Counting Shadows (Duplicity) (12 page)

“In a nutshell? Yeah.”

I scoff, but don’t question him any further. “Hold still. I’m going to start.”

He nods and squeezes his eyes shut. I spend the next few minutes re-stitching the gaping wound, pulling the pieces of flesh close and sewing them together. It’s tedious work, especially since I have to be careful of the already-stitched clawmarks above the one I work on.

But I find I don’t have to be gentle with Lor. At first, I do my best to move slowly and delicately, purely out of habit. But I soon find Lor isn’t lying about his inability to feel pain. He doesn’t react at all to the needle, or to my fingers tugging the torn flaps of skin back in place. He just stays stock-still, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Do you feel anything?” I ask after a moment. “Any sensation at all?”

His eyelids relax just a little bit, and I know he’s considering an answer. “All my senses are intact,” he finally says. “But the pain is gone. All I feel in its place is pressure.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. And we drop the discussion after that. I continue suturing his wound, taking my time and completing the task properly. And also taking the time to examine his tattoo again.

It’s not charcoal, and it doesn’t disappear when I lightly run my fingertip over it. The tattoo is real, and just like I remember it. I pause every minute or so to stare at it for a few moments, wondering how I should approach its topic with Lor.

Ashe never told me much about his tattoo. He told me he hated it; it was a reminder of his past, the past he couldn’t remember a single thing about. And he told me that, like the rest of his life before being captured, he didn’t know anything about it. Where he had gotten it, who had completed the intricate artwork, what it meant… It was all a mystery, both to him and to me.

I finish suturing Lor. He hesitantly peeks open his eyes when he doesn’t feel my hands for a few moments and glances down to his chest. He gives an approving nod at my work.

“You really are experienced, aren’t you?”

“Mostly on pot-roasts.” I stand from the bed and walk over to my dresser, searching for a cloth to wipe the blood off his chest.

He gives that little humming growl, and I begin to form a theory that it’s his version of a nervous laugh. He doesn’t know what to say, or how to respond, so he makes that sound.

I pick up a washcloth from my dresser, and dip in in the basin where I usually wash my face in the morning. There’s only a tiny amount of water left, most of it having evaporated during the day. But it’s enough to wet the cloth. “Where did you get that tattoo?” I ask. “It’s beautiful.”

“I was born with it,” Lor says.

I walk back to him, cupping my hand under the cloth to keep it from dripping on the carpets. Not that it matters much, anyway, since Lor has already covered them in blood. “That’s a strange thing to say,” I reply as I sit on the edge of the bed. “No one is
born
with a tattoo.”

“I was.” He smirks at me and winks.

I ignore the flirtatious gesture and offer him the washcloth. “Here. Get rid of that blood. And tell me more about this tattoo.”

He takes the washcloth and begins wiping at his chest. It mostly just smears around the blood; he’ll have to take a bath if he wants to actually get clean. And, even if he doesn’t want that, I’ll still force him to take one. He stinks from his time in the prison. Apparently, baths are just as rare as beds in there.

“Why are you so interested in my tattoo?” Lor asks.

I shrug. “I’m just trying to make small talk.”

He freezes, and his gaze turns up to mine. I swear his eyes have actually darkened; they look more like blood now, and less like the soft clouds of sunset. “Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. I know you didn’t save my life on a whim. You want something from me. And I’m not just going to hand anything over. I’m
never
going to.”

I swallow hard. My heart pounds again, and for the third time in one day, adrenaline takes control of my body. I stumble away from the bed until I reach the far wall. Somehow, I know I have to get away from Lor.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I’m telling him the truth before I can stop myself. And then I realize that it probably is my best option, after all. “I… I just wanted to know about the tattoo because of a friend.”

He raises an eyebrow and glares at me from under it. Even lying on the bed, seeping blood, and covered in grime, he looks intimidating. “A friend? A friend wants you to get information about my tattoo? Where can I find this friend?”

I shake my head. “My friend, he’s… dead.” That word sounds so hollow, like it always does. How can you describe something so horrific with one tiny word? “He died ten months ago. Someone accused him of treason, and my father killed him for it. But he was innocent.

