Shadowborn (Light & Shadow, Book 1) (29 page)

“
I will ask my uncle to
have a new suit made for you,” Miriel said simply. Her voice was
still neutral, and her face expressionless.

It was a poor gesture, as peace offerings
went, but I was not in any position to dictate the terms of this
exchange. I was confused; I always went to things head on, telling
Miriel exactly what had transpired, going to the heart of it all.
Donnett had been right, I was like a pit bull. But Miriel always
came at things sideways, sliding things in under my guard, talking
in puzzles. I could not understand it, and I could not understand
her.

That night, as I watched Miriel eat and
drink, talk and laugh, I thought that the puzzle of her was her
ability to distract those on whom she had turned her attention.
When she was alone with someone, she could turn their attention
whichever way she wanted. But when she was at a banquet, or when
she was dancing, she sparkled, she shone brightly so that she could
dazzle any thought out of the minds of those who watched her. I did
not think that even Guy de la Marque could have watched her without
forgetting for a moment that he watched the heir of his enemy.

Chapter 24

Miriel thawed towards me once more, bit by
bit. She and I still did not speak often, but she acknowledged my
presence now. She showed it in little ways: nodding at me when she
came into a room and found me there, taking care to ask for two
mugs when we studied late into the night and she sent for tea. And,
only a few nights after I told her that I had lied on her behalf,
Miriel asked me to get a book for her.

“
From the royal library,” I
specified.

“
Yes.”

“
I’m not allowed in the
royal library.”

“
I know that,” she said
simply. I rolled my eyes in irritation and looked from the scrap of
paper in my hand, to her serene smile. She did not seem to be
making a joke; in fact, behind the smile, I could see her
curiosity. But it seemed too strange to be true.

“
This book,” I said, still
unable to believe it.

“
Yes,” she said,
simply.

“
You’re sure,” I said,
again, testing. The small flashes of irritation I saw in her had
not led to a return of the Miriel I knew. Her frozen fear after the
attack, the way she had of looking around a room, starting at small
noises, walking always as if she feared a knife between the ribs,
had given way to an eerie calm. Miriel was thoughtful these days.
She had given no indication that she trusted me more, knowing I had
lied for her, knowing I could protect her; neither had she snapped
at me, insulted me, or been cold to me. She had been so withdrawn
that it was nearly a relief to see anger in her eyes.

“
Yes,” she said again, her
voice emphatic. “Is there some problem?”

“
I suppose you know it’s
death to steal any of the King’s books,” I said drily. I was
certain that she had thought nothing of the danger to me, but the
delighted gleam of her smile surprised me, and I found that I could
not help but smile back. Her grin was not malicious, it was the
smile between two conspirators.

“
Oh, I know,” she
said.

“
You just want to see if I
can,” I said, torn between amusement and wounded pride, and she
laughed, but shook her head as well.

“
No, I also want the book.
So. Get it for me.” And she swept out of the room, leaving me
staring after her and wondering a great many things.

As I lay in bed, still dressed, I tried to
let my mind go blank, as Temar had taught me, and seek the answer
from the information I had. Why would Miriel wish to read the
writings of a populist sympathizer, a long-dead priest? Her tutor
had only ever glossed over the writings of the priest, a man
martyred five centuries before as he stood between the royal army
and the common people of a small village. His sentiments would most
certainly be considered treasonous, and even the church did not
espouse his writings. How had Miriel remembered the brief mention
of him from our history lessons? And why would she ever want to
read his work?

I did not have long to think. Anna, Miriel’s
maidservant, slipped off to sleep quickly, and when she had been
snoring for a few minutes, I eased myself up out of my cot, took a
small linen sack, and crept out of the room, down the corridors,
across a few frigid alleyways, and into the Palace proper.

It was almost too easy. The Palace Guard,
who patrolled the ragtag group of buildings around the palace
proper, wore leather plates of armor and carried swords, or spears,
or daggers. The Royal Guard, who had control of the main building,
fairly dripped with weapons, and so wherever they went, there was
the steady clank of their boots, the shifting of ringmail, and the
scrape of metal.

I was able to hide, not even a yard from
them, as they patrolled past me, looking serious and noticing
nothing. Each hallway was lined with ornamental columns, statues,
pedestals with sculptures, all casting strange shadows and
accounting for a gleam in the darkness. It was a spy’s dream, so
easy for a girl who had grown up as a sneak that I nearly gave
myself away by giggling out loud.

It did not take overlong to make my way to
the library, and I found that it was shockingly poorly guarded.
There were not even guardsmen at the doors. Presumably, I thought
after a moment, they had decided that no one would break into the
palace in order to sneak, light-footed, past the sleeping King, and
then wander through hallways lined with priceless works of art,
only to borrow a book. I smiled to myself and opened the door a
crack to slip through.

I closed the door softly behind me and when
I turned around and saw the library itself, I gasped, and my knees
nearly buckled. Terrified that someone would have heard me, I
scampered over to the shadow of a shelf and crouched there, hardly
breathing—but there was no one there, no one to hear me. This was
not a court hungry for knowledge; I thought of the libraries at the
academies in the city, and wondered what the philosophers would
make of all these books sitting untouched.

I stayed there for a moment, staggered by
the thought that any one of the dozens of books within my reach
would be worth more than the house I had been born in. I had
wandered past oil paintings that would have cost enough to feed a
village for a year, I had seen Miriel curl her lip at a priceless
diamond bracelet; for reasons I could not name, it was the books
that impressed upon me how much my life had changed.

At last, with the echoes of my gasp dying
away, I forced my trembling legs into action and stood. I leaned
against the shelf for a moment, then peeked out at the room. It was
just as incredible this time, and, greatly daring, I wandered into
the very center of the library and turned, looking around myself in
awe.

