Broken Shadow Page 7

  “Unexpected errands? Really cousin, you are not one to insinuate when you can state. What do you mean?”

  “I tried to see you earlier this week, but was told you were ‘away’. Where were you, Francin? You never leave the palace.”

  “I do not make a habit of it, no.”

  “But you were gone for several days.”

  “There is more to Shen than the city, cousin. I had business elsewhere in my realm.”

  “Or beyond it, at the red valley?” She could not think where else he might go, although that would have taken him away for a week or more.

  “Goodness no. Operations there run themselves. I need hardly–”

  The door burst open. A breathless footman bowed then blurted, “Your Grace, you must come at once!”

  Francin frowned. “What is it?”

  “The duchess, Your Grace. She has tried to take her own life!”

  CHAPTER 13

  Someone was saying something about dice. Dej was aware of that, now. She hadn’t been aware of anything for some time. She strained to make out the man’s voice.

  “…end up owing me your month’s wages!”

  “I let you win last night.”

  Two strangers, some way off, talking about a game. A game of dice. Where was she? What had she been doing before this? Why did her body feel so odd?

  “Oh, and the night before too.” The first man laughed, and his voice receded further. She listened, but heard only wind through canvas and a distant shout that sounded like a warning to “stand clear”.

  Everything came rushing back.

  She’d been stupid. She scrunched up her face until the eyelids ungummed themselves, then opened her eyes to see lamp-lit rock overhead. She was in one of the caves, in the red valley. She’d been caught. She had to get away. But her chest ached like she’d been kicked by an ox, and the rest of her body wasn’t up to moving much.

  With some effort, she turned her head. She was on a pallet-bed in the largest cave; three more pallets lined the walls, all empty, with various personal possessions – eating utensils, clothes, boots, and some weapons – piled under, on or beside them. It was dark beyond the cave entrance but she made out the back of one of the brick beehives, with people moving around under the lamp-hung awning beyond.

  A figure loomed out of the lamplight. She tried closing her eyes but she’d been seen.

  “You’re awake. Good.”

  She swallowed, and realised how thirsty she was. “Water. Please.” It came out as a pathetic croak. She let it. The fact she wasn’t dead meant they had some sympathy for her. She could use that.

  The man who came over had a jowly face and heavy eyebrows. She knew him from somewhere. She let him help her drink. The water made her tongue feel odd, sort of itchy. He was gentle with her, not like a jailer. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “For what?” His voice was soft.

  “Taking the… leaf thing.” She considered adding that she was going to put it back but decided against an outright lie, given how nice the man was being.

  “I’m glad to hear it. Good job I realised it was you. The Captain was all for finishing you off.”

  She realised who this was. “You’re the medic, the one who came with the soldiers to rescue Etyan.”

  “That’s right. I’m Gerthen, official medic to the duke’s outpost in the red valley. And you’re Dej. Young Lanen saw a skykin poking round and decided to shoot rather than asking questions.”

  “Shoot?”

  “You took a handbow bolt to the chest. Broke two ribs and made a mess of one of your lungs. We almost lost you. Fortunately it’s true what they say about skykin being tough. You’ve been out of it a while though.”

  “How long?”

  “Best part of a week.”

  “A week?” Etyan would be frantic!

  “Even with your advantages a wound like that takes time to heal. I’ll let you rest up again now.”

  “Wait… I’m not a prisoner here, am I?”

  “No.” Gerthen pursed his lips, “Though the Captain would like a word with you later.”

  “Captain… “ she searched her memory and came up with “Remeth?”

  “No, Remeth’s not on the current rotation. It’s Captain Govand. Get some rest, Dej.”

  Given how weak she felt, she had little choice. They didn’t mean her any harm; she could hardly blame the duke’s men for shooting her and she was safe enough here, for now.

  She dozed until near sunrise, when Gerthen returned with an older man with a limp. He introduced Captain Govand then went to sit on the pallet across from hers.

