Shadow's End (Light & Shadow) (10 page)

Chapter 10

“You have everything you need?” the Merchant asked solicitously. He reached over to tuck Miriel’s cloak around her shoulders, and she smiled courteously at the gesture. The morning was cold, mist rising off a nearby lake, and she had been shivering.

“We must look as if we barely escaped with the clothes on our back,” she said kindly. “It is to our benefit not to have saddlebags. And in any case, we can buy supplies. It is the men who will have more difficulty staying fed.”

The Merchant nodded, and Jeram gave an affirmative grunt. When the men had set off, they had been the heroes of the rebellion, marching through the land where their ideals were held in high regard. For the first few nights, they had been sure of a welcome in any town, camping on the village green, feted in the taverns, but as they had left the well-known landscape of the Norstrung Provinces, they had seen suspicious glares from the townsfolk. Now they
proclaimed themselves a group of men marching to join the Royal Army, determined to show that the people of Norstrung were loyal to the King. Still, as they drew closer still to the capital, they often tried to escape notice entirely, bypassing towns where they might have procured fresh food.

“And you? You have everything you need?” Miriel asked them. “No last words to put in the treaty?” It was a poor joke, over the fuss that had been made for every word in the document, but Jeram smiled at it.

“Be true to us,” he said simply, and Miriel did not flare up, as she might have done. She inclined her head and met his eyes.

“I will. Thank yo
ur men every day, from me, and know that I will be praying for their safety. I hope to advise the King so that the war may be won quickly, by soldiers, and your men may go home to their families.”

“I hope so, too,” Jeram said, but I knew that he did not expect it. “Go, the two of you. And the Gods speed your way.”

And so we set out in silence, two figures on horseback, plodding carefully through the early morning mist, spurring our horses to a trot, and at last to a gallop, casting a last smile at each other before letting our faces settle into the pallor of fear. We were to look desperate, afraid, exhausted, frantic—and as we approached Penekket, we would need to feign nothing.

We rode for two days, skirting towns and sleeping under trees: a young lad and a girl with the hood of her cloak pulled up in the unseasonably warm weather. This had been a piece of the plan devised by Miriel, who knew her uncle to have spies placed all over the land. If we did not find soldiers, she reasoned, the Duke would find us. I agreed with her, and yet I kept my right hand free of the reins, to snatch at one of my daggers in case the men the Duke sent had been ordered to take us as captives and not family.

In the end, it was so easy that I almost feared it to be a trap for us and not for the soldiers. We came upon a detachment in a little town only a few leagues south of Penekket, and spurred our horses to meet them on the road, as I waved my arms to call their attention. They pulled up, several men reaching for their swords, and I swung down from my horse, so as not to spur an attack.

“Please,” I called, “you are soldiers of the Royal Army?”

“Aye,” one of them called back. “And who’re you? And who is that?” He jabbed a finger at Miriel, and I saw one of the bowmen poised to shoot. I held up my hands.

“I am a servant of the Duke of Voltur. You’ll have heard that his niece disappeared some months ago?” They raised their eyebrows.

“I heard of it,” one of them offered. “She was t’marry the Queen’s nephew, and then she was gone on the road, and the Duke never found her. Probably dead, lad.”

“Fool,” the leader retorted. He pointed to Miriel, and looked at me. I nodded.

“She’s not dead,” I said, and I gestured to Miriel, who drew back her hood. His men stared, open-mouthed, lowering their swords.

“Gods be good,” their leader murmured. “You swear that’s the Lady?”

“Yes,” Miriel said softly. She made an exquisitely tragic figure, her eyes wide and her skin pale. “I am the Lady Miriel DeVere. Please, good sirs, will you give us safe passage to the city?”

“Quickly,” I added, hoping that I looked urgent and not duplicitous. “We have men after us, sir. We only just escaped, and I don’t know how far behind us they are. They’ll know we’re making for the city.” We had him, I knew it—the wheels were turning in this man’s head, I could see his thoughts of a glorious rescue, of the reward he was certain awaited him for finding us.

