
Remember my promise to
you. If ever I hear a rumor against your chastity, you will wish
that you had never been born. And remember that, were it not for my
protection, you would have died, not a month past.” She did not
reply to that, for there was nothing to say. She curtsied, and then
we went from the Duke’s rooms together, with me padding along
silently behind her.

We did not speak of it again, although I
yearned to ask her if she had truly seized an opportunity, or if
she had planned it out. We had more urgent things to prepare for:
preparations for the envoy’s arrival were in full swing, and as she
studied her curtsies and her court manners endlessly, I asked
Miriel’s permission to go inspect the building where the man would
be housed. I asked her, also, for a few pieces of silver, and she
looked at me suspiciously.

“
Ask my uncle if you want
more pay,” she said. “And what do you want it for,
anyway?”

“
You’ll see,” I said. “I
can’t ask him.” I did not want to tell her my plan, in case it
should fail, and I knew how strong Miriel’s curiosity was. “I want
to try something,” I told her. “And if it doesn’t work, it’ll be
best for you to be able to tell him truthfully that you didn’t know
what I was about.”

“
And if it does
work?”

“
I still wouldn’t tell
him,” I said promptly, “but I will tell you.” I was rewarded with
the gleam of her amusement.

“
Well, it had better not be
gambling you want to try,” she said, but she drew a few coins from
her purse and dropped them into my hand.

I stripped off my tunic, with the Duke’s
insignia, took off my armband, and tucked my hair up under a cap,
and then trotted over to the small building where the envoys were
housed. I whistled as I walked, happy to be out in the sunshine and
away from the relentless scheming of the Duke and Miriel. There was
a chill in the air, and I thought that winter was coming late, and
fast.

The envoy would be quartered in one of the
smaller buildings, lying to the southwest of the castle proper. It
had fallen into disrepair over the years, used less and less as
Heddred and Ismir absorbed neighboring nations. First, the plains
princelings had asked the aid of the Conradines to fight the
Ismiri, and they in turn had banded with their own western lords to
fight our forces.

Few envoys enjoyed the King’s hospitality
anymore—there were few enough nations now. Not many still
remembered that our nobles were the remnants of the duchies that
had been scattered across Heddred once. They were both lords and
envoys now, expected to keep their lands prosperous and their
tenants loyal to the crown.