Because the walls were, indeed, listening. Or the rafters were, anyway. Despiris perked up, anticipation curling through her.
“He took down every wanted poster in the west quarter and burned them to a crisp in the street,” the cloaked character replied. A decidedly grumpy edge laced his voice. “There were no witnesses.”
“They’re a bit confused, aren’t they?” Clevwrith whispered, and Despiris smiled.
“It does not yet further interest the king,” continued the mouth behind the hood, a rueful sigh barely masking the man’s annoyance. “He has his hands full for the time being. But I will have words with him when the chance presents itself. Time is all it will take.”
“As you say, my lord Advisor.”
Ah, the king’s advisor, then. Hopefully the other shoulder has the angel on it, Despiris thought, surprised the king kept such a shadowy character as his right-hand man.
“Any other orders of business?” The Lord Advisor barked, intent on skirting the obviously sore topic.
Dismissive mumblings announced that the meeting was coming to a close.
“Just one more thing, gentlemen,” came Clevwrith’s sly murmur, loud enough only for Despiris to hear. A hot wave of excitement flashed through her. “May I present…something special I’ve been saving.” Turning toward her, he gently stroked the back of his fingers across her cheek, something between fondness and madness gleaming in his eyes.
The fire in Despiris’s chest reached lower, just for a moment.
“Stir things up here,” the Shadowmaster instructed, all business again in an instant. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
Then he was gone.
Chairs scraped below as the council members rose, some pausing to hastily down their wine and others bending over the table to gather notes and scrolls.
Despiris counted to three, and then she moved. Across the rafters in a swift, fluid-like crouch, she let the boards creak in full glory, let dust and cobwebs spill off in a ghostly snowfall. Launching from the rafters, she vaulted over the balcony railing, careening right into a bat-infested section of the pock-marked wall. Screeching, the disturbed creatures poured out of their hovel, filling the dome in an instant as they darted for some unseen exit across the way.
Despiris cringed, aghast at her mistake, but decided quickly she rather liked the effect. Bats… Why not? Wreak havoc, my little sidekicks.
Tearing through the rafters, the swarm vanished seemingly back into the walls, gone as quickly as they’d erupted.
Below, everything had gone silent. Pushing away from the wall, Des jogged along the ledge, carelessly plunking one foot after the other. The sound of her footsteps echoed down through the cathedral, evoking an almost palpable fear from those gathered below. She sensed the goosebumps beneath robe sleeves as the council entertained serious speculations about the cathedral being haunted.
As quickly as she’d broken into a jog she halted, leaving everyone to wonder where she had gone.
“It’s him,” she heard the hooded voice proclaim. “The Master of the Shadows has joined us.”
Despiris fancied them all swallowing uneasily.
“Should we…search the building?” asked a bold fellow. Despiris made a private face of pleasant surprise, impressed by his bravery.
“Don’t bother,” dismissed the Lord Advisor. “He’s already gone. It happens that quickly, Lord Veru. You won’t catch him now.”
A moment of silence passed, the lack of footsteps suggesting the council continued to scan the upper reaches of the cathedral.
Then the Lord Advisor spoke again, low and promising. “But mark my words – the king will hear of this. And if this blatant violation of privileged council intel does not pique his interest…” He let it hang there, but his end game was clear.
This man was a dog on a scent.
“Come, gentlemen,” ushered the king’s advisor. “Let us leave the shadows to their agenda for the night.”
Hastily, a dozen pairs of feet shuffled toward the giant double doors at the front of the dome. Creeping to the railing, Despiris risked peeking over, trusting the shadows to hide her.
The last one out was the king’s advisor, after pausing to survey the rafters with a suspicious, knowing eye. It was the first glimpse of his face that she got, as the flickering light of his candelabra illuminated that lurking cavity beyond his hood.
The doors shut behind the exiting council, sealing the cathedral on its demons.
Hurrying back along the ledge and out through the attic-like annexes, Despiris emerged onto the roof, brushing the clinging cobwebs from her form. Now, she would make her appearance.
Her debut.
A look over the edge of the rooftop found her amused. The council had stopped halfway to the gates. Frozen in the pathway, they regarded the lone figure that stood outside the fence. It was too dark to make out his features, but Despiris would know that silhouette anywhere. The others no doubt recognized him even if he was featureless through the dark, easily incriminated by the situation.
His head tilted pointedly upward, the weight of his gaze alighting on her. Promptly, the councilmen followed his gaze, shifting uneasily around to see what, by the gods, the Master of the Shadows could possibly be staring at where he should have been.
A second silhouette on the roof, carefully separated from the statues, Despiris peered coolly down at them.
Clevwrith remained at the gate only a moment longer. Then he left her to her moment in the light.
Despiris noticed when he slipped away, but no one else saw him go.
6
Unleashed
“We will never be caught,” they gloated, but that error of arrogance proved fatal, as unforgiving hands seized them, and left a young spy all alone.
