by Sharon Shinn
“Or she’s a good actress. We’ll know soon enough.”
“If it’s not Vivienne—what about Elyssa?”
“Sadly, she is telling the truth. We have confirmed that she has one injured echo and two healthy ones.”
“So—then—that’s everybody, isn’t it? Everybody who’s here, at any rate.”
“Yes.”
I looked up at him. “What are you going to do next? Is Malachi still determined to find the killer?”
“More determined than ever,” he said. “There is an inn near where they found Jamison’s body, and we think the woman who owns it might be able to tell us more about the passengers who traveled through recently. Unfortunately, she’s been gone for the past week, off to see a daughter who has most inconveniently gone into labor. She might have some information for us.”
I felt my breath turn shallow as my chest tightened up. Yes, the innkeeper had talked with us when we returned from that disastrous outing—she had even commented that Marguerite’s maid was missing. She seemed like the sort of person who would remember every detail about any noble who paused under her roof—and would be only too happy to share everything she knew with anyone who asked.
She would be able to describe Marguerite, certainly. But surely, in the entire kingdom, there had to be more than one fair-haired noblewoman with three echoes. We would be in desperate straits only if the woman knew Marguerite’s identity. Had I addressed her by name? Had the coachman mentioned it to the innkeeper’s groom? There were so many ways we could be brought down.
Nico put his hands on my shoulders and peered down in the dark. “You’ve grown so quiet,” he said. “Is something wrong?”
I shook my head and manufactured a yawn. “No, I’m just so tired I’ve forgotten how to have a conversation,” I said ruefully.
Nico turned me toward the palace. “Time for you to go to bed, then.”
I resisted. “No! I want to talk to you.”
He pushed me firmly toward the foot of the bridge and I couldn’t help stumbling along beside him. “You can talk to me tomorrow.”
“I keep feeling like we’re going to run out of time.”
“We won’t. I promise. We have days and weeks and months and years ahead of us.”
I wished I could believe it. We paused outside the palace door, glanced around quickly, and allowed ourselves one long, last fervent kiss before stepping inside and heading our separate ways. My heart was leaden in my chest as I hurried up the empty stairwells and crept through the quiet hallways.
We didn’t have years or months ahead of us; we probably didn’t have weeks. We probably only had days before the innkeeper came back and whispered Marguerite’s name to Malachi.
In the morning, not at all to my surprise, Marguerite wanted to visit the temple. As before, the echoes and I sat behind Marguerite and waited for Taeline to join us. As before, I hummed quietly to myself to block out any chance of overhearing their conversation, but I could tell that Marguerite was pouring out a passionate tale of the past two days and that Taeline was listening in grave concern. I thought, but I was not sure, that their hands were locked together in the only type of contact they could allow themselves in public. There were so many other things to fret about that I was surprised by how sad it made me to think they could never have more of each other than that simple touch.
As we left, Taeline blessed us each with the traditional benediction. It was the first time I noticed that she wore a bracelet identical to Marguerite’s. Well. Marguerite had told me it had been given to her by someone who loved her; I should have guessed that the person was Taeline. I nodded my thanks to receive the goddess’s blessing and Taeline nodded in return. I thought she looked weary, though she tried to hide it under her usual serene expression. I knew she was supposed to move on to Thelleron within the next week and I wondered how difficult that transition would be for her.
Naturally, the next place Marguerite wanted to go was the flower market. As we sorted through roses and gladiolas and azaleas, I stood shoulder to shoulder with her and held a whispered conversation.
“I know a place you could go if you—if you wanted to be alone with Taeline.”
She glanced at me sharply, as did Patience and Purpose, but I did not look away as an echo should. The flower sellers were dashing from customer to customer, trying to keep up; they were not paying attention to how closely one echo was mimicking her mistress. “It’s not even proper to discuss such things,” she said.
“I know. But I can help you if you want.”
“How do you know of such a place?”
