Shadowborn (Light & Shadow, Book 1) (39 page)

“
And the uprising in the
south,” he had snarled. “As if now was the time, when we might be
overrun by the Ismiri!” Miriel said nothing to this, she had not
voiced her thoughts on the uprising since she and I had spoken. She
would speak with Garad on any other topic, appearing as
light-hearted and earnest as she ever had, but she would not speak
of the rebellion. When the topic arose, she sat back and let him
speak, and said nothing at all.

“
I cannot have such ideas
spreading,” he said, shaking his head. “If they cannot support me,
then I will need to show them that just because I seek peace, I am
not weak. This Jacces will need to learn that he cannot understand
the way of the world, so far away in Norstrung. His ideas have no
place in Heddred. I’ve told Nilson that there is nothing more
important than bringing this man to justice—he will see it done,
and then the rebellion will crumble. It would not hurt for the
Ismiri to see such a thing, I think.”

At my side, Wilhelm Conradine looked down at
his feet. I had noticed that when Garad spoke of the uprising, it
was not only Miriel who fell silent. Wilhelm would watch the two of
them converse when they spoke of theology, or history, or discussed
how best to word a statement to King Dusan. He looked at Miriel as
if he thought his heart would break, but he watched the two of them
with a smile. But when Garad mentioned the uprising, Wilhelm always
looked down, as if he, too, disagreed, and he, too, knew better
than to say anything. Worse, he looked disappointed; he had hoped
that although he was too cowardly to do so himself, Miriel would
continue to defend the rebels, and he chafed at her reticence.

Miriel made little meaningless murmurs,
stifled a fake yawn, and escaped back to her room as soon as she
could. She walked as she always did now, she walked through her
whole life as if she were hollow inside. The King no longer seemed
to see her, or surely he would have noticed that there was
something sad behind her eyes.

Not seeing her pained smile, he joked with
her that he would make her a part of the Council, for she was the
best of his advisors. He even told her that he should thank her
uncle for raising such a wonderful girl, not hearing the note of
hysteria in her voice as she protested against it. The King,
powerful and precious in his own right, had never feared his
guardians as Miriel did hers. It would not have occurred to him to
think of it.

Miriel now sparkled as brightly as ever when
she was being watched, but the moment the doors to her room closed
behind her, all of the life drained away. She no longer pretended
to ignore me, or snapped criticisms of the things I did; she knew
that I continued to keep the secret of her meetings with the King,
and she cared little enough what else I did.

Now that the matter of the King’s marriage
had been set aside, the Duke had ruled that Miriel was in less
danger. No woman was making progress towards marriage with the
King, for the King no longer tolerated discussion on the topic in
Council meetings. He was devoted, entirely, to the situation with
Ismir. He did not visit the maids’ chambers, and he barely watched
the court as they danced. Most importantly, the Dowager Queen did
not watch the women as closely.

“
You may return to your
lessons,” the Duke told me one day, barely looking up from his
paperwork. “You are to continue learning from Donnett and Temar
especially. They have been told what to teach you.”

And so I returned to my lessons with
Donnett, who snorted at the idea that I had been busy enough to
warrant a halt in my training. He drilled me on the use of a shield
and a spear until I could barely lift my arms, and when he finally
deemed me proficient in the use of both—after several weeks—we
began all over again with the first dagger strikes he had taught
me.

“
Aye, ye practiced ‘em
before,” he agreed, over my protests. “Will ye never learn, lad?
It’s better to know fewer things better. What good does some fancy
strike do ye, if ye’re dead in the first minute of a
fight?”

Temar, also, returned to the basics of my
training, almost deathly earnest. We sparred every day, until my
disused muscles returned to their former strength, and he lectured
me on the exercises I must do every day, on my own. Then, he pushed
me harder. I trudged down to the laundry every day with a pile of
clothes, unwilling to lie all night in sweat-soaked linen, and
prayed every night before going to sleep that no assassin would
come for Miriel when I was so exhausted.