*
Clevwrith waited in his chamber in the stacks. Seated in a throne-like, garish high-backed chair of sensuous dark upholstery and pinnacled silver scrollwork, he stared without really seeing into the mirror positioned across from him. He wasn’t even sure why he’d hung it; he could rarely make out more than silhouettes and shadows. Certainly not any details such as whether he looked handsome, or the black velvet vines vaguely contrasted against the dark gray silk of the chair’s upholstery, or if he needed a shave. But it had become a ritual of sorts to sit and stare, as if he enjoyed seeing himself the way everyone else saw him – as a haunting, indiscriminate figure lurking in the shadows.
Des was not back yet, and he didn’t expect her for some time. Let her have her fun. She’d earned it. She was ready.
Caught in a brooding sort of nostalgia, he reminisced about the first time he had made an appearance – a risky one, anyway. It had been in the same locale as tonight, under very similar circumstances. Except, those had been the ‘golden days’, everything fast-paced all the time, the competition higher class, higher quality. The paranoid king that predated Isavor had boasted an extensive, no-nonsense guard, quick to crack down on any mischief in his vicinity. A stalwart fleet had given chase when Clevwrith revealed himself, their zero-tolerance policy on spies messing with royal business fiercely apparent.
A mere shadeling himself, then, he’d hidden desperately in so many corners that night, breathless and very nearly scared. Hoping the shadows were dark enough to hide him. Hoping the potholes were where he remembered them. Hoping the gloom congealing in the air didn’t make the walls too slick to scale, didn’t hinder his judgment leaping from rooftop to unseen rooftop. Hoping the night was on his side like his mentors promised. Wondering if they had made a mistake and unleashed him too early.
Realizing they had.
He had not been ready. Hadn’t been obsessively conditioned like he was someone they didn’t want to lose, someone they loved.
No, he’d been prepared like being born into the cult made him special from the beginning. Like they believed his blood would save him, that instinct would guide him. That he was gifted by association, invincible by default, and just needed to be shown th
e basics and pointed in the right direction.
But, once upon a time, the Master of the Shadows had not been perfect. There were those who would never believe it, but at one point he’d been sloppy. Green. Hot-headed and over-anxious.
And it had shown – thankfully to no audience but himself – during that misty, breathless night with the hounds on his heels.
To ensure Des did not face the same overwhelming debut, he had held her back. Maybe too much. But he had prolonged her lessons to ensure he was not risking losing anything when he at last set her free, and tonight he didn’t worry.
At least not much.
Because by now Clevwrith had honed his skill and perfected his craft as one ultra-focused in isolation for years on end, taking pains to prove he was the best and never entertain false confidence, and beyond teaching Des everything he knew, he’d taught her to think like him. As the sole influence in her life, it had been surprisingly easy, shaping her every thought, inspiring her every idea.
Her mind had been his to infiltrate. To sculpt. To manipulate.
He wondered, sometimes, who she’d been before. Where she came from. Who she might have become. She would not confide in him the details of her past. It either shamed her or caused her grief to think of it.
And of course, therein lay the crux of why he did not believe he had wrongly coerced her in any way. He had saved her. When he absently got to wondering who she might have been if left to her past life, the answer was quick to snap him back to reality: no one. She would have been no one, because she would have died that night. Her only future had been with him. And to survive with him, she had to become like him.
So he did not feel guilty aiming to possess her every thought, every action, every intention. And he did not press her about her background. If she wished to forget…let her forget.
He would never forget what she looked like lying half-dead in his alley, however. Traumatized. Vulnerable. Scared.
Fear was known to man as a terrible thing, and even though Clevwrith didn’t remember what it was like to feel afraid, couldn’t remember if there was a time he ever truly had, he never wanted Despiris to feel it again. He had delivered her from it, banished it from her life. She was free. Liberated. Superior to other human beings.
Because of him.
A shred of moonlight found its way through Clevwrith’s decay-glazed window, and he examined his faint reflection in the mirror. Who was he, now? Now that half a decade of mentoring was complete and he and Des were no longer bound to their former roles? He’d been so focused on her training that he hadn’t planned for this moment. This moment when the possibilities became endless and nothing was off limits.
Would he and Des continue side-by-side, inseparable as ever? Would she wish to exercise her independence and strike off on a solo rampage, leaving him to his own devices?
His expression grew troubled, considering the latter. He would not deny her such an escapade, if she desired it, but perhaps… Perhaps he should put something in motion, assign something to her, to distract her from any such notions.
Once upon a time, destiny had dared him to survive on his own. In his humble opinion, destiny had not been disappointed.
Now, he’d earned the right to make his own destiny. And it was his preference Despiris stay a part of it.
Well, there was plenty afoot that he could work with. For instance, that bit of intrigue with the Lord Advisor. That brooding vulture of a figure had clearly taken an interest in him.
I’ll have to play with you, little man. A new player would spice things up a bit. It had been a long time since he’d targeted a long-term adversary. For the purpose of keeping Despiris safe while she got her feet wet, they’d only dabbled in small-scale, concise heists, everything clear-cut and closed-ended. But perhaps it was time for something a little more prolonged, a little more…sophisticated.
A theme for the next chapter, something to keep them occupied for some time.
Something to keep them irrevocably intertwined.
You have tasted adventure, my love, but it is time to get serious, Clevwrith thought, smiling at the notion of the gift he was about to bestow upon his beloved graduate.
