The Office of Shadow (48 page)

Silverdun was growing sick of Timha. When Timha wasn't complaining
about his feet or his exhaustion or the meager nourishment, he was feeling
sorry for himself. A small but growing part of Silverdun felt like slitting
Timha's throat and putting them all out of their misery. As he pondered this,
it occurred to him that a year ago the thought would never have come to
mind. His experience as a Shadow was changing him, had already changed
him.

They continued south, following the course of a river for a time.

"How far to Elenth?" Silverdun asked Je Wen when they crested a small
rise only to see endless mountains before them.

"Two days," said Je Wen, pointing southwest. He looked back at Timha,
who was straggling up the hill. "Three with him along."

Silverdun sighed. "And from there two days' ride to the border," he said.
"Three days lost without our speedy yacht. I suppose it could be worse."

"It can always be worse," said Je Wen.

"Well said."

"We could shave off a few hours if you were willing to cut through the
Contested Lands," said Je Wen. "I've traversed them before."

Silverdun had crossed the Contested Lands with Mauritane a year previously, and had no intention of ever returning. He told Je Wen so in no uncertain terms.

They continued in silence for the rest of the first day. Aside from the
occasional rumble of a quake and the wind hissing through the stalks of
grain, there was little sound. The few animals they saw fled quietly on sight.
As they progressed, the ground grew ever steeper, and Timha's complaints
increased in frequency and volume.

Night fell, and Silverdun and Ironfoot helped Je Wen gather wood for a
fire while the others rested. Sela and Ironfoot had both been lost in thought
for most of the day. Sela, particularly, was more withdrawn than Ironfoot had
ever seen her.

When the fire was lit, and the rations passed around, a torpor settled
around the camp. Je Wen stared into the fire, singing softly to himself in the
Arami tongue. Ironfoot sat with Timha's satchel, poring through one of the
books that Timha had packed. Timha passed out as soon as he'd finished
eating.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" Silverdun asked Sela.

She looked up at him and smiled weakly. "Only if it's a very brief one,"
she said.

They walked slowly from the camp up to a ridge that overlooked a wide
plain and the mountains beyond. The mountains were black in the moonlight.

Silverdun's feelings for Sela were as complicated as they'd ever been. His
attraction to her had only grown over time as he'd gotten to know her. She
was thoughtful, insightful, and she was strong in a way that he'd never expe rienced. But there was that deep darkness in her that lingered behind her
eyes. The night they'd met, she'd looked into him with Empathy, and he'd
pushed her out again. There had been something desperate in the connection
and it had, frankly, frightened him.

"You seem strange tonight," Silverdun said softly.

"It's been a strange couple of days," she sighed.

"Agreed."

Silence.

"You spent a while alone with that Lin Vo woman," he finally said.
"What did she tell you that's got you so pensive?"

"I'm not sure how to explain it," she said after a moment. "I could tell
you the words, but I'm not sure it would make any sense to you. The words
were the least of it. And some of what she said-well, I'm not sure I'd want
you to know. She was very wise, Silverdun."

"She's a Premonitive," said Silverdun. "They always seem wise, but rarely
does anything they say actually help anyone."

"No," said Sela. "She knew things. And she spoke to me in a way that no
one has ever done. In a way that I believed only I knew how to speak."

There it was. The darkness. Whatever it was that had happened in Sela's
childhood, which she never discussed, whatever it was that had landed her in
Copperine House, it was there in her eyes.

"Who are you?" said Silverdun.

Sela leaned over and kissed his lips. She closed her eyes. Silverdun stiffened at first, then relaxed into her, kissing back. She opened her mouth, her
lips going soft. But there was something hesitant in her kiss, something confused.

"Open yourself up to me, Perrin Alt," she said. "Let me feel you."

Silverdun felt uneasy and strangely guilty. But she was so close and felt
so good. He relaxed the binding that protected him from her Gift of
Empathy, and felt himself flowing into her and her into him. There was lust,
and love, and a desperate longing. But whose emotions were whose very
quickly became inseparable. She pressed against him and he held her tightly.
She moaned quietly, drew her fingernails across his back as if trying to pull
him into her.

He ran his fingers down her arm and touched the filigreed silver band
around her arm. It was hot to the touch.

"Why do you still wear that thing?" he whispered. "I thought it was only
for the guests at places like Copperine House."

"Shh," she said, moving his hand to her breast.

They sank to the ground, falling into one another. It felt so very good.

He reached to unlace her gown and she put up her hands to stop him.

"No," she said, pulling away. "I can't."

"It's easy," he said. "People do it every day."

"Not me," she whispered. "I've never kissed a man. I've never been
touched like this."

The Empathy wavered between them and Silverdun put his arms around
her, kissing her neck, trying to restore it. But it was too late.

"I can never be that way with you," she said.

"Why not?" asked Silverdun, his insides constricting.

"Because I love you," she said. "And you don't love me."

She stood up and hurried off, back to camp, leaving Silverdun on the
ground, stunned.

Perrin Alt, now Lord Silverdun, is engaged to be married. Gleia isn't clever.
Or interesting. But she's gorgeous, and popular at court. And everyone
approves of the union. Silverdun isn't in love with Gleia, nor she with him.
But such unions have little to do with love, and everything to do with status
and propriety.

Truth be told, Silverdun would prefer not to get married at all. But his
friends at court have pressured him into it; an unmarried lord above a certain
age raises questions. Better to get it over with and settle into a life of torrid
and illicit affairs-which, his married friends assure him, are more exciting
than the unmarried sort anyway.