  “Dej, isn’t it?”

  She nodded.

  “You’re not in trouble, but I would like to know why you came here. I was under the impression you’d set up home with Lord Harlyn in the umbral forest.”

  “I… “ She searched for a plausible lie, and failed to find one. Screw it, why not try the truth? “Etyan and I had a row. I needed some time alone.”

  Govand looked thoughtful, then nodded. “Fair enough.” Dej relaxed a little. Then he asked. “Did you meet any other skykin on your way here?”

  “Uh, no.” If he started asking questions about “her people” things could get awkward. “I came straight from Shen.”

  “I see.” He sounded like he was trying to understand her choice. So was she, but it was none of his business. “I only ask because we had a sighting.”

  “A sighting of what? Who?”

  “We’re not sure. We put out occasional patrols along the edge of the valley and about a month back one of them spotted a lone skykin. Looked half-starved and when they hailed him he ran off. We’re a long way from any caravan route so presumably these were more rogue skykin, like those who originally attacked Lord Harlyn and his sister.”

  “I wouldn’t know anything about them.” Any more, she added mentally, to make the denial less like a lie.

  “Never mind. I thought I’d ask. My only concern would be if they were considering offensive action.”

  “I doubt it.” Because most of them are dead. And the clanless were cowards anyway. Which she may as well say. “Those types would never take on the duke’s soldiers.”

  The way he raised his eyebrow made her wonder if he knew she’d been one of “those types” once, but he just said, “That’s good to know. I’ll let you rest now.”

  She thought resting would be easier said than done in a cave full of strange men but she’d apparently done it for a week already, and it wasn’t like she had much choice; in this state if she went to sleep outside and something nasty found her, she’d hardly be able to defend herself. She dozed as the Sun came up, then slept through until evening.

  For the next few days she took Gerthen’s advice, resting, and eating and drinking everything put in front of her. The men who shared the cave were polite if distant, like they’d been when she was with Etyan – presumably because she still was, in their minds.

  Thinking of Etyan hurt, like the mental equivalent of touching the tender wound on her side. And she couldn’t shake the image of him giving up on her and returning to the city to be married off by his sister, like she always knew he would.

  As soon as she was strong enough she tried standing, leaning against the cave wall. As her strength returned she took to sitting at the edge of the awning, out of the way. The workmen were wary of her; she must look pretty odd to them; slender, hairless and covered in gold-and-brown scales. Not to mention half naked.

  There were about three dozen men in total, mostly craftsmen. They worked by night to “refine the iron” which looked like a tricky business. Rocks and charcoal from great piles were shovelled into the two “furnaces”. The bellows made sure the fires inside burned hard. After some time, hot squishy stuff was pulled out and hit with the hammer, then rolled into heavy clay pots. The pots were shoved back into the furnaces and heated until the contents turned to bright stuff the colour of the Sun in Shen. This liquid might look like fiery
honey but it was dangerous: one man who got a splash on his hand was burnt to the bone. No wonder they needed Gerthen here. The runny iron was poured into the clay moulds. Some moulds made odd shapes, strips and spikes and flattish lumps, but most produced weapons: spearheads – the leafshaped objects – and knives. Apparently, much as they’d like to make swords to replace the diamond-toothed weapons carried by militia officers, the iron wasn’t strong enough.

  Once she no longer needed to sleep most of the time she began to keep more normal hours, mainly resting at night, taking short walks by day to build her stamina. She’d be up to leaving soon. But where to? She found herself looking for signs. If rain came, she’d head back to Shen now. If all the iron cast today came out whole, she’d go her own way for a while longer. She’d wanted to decide her fate for herself, but now it came to it, she couldn’t.

  On the seventh day after she woke the weather changed from the overcast that had hung over the valley all week. The wind picked up and clouds swirled away to return the land to burning skyland brightness. Dej sat at the edge of the camp looking down over the valley, watching the heat-haze make the remaining clumps of vegetation shimmer and dance.