As soon as he thought of it, a plan began formulating in his head. First, of course, he wanted to know if the king would take interest in his pranks. If not, well, further persuasion would see to that. And then…
A royal game, Clevwrith salivated devilishly. How terribly appealing.
The SFH never dared mess directly with royalty. At least, not after…not after their sole attempt ended in disaster.
Isavor’s father and predecessor had been a purist hellbent on eradicating magic and witchcraft – anything supernatural – from the kingdom. He’d burned many witches and built many churches and demanded his people convert to his religion. He was the figurehead of overturning the Mystic Ages and implementing the Pure Ages, and the Shadhi had thought, impishly, why not stir up a bit of superstition within the walls he thought purged of all devilry and blessed against evil?
And so they’d infiltrated the palace and played their stealthy pranks, cultivating a haunted climate until residents truly began to believe that ghosts plagued the halls.
But the innocent prank had taken a dark turn when King Tutaunus took his ‘haunted’ halls as a sign that someone in his personnel was a devil-worshiper who had brought evil into his home.
He’d executed six guards off of suspicion. Innocent guards.
Mischief-makers the Shadhi may have been, but they were not cold-blooded killers, not sinister at heart, and, alarmed at the turn of events inadvertently caused by their actions, they’d pulled out. Abandoned the game.
Since the hauntings stopped, Tutaunus was left to think he’d eliminated the bad apple, and he likewise abandoned his purge of the guard.
Never again had the Shadhi gone near palace affairs.
The history between the Shadhi and the royal family was enough to give Clevwrith pause, but only for a moment. Isavor was not his father. He’d overturned and laid to rest much of what Tutaunus had done, in fact, and was well-loved and revered by the people. He was not cruel, hot-tempered, or paranoid.
And Clevwrith was not afraid to further Isavor’s intentions of stating this was a new age, and leaving the past in the past.
His nostrils flared suddenly at the barest scent of rain. Of Des.
She was getting better at entering discreetly. One day, she might actually be able to sneak up on him.
His gaze shifted a margin to the side to peg the shadows over his shoulder in the mirror. He was unable to distinguish her form, but he knew she was there.
“Have fun?” he murmured into the dark, a knowing smirk pricking at the corners of his eyes.
Des materialized over his shoulder, coming closer. Even only as a silhouette, she was beautiful. Shapely and sultry and lovely.
“Not too much – don’t worry,” she teased, but he could sense the excitement running yet hot through her blood.
He met her gaze in the mirror. “I don’t worry about you, Des. This is your calling. Your specialty.”
She might as well have glowed in the dark, so palpable was her reaction to his praise. He’d always felt this connection to her, this ability to sense her thoughts and feelings. But he had to wonder, sometimes, if it was real – some product of their closeness, the bond they’d nurtured in isolation together – or if perhaps he’d devised the fantasy, found it easy to imagine the connection because it was often hard to tell in the darkness where his being ended and hers began.
“Then yes,” Despiris revised her answer. “I had fun.”
Knowing his expression was largely hidden by the dark, Clevwrith let himself admire her. “Welcome to the game.”
Despiris placed a hand atop the pinnacled back of his chair. “Tell me all the rules,” she crooned, so eager to get on with the fun, to determine the parameters of her new status. She didn’t mean to appear seductive, he was sure, but the way her hip cocked ou
t to the side, the way her finger toyed with a silver swirl of scrollwork…
He drew a measured breath, glad the dark hid any signs of his attraction. A graduated Shadhi she might have been, but he was not so sure she’d evolved to certain…other aspects of maturity just yet. And he had no desire to rush her out of innocence.
But he did so love her saucy dark side. “Rules,” he taunted mysteriously, seeing no harm in drawing it out, “are forbidden.”
A keen light flashed in her eyes, sending a pang through him. If she knew what she did to him… How had he gotten so lucky, to find a soul who reveled in the night as much as he?
She could have been anyone – a brutalized waif with no spirit left, meeting each day with dead eyes and a hard heart; a wild, foul-mouthed street rat used to clawing and killing for every meal, never able to let go of a certain primal instinct and standard of cruelty; a deformed or disabled reject of society unable to even begin to follow in his footsteps…
But she was none of those things. She was a dream. A Queen of Night if ever he’d seen one.
“I left something for you,” he said. “In your room. A little graduation present.”
Curiosity and delight crossed her face. He nodded so she knew she was free to go, no debriefing scheduled for this night, and with a flushed grin she scampered off to her room.
Clevwrith was left alone with his dark reflection once more, but it was there still – that sense of Despiris in the room just below. That ambiguity that made it only a vague suggestion where he ended and the shadows began and Despiris connected. She might as well have been there still, haunting the shadows beside him.
And he realized in that moment he would always be able to find here there, in the shadows that be. Never again would the Master of the Shadows be alone.
A comforting thought, to him, but he could think of a few others who would choose a different word for how they felt on the matter right about now. Because what comforted the Shadowmaster was sure to chill certain others to the bone.
Girl of Rooftops and Shadows (The Shadow's Apprentice Book 1) Page 5
