Shadowforged (Light & Shadow) (14 page)

“Who is she?” I asked a
n Ismiri servant nearby, pointing. I used the mountain dialect, and she raised her eyebrows to hear it from a Heddrian servant, but responded readily enough.

“That’s Dusan’s granddaughter by Iulia.” She nodded up to my King. “Now
there’d be a match for your King, no?” I shrugged and turned back to the masque. It was ending, with much flourishing and bowing, and the two Kings rose to their feet, applauding and shouting congratulations to the dancers.

And then I saw it. Not what Temar had told me to watch for, no—but more dangerous by far. Miriel, true to her word, cast no looks towards the throne. She was neither petulant nor prideful. She curtsied without flicking her eyes up to the set of thrones at all, and then she turned and took an offered arm for the procession in to dinner. It was one of the boys, dressed in the colors of fall, and they made a beautiful pair. I saw him speak a short, smiling sentence to her, and she laughed. I looked back to the dais, to see if the King was watching her go. He was not, he was speaking earnestly with Dusan and his envoy, but others were watching. I saw Guy de la Marque’s smile flicker as if he had just gotten a good hand of cards, and I looked back to the pair.

Miriel’s companion, the boy who made her smile so brilliantly and laugh so merrily, was none other than Wilhelm Conradine.

Chapter 14

The days passed in constant frustration for Miriel. Each day had its entertainments: dances and masques and plays so that we rushed from one thing to the next in a roar of ceaseless excitement and laughter, every courtier half-drunk on excitement and half-dead with exhaustion, and me in a frenzy of worry over who might brush into contact with Miriel in the crowd.

I knew that my worry was as ridiculous as it was useless. Even if I could have protected her against some mad courtier with a grudge against the Duke, no one but Kasimir seemed minded to cause trouble here. The courtiers of Ismir were as mad for entertainments and laughter as were the courtiers I knew. They were happy enough to leave behind their grudges and their old rivalries as long as they had banquets and dancing, and the chance for illicit liaisons in the alleyways between the buildings.

Only men such as the Duke and Kasimir carried their grudges and their resentment here, to the village, and the Duke had the good sense to hide his bad feelings behind courtly bows and honeyed words. It was Kasimir, and Kasimir alone, who broke the peace openly. On the first day, he had held his tongue, but since then matters had deteriorated. At dinner on the second night, he had made loud proclamations that peace would be achieved only when ill-gotten gains had been returned to their rightful owners. On the fourth day, he had partnered the Duke in a card game, and had been overheard to say that the King of such a misbegotten country as Heddred should watch his back.

It was inflammatory, and as soon as the court was not hungover on strong Ismiri spirits, and drunk on excitement, they would all be whispering in corners about Kasimir’s words. I did not care. For once, I was minded to let Temar watch the nobles and inform me of their whispered conversations. Miriel and I had larger worries. In such a small village, there was no way for her to meet with Garad, and so, when she was not keeping up the pretense of being the most beautiful, the most charming courtier, she prowled around the apartment like a mountain cat, snapping at Anna and glaring at me.

“I know nothing!” she fairly screamed at me. “Nothing. Why does he not send for me? Why does he not want my advice?”

“He can hardly call for you when his every move is being watched by two courts and he is meeting with King Dusan himself,” I pointed out, but she would not be appeased.

“Fool. If he wanted to, he could. We’ve always found ways before!”

“He’s been sending letters.” I pointed to the two letters on the table, and she knocked them onto the floor with an angry swipe of her arm.

“Only two! And they’re stupid letters! Useless! Love letters!”

“How is that useless?” I cried back, and then lowered my voice, mindful of who might have heard us. “He loves you.
He’s besotted with you.”

“Twice a fool!” Miriel had lowered her voice as well, but her anger had not abated. “I get nothing for his love! Love fades, love dies. Pretty words are
nothing
. I need to be the only one he trusts. I need him to believe he can’t rule without me at his side! And you told me he wouldn’t, but he
is
forgetting me. He
is
learning he doesn’t need me.” She whirled about to the window, paced, then stopped and clutched her head. “I could go mad. And pick those up.” I bit back a retort and gathered the letters carefully, folded each and placed them in a stack on the table.