  When she first saw the dark shape weaving through the landscape she thought it was a mirage, or just some local wildlife. But it walked – staggered – upright. It was a person. She stood, and held a hand up to reduce the glare not blocked by her third eyelid. Definitely a person. And she knew who.

  She broke into a run. “Etyan!”

  He stopped, and swayed on his feet. Dej careened down the slope to grab his shoulders. He sagged in her arms. His face beneath its scale-patterning was drawn and thin, but smiling.

  “Etyan!” She grinned back. “You came after me!”

  CHAPTER 14

  “The bread is not as fresh as it might be m’lady.” Rhia looked up as her maidservant placed the lunch plate on the corner of the dining table-turned-reading-desk, next to the Book of Separation.

  “What? Ah, the shortages are biting, are they?” Prices went up every week, and even House Harlyn’s resources could not guarantee fresh food on the table any more.

  “I fear so, m’lady.” Nerilyn turned to go.

  “Wait, you went to the palace last night, didn’t you? To see your young man?”

  “I did, m’lady.”

  “What news of the duchess?” Francin had hurried Rhia away when he was called to attend to his wife. He had sent a messenger the next day with a typically terse note: Alharet will live. In the week since, Rhia had heard nothing more.

  Nerilyn looked away before saying, “Begging your pardon m’lady, it was unseemly talk.”

  “Unseemly, how?”

  Nerilyn’s brow furrowed, “Well, it was about… how she did it. Tried to do it.”

  “Go on.”

  “You know she’s not allowed anything sharp or dangerous in her rooms?”

  Ever since her incarceration for treason, Alharet had been confined to her suite, save short and heavily guarded walks in the palace gardens and attendance at the royal chapel on restdays. “Indeed not. Did she somehow get hold of a knife?” Rhia went cold at the thought of what Alharet might do with a knife. And at the thought that she might still have allies in the palace who would procure her one.

  “Not a knife. One of the scullions said Her Grace hid a horn spoon, brought with one of her meals. She sharpened it, over some weeks, using the stone corner of her window alcove.” The window itself had been covered by a carved ironwood shutter; the duchess’s only view of the outside world was through ornate filigree bars. “Then she, ah, she plunged it into her breast.”

  “Oh.”

  “They say she wasn’t ever in danger of her life. The wound was shallow. She’s expected to recover fully.”

  “Good.” Guilt nibbled at Rhia. But Alharet had caused death and suffering, and betrayed her shadowland. By rights, she should have been executed. Yet the duke had refused to publicly try her, perhaps fearing to worsen relations with her old homeland. “And how about the duke’s unscheduled absence? Have you heard anything else regarding that?”

  “No one knows. Some still say it’s got to be down to a woman, begging m’lady’s pardon.”

  “They would. Thank you, you may go. But please remember that no rumour is too unlikely or… unsavoury to be of interest.”

  “Yes, m’lady.”

  She should try to get more reading done while she waited for Kerne, who appeared as tardy in his habits as Etyan.

  Oh, Etyan… She sighed. Her brother’s lack of communication was exasperating. Surely he must have been to the estate and seen the letter by now! If this was some game, some protest or ploy his lover had put him up to then they were going to have harsh words when he finally deigned to turn up. And if he did not return… no, he would come home in his own time, smiling and insouciant as ever; damn him.

  Their shared tardiness aside, Kerne was the opposite of Etyan: attentive, eager to please, always willing to put in the effort. Markave had apologised for his boy’s lack of punctuality, as though it were his fault. Her steward seemed stressed. Was it just the ill times? Or had Alharet’s foolish act brought back bad memories? His second wife had been one of Alharet’s victims. Or rather she had been one of the duchess’s agents who, being of the lower orders, had been tried and executed for her treachery. Relations had already broken down between them before that – his wife had already taken a foreign lover – but even so the recollection must hurt.

