Shana Abe (28 page)

“Wait,” Kyla whispered, pulling both girls back to the spot where she had heard the men. She placed a finger over her lips for Matilda’s sake, indicating silence. Matilda nodded. Elysia was already avidly listening.

“… cove. You made a mess of things. Impetuous …”

Another voice, fainter, carrying a whine all the way through the wall. “He said so! She was alone, I saw my chance … the watch was so near! It was just bad timing.…”

The other man’s voice interrupted, deep with anger or disgust, Kyla couldn’t tell. They had moved away from the wall, obviously, their voices growing fainter until they could not be heard at all anymore.

Kyla stood frozen, heart in her throat, trying to quickly sort though her options for the best thing to do. She remembered so clearly the trunk that had been searched, that morning she had been lost in the maze of the keep, the footsteps stalking her, the menace she had felt. The faceless enemy who had struck her from behind. Well, now she had found a voice—two. What she needed were the faces.

Matilda was staring up at her. Elysia was touching the tunnel wall, running her hands over it until she found the stone that moved. Belatedly, Kyla realized what she was doing.

“No,” she hissed, but the door was already sliding open. This one made no noise.

She pushed both girls back into the tunnel, away from the
bright slice of daylight that now scored down the back wall. There was no sound from the room. She bent down, pulled both of their heads close to hers.

“I want you both to stay here, do you understand me? Promise me you will stay here in the tunnel.”

Matilda, reacting to the authority in her voice, nodded wordlessly. Elysia looked past her, seeing her own darkness.

“Did you bring your dagger, Auntie?”

No, she had not. It was wrapped in cloth, stuck beneath the ticking of the pallet on the bed back in her chambers, useless.

“Don’t worry,” Elysia said now, as if she could read her thoughts. “You won’t need it just yet. We’ll wait here for you.”

Kyla let out her breath, frowning down at them. “I’ll be back soon.”

Before she could lose her nerve she stood up and turned her face into the light, squinting until the glare became normal to her and she could make out the outlines of thick wooden furniture in the room, a round table with high-backed chairs, a small table next to the wall, a fireplace with ashes in it. The daylight was coming from a pair of high windows facing her.

The room was empty. Kyla slipped past the opening in the wall—a silk panel, her mind registered, a leaf-green silk with a lighter green pattern banked against the stones—and into the room, looking around once more to confirm she was the only one there. She was. In fact, there was no sign of anyone else having been there at all. Nothing looked out of place. No empty cups on the tables, just a chessboard left out, ready for a match. Even the ashes in the fireplace looked pristine, a perfect pile of feathery flakes.

Of course, if these men were meeting clandestinely, they would not leave any traces of their presence. And she would think that the men who were trying to kill her would wish to be clandestine.

The thought was so strange, so alien, that as soon as it came to her she pushed it away. It was too complicated, too bizarre to think about right now.

The hair on the back of her neck stood up; cautiously she walked farther into the room, toward the only door leading out. It was still ajar. Her fingers itched for the dagger she should have been carrying. Why had she left it behind now? When she had had it with her for years, it seemed, so naturally did it fit into her hand. Cursing her own stupidity wouldn’t help now. She picked up a marble chess piece from the game displayed on the round table: the queen, the heaviest piece there, about the size of her hand.

A paltry defense, and she knew it. Better than nothing, however. It felt thick and solid in her palm. Her fingers wrapped around it, settling into the carved grooves of the marble gown, the waist, the neck.

No voices now. The door tempted her, invited her out into the hallway. Perhaps it would show her the way to go. She felt strange, almost out of her own body, as if she were watching herself cross the room and press against the wall, waiting, watching. Still listening.

What was that? She heard it again, the whining voice, it carried farther. Down the hall. Kyla narrowed her eyes and leaned her head out the door. Gloom, typical of a window-less inner hallway. Faint light ahead of her, perhaps a main room connected up there. Shifting shadows—

There they were, two men walking away from her, the other one speaking now. She recognized the deeper voice, although the words were indistinguishable.