Roine re-mixed the potions for my lessons,
and took me back into her rooms each afternoon without comment. She
insisted, however, that I be her assistant. Every day, for the
duration of my lessons, I was to deal with any basic injuries that
would arise. I set bones, bound cuts, and applied salve to burns.
It did not matter how much I spoke of my need to learn more
antidotes, Roine was implacable.

“
I have to go to my other
lessons,” I protested.

“
People aren’t healed just
because you have lessons,” Roine said, flatly. “When you’ve brewed
tea for the pain and delivered it, you can—“ She broke off, and I
looked round curiously. Miriel stood framed in the doorway,
hovering uncertainly on the threshold. It was the first time I had
ever seen her look as if she was not sure where she should
be.

She had a new gown, I noticed, a warm brown
trimmed with gold. The Duke had insisted that she have new things
to wear, that she be dressed finely all the time. He had ordered
her a new wardrobe for the fall, warm colors that suited her and
set off her eyes. He said he could not take the chance of having an
opportunity for her to meet the King, and have her looking dowdy
and provincial. I had tried not to laugh at the thought of Miriel
meeting the King each midnight in her nightgown and robe, knowing
that the Duke would not find it amusing in the slightest.

“
Can I hide here?” Miriel
asked, without preamble. I noticed that her face was white, her
jaws clenched.

“
Of course you can,” Roine
said smoothly. “Catwin, you can make Miriel some tea while you brew
Eric his pain medicine.” I rolled my eyes and went to comply,
ladling water from her urn into a pot that hung over the fire. I
cast a curious glance behind me. Roine did not seem the least bit
surprised by Miriel’s presence, and I remembered that sometimes,
while I was learning to fight, Miriel would find her way to Roine’s
rooms and talk of philosophy and politics. I felt the usual wave of
jealousy.

“
Do you want to talk?”
Roine asked, low-voiced, and Miriel shook her head, then shrugged.
Self-consciously, she adjusted the necklace she wore, topaz and
citrine set in gold. She was not accustomed to wearing so much
jewelry, but the Duke had expressly commanded it.

“
It’s nothing new,” she
said helplessly. She took a pomander from a bowl on Roine’s table,
one of the few luxuries Roine had in her rooms, and rolled it in
her fingers, looking at the pattern of the cloves in the
orange.

I stood off to the side, watching this
strange friendship and trying to shove away my jealousy. I should
not complain, I knew, but Roine was the closest thing I had to a
mother, and Miriel was the closest I had to an enemy, even if she
was probably the closest I had to a friend, too. Even if we had
settled into a tenuous peace now, I could still remember the days
of her endless cruelties. Our newfound friendship did not make her
friendship with Roine any more bearable.

“
Has something happened?”
Roine asked.

“
My uncle wants me to meet
the King,” Miriel said. “He has plans for it, and what I must do,
and what I must say, and what I must wear, and he lectured me on it
until I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell him that I had met the
King already…but I didn’t,” she added hastily.

“
Have you told the King of
this?” Roine sat across the table from Miriel and watched her
carefully. Miriel nodded.

“
I told him he must seem to
be surprised, that he must not let my uncle know we had met before.
He laughed and said that he was the King, and nothing bad would
happen to me if he commanded it. He said that my uncle would be
glad to know that his niece was so clever with advice. I…” I saw
tears in her eyes. “I
begged
him not to say anything, and he laughed at me.”
Her voice was shaking, and I looked away, not enjoying the memory
of the last night’s meeting; I had wanted to make an excuse and
drag her away, but had been unable to bring myself to accost my own
monarch. At my side, Wilhelm had looked as if he, too, would hit
his cousin and take Miriel away. But neither I nor Wilhelm had done
so; it had been Miriel who stood up to Garad, and she had done so
alone.

Now, Roine reached out to take her hands,
and I saw Miriel grip them so tightly that their skin was white as
death.

“
I’m so scared,” she
whispered. “He’ll kill me.” I thought of her uncle’s cold smile and
shivered. I had no doubt that she was correct.