I did not say so for fear of stoking her anger, but I knew that she was right to be worried. The King stayed closeted with Dusan, shut off from his Council and Dusan’s—and from the commanders of the last war—as the two of them spoke frankly about the troubled history of their nations. Only rumors escaped that room, every one easily discernible as a wild fancy to every listener except the one whose land was rumored to be ceded, or sold, or taken by the crown for roads and quarries. Each courtier laughed off the others’ concerns, and spoke fearfully of their own. The Bone Wastes were to be conquered, the DeVere land was to be handed back to Ismir—and, triumphantly spread by Conradine and de la Marque servants, the King was planning to cede Voltur back to the Ismiri; despite his good sense, the last had the Duke in a frenzy of irritation and worry.

“We’ll go see the King when the court is on the move again,” I soothed her. “And you really do have his heart now.”

She nodded. “If only someone were to speak against me,” she said fretfully. “Then he would want to defend me. It would awaken his love and he would want to say that he had spoken for me.”

“Too risky.” I did not want anyone reminding the King of Miriel’s low birth, and reviving the talk about marrying without love and having a mistress on the side. Not with Ismiri princesses dancing about.

“So what do you suggest?” she asked sharply, and I bit my lip. There was no good answer. If she defied Garad’s wishes and went to him, he might be angry—he would accuse her, and rightly, of endangering his plans. If she played along with his scheme, however, she became nothing. She faded into the background.

She did not wait for me to make a suggestion.

“I’ll send for Wilhelm,” she decided. “He’ll know what to do.” I looked at her bright, flushed face, and had a stab of misgiving.

“You be careful,” I warned her.

“Of what?” She frowned at me, then shook her head. “You don’t understand the court, Catwin I can’t be cautious like you. If I want to win, I have to be the only one he sees; your place is in the shadows—mine is in the light. There isn’t any time to waste, and there’s only one person who knows the King better than I do.”

I raised my eyebrows and said nothing. I did understand the court, I thought, better than she knew. I knew that her friendship with Wilhelm, once a secret acquaintance, was blossoming, and that I was not the only one who had seen it. I knew that an innocent friendship was the stuff of which lurid rumors were made. And Miriel could not afford this rumor. But these were her uncle’s rooms. Wilhelm would arrive openly, during the day.

And Miriel needed a way to keep the King’s eye.

I pushed down my sense of forboding and nodded. As Miriel sat down to write a response to the King’s most recent letter, I sent one of the Duke’s pages for Wilhelm Conradine, instructing him sharply to summon the Lord if he was at liberty, and leave him be if he was not. We did not need to court trouble. Then I sent as many of the servants away as I could, sending them each on lengthy errands until only Anna was left.

It was not much later that Wilhelm arrived, tapping on the door and bowing deeply to Miriel. I reflected that this, at least, was a more equal pairing. Wilhelm was half king’s blood, half nothing, his ancient lineage undeniable, but more a liability than a help; there were even rumors that his mother had not wanted to marry a Conradine at all, though she took their side now. Unlike Garad, when Wilhelm came into the room, he had cause to bow low to Miriel; those who rode the currents of the King’s favor could lift up others. Miriel and Wilhelm were bound together as allies, or enemies, as they chose. They had always smiled at each other with understanding. Understanding, and somewhat more—but I pushed that thought away.

“Lady Miriel,” Wilhelm said graciously. I saw him hide his pleasure at seeing her. His bow was exquisite, his tone courtly.

“My Lord.” Miriel curtsied back. The two of them were children, but not. Play-acting, but not.

“How may I be of service?” Wilhelm cast his eyes around the room. They were blue, I noted, pale to Miriel’s dark, and he shared the King’s fine, sandy hair. His face was well-formed, his cheekbones high, his jaw sharp. He had become a sensation at the court earlier in the year, when the courtiers were minded to think of the Conradines as tragic figures and not potential traitors. Any woman might lose her heart to that smile, but Miriel appeared not to take the slightest notice of it. As she drew him towards the chairs by the fire, she said,

“It is…in regards to the King.” Her steady smile did not waver when his jaw tightened.

“Yes?” He had hoped for more, perhaps, after their laughing conversation the other night; he did not want her to call him to her rooms to speak of the King. But he did not lose his composure. Only someone listening closely could have heard the sudden edge in his voice. Then again, Miriel always listened closely, and she missed nothing. For all her feigned distraction, I knew from the quick rise and fall of her chest that she was as aware of him as he was of her.

I had wondered how she would play this, her appeal to the king’s closest friend. I had thought that she might make some clever excuse; she was skilled at such things. She surprised me, however. She did not coquet, she was grave and quiet.

“I feel I can trust you, my Lord,” she said soberly, and I saw a leap of hope in his eyes.

