by John Marco
“Stop!”
Jancis jumped back. “What?”
Cassandra snatched the brush from her and threw it against the mirror, cracking it.
“I can’t take it any more!” She rose from her chair and stared at Jancis, who stared back blankly. “This bloody heat, this bloody moon shadow, this whole bloody prison! I want out, Jancis.”
Jancis smiled very calmly. “You broke the mirror.” “Damn the mirror!” said Cassandra. She turned and began pacing, the way she always did when anxious.
“Sit down, Cass,” said Jancis. “Be at ease.”
But Cassandra couldn’t relax. This wasn’t one of her typical tantrums. She felt different, near a breaking point. The incessant talk of the moon shadow had driven her mad.
“I’m sick of this place,” she said. “I don’t want to stay here.”
“I know,” said Jancis.
“You don’t know! None of you know what it’s like for me. You can all come and go as you please, but I’m stuck in this place. I want to see the moon shadow, Jancis. Everyone is going to see it. Even you’re going to see it!”
Jancis lowered her head, and Cassandra felt an immediate stab of guilt.
“Oh, Jancis, I’m so sorry. That was stupid of me. . . .”
“It’s all right. . . .”
“It isn’t.” Cassandra went to her friend. “Forgive me. But I’m going insane in this place. I want to get out so bad. I want to see the moon shadow, like everyone else.”
“Me too,” joked Jancis.
Cassandra’s bitterness rose up like a wave. “Then let’s.”
Jancis laughed. “Cass, stop being silly.”
“I mean it, Jancis. Let’s go see this thing for ourselves.”
“Cassandra, it’s impossible.”
“But it isn’t, don’t you see? You said yourself everyone’s going to the parade ground to watch the moon shadow. The castle will be empty. We can watch it from the old garden.”
“Cassandra, the heat is getting to you. You can’t risk being seen. And I’m not going to help you get killed.”
Cassandra took her friend by the shoulders. “No one will see us; it’ll be dark and the castle will be empty. And no one goes to the garden any more, especially at night.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. I remember how it was. And I bet it’s still the same, right?”
Jancis turned her face away. “You’re upset because of the heat. . . .”
“No, I’m mad with boredom! I have to see the outside, Jancis, just once.”
“It’s too dangerous, Cass. . . .”
“I don’t care. I’ll risk it.”
Jancis frowned. “Oh really? And will you risk him, as well?”
Cassandra lowered her arms. She didn’t have to ask who Jancis meant. Turning toward the broken mirror, she said, “No one knows where he is, Jancis. He might even be dead.”
“Would you risk that? Have you forgotten Akeela’s promise?”
“I haven’t forgotten,” said Cassandra dreadfully. The image in the mirror showed her pretty face, cracked in two by the fracture she’d dealt the glass. She still thought of Lukien sometimes, but he was just a memory to her now, no more tangible than air. If she were seen tonight, she would die. And if she died Akeela would try and kill Lukien—he had repeated that promise many times over the years. But he would have to find Lukien first, and that seemed very unlikely.
“I can’t go on like this,” Cassandra whispered. “I have to see the sky. Just once. Just for a moment.”
Jancis floated up behind her, putting a soothing hand on her shoulder. “Don’t, Cass, please.”
“I have to,” said Cassandra. “It’s worth the risk. I don’t care if it kills me.” She turned toward her friend. “No one will know, Jancis. We’ll sneak out when everyone else has left for the grounds. And I can describe the whole thing for you. Wouldn’t you like that?”
“Yes,” said Jancis, her voice shuddering. “But—”
“No,” said Cassandra. “No arguments. I’m going to do it. With or without you.”
Jancis was quiet for a long moment. Then she reached out and felt for the amulet beneath Cassandra’s garment. “If you break the curse, this won’t keep you safe. Aren’t you afraid?”
“Yes,” said Cassandra. “I’m afraid that if I don’t see this damn moon shadow, I’ll lose what’s left of my mind.”
