Shadow's End (Light & Shadow) (5 page)

She had told the Merchant that there
was a great difference between being useful, and being a figurehead, but Miriel was determined to be both. I raised my eyebrows when the men called Miriel the Lady of the People, or an angel, or a goddess; I shrank from such notoriety, and would have cautioned her against seeking herself, but Miriel told me seriously that such things were to be sought, and courted. She knew what it meant for a leader to be half-myth—men would give their hearts to her cause whole-heartedly, not mistrusting her motives as they might if she were only another of them. Miriel must strive to be more than human, so that the rebels would forget she was a noble herself.

Once, we would have planned such things openly between us, secure in the privacy of our rooms, but here, we were afraid to speak of such things
out loud—for once or twice, I had heard the Merchant’s sly-eyed servant listening at our door—Miriel took to writing notes on scraps of paper, burned at once when I had read them. When the man came to deliver us our dinner, we were always hard at work, myself with diagrams and lists of weaponry, and Miriel with her drafts of the treaty.

They cannot seem to agree on anything, Miriel wrote. Jeram says that all the children of Heddred must be given an education so that they can read the teachings of the church, but he wishes the rich to give their money for this, and the Merchant will not agree. Jeram believes that the Merchant only wants to be a noble, and strives for equality because he cannot stand being lesser—and that if the Merchant could become noble, he would betray the cause.

Is he right to think so?
I wrote back, having burned her note in the fireplace and stirred the ashes about with a poker.

Yes, Miriel wrote. But I think it can be changed—is it not true that both Jeram and the Merchant believe in the rebellion because they know they are equal to the nobles
, but held back by laws? Surely a compromise can be forged.

I only nodded. Miriel’s belief was as much a puzzle as an inspiration to me
; even in her notes to me, she never admitted that this enterprise might fail. She trusted against all odds that a fractured rebellion of men with little wealth and no power could rise up and be granted rights by their King. I could not bring myself to tell her that I believed the rebellion was too weak to survive, doomed to be obliterated as soon as the Council was not distracted by the rumble of war from the east. I could not admit that I feared, having heard no proclamations from the throne, that Wilhelm had turned away from the revolution when he had turned from Miriel. Instead, I kept my mouth shut; where in anyone else, this illogical persistence would have annoyed me, but in Miriel it seemed like something precious, a tiny flame that must be sheltered at all costs.

Chapter 5

To my surprise, and relief, Miriel and I adapted well enough to life in Norvelt. I was reminded of the first months spent at the palace, of the strange ease with which I had slipped into a rhythm that was completely different from the familiar. We were plunged into such a strange new world that there was nothing to do save move forward on instinct alone, and both of us were too exhausted, by the end of the day, to spend our time paralyzed with fear or indecision.

By the second month of our stay, I had stopped looking over my shoulder, freezing into the stillness of a Shadow when I saw an unfamiliar face.
In Jeram’s eagerness for action, in his constant curiosity at Jacce’s identity, I began to believe that perhaps the High Priest had no spy here at all. Jeram swore that each man was known to him, and had been for years, and when I looked at these honest, straightforward country men, I did not think that the High Priest would have been able to offer them anything that could secure their loyalty to him over one of their own. If he had tried to use one as a spy, Jeram would know.

Aron
was the only one I suspected, and I continued to watch him. His smile always sent a crawling sensation up my spine; he, of all of them, seemed the sort to grasp for something beyond the rebellion—secrets, riches, power. The Merchant swore that Aron had served him for years, but still I watched him. The one thing I felt sure of was that he was not Temar’s spy; Temar would never choose someone he knew I would see at once.

That left the question of who Temar would choose, and when they would join our ranks.
I could hardly doubt that Temar
would
send a spy here to search for us—of everyone, he would know where it was that we had gone, just as he would be the most likely to know that we had left of our own volition. Whatever Temar felt for me, he hated Miriel, and he suspected both of us. But with each new recruit I saw, I became more and more sure that I would know Temar’s spy when I saw him. Whatever his reasons, Temar had not sent anyone yet.

Indeed, none of the new men seemed to care about me
or my past at all, beyond what I could teach them. Though I must pretend to be a boy—difficult enough for these men to accept being taught by a citydweller, let alone a girl—I found that despite myself, I was at ease in their company. If I thought their manners crude and their idealism uninformed, well, I had learned at the Court that a well-taught noble could be as great a fool as a peasant. I kept my head down and only blushed at some of the stories they told, and they roared with laughter to see my face, and told me I had much to learn about the world.