“I’ve been trying to find his killer ever since. My search led to you—you look just like the man who got Ashe killed. And…”

I’d said his name.

I trail off as I realize this. I had broken my promise to myself; I said Ashe’s name, something I’d sworn to never do. Because the last time I said Ashe’s name, I’d said it to him as I looked into his eyes. And that was how I wanted it. Forever.

It wasn’t like that anymore.

“And you have his tattoo.” I keep speaking to stop the pressure behind my eyes. I can’t cry, not twice in one day. “You have his
exact
tattoo. He had the same flames tattooed on his back and shoulder.”

“You’re upset,” Lor says slowly.

I scoff and turn away. “Of course I’m upset. I’m talking about my dead friend to you.” I gesture to him. “Some filthy prisoner who lied to me.”

“If you’re upset, then you’re sincere,” Lor continues. “I think you’re telling the truth, Faye. You really had a friend with my tattoo.”

I glare at him. “What’s your point?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Lor says. “But I’m relatively sure about one thing.”

“And what’s that?”

“Your friend was Prince Jaylor, and heir to the Angel Throne.” A small smile spreads across Lor’s lips. “And he was my twin.”

I laugh.

This is what I get? I say Ashe’s name, break my promise, and expose my feelings. And
this
is what I get in return? Some delusional claim from an equally delusional prisoner?

Lor stares at me, and it hurts. I’m not sure if it’s his gaze or the laughter that’s causing the pain. Maybe both; everything hurts at this point. He looks at me in the eyes again, with that disconcerting way he has. I wonder how a crazy man can have such a penetrating gaze.

“My brother had a scar,” Lor says quietly. “Just above his left eyebrow. It looked like a tiny fishhook. I used to tease him about it and say he was destined to the greatest fisherman ever, while I was destined to be the greatest Angel King.” He shakes his head. “I guess neither of us turned out great.”

My laughter cuts off. Lor is right in front of me, but all I see is Ashe’s face. His delicate features, his thin lips and dark hair. And his eyes, so black they’re fathomless. Above his left eye is the distinctive scar Lor speaks of: a tiny, jagged fishhook that is even paler than the rest of his skin.

“You knew him,” I whisper. “You knew Ashe.”

Lor simply nods.

My legs weaken. I stumble toward my dresser and lean against it, allowing my knees to wobble and nearly give out. My heart pounds, and I don’t even try to calm it.

“My brother was stolen away when he was twelve,” Lor says. “Someone wanted his powers. They were stupid enough to think Jay would actually give away his ability.”

“That was his name?” My mind is whirling too fast to even try to absorb his other words. “Jay was his real name?”

“No, that was just what most people called him. His real name was Jaylor, the same as mine. We were twins, so we were given the same name. It’s a custom in our lands. And it’s a confusing one, so to make things easier, I took the last half of the name, and Jay took the first.”

Even as he speaks, I think of the first time Ashe met my twin cousins. When I’d introduced them, he’d peered at them curiously, and then whispered to me,
“They have different names. Are they disgraced?”
Only he’d whispered a little too loudly, and I had been forced to drag Ashe away from my cousins’ Guardians before they pummeled him.

Ashe had expected them to have the same name. Probably because some part of his memory, a part he didn’t even realize was there, remembered that he shared the same name with his twin. The twin that now was right in front of me, still giving me that disconcerting stare.

Lor’s other words slowly filter into my mind, and I bite my lip as I absorb them. “You say Ashe had an ability. Would it be enough of a motive for someone to want him dead?”

Lor cocks his head to the side as he considers my question. It’s a habit Ashe used to also have, and I wonder if Lor remembers that. His gaze evaluates me, and I straighten a little, urging my wobbling knees to work again.

“His ability wouldn’t cause motive,” Lor says slowly. “It’d cause obsession. Enough for entire countries to want him dead.”

“Why?” It’s the only reasonable question I can think of.

Lor’s face darkens, like it did when I questioned him in the prison, and he shakes his head. “I don’t think I should tell you that.”

“
What?
But I have to know. I
deserve
to know. Ashe was my friend. He was my… everything.”

I look down, afraid to meet Lor’s gaze. I shouldn’t have let the truth slip out like that. It makes me sound weak, helpless… empty.

