Shadow Dance

by A. E. Pennymaker

  Braeton hadn't been exaggerating about how famous he was in Lodes. Having his arrival leaked to the local dailies had only fanned the flames.

  "Ready?" he asked, reaching for my hand.

  Act the part, in other words. I steeled my spine. Then I slid my fingers through his just like I had done a thousand times on the Coralynne and gave a nod.

  Enrys brought the horseless to a stop. Arramy jumped out of the cockpit and opened the cabin door, letting in a gust of humid city air and the deafening roar of countless voices chanting the name Anwythe.

  Braeton leaned close and whispered, "Smile, my dear." Then we ducked out of the traveling compartment.

  Immediately there was a blinding flare and pop of sylvocapture elements, and then hundreds of people were screaming and shouting, reaching for us over the barricade cordons and burly hotel security, hands grazing my hair and tugging at my clothing while Arramy and the other bodyguards ushered us quickly to the hotel door and inside.

  Several seconds later I came to a stop in the middle of the grand foyer, gasping and more than a little rattled.

  Arramy set off for the registration desk.

  Braeton sighed and began pulling scraps of paper out of his pockets and buttonholes, his movements methodical.

  I looked down. There was a note peeking out of my jacket front, and a whole garden of flowers made of wire and ribbon stuck into any available seam in my skirt and short jacket. Blinking, I took the note from my lapel and opened it. "It seems Lankan's Quality Footwear Emporium has a pair of shoes I won't be able to resist," I announced. "Is it like this all the time?"

  Braeton gave me a sidelong glance and a wry grin as he removed his coat and shook it out, causing a small storm of advertisements and love notes. "Only on good days."

  "Really? What's a bad day?"

  That just got a smile. "Hopefully we won't be around long enough to find out. Here. Hold still." He stepped in front of me and plucked a ribbon bud from my hair, then another from behind my ear, his touch gentle, his tone intimate. "I have some business in town. It should only take an hour. Will you be alright?"

  The hotel staff was watching. I leaned closer and rested my hand on his chest for their benefit. "Of course, Darling. Just be back for dinner."

  He smiled, then bent and pressed a kiss to my cheek before striding off down the length of the foyer and disappearing around the corner, heading for the rear entrance.

  The kiss had been for their benefit too, but it still caught me off guard. We hadn't rehearsed it. He had warned me, though, that we had to put on a convincing performance, especially when we were being watched by people who might sell information about us. The gossip dailies were full of tidbits gleaned from waitresses, maids and barkeeps.

  Unbidden, my eyes wandered to the registration desk. My grin slipped, a nameless chill shuddering through my middle. The hotel staff hadn't been the only ones watching.

  I dragged in a breath, faced forward, and started for the set of ornate stairs that rose to the second-floor balcony.

  When I was halfway up, a particularly firm tread sounded on the steps behind me. I didn't have to turn around to know who it was. I kept going, my heart beginning to pound.

  "To your left," Arramy muttered when I reached the top of the stairs.

  "I know," I snapped under my breath. Liar. I almost went right just to be independent, but the Faraysle's staff might have wondered why I was traipsing all over the wrong end of the inn with Braeton's bodyguard in tow. So I ground my teeth and rounded the corner to the left, silk skirts swishing as I marched down a spacious hallway decorated in muted shades of silver and cream.

  "It's the grand suite —"

  "— grand suite, yes, thank you," I finished for him, still striding along with great purpose while trying to tell which set of identical double doors was the one with a full apartment behind it. The corner? The end? It would be entirely too helpful if the rooms were named after the lords who rented them instead of random flowering plants.

  Too late, I realized Arramy wasn't walking anymore.

  I slowed to a halt.

  The rattle of a key in a lock made it abundantly clear that I had just high-nosed myself right out of my own dignity. A scalding blush worked its way up my neck to my ears, and my shoulders stiffened. Then I made myself pivot to face him.

  Arramy was leaning against the wall next to the doors I had just passed. They were open, and he was playing with the key, pale eyes glittering as he regarded me from beneath lowered lashes, the telltale hint of a dimple by his mouth. He was laughing at me.