For a few hours each day, I could forget that Miriel continued to struggle with politics and rival factions
, and forget the dire news from the east as well. I lost myself in the pleasant exhaustion of hard work. My muscles, which had atrophied in the tedium of life at the Winter Castle, grew accustomed to combat once more. I dropped into bed each night with scrapes and bruises, and the pain and tiredness, the pure feeling of hard work. Doubt that had plagued my waking hours since Miriel and I had left Penekket—only exhaustion could drive the fear away during the day.

But sleep brought no true respite:
I dreamed of Roine, sad dreams where she told me that she missed me, and that she feared for me. I saw her worry that she did not know where I laid my head at night, and that she did not know if I had been kidnapped, and was in danger, or if I had chosen to leave her without saying goodbye. I would wake curled into a ball, tears wet on my cheeks, knowing that, for another day, I would know that she feared for me, and yet I would not send word.

Worse, I dreamed of Temar, and I awoke feeling a loneliness I had never experienced before. I felt like the
otherworldly creatures in the fairy tales Roine had once told me, doomed to wander the earth without ever seeing another of my own kind. Miriel might be my other half, my only true friend, but she was not a companion in the darkness and shadow, just as I could not be her companion in the glare of the Court. We both dreamed, I saw, and we both woke with a sadness in our hearts, pulling us back to the place that had so twisted us. My sparring could not banish those feelings, but it was enough to distract me for a time, and I welcomed that, just as Miriel threw herself into her work on the treaty.

And then, in the second month, the game changed. Jeram himself came to the field where I was teaching spear work, and called me away from the drills, insisting that I come at once. I left the men to practice in pairs, and hurried along in Jeram’s wake, afraid to ask what his scowl might mean. When we entered the Merchant’s study, I found the Merchant examining a scroll, and Miriel pacing worriedly.

“We’ve received a message from the King,” Jeram said to me. “The Lady insisted that you should be present for our deliberations.” I blinked; the Lady was a woman with golden hair and hard eyes, red-painted lips, a face scored by disappointment—she was not Miriel, with kindness in her gaze and the hope of a better world. But Jeram would not know that. He was scowling at including another person in their deliberations. He might appreciate the way Miriel could work the Merchant around to the ideals of the common men, but Jeram hated to open decision making to others.

“What does it say?” I asked Miriel, and she cast a look at the scroll.

“It’s an invitation. We’re to go to Penekket and meet with Wil—with the King.”

“An invitation to us? How was it delivered?” I felt as if I had been doused in ice water. If Wilhelm could find us, then Temar might—no, this message would not even be from Wilhelm
at all. This was Temar’s doing.

“It
’s an invitation to Jacces,” Miriel said. “It was posted in the town square.”

“Oh,” I said softly. We exchanged a look, she and I, and I knew that she feared the same thing I did: that this message could be from anybody, King or Council, the Duke, or some enemy we did not yet know.
“So why the meeting?” I asked, and the Merchant frowned.

“We’re receiving reports that it was posted in other towns as well,” he said. “But not all. The King may not know where we are yet, but he seems close. This suggests that our activity…has been noticed.”

“Perhaps it is time to cease open operations, and have the men practice their weaponry in their own homes while we finish the treaty,” Miriel suggested. Jeram’s eyes flashed.

“
My Lady, need I remind you that the training of my men was a condition of your continued safety here?”

“And need I remind you,” Miriel said, her good temper faltering at last, “that of all of us in this room, I best understand the workings of the Council, the King’s spy network, and the mechanics of government?”

“You are a noble!” Jeram burst out, his anger sparked by her own. “You think that words and treaties protect the people. You believe that laws ensure justice. You know nothing.”

“I know that your band of two hundred cannot hope to stand against the Royal Army!” Miriel flared. “And I know that if a letter has been sent, spies have been sent with it. Perhaps they are from the King, and perhaps they were sent by his lords, but spies there are. And our military operations put us in far more danger than they are worth.”

The Merchant stood, cutting off Jeram’s retort by holding up his hand.

“
My Lady,” he said, placatory, “please—tell us, do you believe this invitation to be a sincere offer of friendship from the King?”

There was a silence as Miriel looked away. Her face was composed, but in her complete stillness I saw her doubt. In her ceaseless work, in her constant conversation and activity, Miriel had tried to bury her own misgivings about Wilhelm. But the thoughts had gone on, however deep they might be hidden
. As I dreamed of Roine, of Temar, Miriel dreamed of Wilhelm. In this moment, at least, she knew what I had once tried to tell her: that a King was not a man like any other. Others strove relentlessly upwards, to the throne, in the unpredictable currents of power; a King was trapped in his place by those same currents. More, he was shaped by them. And now Wilhelm, a man who had once been passionately in favor of this uprising, had held his throne for months and not once reached out to these men. Miriel must, at last, ask herself why.