As the sun went down on Koth, the great castle of Lionkeep began to empty. The moon shadow would not begin until hours after dusk, but the king’s servants were eager to celebrate and so began gathering at the parade ground early. They’d been promised music and food and acrobats to entertain them, and people throughout the city began to swarm the streets in anticipation of Figgis’ prediction, bringing traffic to a standstill. It was like a holiday had come, for only the king’s great librarian had been able to predict such things, and he had promised that such knowledge of the heavens would usher in a grand new age of science. Even the soldiers, who were everywhere in Koth these days, anticipated the moon shadow. Old Chancellery Square, now the almost exclusive purview of General Trager and his army, had been flattened and turned into a huge parade ground, big enough for his forces to drill on and big enough to be seen from the towers of Lionkeep.
Gilwyn himself had tried very hard not to be seen. He didn’t have any books or scrolls to deliver to Lionkeep tonight, but he knew Lionkeep as well as anyone, for he had explored it copiously as a child. Except for the forbidden wing of Queen Cassandra, Gilwyn knew every inch of the place. Until he had been old enough to join Figgis in the library, exploring Lionkeep had been his only solace. He knew the place better than most of the servants, better than the king himself, he suspected. Tonight, he wanted his best, most private spot.
With Teku perched on his shoulder, Gilwyn made his way through the empty halls. He had slipped past the wardens at the southern gate, feigning a message for a minor official, and because the wardens knew his face and familiar limp they let him pass without question. He soon found himself in the quietest part of Lionkeep, near Queen Cassandra’s rooms. Because most of the eccentric queen’s servants were blind, he always had little problem making his way up through the tower. Hindered only by the noise from his shoe, he climbed the spiral steps with remarkable ease, no longer needing his cane. And when he came to the third level of the castle, he paused at the doorway of the turret to look around. The hall, like the rest of the tower, was empty. Gilwyn smiled at his luck. His destination was on the third level, just beyond a storage area used for tools and old, useless junk. It was usually deserted at this time of day, and tonight was no exception. He passed the narrow hall, making his way to the storage room where he found the door unlocked. The room was dark, and the shutters on all its windows had been closed. Most of the shutters had been locked with heavy, rusted padlocks. One window hadn’t been, and it was just big enough for Gilwyn to squeeze through. He picked past the collections of old wares, feeling his way through the dark. Teku chattered anxiously in his ear. Gilwyn put a finger to his lips.
“Shhh.”
He reached the window and undid the rusty latches, then pulled open the shutters. There was no glass, just an oval-shaped opening above a wide ledge. The window overlooked a tired old garden far below and the remnants of Chancellery Square in the distance. Gilwyn could already see the crowds gathering on the grounds in the moonlight. He leaned down and let Teku drop from his shoulder. The little monkey hopped through the window and clambered out onto the ledge. Ten feet to the left was an abandoned balcony, overgrown with lichens and penned by stone gargoyles. There was no door to the balcony. Gilwyn supposed there had been one once, but it had been bricked up years ago. So the balcony stood abandoned and neglected, and no one seemed to remember its existence, leaving it free for Gilwyn to discover. It had been his private retreat for years, with a spectacular view of the parade ground and the sprawling capital. On summer nights he would come here to read, and when h
is mother had died he had come here to weep. And he had never told anyone about the balcony, not even Figgis. It was the perfect hiding place, but it had one dangerous drawback—it was difficult for a lame boy to reach. But Gilwyn had risked it, many times. The ledge was strong and wide enough to support him, and the castle wall was rough with good handholds. And now that he had his new shoe and could walk with relative ease, Gilwyn wasn’t frightened at all. He started to follow Teku out onto the ledge, then remembered the food in his pockets.
“Oh, wait,” he said, rummaging through his pants. Any small thing might disturb his balance, so he pulled the apple out of his pocket and held it out for Teku. “Here, this is yours.”
The monkey took the apple, bouncing in approval. She quickly ran with it to the balcony, set it down, then returned for a dry sausage and Gilwyn’s folding knife, both of which she deposited near the apple. When she was done, she climbed onto the head of a gargoyle and urged her master forward.
“I’m coming,” said Gilwyn, slipping through the window. With his good right hand he took a firm hold of the ledge. Leaning against the castle wall for support, he set his foot down gently. Slowly, carefully, he shuffled along the ledge toward the balcony, hidden like a wraith in the darkness. The ledge was slippery with moss but Gilwyn was used to it. Though he couldn’t walk without limping, he proved remarkably athletic at crossing the ledge; he soon reached the balcony. He wrapped his arm around the gargoyle for support and dragged himself to safety.