  "Thank you." I lifted my lips in a frosty smile. Then I swept forward, sailing past him with my head high, intending to walk right into the apartment and close the door in his smirking face.

  "Why do you let him do that?"

  My feet faltered. Keep walking! "Do what?" Oh, you silly idiot.

  "Treat you like a rikkafilla," Arramy said, flipping the key in the air. "Dress you up and show you around like a prize heifer."

  "You know exactly why," I said, keeping my voice cool. I should have just gone inside. I knew that, but I was tired of the way he was looking at me, all distant and unreadable and heated at once, like I had done something to hurt him, somehow. It had been going on for weeks and it bothered me much more than I wanted to admit. One of the questions that had been boiling away in the back of my mind chose that instant to bypass my brain and pop out of my mouth. "Why do you think I can't do any of this?"

  That got a weary sigh and a shake of his head as he looked away. "That's not what I think, kid. You're smart enough to do whatever you want. I think it's dangerous."

  I took a step closer, nodding as he finished. "Ah. Well. First," I said, tipping my head back to give him a scathing glare. "I am not your 'kid.'" I aimed my forefinger at his chest and gave him a good jab to the sternum.

  Arramy's eyes darkened.

  "Second, I am a lot tougher than I look." Jab. "Third, this whole thing has been nothing," jab, "but," jab, " dangerous, and I don't need to be constantly reminded, as if I'm too stupid —" I was about to jab him a fifth time when he reached up and caught my hand.

  I let out a sharp gasp as he used his grip on my wrist to force me around the corner and through the open doorway. Trying to yank my hand away from him only succeeded in bringing my back up against the wall of the apartment foyer. Stunned, I stared up at him, my breath quick and uneven. He had never done anything like that before, never once used his size to intimidate me, not even in our sparring sessions.

  He let go of my hand and planted his palms on either side of my shoulders, caging me in as he bent to bring his face level with mine. "You'll get hurt, Bren," he rasped. "Or worse. These people don't think of people like us as human. We're nothing. Less than nothing. We're garbage."

  My heart was beating too fast. I couldn't find any air.

  He looked down at the floor between us and exhaled, his brows drawn into a fierce frown. Then he brought his head up, the silver of his eyes smoldering. "If something goes wrong... If anything... Happened..." his words faltered to a stop. He swallowed. Ever so slowly, his gaze drifted down, skipping over all the Pretty Pendar to my lips.

  All I could think of was that stern mouth slanting across mine, and those lean fingers in my hair.

  A door closed out in the hall. Light footsteps and the faint creak of wheels; a maid with a linen trolley.

  With a start, I dragged in a shaky breath and gave Arramy a shove. "Thank you, that will be all."

  Arramy stumbled slightly, baring his teeth as if my words had been a physical blow. Then he turned and kept going through the still-open doors. When he stopped in the hallway and looked back at me, his expression was as stony as ever. He gave me a stiff nod, and then he was gone, and it was only the cleaning girl trundling along with her cartful of supplies.

  I closed the door.

  Then I rested my forehead on it. It hurt to breathe. Blast that confounded, confusing man.

  31. War and
Theater

  11th of Dema, Continued

  In life, there come moments so pivotal that a person can look back and say, with all surety, that if they had made another choice everything would have been completely different. When Father left the cabin that last night on the Galvania, there were probably a thousand moments that could have changed the outcome. The same could be said of stumbling upon Arramy under that log, but in an inside-out way – if it had gone differently at all, no one would have found him.

