Shadowforged (Light & Shadow) (26 page)

“You should be glad of it.” She was as quick on her feet as he was. “I’m beloved of the King now, as well as before! You want me on the throne? I could still be!”

“I never wanted you on the throne,” he snarled back. “I only wanted the keys to the Kingdom, and you took that from me. And you will pay for that. You will go back to Voltur, until I decide how best you can be played. Until I decide if it’s even worth protecting you against whoever is trying to kill you now!”

I looked over to Temar, and saw him hunched in a chair, the very picture of despair and furious resolve. He was not even paying attention to the fight that raged between Miriel and the Duke, and tentatively, I walked over to him and placed my hand on his arm. I could almost forget the fight between us, to see him so sad; here was always sorrow behind his eyes, but he had held it inside himself until now. At my touch, he stirred and looked up at me. For a moment, he barely saw me, and then he shook his head to clear it. His eyes focused, and I saw him running through the conversation he had only half-heard in his head.

“Oh,” he said, seeing at once what I would want to know. “There was poisoned food sent to Miriel’s rooms. Her maidservant was sent to bring it from the kitchens. She must have eaten some—she’s dead, you know.”

Chapter 26

I might still be frozen into shocked stillness by the King’s death and the reality of another assassination attempt, but the Duke was as quick to act as ever. He did not waste time. Miriel’s gowns were packed within a scant few hours, an honor guard readied from amongst the Duke’s most loyal men, and supplies hastily commandeered for the journey. I was forbidden to go about the palace, but even the Duke’s anger could not keep me from saying goodbye to my few friends.

When no one was watching, I slipped out of the courtyard where the carts were being loaded, and headed down the corridors to Roine’s rooms. Already, the news was making its way through the buildings: runners were darting to and fro, and I could hear the faint shouts of soldiers. I tapped on Roine’s door and slipped inside, glad to be out of the bustle before someone could recognize my tabard, stop me, and ask what the Duke thought of the news. It was dark; the day was so young that even she was still asleep. I shook her shoulder to wake her, and at the sight of me her face was troubled. I saw relief and wariness as she pushed herself up.

“What is it?” she asked, her voice neutral, and I saw that she had been waiting for bad news. I felt a pang of guilt. For three days, I had not come to my lessons. The King had given out that Miriel was sick, but Roine had not been summoned to attend to her; she would have known something was wrong. I had come to her crying, and left without ever telling her what was wrong. And now this: me coming to her rooms in the middle of the night, while she could hear the pounding of feet and the shouts of disturbance in the halls.

“It’s okay,” I assured her, before remembering that it was not okay. Nothing was okay. I did not know how to say that, or tell her that I was leaving. I was going far from her, and she would be commanded to stay behind, away from the very girl she had come here to protect. Roine had never wanted to serve nobles in the palace. “I had to wake you. Look, everyone will know soon—the King is dead.” Her face barely changed, she was looking at me almost with fear, and I could not bring myself to tell her that I, too, had nearly been killed. “The Duke is sending me and Miriel to Voltur,” I offered, clasping her hand in my own. “We’ll be back soon.” That was true; however angry the Duke was, I knew he would not let the chance to use Miriel pass him by, especially when he knew that the King was enamored of her.

“You’re going away,” Roine said softly. She was looking away from me.

“We’ll be back,” I assured her once more. I tried to smile, but her words had opened up a gulf at my feet. I had never gone anywhere without Roine. She had always been there to reassure me, give me advice, hold me while I cried. How could I bear to be parted from her now, when I had been so close to death? I was deeply afraid, now, and I did not want to leave the one person in the world I could call my family. I felt tears in my eyes and gulped them back.

“At least I’m going, right?” I asked her. “Like you wanted.”

“It’s too late for that,” Roine said sadly. “I wanted you to go before you were caught up in everything here. Now you’re a part of it, come what may.”

“I’ll be safe,” I promised here. “But I have to go now. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Her voice was muffled into my hair as she embraced me. She looked into my eyes and tried to smile. I could see her heart breaking as well. “I’ll see you soon, I’m sure. Go on, now.” Blinking back tears, I stood and left, and back in the hallway, I squared my shoulders and set off for the armory.