Gleia insists on a massive, extravagant wedding. Silverdun has no objections; any excuse for a party, after all. He sends a message to Uncle Bresun
asking for a rather large sum of money, and to be prepared for Gleia's assault on Oarsbridge Manor, with her lavish plans for decorations and accommodations and musicians and all that.

Instead of a lump sum and well-wishes, however, Silverdun receives a
terse note demanding his presence at Oarsbridge. Alone.

Silverdun notices upon his arrival that his uncle has redecorated the
manor house in a style more lavish by half than any his mother would
approve of. Bresun himself, however, is nowhere to be found. He's in the village on business.

"Where is my mother?" Silverdun asks a maid, deciding that the time
has come to see her. He's surprised by the maid's answer.

The servants' quarters are unadorned, but spotless. He finds his mother
in a room at the end of the hall on the first floor. The room contains only the
barest essentials, along with a few small portraits and likenesses of Silverdun
and his father.

"Perrin," says Mother, putting aside a book of Arcadian poetry and
embracing him. "It's so lovely to see you."

Silverdun hasn't seen his mother in over a year. Has, in fact, been scrupulously avoiding her since the debacle following his father's death. Clearly
she's gone mad in the interim.

"Mother, you do realize that these are the servants' quarters, don't you?"

"I don't care for what your uncle has done in the manor house," says
Mother, shrugging. "And I have everything I need here."

Silverdun sighs and sits on the bed. "You're really intent on carrying this
Arcadian business as far as possible, aren't you?"

"Tell me about yourself," she says, sitting next to him, ignoring his
remark. "I haven't seen you in so long."

"I know I should write more often," he says weakly.

"How are you?" she asks, waving away his half-apology. "Are you in
love?"

"It's funny you ask," he says. "I'm getting married. I thought I should
tell you in person."

"But are you in love?"

"Her name is Gleia. She's all the rage at court."

"Oh, Perrin."

"Now, Mother, don't be so sentimental. Were you in love with Father
when you married him?"

"No," she admits. "But I wanted better for you. I tried so hard to ..."
She trails off, starting to cry.

"Mother," says Silverdun, touching her arm. "You don't have to weep
over me."

"I tried so hard to show you another way of living. A better way. I knew
early on that you might not accept Aba, but I hoped that you would see that
there is more to life than drinking and carrying on at court."

"Don't fret, Mother," says Silverdun, smiling. "I can assure you that I'm
perfectly happy."

"And the fact that you are, or think you are, is the saddest thing of all.
You were such a bright boy, Perrin. So sweet and so innocent. So good. How
did I lose you? What did I do wrong?" She is openly crying now. Silverdun
has never wanted to leave a room more.

"You didn't do anything. I'm prodigal by nature. If I was more decent as
a child it was only from the nearness of you."

"There's still time for you," she says. "There's still time for you to decide
what kind of man you want to be. You're very young yet."

"I'm old enough to be married," he says, a bit petulantly.

"Don't do it, Perrin. Don't marry that woman."

Silverdun is annoyed now. "You don't even know her," he says.

Mother laughs bitterly. "You don't think so? You don't think that I knew
a hundred women just like her when I was at court myself? You think me naive,
Perrin, but I can assure you that I've seen everything you have and more.

"I'm going to marry her, Mother. It's the smart choice."

"No," she says. "It's the easy choice. There's a difference."

"I shouldn't have come," he says.

"I'm sorry," she says, sitting up straight, wiping her eyes. "I'm so sorry,
Perrin. I didn't want it to be like this. I'm just an old widow, sorting through
my regrets and praying for forgiveness here in my tiny room."

"Will you come to the wedding?"

Mother sighs. "There isn't going to be any wedding, Perrin. You don't
get that?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Talk to your uncle," says Mother. "And you think me naive."

"Well, this is all very mysterious," says Silverdun. "I'm going to go wait
in the house-you know, where the family is supposed to live-and
straighten this all out."

"I'm sorry, Perrin," she says.

"For what?"

She only smiles sadly and waits for him to go.

He finds Bresun waiting in his father's study, which Bresun clearly now
thinks of as his own, from the framed Nyelcu degree to the hideous stuffed
boar's head mounted on the wall.

"We have a problem," says Bresun.

"What's that?" asked Silverdun.

"I was under the impression that you had no intention of ever marrying,
Perrin. 'A bachelor unto death,' isn't that what you told me?"

"Things change," says Silverdun. "It seems the thing to do."

"I'm afraid I can't allow it," says Bresun.

"I wasn't aware that you were in any position to allow or disallow me
anything. I'm the lord here; you merely manage my estate."

Bresun strokes his mustache and sighs. "You are an immature fool. Did you
really think that? Here all this time I was under the impression that you'd figured out what was going on here and had meekly accepted your lot in life."

"And what lot would that be?" asks Silverdun, thinking back to Mother's
comment about naivete.

"I am Lord Silverdun, in all but name," says Bresun. "That you carry the
title is but a formality. Over the past several years I've transferred all of the
leases, all of the deeds, and all of the tax documents into my name. You have
nothing except what I give you.

"But if you marry, then an awkward situation is created. Your lady love
will no doubt wish to take up residence here at Oarsbridge, which I cannot
allow. She will want to squeeze out little baby Silverduns, which does not
conform to my plans at all."

"You cannot divest me of my title," says Silverdun. "I want you out of
here."

Bresun laughs. "Did you hear what I said? All of those boring documents
you've signed for me over the years assigned the ownership of everything you
see around you to me. Your title is all you have left. And whatever monies I
choose to send you. Which I will continue to send, so long as you call off this
wedding."