  Tonight was just such a pivotal moment, in more ways than one.

  ~~~

  The music surged, silvery notes eddying from the stone walls of the darkened arena. Below us, the background dancers twirled to the heavy beat of the drums, their bodies glowing with intricate patterns of gold neffi-alli. The main characters wore luminous costumes that floated around them as they spun and leaped to the music. Drakoa the Pyropixxen, trailing her bright orange flames, battling with Ygraine the Waterwitch in her flowing cascade of gleaming azure. It was one of my favorite Lodesian dramas, but my attention wasn't on the dancers.

  "Who do you see?"

  "Lord Ixander. Blue and red cape," I whispered, studying the man sitting in the section of stone benches to our right. Big, dull, unconnected, not of interest. A woman sat next to him, dressed all in glowing green, her slender figure dwarfed by his bulk. "He has brought his new wife."

  "Good. Who else?"

  I followed the curve of the second tier to the next private section. "Lord Oguirre and... it looks like Lady Tarrakarenne. They're together... and they've got a herd of adorai," I added, taking in the group of handsome young men lolling about on the stone benches, all of them dressed in matching robes of glittering gold and orange. They weren't of interest either and I kept going, finding all the vipers in the room.

  My gaze slid past Oguirre and Tarrakarenne to the shadowy section beyond them. None of the purple theater lanterns were alight above that wedge of theater seats, and it was difficult to make out the black-clad figure lurking alone on the middle bench like a great spider, lanky legs sprawling out from beneath his protruding middle. If his crest of frizzled hair hadn't stood in silhouette against Lady Monphaelen's yellow dress, I wouldn't have known he was there. I turned to look up at Braeton, leaning close as if whispering a secret. "Lord Delmyrre is in box four."

  "Excellent. I see him. Good eyes." Someone stepped into the entryway to our section, and Braeton turned, listening as Enrys bent to deliver a quiet message before leaving as quickly as he had arrived.

  The hair prickled on my nape. "Is it Arra—"

  "He's still at his post. Longwater is with him." Braeton leaned closer. "Who else?"

  I bit my lip.

  Lady Monphaelen's section was the last on that side of the auditorium. There were several guests attending with her, but none of them were on my list of targets. I glanced around Braeton's shoulder at the section to our left.

  I stiffened. Our neighbor's face was hidden behind an orange skull mask, but there was no mistaking who it was, with that trim build and sharp profile. Target of interest. One of Mun-Ghour's overland clients. Owns several mines. Not particularly dangerous to grown women. "Lord Winn-Cryste," I said softly.

  He had several girls with him. A year ago, I would have assumed they were his daughters or his wards and might even have thought it sweet. Now I knew better. My throat constricted. They were all very pretty, all of different races and regions, and all dressed as Tradition dolls, like some sort of life-size collection. A red-headed Caraki dressed as a peisan maker in a green and white dress, her hair plaited into a crown; a Tettian blonde wearing a purple summer-maiden frock; an Edonian girl in a snow festival dress of twinkling white ruffles. The youngest girl was wearing a Ronyran tirna of glowing gold. Pale blue flowers formed a sparkling crown in her dark hair, and matching strands of flowers twined down her arms. She was very small. Small enough that, as I watched, she lifted her hand to her mouth and began sucking her thumb.

  My stomach instantly cramped up on itself and I dragged in a harsh breath.

  Braeton's grip on my wrist was a silent warning in the dark, keeping me from rising up off my seat. His words were hot on the side of my neck as he pressed his lips hard against my ear and whispered, "This is bigger than just one man."

  "She's just a baby," I choked out.

  "I know, but he watches them like a hawk, and —" Braeton's fingers tightened on my wrist and he brought his free hand up to my shoulder, holding me still, forcing me to hear, "— and if you try to get close, she will wind up floating in the river with her throat slit. As awful as it is, it is safer... safer for those girls if you leave them alone."

  I stared at that little Ronyran girl. Her figure wavered and blurred, and I blinked, turning to look down at the stage, blind to everything but glittery blue flowers and wispy dark curls. The music had become raw, sawing and scraping over my nerves, the thunder of the drums and the sweetness of the chimes damning me as I sat there like a stone, doing nothing.

  Braeton's hand covered mine, and after a moment I laced my fingers through his and held on tight, my throat on fire.

  ~~~

  Getting close to Delmyrre was the entire point of attending the theater. Mingling with other members of the Circle was high on that list too, as was starting the Great Unveiling of Pendar Tarastrian as Braeton's arm attachment.