The guard rooms were a mess of yelling, men calling out curses on the Ismiri and offering to kill Kasimir themselves, others muttering about Conradines and Warlords. I managed to push my way through the crush to the Guard Captain, a man heartily drunk off a night of toasts to Wilhelm and drinking to the death of the Ismiri, and he shouted in my ear that Donnett was off on his rounds. This sent me out onto the winding streets, shivering in the midwinter cold. When I found Donnett at last, his companion swore at the apparition of a young girl in men’s clothes, and pointed his lance at me; Donnett put out a hand to steady him, and raised his eyebrows at me.

“What is it, then, lad?”

“I won’t be at lessons for a while,” I explained awkwardly. “Miriel and I are going back to Voltur.” Mindful of listening ears, I added, “She can’t talk for crying, she’s beside herself, and she’s taken it so hard that the Duke fears for her health. He wants her to be with her mother for comfort.” As if the Lady could provide anyone with comfort.

“Why’s she grieving?” Donnett asked warily, and I realized that, out on watch, he and his companion had not heard the news. Softly, I repeated the litany that was being whispered through the corridors of the palace.

“King Garad is dead, may the Gods protect his soul. Long live King Wilhelm.”

Both of them stared at me, dumstruck.

“Yer jestin,’” Donnett said softly, and I shook my head.

“I’m not. The Guard Captain can tell you more, he knows. Donnett?” I drew him aside, and looked up into his eyes. “You were right, I’m sure of it. It’s happened again, someone coming for us.”

“D’ye know—“

“No. Not yet. But if you hear anything…” He understood, and nodded.

“Run along, lad.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Gods keep ye.”

“And you,” I said. There was so much more I wanted to say: a thank you for his training, the details of my imprisonment, the simple fact that I would miss this gruff man. But I only gave a lopsided smile, and a nod to his companion, and I left.

When I got back to the courtyard, all was ready for our departure. In the bustle, only Temar had noticed my absence. He gave me a look, but there was no real anger in it. He was preoccupied still. I walked over to him; I knew this was a poor time, both of us exhausted and shaken, but I did not know when I might see him next, and I wanted to clear the air between us.

“I am sorry for lying to you,” I said bluntly. He looked at me, but said nothing. I felt as if he was far away, hardly caring for my words. “Are you sorry you chose me?” I asked him, trying to spark a reaction, anything to bring life to his eyes. He only considered.

“That’s the wrong question.”

“What’s the right one?”

“I can’t tell you that.” He hiccupped, and I realized that Temar was drunk. I raised my eyebrows at him.

“How did you know about Miriel and Wilhelm?” I asked, trying to bring back the Shadow in him.

“The Royal Guard.” He did not seem to care if I know, and finally I was angry. Seven Gods, he had lied to me, and deceived, and hidden truths from me. He had been loyal to the Duke before me, and then hated me for my own loyalties; he had no right. Gods above, he had told me that he would
kill
me. And he would not even accept an apology.

“Temar,” I said sharply. I was not sure if I had ever called him by his name before, and his eyebrows lifted in surprise. At last he seemed to see me, but his face had hardened.

“You’ll be back to Court,” he said. “Soon. And all this begins again. You’ve meddled in something greater than you could dream, Catwin, and I’ll not tolerate it a second time.” Anger rushed over me. It beat a rhythm in my temples, I felt my hands clench. I stared at him coldly, any sympathy for his sadness gone.

“You made me what I am,” I said coldly. “And whatever grand thing it is you’re planning, if it means sacrificing Miriel, I
will
meddle.”

“Then you’ll die,” he told me, and his mouth twitched.

“Maybe.” Suddenly I giggled, and Temar stared at me, confused by this sudden turn. “You see,” I said, trying to stop the hysteria welling up in my chest, “a lot of people have tried that already. And it hasn’t worked yet.”

“Move out!” came the call from the front of the wagon train, and I did not even say goodbye. I turned on my heel and left, running and jumping to get into Miriel’s covered wagon and not looking back.

We rode all day, barely stopping to eat or drink. I lay with Miriel in the darkened wagon and we slept, sometimes, comforted by the sound of the guardsmen talking and the jolting of the carriage. At times, I would slip into the nightmare of the soldier coming closer and closer to our hiding place, and I would awake terrified and crying, with Miriel holding my hand and shaking my shoulder to wake me. Other times, it was I who heard her crying, and woke her; neither of us asked the other what we saw in our dreams. The horror was too fresh for words.