“Maybe I’ve been there.”
“Maybe with the inquisitor’s nephew?”
I felt the color rise to my cheeks. “I know I should have told you.”
She held a spray of violets to her face, but they looked wilted and sad. I shook my head.
“I had hoped you were seeing him,” she said. “But I didn’t like to pry.”
“Hoped? Why?”
She selected a single peach-colored rose from a tall vase. Its petals were still closely furled but starting to loosen; it reminded me of the face of a sleeping child just about to awaken. “Someone should be wringing some happiness from this wretched situation. And I liked him.” Now she held the rose to my face as if to test it against my complexion—what would have been her complexion, if I had truly been an echo. “So you like him?”
I grimaced. “More than is good for my peace of mind.”
“Does he want you to stay with him if I go back to Oberton?”
I forced a laugh and produced a lie. “Gorsey! We haven’t talked about anything so serious. Anyway, I wouldn’t want to.”
She dropped the rose into the basket of blooms she meant to buy. “Don’t think you have to come back to Oberton on my account.”
“I would come back for my own sake,” I said. “I would never find a situation that suits me so well. I’ll stay with you till you set me out the door.”
“Well, then,” she said. “You will be in my service forever.”
After that, we didn’t speak much until we were in a hired cart, rolling smoothly along Camarria’s well-kept streets. Then Marguerite said, as casually as if she was asking about a shoelace or a hair ribbon, “So this place. Where is it?”
“Near Amanda Plaza.”
“Private?”
“Yes.”
“Is there any time of day it cannot be used?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Then I’ll see what she thinks.”
I smiled at her, and for the first time in days, Marguerite smiled back.
Everyone rushed through dinner in their haste to get back to the ballroom. The women were all dressed in the darkest versions of their brightest colors, so as to look both festive and properly respectful of the dead. As soon as we were inside the ballroom, I glanced around, hoping to spot Nico, but I didn’t see him. Perhaps his uncle had found a more important task for him than squiring echoes around a dance floor. I told myself I was relieved.
The musicians were already in place, and as soon as Cormac bowed to Lady Elyssa, inviting her to be his partner, the dancing started. Prince Jordan was the first to solicit Marguerite’s hand, so we all paired up. Jordan’s echo was almost as forceful and assured as his older brother’s, which I found unnerving. I kept expecting him to speak—perhaps to ask me why I seemed unlike any echo he had ever encountered before. He didn’t, but I felt like he watched me through the entire dance.
I was glad to move on to the next partner, though I was certain Marguerite was less than thrilled when Lord Deryk took her in his arms. “Don’t worry, I’ll behave” was his careless greeting, and for the most part, he did. Judging by his echo’s arm around my waist, Deryk didn’t hold Marguerite too tightly, though he did spin her vigorously into the dance’s dips and whirls. When she made a breathless protest, he merely laughed and spun her again. Marguerite stumbled, and so did I. His echo grinned down at me, wholl
y unrepentant. I wondered if Marguerite felt the same desire I did to deliver a hard slap. We both repressed the urge.
Deryk sued for a second dance, but Dezmen had been hovering nearby, awaiting his turn, and he stepped forward before Marguerite had even risen from her curtsey. “Don’t take another turn with him—I haven’t seen you in days,” Dezmen said, holding out his hand. It was a ridiculous exaggeration, since they had been seated across from each other at the dinner table, but Marguerite was not about to correct him.
“Dezmen—dear man—I’ll be delighted to dance with you,” Marguerite responded, making Deryk scowl and Dezmen laugh. She took his hand, and Patience and Purpose paired up with his echoes.
I found myself partnered with Nico.
My violent start was covered by the opening steps of the dance, a skirling reel with a lively pace. I thought my heart would hammer its way out of my chest, and I could barely breathe, making it a challenge to get through the energetic figures of the dance. But this was the best number I could have hoped for—we would have limited contact, clasping hands and breaking apart to romp through the prescribed steps. He might never even realize who his partner was. Like any good echo, I kept my gaze slightly averted from his, but I watched him from the corner of my eye. He never looked down at me, but ceaselessly glanced around the room, watching for trouble, looking for oddities, searching for clues.