It was a beautiful night. The Fate had given Figgis a beautiful venue for his moon shadow. Gilwyn looked up at the moon, which was amazingly bright on his face, and wondered at the precision of the heavens. Figgis was very smart, smarter than any of the scholars that came to his library, but Gilwyn still found it hard to believe that the world was round, as Figgis had claimed. It was like a ball, said Figgis, and the sun and the moon were like that too. Sometimes, according to Figgis, the world blocked the sunlight, casting a shadow on the moon. Moon shadows weren’t magic, and they weren’t the will of the gods. They were scientific, Figgis claimed, and they were predictable.
“Amazing,” whispered Gilwyn. He strained to see past the trees, trying to pick Figgis out of the distant crowd but it was impossible to sight the librarian among the throngs. Gilwyn did see horses though—the brilliant, armored steeds of the Royal Chargers. Their banners were everywhere, blowing in the breeze. And their pages were everywhere, too. Gilwyn sank back from the rail and sat down on the cool stone of the balcony. Teku squatted down in front of him and held out her apple. As Gilwyn unfolded his knife and began slicing off pieces of the fruit, he began daydreaming. Once, a long time ago, he had wanted to be a Royal Charger. He had wanted to ride a horse like the great Lukien. He had even foolishly thought his foot and hand might heal. But by his tenth birthday he knew that could never be, and had given up the dream forever. To this day he had never even ridden a horse.
“Maybe someday,” he said, regarding his strange new shoe. It had already done wonders for his walking. Of course, he could never join the Chargers, not with a hand like his, but maybe riding a horse wasn’t completely impossible any more. “We can have our own horse,” he said to Teku. The monkey grinned at him through a mouthful of apple. Gilwyn sliced off a wedge for himself, adding, “Then we can ride through the parade ground like the rest of them, just like Lukien would have.”
Teku chattered, but Gilwyn knew it was only for another piece of fruit. He surrendered, handing the rest of the apple to Teku and putting aside his silly dream. Lukien was gone and had been for years. Only his legend remained.
Barely ten minutes before the hour of the moon shadow, Cassandra stalked through the darkened halls of Lionkeep, her heart pounding in her temples, her ears tuned to every tiny sound. The sound of her own anxious breathing alarmed her as she led Jancis by the hand, searching for the garden she could barely remember. It had been sixteen years since she had left her elegant prison, and her eyes were wide with wonder at seeing Lionkeep again. As she inched forward, stealthily avoiding human eyes, Cassandra felt a rush of fear and exhilaration. With Jancis’ help she had slipped past her blind servants, not even breathing as Jancis explained how the queen was sleeping and didn’t want to be disturbed. Megal and Ruthanna, her young chambermaids, had believed Jancis’ lie entirely and had smiled at the news, saying how sad it was that Cassandra wouldn’t be able to see the moon shadow, as if they had forgotten their own blindness.
Because no one with sight except for Akeela was allowed in her private wing, Cassandra was confident she wouldn’t be seen. But the abandoned garden, she recalled, was just beyond her forbidden rooms, near the first floor scullery. She had gambled that the kitchen girls had left for the moon shadow, and so far her bet had paid off—she could see no one. More importantly, no one could see her. She was free, for the first time in memory, and it was wonderful. Akeela had shackled her but she had picked the lock, damn him, and would at last see the stars again.
“Stay with me, Jan,” she whispered. “Not much further.”
Because Jancis rarely strayed from their private wing, she was unfamiliar with this part of the castle and had to be led by the hand. Jancis’ grip was cold with fear and her breathing came in nervous gasps.
“I want to go back,” said Jancis. “Please, before we’re seen.”
But they were so close now, Cassandra knew they would make it. “No,” she said. “Keep walking.”
“Cass, please. . . .”
“Shhh!”