As the days passed, we pushed aside the hangings from the windows of her carriage and looked out at the countryside around us. We sat in silence together, still recovering from the blank horror of what we had seen, and as the carriages rumbled through the countryside of Heddred, I was starkly reminded of our last journey through this land, to the Meeting of the Peacemakers, and of the journey before that: coming from Voltur, years ago. I had been a child still, full of trust in the world, blushing at Temar’s smiles, with no greater worries than Miriel’s pout and Roine’s scowl.

We drew closer to Voltur and the roads grew less well tended, the countryside sparser. The pretty fields of corn and wheat were replaced with untended prairie, and stands of twisted trees. I realized that Miriel and I, mountain children by birth, had grown used to the lush landscape of the eastern plains. I viewed this prairie not as a forest of greenery and a tangle of growth, as I had when I first rode here, but as a water-starved wasteland.

When we had set out for Penekket, I had noted that Miriel seemed to grow more and more depressed with every mile we traveled. She had been afraid of what awaited her, and I knew now that she had been right to fear. There had been knives waiting for her, and poison, and hatred. I wondered if she regretted it, but I did not have the heart to ask her.

“He’ll wait for me,” she said one day. She had been looking out the small window, and she turned back to look at me. “Won’t he?”

Wilhelm. The only thing left of her former life. I nodded, but I was not sure. Garad had not been raised to take the throne, but he had been born to it. Since he was a child, everyone he met had sought his favor with smiles and compliments. Wilhelm had been half-outcast since he had been born; how would he behave now that he was the most sought-after bachelor at the court? He loved Miriel, of that I was certain. But what would Gerald Conradine do, with a chance at power? I had watched the man for weeks, waiting for just such a move as this—why had I not seen it at once?

Miriel saw my hesitation, and did not realize the source.

“You don’t think he’ll wait,” she accused. “Do you know something I don’t?” She had scrambled across the carriage and was staring at me fearfully. I shook my head, holding my hands up.

“I don’t, I don’t know anything. He’ll just be very unsure right now, and…” An idea took form in my head, and Miriel saw that, as well.

“No.” She was horrified. “Oh, no. Catwin, don’t doubt him.”

“Who had the most to gain from this?” I said. Miriel was shaking her head, but I could not stop myself. It was unlikely, but it was undeniable. “It wasn’t Kasimir, was it? Garad is dead, and the warlords are back on the throne. If Kasimir wanted a war, he’d do better to have Garad in command.” Miriel had her hands over her ears.

“I’m not listening. I won’t listen to this.”

“I’m not saying Wilhelm planned it,” I said. I thought of Wilhelm’s discomfort with lies, his straightforward gaze. “I don’t think it’s likely that he planned it,” I added. “But maybe it was his father. We just can’t ignore it.” She swallowed, and looked away, and I knew that she had also marked Gerald Conradine’s attempts to sway the Lords to his side. She knew that he was not only a soldier, but a courtier as well. He was not a man to be turned away from his goal once and relent. Whether or not he had been behind this, I could say without reservation that he would have done it.

With a pang, I remembered Garad’s words: “I thought the bad blood between Warden and Conradine was done with,” he had said. His friendship with Wilhelm, I had never doubted. But the bad blood remained; it was in the gaze of Gerald Conradine and his wife, it was in the hisses and whispers that had followed the Conradines for generations. The court knew what Artur the Betrayer had not: a rival faction should be cut down. None of the Conradines should have survived the coup, and Artur’s superstition might well have ended the Warden line.

And, I realized, of all of those who could have wanted Garad dead, Gerald was one of the few who might have wanted Miriel dead as well. To anyone else, she would be a nobody, a half-widow, powerless. But Gerald Conradine might have learned that his son was besotted with Miriel. Wilhelm, the honest fool, might even have told his father outright. And for a man planning a coup, planning to put his son into place on the throne, few things could be more inconvenient than the son’s foolish love for a girl with no political connections. It occurred to me that I would not be surprised to hear of Wilhelm’s marriage to Linnea Torstensson—although I would never have told Miriel of such a thought. I stole a glance over at her, and she looked back at me.

“There’s no proof,” she said finally, and I sighed.

“We’ve never had proof of anything. But, Miriel, why was Wilhelm there at all? Why did he think to come with soldiers? It doesn’t add up.”

“Don’t you dare accuse him,” Miriel said fiercely. “I mean it, Catwin, I won’t believe it of him. Wilhelm is honorable. Above all, he is honorable. He would never have stolen Garad’s throne.” Contrary to the core, I pushed back.