“Yeah,” Lor says softly. “I get it. He was everything to me, too.”

I slowly look up. “You were close?”

“We were twins in every sense of the word. I thought I was going to die when he disappeared.” He looks away and grits his jaw. “And I think part of me did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Jay got the worst of it. Be sorry for him.”

“I am.”

Lor sighs and looks to the ceiling. “Yeah, I can tell. You’re hurting. Looking in your eyes is like looking in a mirror. You’re in as much pain as I am.”

“So… You still hurt?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop. But I’ve learned to function without him.” He presses a hand to his forehead and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this. I hardly
know
you.”

“But we both knew Ashe.”

He smiles a little, the expression soft. “Yeah, we did. I guess that makes us similar, in a way.” He suddenly frowns. “Why… Why didn’t Jay ever talk about me?”

“He didn’t remember you,” I say, making my tone as gentle as I can. “His memory was wiped by some sort of magic. He couldn’t help it.”

Lor’s expression tumbles into one of grief, but then he shakes his head and grits his jaw. “At least he had someone.” He nods his head to me. “I guess that’s good.”

I nibble at my lip and then say, “Then tell me about Ashe. Everything.”

Lor raises an eyebrow at me. “You’re going to insist on calling him Ashe? Even though that isn’t his real name?”

“Yes.”

Lor says nothing, and there’s a pause. I count my heartbeats, which have slowed in the past few minutes.
One, two, three…

I take a deep breath and add, “He’ll always be my Ashe.”

“And he’ll always be Jay to me,” Lor murmurs.

“So are you going to tell me about him?”

“Maybe. But not tonight.” He leans further back in the pillows. “Right now, I say we change the subject.”

I open my mouth to protest, but Lor points to the wounds on his chest. “The injured guy gets to pick the subject.”

“Since when?” I demand.

“Since now. And I’m saying we change the subject to resting. In other words, you stop asking questions, leave, and let me sleep.”

My mouth drops open just a little, but Lor’s eyes are already closed.

“Promise me you’ll tell me more about Ashe tomorrow,” I plead.

“Angels don’t make promises.”

“What? Why?”

“Once we make a promise, we have to go through with it, no matter what happens. If we don’t, we die.”

My gut clenches as I think of Ashe’s one and only promise to me. Had he known the significance of it? Had he known he was putting himself in danger when he swore everything would be okay? Probably not. But I can’t help but to think that Ashe still would have promised, even if he knew.

“You’re on my bed,” I say quietly, hoping Lor will move.

“I’m a prince, sweetheart,” he replies, as if this is an excuse for everything.

I sigh, knowing that I’ll be sleeping in the spare room tonight.

“Fine,” I mutter. “Sleep here, if you really have to. But on one condition.”

“What’s that, sweetheart?” he mumbles.

“Take a bath tomorrow. You smell like a pig sty.”

He chuckles, although the sound is groggy and cuts off short. “I usually don’t work with ‘conditions’, but I’ll accept yours. On one condition of mine.”

I open my mouth to tell him to shut up and go to sleep, but he interrupts me.

“You should also take a bath tomorrow, sweetheart. You smell like fear.”

I stare at the ceiling of my guest room, counting the stone blocks. I reach twenty-eight—an even number, a good number—when Lor’s words echo through my head again.

‘You smell like fear.’

Twenty-nine. Thirty. Thirty-one…

I continue counting the stones, but my mind drifts away from the easy task. I wish I had something more difficult to do, something other than lying in an unfamiliar bed and counting stones. Something that would distract me.

But I have no distraction, and all I can do is grit my jaw while my mind examines Lor’s words. No, it doesn’t examine them—it dissects them, tearing each syllable apart, slicing into each word in search of meaning. But no matter how I look at them, I keep coming to the same conclusion: Lor thinks I’m afraid.

And I am.

Lor has led me one step closer to avenging Ashe. I’ll find his murderer soon, no matter what Lor says, and I’ll kill him.

So what will I do after that? I won’t inherit the throne; I’ll have the taskless job of ‘princess’ my entire life. I know that my current Guardian is only temporary; Lor will eventually find some way to escape from here. And I won’t have a husband. Ever.