  I had been preparing for it for days, memorizing possible guests and facts about them. Braeton had even insisted that I go over maps of the theater caverns so I would know where everything was, the better to look like I belonged on the second tier, but reality turned out to be far different than it had appeared on paper. I had known from the beginning that I would eventually come face to face with the Shadow Road in action; I hadn't imagined that face would belong to a child of five. I wanted to be sick, and only my death-grip on Braeton's arm kept me from stumbling as he led me out of the theater arena and into the main hallway.

  Lights. Everywhere. Bright and warm with the flicker of mirrored gas flame, disorienting after so much time in the dark. I could only hope that would explain the tears in my eyes.

  "Braeton! How surprising to run into you on this side of the Marral. In for the social season?"

  I was brought up short as Braeton turned to face a young man coming toward us. "Gerris. Nice to see you. Yes, we're in for the season... Heading up north in a few days... Stopping by to see the Prima Matriax..."

  Those weeks of practice were all that kept a smile glued to my lips as Braeton came up with a stream of small-talk and Gerris' augmented purple gaze slid slowly from my false blonde hairline, all the way down my body to the hem of the scandalously form-fitting white satin dress Braeton had chosen for me.

  Geris quirked a brow. "Oh, I'm so glad," he said, responding to something Braeton had said without looking away from me. He smiled, flashing a set of too-perfect teeth.

  "What about you?" Braeton asked, pulling me around and starting down the hallway, heading for the Great Ballroom. "How has your position on the Council turned out?"

  "Not bad, not bad at all," Gerris said, falling into step with Braeton. "I've been working on a building project in the Seventh District. It might interest you, in fact. It's bound to turn a hefty profit when it's completed..."

  I stopped paying attention. Winn-Cryste would be in the Ballroom. He had said as much when the applause ended and the audience prepared to leave the arena. I was going to have to look at him, possibly even talk to him like he was a normal person. I would have to see the girls he had brought with him, look them in the eye, and act like nothing was wrong.

  Nausea clawed its way through my middle all over again and my pulse roared in my ears. I kept walking, that fake smile stretching too wide on my bright red lips, my breath tangling in my chest as each step brought me closer to the massive hewn-stone doorway of the Great Ballroom cavern.

  Braeton swept me along, gossiping with Gerris like they were long-lost friends, and then we were through the doorw
ay and moving toward the tables of food laid out for the post-performance party.

  Automatically, I began looking around, getting my bearings. Music from the play drifted from a musician's box in a crystal-studded alcove. There were gorgeous people everywhere, clad in beautiful clothes, all of it designed to glow one way in the purple lights of the theater and look entirely different beneath the gas lanterns strung from the cavern ceiling. My dress was no longer violet. Lady Monphaelen's yellow dress now gleamed a soft platinum, the feathered band in her white-cloud hair bright scarlet instead of black. Lord Oguirre was wearing a dark grey formal jacket, all the green zigzags gone. The chorus dancers offering trays of refreshments were wearing sleek bodysuits of midnight blue silk, the bright golden-orange flame patterns on stage now pale pink lines swirling over their figures.

  I told myself not to look for the girls, but it didn't do any good. Braeton led me to an out-of-the way spot near the wall, said something about getting me a drink, I tried to nod, and found them. They were sitting in a little group on the other side of the dance floor, huddled together on cushions.

  "I must say... Braeton always did have exquisite taste, but you... Who are you?"

  With a shaky breath, I dragged my attention away from the girls. Gerris hadn't left. He was standing next to me where Braeton had left him, and he was regarding me with cool interest. With his shiny dark hair and classical Lodesian features he might have been handsome, but his full mouth was twisted into a nasty smirk.

  Numb, I realized he was waiting for an answer. "Pendar," I whispered. Then I swallowed. Hard. My own name had very nearly tumbled out instead. One little word and I could have gutted everything.

  "Oh-ho-ho, what have you stumbled upon, Gerris?" A new male voice said from my left.

  I turned to find two more men prowling up.

  Gerris' smirk grew to a glittering wolf-smile. "Braeton's new plaything," he said in High Lodesian.

  The other two – just as richly dressed and well coifed as Gerris – came to stand beside him, both of them looking me up and down as if sizing up a filly at auction, all three of them hemming me in.