“You can,” he assured her.

“Good.” Miriel smiled, but the smile did not reach her eyes, and it dropped away quickly. “Then I will be honest with you, my Lord. No courtly words. I tell you truly—I fear that the King may no longer love me as he once did.”

“No.” Wilhelm shook his head. His voice was tight. “He loves you still.”

“Then how can he bear this?” Miriel whispered. “I am forbidden to be at his side, and so I cannot advise him. I cannot see his smile. How can I help but fear…” She trailed off into the superstitious silence of those who fear that saying a thing could make it true. Then she shook her head. “I am sorry. I do not question his wisdom,” she said firmly. “I will not.”

“This is too heavy a burden for you.” Wilhelm reached out and took one of her hands in his own. “Watching him flirt with other women while he exposes you to such gossip.”

“It was necessary,” Miriel demurred at once. “He needed the goodwill of his Council.” She could switch sides with the most consummate skill; now she lured Wilhelm on. Only I could have seen the flicker of distaste in her eyes, the sad set of her mouth. It was gone in a moment, but I knew that it would come back to her as she lay in bed tonight. Strangely, I was reassured to see it—that the clever lies grew no easier for Miriel, either.

And she adored Wilhelm. For all that she had kept from him, it was plain to see now. She would not want to lie to him any more than I wanted to lie to Roine, or Temar.

Wilhelm, however, saw none of this. He was consumed with his indignation on her behalf. “He is the
King
,” he said passionately. “The Council must heed him, even if…”

“Even if?” Miriel leaned closer to hear him, and I saw his fingers clench around hers.

“If I were the King,” he told her, “I would not let anyone make me deny my love. I would never hide it. And I would never hurt my love so.”

His voice was taut, quavering slightly with emotion; he was no rake, using the careful, intimate tones of seduction, but desire was there. There was only the slightest pause; however I chided her, Miriel had a good sense for danger. The yearning in her eyes was wiped away in an instant, and in its place was a warm smile.

“Ah, my Lord Wilhelm, you will make some noble lady a fine husband,” she promised him. “You have the heart of a poet!” He nodded, only his courtly training keeping his shoulders unbowed; his disappointment was plain to see. Miriel laid her hand on his sleeve and smiled. “But the King is not like you and like me,” she said. “He is a King. And I am only a girl. Please, my Lord. Help me.”

He swallowed. “I will carry any message my lady wishes,” he said, chivalry cold in his voice.

“Then, please, take him this.” Miriel handed him her latest letter, composed carefully by the two of us. It was scented with her perfume, and I wondered if Wilhelm would take it from the pocket of his doublet when he was out of sight of the room, to breathe in the fragrance. “And tell him…”

“Yes, my Lady?”

“Only that I think of him,” she said lightly. She was caught in the woman’s dilemma, knowing that her love was both ardently desired and yet reviled as weakness. She stared thoughtfully after Wilhelm as he bowed and left.

“You be careful,” I said again, and this time she did not reproach me for it. “If the King knew…” She threw a look at me and then crossed the room swiftly, beckoning me into her bedchamber and ushering Anna out, unceremoniously. We waited until we heard her heavy tread cross the room; Anna had long since stopped trying to listen at doors when we talked, after one or two glares from me.

“The King will not know,” Miriel said, when she was sure we were alone. “And Wilhelm knows as well as anyone what can and cannot be. Whatever foolish feelings he has, he will have to put them aside.” Her face was bland, and I drew closer to her, intrigued.

“You don’t mean that.”

“No,” she agreed pleasantly, “I don’t. I mean to hold him. I mean to take his loyalty, and the loyalty of as many as I can—everyone, if I can. And I mean to keep the King’s heart, too, and his mind, and then it will be me who rules this kingdom and its lords.” She looked straight at me and her deep blue eyes, normally as rich as velvet, were as cold and flat as chips of stone. Whatever love had welled up in her heart as she spoke with Wilhelm, she had pushed it far away.

“You want power?” I asked uncertainly, feeling my way in this conversation.

“Yes. I want power to bend the King and the Council to do what is right for Heddred.” I stared at her: this delicate, pretty half-child. I saw the regal bearing, the determined thrust of her chin, the utter, uncompromising conviction in her eyes, and I had the crazy thought that, in the deepest part of her heart, she
wanted
to give Wilhelm up. It was some kind of simple magic, a spell that would make the rebellion all the more precious to her, and free her of her own love for him.