“Form up!” he called to his men, and he crooked a finger at me. “You, lad, you ride with me and tell me what happened. The men’ll keep the Lady safe.”

“Yes, sir.” I swung up into the saddle once more as the men wheeled their horses about, and as we set off at a brisk trot, I launched into the story Miriel and I had concocted. “We were taken at an inn not far out of the mountains. There were four of them. A man recognized the Lady, and they came into our room; I tried to fight them, but…I failed.” I hung my head.

“And who’re you, then, if you were in her rooms?” the captain asked, skeptically. “You can’t tell me the Lady travels with a manservant.” He cast a look over his shoulder at Miriel, and then back at me. “Even one so…well, begging my pardon.”

“I…” I cleared my throat. “I’m a girl.” The man’s eyes widened. I saw him take in my face, the set of my eyes, my mouth, my throat and my hands.

“Well, I’ll be.” He whistled. “So you are.” He guffawed. “And you tried to fight off the kidnappers! That must have given them a good laugh.” I swallowed down my retort that I could probably have won against four attackers, and only blushed.

“I did the best I could to keep her safe, sir.”

“I’m sure you did, lad—lass.” He shook his head and chuckled. “The Duke’s niece, and a girl dressed as a boy! Where’d you get the pants, then?” I gritted my teeth and refrained from rolling my eyes.

“I’m sure the Duke will be most appreciative for your help, sir,” I said, as sweetly as I could. “Please, might I ride with my lady? She’s been so frightened.”

“Of course.” He waved me away, then changed his mind. “Wait. Come back. Have you heard the news?”

“News?” I frowned at him. “You mean, the rumors? We couldn’t believe it was true…”

“Oh, it’s true,” he said grimly. “The Ismiri army is marching on Penekket now, and word is, they’re making good time. If you want to get into the Palace, we’ll need to travel quick. The royal court’s in the fortress already, and word is, no one gets in or out.” He cast another glance at Miriel. “I think she might be able to—but only if we get there soon.” I nodded, as gravely as I could, and trotted back to Miriel.

“The rumors are true,” I said urgently to her, and she turned a properly shocked face to me. I tried not to laugh at her feigned amazement.

“No! How did they get over the mountains? Are they at the city?” Miriel looked around herself at the soldiers. “There is truly an invasion?”

“Don’t you worry, my Lady,” one of the soldiers said. “Their army’s a good few weeks away from the city, yet, and ours’ll be out to meet ‘em soon.”

“We’ll be riding hard,” I told her. “The sooner we can get inside the fortress, the better.” Miriel nodded, looking frightened. I knew that it was not entirely an act; I myself could hardly think of an army marching on the city without feeling fear rise up in my chest. We were children of peace, she and I. This was beyond us.

The days passed in a
daze: fear, the relentless heat of the summer sunshine, and the pain of riding horseback for so many hours. True to the captain’s word, we went quickly, keeping the horses to a brisk pace, claiming replacements at each aid station, and I could not have said if I was pleased to be going so quickly, to be meeting our final challenge at last, or terrified, wishing desperately to stretch the journey as much as possible.

On the last night
, having reached another station after darkness fell, the captain courteously asked Miriel if she would like to rest. He was reassured with her sweetest smile and a shake of her head. Miriel could not bear to draw this out further. She had barely been able to eat for days, as Fortress loomed ever closer on the horizon. In the past nights, we had both laid awake, fear beating a rhythm in our blood, and as we drew closer to the city, it coursed through our veins all the more quickly. Miriel, for all her lies, spoke nothing more than the truth when she told the captain that she had no wish to rest. Rest brought drifting thoughts, and thinking brought fear. Better to ride onwards to the inevitable confrontation, than hang back.

“Oh, thank you, but I don’
t think I could sleep,” she said, her pale lips curving in a smile, her shadowed eyes still bright, still flirtatious.

“We’ll ride on, then,” the Captain had said, doubtful but relieved. “We’ll go first to the Palace. Only the Royal Guard’s allowed into the Fortress now. They’ll escort you.”