He was a splendid dancer, muscular and trim. Every time he caught my hand to give me a twirl or placed his palm against my back to propel me forward, he did it with such instinctive grace that he hardly seemed to be aware of his motions. I followed his cues without deviation, not even paying attention to Marguerite’s movements. In this particular instance, it was far more important that I respond to him than copy her.
Never since the day I was born had I been so happy to have a song come to an end. I was next to Marguerite as she and her echoes offered curtseys to thank Dezmen and his companions, and the men all bowed in response.
“That was a great deal of fun,” Dezmen said, holding his hand out again as the musicians chose this least propitious moment to segue into a waltz. “Won’t you honor me with a second dance?”
Marguerite placed her hand in his. “My lord, I would be honored.”
Dezmen bowed again and kissed her fingers.
Nico kissed my fingers.
His hand tightened on mine so sharply that I thought the bones would shatter.
I was still wearing my triskele ring.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Now I really couldn’t breathe.
We all stepped into the daring embrace required by the waltz and began moving much more sedately around the dance floor. I had no idea how tightly Dezmen was holding Marguerite, but Nico pulled me so close against him that I felt flattened against his chest. Now he wasn’t glancing around the room, making sure he didn’t overlook anything interesting; now he was glaring down at me, his face wearing a complex expression of fury, bewilderment, and dawning horror.
“What. Are. You. Doing?” he hissed. “Why. Are. You. Here?”
I wondered if I could brazen it out. Dancing with you, I might say. I knew you would be partnering with the extra echoes and I persuaded Marguerite to let me play this role. But I couldn’t draw in enough air to speak.
And I knew he wouldn’t believe me.
So I just stared up at him, my expression stricken, my eyes beseeching. Please, whatever you do, please don’t expose us here …
“You can’t be— How long have you—? What’s going on?” he said. His whispering voice was weighted with dread.
I still said nothing. I shook my head, the tiniest motion. I can’t explain.
He dropped his voice even more. “Where’s her third echo?”
Now I closed my eyes, unable to bear the look in his. I couldn’t say the words. At the bottom of the lake, next to her murderer, until your uncle dredged her up.
“Brianna,” he breathed.
The music swelled around us; Dezmen guided Marguerite through such a wide circle that her skirts belled out and she laughed with pleasure. Nico and I hastily tried to copy them, a beat behind. Nobody seemed to notice. I hoped our fumbling mimicry didn’t catch Marguerite’s attention because I didn’t want her to glance over and recognize Nico. She would instantly realize that disaster had struck, and she might fall apart, right there in the middle of the ballroom, with no hope of escaping to safety.
There still might be no hope. As soon as Nico recovered from his stupefaction, he might pull me to a halt right in the middle of the waltz, cause the other dancers to crash into us and careen off to the sides or to stop in their tracks and stare at us while the whole world fell into a gaping silence …
Marguerite and Dezmen executed a lovely maneuver, and their shadows circled around them, stately and precise. Nico’s arm around my waist had loosened enough to allow me to breathe, but he still had my hand crushed in his. I managed to lift my eyes to his face again and saw that his fierce expression still persisted. But now it was modulated by a frown, and I imagined he was reviewing everything that had happened in the past ten days—his banter with Marguerite at the flower market, his dozens of conversations with me. Everything he had told me.
Everything I had not told him.
The music built up again, and again we spun gaily around, like colorful tops on a playroom table. Still Nico didn’t speak, not to ask me questions, not to shout accusations. Still we stared at each other, while he remade the picture of me he carried in his head and I waited for the world to end.