The marble queen slipped a little in her hand. Her palms were moist. She transferred it to her other hand and then rubbed her palm on her gown before grasping it again, edging out the door into the hallway.

Up ahead the two men marched on, matched in height, but both were shadows to her, blots against the light they were walking into.

It would not do. She had to at least get a good look at them. Dear God, if she were to see them again tomorrow, tonight, she had to be able to recognize them.

Her skirts were almost no hindrance as she ran lightly down the corridor. She had deliberately chosen a gown of
thin wool, lightweight for easier mobility; she had thought it would be best for exploring the tunnels. But she had not imagined she would be chasing a duo of men who wanted her dead.

Why? What had she done to deserve death? From the moment she had arrived on the island she had been threatened. Her clothing had been searched, she had been followed down halls when she was alone and struck on the head from behind, a coward’s act. All along they had been waiting, obviously, for the right moment to kill her.

They walked ahead of her, oblivious, and she followed with a rising sense of anger—her old ally coming back, filling her with stealth and cunning. Who were these men who would arbitrarily seek to harm her, when all she had ever done was try to avoid conflict, to protect her family, to enact justice for outrageous wrongs?

They had reached the end of the passage and turned left, into the light. She had a brief glimpse of them then, one with black hair, the other brown. She couldn’t make out their faces.

As silently as she could Kyla ran the rest of the way down the hallway, lifting her skirts up to go more quickly. When she reached the end she stopped, flattening herself against the wall to peer around the corner.

What she had thought was a room was actually just another hallway, an entrance to the bailey, where the light spilled from. There were people everywhere, of all heights, all colors of hair, all of them on their way to some business or another.

She turned the corner completely and leaned against the wall in disappointment, scanning the crowd, looking in vain for any sign of the two men.

They could have been anyone, there was no way to pick them out. They were most likely gone already.

Kyla closed her eyes and tightened her grip on the chess queen, willing the anger to go. It would not serve her now.

She had to get back to the girls. When she opened her eyes again she saw that she had already attracted notice. People
were beginning to stare at her. She supposed she looked completely odd, the countess with her hair wild and her face flushed, no doubt, holding on to the chess queen.

Abruptly she turned around and went back down the hall before the pitying looks she had received turned into solicitations for helping her back to her rooms.

The hall seemed much longer now, with closed doors she hadn’t really noticed before, and for a moment she grew confused—which one had she come from? Had she passed it already?

No. Clearly not. Because now she heard a voice that sent shivers down her back and brought forth a throbbing headache she thought she had forgotten.

“When?” Roland was demanding, his stern tone coming from the room just to her left. “How long ago did she leave?”

“She’s coming right back.” That was Elysia, sounding confident. “She just went to chase the bad men.”

Kyla actually hesitated just outside the doorway, actually thought about turning around and going out to the bailey, after all, just to get away. She didn’t want to face Roland right now, not in this mood. But then she heard a forlorn sort of sniff, and a tiny choked sob. Matilda, of course.

“I’ll see to her, my lord.” Another man’s voice. Duncan, she would guess. “I’ve got men all over. We’ll have her back in no time.”

“No need, as you can see. I am already back.” Kyla fought to maintain the coolness of her voice as she stepped into the room with the green-silk paneling. Some cowardice made her linger by the doorway. “Pray do not torment the children any longer, my lord. They are not at fault here.”

Roland straightened slowly from where he had been on one knee on the floor, holding the hands of both girls. He had the look of being rusted into place, jerking up in controlled bits of motion before turning to take her in. His face was a mask, she couldn’t read whether he was angry or relieved to see her. Only his eyes seemed alive, vivid in color, an icy blast to her soul.

Kyla took an involuntary step back.

“I told you so,” said Elysia calmly.

“Yes, you did,” Roland replied. Nothing in his voice reflected that look. But Kyla was not fooled. She realized she was still holding the marble queen and tucked it into the folds of her skirts.