It was a column of many levels, so many rows
of books that there were spiral staircases leading to balconies
that lined the walls. At the center were huge tables, for spreading
out maps or the old, huge books. A great skylight would have let
light in during the day; now, I could see the stars glimmering
through it, so fine was the glass, and a great chandelier hung,
twinkling, beautiful oil lamps suspended and burning, burning
priceless scented oil to light a room no one used.

I had to keep moving. What if a guard
thought to poke his head into the library? I shook my head to clear
it and set off. Miriel’s book would be filed with philosophy and
theology, and so I trotted round the perimeter of the room until I
found the section. I scanned through the books quickly, my fingers
pausing occasionally over titles I had seen referenced, but never
been able to read, and eventually I found the volume she
sought.

Strangely, it was not covered with a layer
of dust. Someone else had read this volume recently. I frowned and
plucked it from the shelf, then rearranged the other books to that
one might not see a gap. Then I tucked the book into a bag that lay
flat against my back, and took one last look around me—now that I
knew how easy it was to sneak in here, I knew that I would be
back.

But first, there were other puzzles to
attend to. The next morning, I waited until the maid had bustled
off with the laundry, and then I presented Miriel with the book. I
saw her smile of genuine delight; she fairly snatched it from me
and she ran her fingers over the cover.

“
There,” I said. “Now what
did you want it for?”

“
I should think it would be
obvious,” she said lightly. It was not an insult. She was
serious.

“
Not to me,” I said,
feeling self-conscious at my apparent stupidity. I hopped up to sit
on the table and watch her. To my surprise, Miriel pursed her lips
and took the time to find words.

“
They tried to kill me,”
she said. I waited for tears, for the undercurrent of tension in
her voice, but there was nothing. She paused, clearly searching for
a way to convey her thoughts. “And I thought—who kills a
child?”

I nodded, feeling an upswell of anger. She
was right to be furious, I thought—and better furious than afraid.
But then I realized that she only looked contemplative.

“
I thought…” She looked
down. “What’s worth killing for? What’s worth dying
for?”

“
Protecting others,” I said
promptly, and she shook her head at me, too lost in thought to be
impatient.

“
No…not like that. I mean,
that man. He knew that if my uncle did not give in, I would die. He
would have that on his hands, and he would be damned forever. But
he believed that the rebellion was worth it.” I could not put a
name to what I saw in her face.

“
You admire him,” I said
slowly, shaping my mouth around words that made no sense to me.
Miriel nodded, eagerly. “But he tried to kill you,” I said, not
understanding. “You should hate him. He tried to kill you.” She
shook her head again; her black curls flew.

“
At first I was just
scared. And then I was angry for a bit. But I’m not anymore. Can’t
you understand?”

“
No,” I said flatly. “I
can’t. Not at all.” She frowned.

“
Aren’t you curious? Don’t
you wonder why he did it?” I paused, considering. She would wonder
that, I thought. I had not. I knew why he had tried to kill her, he
had done it for the rebellion, and it was not a good enough reason
to me. I would have thought that she would be even angrier than I
had been; but trust a noble to be this backwards.

“
I wondered why,” Miriel
said finally. She looked at me directly, her beauty not animated
with her sparkling smile or her usual temper; she was in repose.
“It’s not as simple as him trying to kill me, Catwin.” She leaned
forward, earnestly. “You should read the book, too,” she said. “I
could give it to you. You’d have to hide it, though, you know my
uncle wouldn’t approve.”

“
That’s only another reason
that we shouldn’t—“ I stopped, confused. This was wrong, all wrong.
I was a commoner, I was not crazy enough to walk into danger for
nothing. But Miriel was nobly born; she said nothing, she was only
waiting, with a half smile.

“
He’s a philosopher,” she
coaxed.

“
The kind of philosophy
that gets people hanged,” I said flatly.

“
No! No. Not with Garad on
the throne,” she predicted confidently. “You’ll see. I heard the
other night that he’s speaking of this as a Golden Age, free of war
and strife. I hear he has many new thoughts, enlightened
thoughts.”

With a little more thought, I could have
seen that she was, for the first time, happy about her uncle’s
plans for her. Miriel thought of the kind young man in the hallway,
and she thought of her own success at the court, and for the first
time, her own goals were aligned with her uncle’s. She imagined the
King to be a man as smart as she was, with a mind as quick as hers
in politics and philosophy. Miriel was prepared to believe that
Garad, enlightened, would be exactly what he wanted to be: the
harbinger of a Golden Age, the knight on a white horse that could
save Miriel from her uncle’s machinations.

I should have seen that and been kinder,
gentler. I should have tried to sway her away from it—Seven Gods,
what could have been avoided later if I had managed to caution her
then? But I was oblivious, too afraid by the drift of the
conversation to see the shining happiness in her eyes. I was not
gentle.

“
He doesn’t want this kind
of change,” I predicted.

“
Oh, what do you know?” she
snapped, my warnings turning her good mood quickly. I shut up, but
glared back.

“
You be careful,” I said
finally.

“
You
be careful,” she said right back. “And don’t you
tell.”

“
I won’t tell on you.” But
she and I knew that she was asking more than my silence. As I bowed
and went off to gather my own study materials, I found that I was
already practicing wide-eyed lies in my head, and hoping that I
would be clever enough to deceive Temar when the truth came
out.

I bit my lip and looked back at her, where
she was already poring over the book. I shivered. Miriel might be
confident, but I had my doubts. I had seen the Boy King’s gentle
smile as well as she had, but I thought that I knew the limits of
his kindness. I had heard that he was sponsoring the Academies,
asking the philosophers to go out into the markets and hold their
lectures there, that the people of Penekket might participate as
they had in the old days.