  When Kerne’s voice broke her reverie her head was drooping over the Book of Separation. She jumped up, eager to move on to happier pursuits.

  Up in her study she got Kerne settled at the day’s copying. Rather than having him just read primers on the study of the heavens, by copying them he would hopefully gain better understanding.

  She was frowning over her calculations when Brynan brought the day’s post: three more refusals to attend her trial, including one from Engineer of Dolm; he had been Father’s closest correspondent, but all he had to say was that he wished her well.

  At least Examiner of Rern said he would check over her workings; he also included a two page commendation of her mental acuity and ability to express logical thoughts in a clear manner. Unlike the other two testimonials she had received so far, it did not mention how unusual such a sharp mind was in someone of her gender, which was a bonus.

  Given the negative responses she might almost think Theorist of Shen had written to her fellow enquirers advising against lending their support. But she was being unfair. Most enquirers, secure in their studies and workrooms, would baulk at the thought of the journey across the skyland to another shadowland. And to go by some of the stated reasons and incidental comments in recent enquirers’ correspondence, Shen was not the only shadowland suffering at the moment. The Harbinger would have brought consternation to weaker minds across the world, and the same drought that held Shen in its grip was causing similar deprecations in Erys and Dolm, the two nearby shadowlands on this side of the mountains.

  “I’ve finished!”

  She looked up to see Kerne smiling at her from the far end of the desk. “Excellent. And have you had any further thoughts on my theory regarding the mechanics of day and night?”

  “I have been thinking about it, yes, m’lady.”

  She was coming to recognise that tone: he acknowledged the validity of the idea, but did not grasp it. Yet. “So, what still puzzles you?”

  “Begging m’lady’s pardon, but even with the world and the Sun as globes, it still seems simpler that night should fall due to some obstacle coming between the world and the light of the Sun rather than all these complicated revolutions.”

  “I can see how you might think that.” She was not sure she could. But she was working from assumptions held for years. Kerne had a week’s reading. “However, it is not so. When darkness falls I will take you to my observation platform and we will observe how the stars appear to wheel overhead as the night progresses to illustra
te the point.”

  He sounded puzzled. “I have seen that for myself, m’lady.”

  “Yes, but only when you thought of the sky as a tableau that moves while we remain static. You need to learn to see with new eyes, Kerne.”

  “I will try.” He sounded embarrassed at having disappointed her.

  “Good. Was there anything else you wished to ask in relation to this theory, before we test it with observation?”

  To his credit, Kerne was always ready with his questions. He nodded and swallowed. “What about the shadowlands? Given we live in shade, could whatever shades us in the day not block all the light at night?”

  “That’s… “ She stifled her initial response. “That’s a creative approach. I believe there are structures in the sky which come between us and the Sun, and diffuse its light. But they do not block it entirely.”

  “And we cannot see them…”

  “No, we cannot, because we see the Sun through them. Do you understand?”

  “I think so.”

  “What remains unclear?” she asked gently.

  “There are dozens of shadowlands, so there must be dozens of such shades.”

  “Indeed there must, and they must be massive and complex structures. Think of it as a… shade-swarm.” Although she was not clear on the mechanics, she had come up with a useful analogy on her last visit to the Harlyn estate. “Imagine a lit window, on the upper storey of a house at night. You are on the ground and there is a tree between you and the window. When you look down, you see a pattern of light and shade being cast. Those patches of shade are the shadowlands.”

  “Would the shades that make these patches not… interfere with each other, as leaf shadows move in the breeze?”

  “A reasonable question, but I do not believe so, given the shadowlands have remained unchanged and stable for millennia. Remember what I said? Space – the openness above and beyond the world – is vast. And most likely lacking in such winds.” Not that she knew for sure, yet. “Remember, my celestial model is a simplification and is not to scale.”

  He nodded, eager as ever. But eagerness to understand was not the same as understanding.