Duncan, standing next to the paneling, cleared his throat.

“Take them back to the nursery,” Roland instructed, without looking away from Kyla. Duncan moved to obey, gathering both children and leading them away into the tunnel.

She didn’t know what to do, she didn’t know what to expect. There was a heated sting to her eyes, she had to blink and look down to clear it.
Fear is doing this
, she thought.
I am afraid
.

As soon as the words formed in her mind she straightened her spine, made herself look up squarely into the gaze of her husband. The fear was irrational, based on nameless dark things her imagination dredged up. Fear was her enemy, and she would not succumb.

Roland dropped his look at last, moving over to the table with the chess game laid out, tapping one finger on the king with the missing queen. She followed the move with unwilling fascination, watching the way his fingers skimmed the rows of stone figures, pawns and knights and bishops and rooks. And then back to the king, to the glaringly empty black square where his queen should be.

Roland looked up. “Game?” he asked.

“I beg your pardon?”

He took one of the seats around the table. “Will you have a game with me?”

He seemed perfectly serious. She approached him slowly, half thinking him or herself mad. He waited, indicating the chair opposite his. His expression now was one of only remote courtesy.

She sank into the chair, keeping far back from the table.

“Black or white?” he asked politely.

She looked blank.

“I suppose you should be black, since it is already on your side.” He straightened the board between them, finely fitted
tiles of soft onyx and pearl-white, exquisite, heavy figures lined up neatly on its surface. He tapped his finger once more on the empty square.

“I’ll need my queen,” he said.

She realized he knew she still clutched it, half-forgotten. Kyla looked down at it now, the perfect marble features, and then handed it across the board to him.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Her voice wobbled just a little.

He put the queen back in place, then moved a pawn forward.

“Not much of a weapon, my lady.”

She realized he was talking about the queen, noted the complete lack of accusation in his voice. It gave her the courage to look at his face.

He was studying her, still remote, as if he had found an interesting and slightly strange new species of animal suddenly sitting across from him, playing chess. Kyla sat up taller.

“It was all I could find on short notice.” The wobble was gone.

“Of course.”

She stared at him still, trying to decipher whatever hidden meaning she could find in his mild comment, his veiled demeanor. He raised his eyebrows.

“Your move, my lady.”

She moved a pawn to match his. He considered it, rubbing his chin. The light from the windows in the room highlighted the slant of his brows, the devilish handsomeness of him. His fingers, long and elegant, toyed with a bishop.

“I suppose you are feeling well enough, after all, to get out of bed.” There was a slight, dry twist to his lips.

“I suppose so.”

“I am glad.”

She looked up at him suspiciously but could detect nothing but truth behind his words. He released the bishop and advanced the same pawn as before.

She hardly knew what to think. She had been expecting anger, perhaps even fury, at having his orders disobeyed. The
look he had first given her as she entered the room had done nothing but confirm that fear. But now he was calm, a different person entirely from that man who had scorched her with his eyes, who had made her want to run and hide.

“Your move again, my lady.”

She moved another pawn, then looked up to find him staring at her once more. She tried not to look away but then felt completely foolish to be caught in some contest of wills. Instead she glanced down at her lap, marshaling her thoughts.

“I am impressed”—Roland leaned back in his chair—“at your resourcefulness. The armoire was chosen specifically for its weight.”

She plucked at the hem of her sleeve.

“I ought to have that damned thing bolted to the ground,” Roland continued pleasantly. “But I simply never had the will to shut the tunnel access forever. I thought perhaps one day it might come in handy. I suppose for you, it did.”

Her sleeve had embroidered leaves on it. Ivy, she thought.

Roland picked up his knight and shoved it across the board, knocking over two pawns, startling her with his sudden force. One of the pawns—a small marble peasant with a scythe—spun in a lazy circle, caught between two squares. Roland was contemplating his own hand, still on the knight, dark and inscrutable.