The music ended first. I had thought this waltz would go on for the rest of my life, so I was confused when the last notes sounded and were replaced by the light buzz of laughter and conversation. All the women curtseyed and all the men bowed, and Nico practically mangled my hand between his fingers.
“Meet me at the bridge tonight,” he murmured. “Don’t tell her.”
Dezmen had already released Marguerite but Nico kept his grip until I nodded. Then he finally let me go. I had been leaning back so hard for the past ten minutes that I almost tumbled over when I no longer had to resist him. I watched him stalk off the dance floor and thought he looked uncharacteristically awkward, twice bumping into other people and not seeming steady on his feet.
Goddess have mercy on my soul, I thought. What have I done to him?
I both longed for the ball to end immediately and wished the musicians would play until dawn. I couldn’t bear to keep up the masquerade for one more second, but I didn’t think I could face Nico and his blistering inquisition. I thought I might be sick. I thought I might faint.
I smiled and aped Marguerite’s every movement and danced for two more hours.
Lady Vivienne was one of the first to announce that she was weary and ready to seek her bed. I hadn’t paid any attention before this, but now I was convinced that she had been among the first to leave every gathering since we had been in Camarria. I saw Marguerite glance longingly for the door, but she never wanted to draw attention to herself by being too quick to end any activity. But when she heard Nigel say, “If enough of the women retire early, we can get up a game of cards,” she laughed in his face.
“Well! I thought you would be disappointed if too many of us slipped off while the night was so young, but now that I realize it will make you happy to see us go, I shall bid you goodnight.”
“Nothing of the sort! I would dance all night with you,” Nigel protested.
“Too late! I’m heading up to my room.” She dropped him a quick curtsey, half mocking and half sincere. “But I thank you for a most pleasant evening.”
She was in a good mood as she climbed the stairs and moved through her room, pulling off accessories and stepping out of her shoes and making idle observations about the behavior of the others at the ball. I tried not to hurry her into her nightclothes or seem too eager to leave for the night, but I must have been quieter than usual because she remarked on my silence.
I forced a laugh
. “Just tired, I think,” I said. “There’s not much time to sleep when you’re leading a double life.”
She yawned and lay back on her pillows. “I suppose not. But you manage it with such aplomb that I sometimes forget this is even more wearing on you than on me.”
I drew the covers to her chin and blew out the candle. “I doubt that,” I said. “I think it’s wearing on both of us.”
“I think you’re right,” she said with a sigh. “Well, I’ll see you in the morning. You go straight to bed now.”
Of course what I did was go straight to the garden bridge.
Nico was waiting for me, his elbows resting on the railing, his gaze fixed on what he could make out of the shadowy pond below. He didn’t turn to look at me when he heard my footsteps on the wood, didn’t take me in a hungry embrace and rain kisses on my skin. He had obviously spent the last two hours thinking, and he didn’t like any of his conclusions.
I stood beside him, not close enough to touch, and leaned my own arms on the railing. For a very long moment, we stood there in silence.
“So tell me what happened,” he said at last in a level voice.
“You have already guessed it,” I said in the same tone.
“Tell me anyway.”
“We had stopped at the inn because our horse threw a shoe. The landlady showed us a path that we could follow to a little lake to get a break from the tedium of travel. Jamison came upon us there. He insisted on walking on alone with Marguerite because he had something— He said he had something to tell her. Once they were out of sight behind some trees, the echoes started getting agitated. Then we heard Marguerite cry out.”
I paused a moment to steady my voice. “The four of us ran to her right away and found her struggling in his arms, both of them on the ground. He had her skirts up and his pants undone, and he—” I paused for a moment and shook my head before going on. “So we kicked him and hit him, and he fought back. He flung Purpose away so hard I thought she was unconscious. He cut Patience with a knife. He grabbed Prudence and slammed her against the ground, over and over and over. Then he reached for Marguerite again—but Purpose was on her feet, and she hit him with a rock. On his head. Hard enough to make him fall.”