“
He won’t kill you,” Roine
said carefully. “You mustn’t think that. He will be angry, my Lady,
but what he wants is for you to have the ear of the King, and when
he knows that you have it, he will accept that.”

Miriel shook her head. “He’ll never forgive
me. He’ll always suspect me now. And what if the King tells him
what I’ve been advising?”

I placed the tea on the table, in its little
earthenware pot, and then went back to the hearth. I would be late
for my lesson, I thought, and Donnett would make a fuss, but I
needed to hear this.

“
What have you been
advising?”

“
That he be lenient with
the uprising in the south.” Miriel picked at her nails. “He wants
to crush it. So there’s only war on one front, he says.”

“
But?” Roine poured a cup
of tea and handed it to Miriel.

“
Thank you. But I don’t
think it’s right. And anyway, it’s taken hold, he won’t crush it
with soldiers, especially not quickly. He’s planning it all wrong.”
I felt my mouth quirk, even as Roine’s face gave a flicker of
distaste. Miriel was very like her uncle sometimes.

“
What he doesn’t see,”
Miriel said, her voice rising slightly, “my uncle, I mean—what he
doesn’t see is that it doesn’t matter what I tell Garad, or what
anyone tells him. He’ll do what he wants to do. He wants to send
soldiers, and so he will, and what I say doesn’t
matter.”

“
It
does
matter,” Roine insisted. “It is
up to you to find a way to speak to him that he will
listen.”

Miriel wrapped her fingers around the mug of
tea. It was jarring, to see a woman in exquisite silks and
embroidery, sitting in a healer’s workroom and holding an
earthenware mug, but Miriel seemed to think nothing of it. Her eyes
were far away.

“
Now that my uncle knows I
am giving advice, he will tell me what to say,” she said carefully.
“He will say that it is my duty to convince the King of one thing
or another, and he will expect me to do so.”

“
My Lady, listen to me.”
Roine’s voice was earnest. “You told me that the King could free
you from your uncle, and that was true. If the King loves you, and
takes you into his household, then the Duke’s anger will be nothing
to you. Whatever you may feel for another man…” Miriel looked at
her sharply and Roine broke off. “No other man can give you the
safety of the King’s love.”

“
What is the point of
that?” Miriel demanded, resentfully. “When the King is only another
man, who wishes to hear only those who agree with him?” I could
hear the disappointment sharp in her voice.

“
The King will learn in
time to listen to you, even when your thoughts are different from
his,” Roine assured her. “It is your duty to be a good advisor to
him. Else, what will come of your ideas for the future of
Heddred?”

“
I’m tired of duty,” Miriel
said flatly. “I have no heart to advise the King anymore. He will
do what he wishes. I care not—I only hope to survive.” She looked
off into the distance. “I know what to do, it has only been foolish
fancies that have kept me from doing so until now.”

“
What is it?” Roine stared
at her, worried.

“
I’ll teach him how to
crush the rebellion, if that’s what he wants to do.” Miriel stared
down into her tea. “It’s what my uncle would do, and it might just
save me if he found out I’d been advising the King.

“
And I’m not his heir for
nothing, anyway,” she added. “I know how to use an army.” Her voice
was so distant that I had a vision of her as a general, staring out
at a battlefield. I almost thought I could see the battle reflected
in her eyes, men clashing together, fighting and bleeding and dying
while she watched without expression. “It will endear me to both of
them,” she said thoughtfully, as if she had not a thought for the
people she was sending to her deaths.

“
At a terrible cost! At the
cost of a cause you, yourself believe in!” Roine was stricken.
Miriel looked over at her like a beautiful statue.

“
Yes,” she observed. “But,
do you know, I will not lay my life on the line for Garad or my
uncle to cut it short. They have taken all my hope from me, and I
will be damned if I will let them take my life as well. They have
taken everything, and all I have left is ambition—I will live, if
only so that one day I can wish them the joy of the woman they have
created. And so now, I will choose my time, and when Garad asks, I
will teach him how to crush the rebellion and it will be over in a
month.”