“I believe the
message from the King to be a sincere offer of outreach,” Miriel said finally. “I believe him still to be true to the rebellion. When I left court, the Council was hard at work to persuade the King to send soldiers. The Earl of Mavol was insisting upon it. In order for Wilhelm to resist this, even in the face of war, he must still be true to our ideals.” I said nothing. I might doubt, but the absence of soldiers was compelling proof, indeed, and I could not trust my own judgment.  Just as Miriel could be blinded by hope, so, too, could I be blinded by my own hope on her behalf.

“You think it wise to accept the King’s offer?” Even the Merchant was skeptical, and Jeram shot him a look, nodding at his caution. But Miriel shook her head.

“No, I cannot say that. Wilhelm is new to the throne, and…” She bit her lip. “I cannot say that he could hold the Council in line, on a short enough leash to make this meeting safe. If the letter is public, then the members of the Council will know of it through their own spy networks, if nothing else.”

“And so…” The Merchant cleared his throat awkwardly. “What do you suggest, my Lady?” Miriel
had been gazing off into space, lost in thought; now she looked around at us as if she had thought herself alone.

“We must continue our work,” she said. Her voice was so low that I could barely hear it. “We must continue our work, continue to hide, and pray that the Gods favor us so that we may continue our mission here before the Council decides to obliterate us.” She ducked her head and left the room, but when I made to follow her, Jeram put a hand on my arm.

“Can she be trusted?” he asked bluntly. I would have flared up, just as she had done. I would have told him that Miriel had lived her whole life as a pawn, and she deserved better than to be regarded only for what she could bring to the rebellion. But I knew better than to think that Jeram would care.

“She has been betrayed by nearly all those she loved,” I said simply. “To ask her who can be trusted…it makes her think on her betrayal.”

“Can she be trusted?” he repeated. He did not think more kindly on her in light of her trials. He wished only to hear that she could not fail, whatever the cause—and in that, I remembered the Duke’s uncaring insistence on perfection. Miriel was now, as she had been at Court, only a stepping stone, a weapon. I bristled.

“She can be trusted,” I said shortly. “She has favored the rebellion above good sense, above even her own life. And before you next fight with her, remember that more than anything else in her life, she wishes for this rebellion to succeed. She would sacrifice anyone she loves for it. It is not that she does not wish you to go against the Duke’s forces for his sake, but for your own.” Jeram nodded, quite unrepentant.

“Anyone could betray us,” he said flatly. “I trust no one, especially nobles.” I was in no mood to have this fight. I tried to jerk my arm out of his grasp.

“Can I go now?”

“No.” When I would have protested, he held out a fold of parchment. “This arrived today. For you.” I looked from it, to him. If it were poisoned, I reasoned, he would already be showing the ill effects. I opened it and smoothed it out, and, without shame, Jeram and the Merchant both moved close to read.

Catwin—

I have told the messenger to seek you

wherever he can find rebels. He can be trusted.

I wish only to know that you are well.

“Who is it from?” Jeram asked. There was no signature, but I knew the writing well enough
—I had seen it on the labels of medicine bottles, in the notebooks she kept in her study, in her lists of herbs and materials. I stared at it, shaking.

“It’s…my mother.”

“Your mother?” Both men stared at me.

“
In a way. She took me in when I was born,” I explained. “My own mother nearly died, and Roine was the healing woman, she took me in. I should tell her that I am well. Is the messenger still here?”

“Can he be trusted? Can she be trusted?”

The answer sprang to my lips, and I had to try to slow myself, think carefully. At length, I nodded. “Yes. She holds for the rebellion’s values, I think she always has.”

“Are you sure this isn’t a trick?” the Merchant asked, worriedly. “Could the Duke have forced her to write this?” I thought of Roine and her cool disdain for the Duke, and grinned
; my first humor in days.

“No,” I said. “The Duke could never make her do that. He’d have to torture her, and then she woul
dn’t be able to write—“ At that thought, the humor disappeared, and I thought I might be sick. I fought the urge to vomit on the Merchant’s fine rugs.

“Do you think he
has
tortured her?” Jeram asked. He had no time for my sickness.

“No.” I shook my head and straightened up, reminded myself of Miriel’s assurances as we rode through the wilderness together. “He would have questioned her, but we didn’t tell her where we were going. She didn’t know anything. He would have seen that.”

“I don’t like it,” Jeram said, and the Merchant murmured an agreement. “Even if she can be trusted, too many things could go wrong. The messenger might be killed—or bribed. Someone might see her receive the message. We can’t risk it.”