“Thank you,” Miriel said calmly, her pleasant smile belied by the frantic beating of her pulse, and the fear I could see in her eyes. In the flickering of the torches, she looked barely human, her eyes gone as black as midnight, her hair gleaming. As we rode through the darkness, she looked over at me and murmured, “I find it best to think of nothing.”

“You have nothing to fear,” I told her, my voice very low. The men were riding loosely in packs, talking amongst themselves, but we could not be too careful. “We know everything your uncle might ask us, and we know what to say. We need only to be allowed to approach the King. That is all.” She nodded and took a deep breath to steady herself. She was reminding herself, I knew, that she knew herself capable of this. She had been the most consummate of liars in the Court, creating so many
illusions that even I, who knew her best, had not always known what was Miriel and what was her mask.

And therein lay the fear: we had escaped the Court and tried to outrun the shadows that followed us. Now, as we returned, we could not help but fear what would happen to us. We had no way out, after all—for we had been so consumed by our need to get the treaty to Wilhelm that we had not formulated any plan for another escape. In truth, where was there to go? If we succeeded, the rebellion would no longer be secret meetings and passwords, it would be open, lawful.
Our desire to hide from the eyes of the court would be suspicious, then.

But we must find somewhere to go. We could not stay.
If—when, I reminded myself—Wilhelm signed the treaty, the Duke would see Miriel’s hand in it. Whatever his plans, whatever Temar’s, I did not think either would welcome this. And so Miriel and I would be known to be liars, and enemies, and if we had no way to escape… No. If I thought on it, I would be sick. I forced my mind away, and focused on my breath, as Miriel had suggested. Seeing my pale face, she gave me a tentative smile and then returned to her own meditations.

Dawn broke as we rode, and we stopped for a quick breakfast: army rations that were nonetheless fresher than the food we had eaten in our escape. We pressed on, the tower rising
ever higher on the horizon, and it was barely noon when we approached the gates at last. True to the captain’s word, the walls were bristling with guards, and we were met with a bellow of, “halt!” The captain swung down, and held out his hand to Miriel, that she might walk with him. I heard the gasps and murmurs of the guards on the wall; Miriel’s face was known to them, there had been ballads sung about her beauty. The Palace Guard, fiercely loyal to the Duke, had been loyal as well to his beautiful niece, thinking it a fine compliment to the Duke’s loyalty and bravery that his bloodline should sit upon the throne.

“Is that truly the Lady
Miriel?” a man called, and Miriel smiled up at him.

“It is I!” She called back. “I am safe now, and well—but I should like to be reunited with my kin!” There was a cheer from the men, and the grinding of the portcullis as it was raised. Miriel was lifted back onto her horse, and our little party rode back into the palace itself. As we rode, I looked up at the fortress and, as ever, felt the inevitable stab of foreboding. I had never liked the fortress, and I had never known why; it would seem that I was going to find out sooner rather than later.

A runner was sent, racing down the alleyways to the fortress, and we were ushered through side doors and down covered streets, still on horseback, the Royal Guard giving sidelong glances at Miriel. She rode, now, with her head up and her hair flowing down over her shoulders. She was not the driven rebel leader, nor the frightened girl who had sparked the sympathy of the soldiers. She was the King’s betrothed, the most beautiful and charming maiden of the court, a lost beauty returning home. Her confidence did not even flicker when we rode into the courtyard at the base of the fortress and saw what awaited us: her uncle, and Temar standing, impassive, at his side.

My
gaze was drawn, at once, to Temar: the sheen of his black hair, the dark eyes with all their secrets, the shape of his mouth. I found myself awed to discover that he had substance. After nights spent dreaming of his face, after the memories that came to me at the strangest times—eating sweet rolls, like the ones he and I would take from the kitchens for breakfast; reading maps; working out a bruise or a sprain—I had almost forgotten that Temar was real. I looked at him, and felt my heart sink when he would not look at me. His eyes were fixed on Miriel, but I knew that Temar could just as easily have looked at me for the signs of deception; he was not looking at me because he would not. He did not wish to see my face.