There was moonlight streaming through the windows and smoky torches in the hall. The scullery doors were just up ahead—the hardest hurdle they would need to leap. Before Cassandra could peek inside, a figure emerged suddenly from the scullery, startling her. Her pulse exploded with fear as the man’s eyes turned to her.
“Hello?” he asked. “Is someone there?”
It was Egin, Cassandra’s fuller. His dye-stained hand held a chicken wing that he’d stolen from the stores. Cassandra held her breath, forcing down her panic. Egin was blind, and his sightless eyes passed over her without recognition. Cassandra quickly pulled Jancis forward and nudged her to say something.
“Uh, yes, it’s me,” said Jancis awkwardly. “Is that you, Egin?”
“Jancis?” probed Egin. The fuller’s face relaxed, knowing that Jancis couldn’t see the food he’d stolen. “What are you doing out here, girl? Why aren’t you gone to see the moon shadow with the rest of them?”
“I’m . . . on my way there now,” said Jancis. Then she frowned. “And why aren’t you there?”
“What good would it do me? I don’t need to hear everyone ooh and ahh over something I can’t see.” He stuffed the chicken leg into his trouser pocket. Unlike Jancis, he had been blind since birth and didn’t seem to care much about the things he couldn’t see. He was well-adjusted and friendly, and his blindness never seemed to bother him at all. “But you should get going if you’re gonna catch the moon shadow yourself.” He stood aside, knowing instinctively that Jancis was right in front of him.
“Yes,” said Jancis. “All right . . .”
Cassandra urged her gently forward.
“Good night, Egin,” said Jancis.
“G’night,” Egin replied, then wandered back toward the private wing. Jancis’ shoulders slumped as she heard him walk away.
“You see?” she snapped. “We almost got caught!”
“Keep your voice down,” said Cassandra. Quickly she grabbed Jancis hand and began dragging her away from the scullery. There was little time until the moon shadow, but they were close to the garden now and past the worst of their journey. Cassandra quickly located the door that would take them outside. It was just as she remembered it, just past the scullery and neatly hidden behind a bend in the hall. The door was rusted, like everything else in this rarely used area, but Cassandra forced it open with a tug. Flakes of rust fell from the hinges as the door screeched open, revealing a dark and overgrown patch of weeds. Startled by the st
ate of the garden, it took Cassandra a moment to remember its layout. There had been a lawn here once, well-manicured and lined with lilies. Recalling a simple path of cobblestones, she looked down and caught a glimpse of its remains, a ribbon of neglected stones beneath the encroaching grasses, winding its way into the darkness of the garden.
“This way,” said Cassandra. She led Jancis into the weed patch, then shut the door behind them. “It’s a bit overgrown. . . .”
“A bit? Cassandra, I can feel the grass up my skirt!”
“It’ll hide us better,” said Cassandra, then plowed ahead with Jancis in tow. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and up above she saw the stars. They winked at her like long lost friends. The moon was stout and bright in the heavens, throwing its light on the forgotten garden. Cassandra stopped, unable to move, unable to pull her gaze from the sky. She let her hands drop to her side, and all at once forgot the curse of the amulet and the danger of being outside.
“It’s beautiful. I had forgotten how amazing it is.”
The stars were abundant, too numerous to imagine. They swept across the sky in a milky arc. Cassandra’s legs wavered beneath her.
“Cass? Are you there?”
“Yes,” whispered Cassandra. She looked at Jancis, at her confused face and unseeing eyes, and she pitied her. Smiling, she took her friend’s hand again. “Come. I’m going to explain it all to you.”
They walked alone through the tall weeds, brushing aside the grasses as they made their way at last to the abandoned garden. The tower rose over them, but that was abandoned too, so they were not afraid of being seen. Cassandra spied the small stone bench in the center of the garden, where once she had sat and dreamed of Lukien, and where Akeela had bored her with love poems. The bench, like the rest of the garden, was thick with moss and lichens. Rows of dandelions rose up through the brickwork, and the beds of lilies and other perennials overflowed with tall, choking weeds. A few gallant rose bushes bloomed among the tangles of unpruned fruit trees, and rotting apples littered the grounds, chewed to pieces by insects. The place stank of ferment. But Cassandra didn’t care. She was mesmerized by it all, and even the decay enchanted her.
