Shadow Dance Read online

  It was a marriage certificate.

  Both of my eyebrows shot up. "Hah!"

  Braeton heaved a sigh and sat back, lifting his hands in defeat. "And you're laughing. You always laugh – Why do – There is a line of women, a mile-long line, who would pull out all their front teeth for what you're holding."

  "I'm not laughing," I said quickly, pinching my mouth small. "And I'm not going to pull out my teeth," I added without looking at him, studying the contents of the binder instead. The names were uninteresting. "Kaen and Larra Anderfield." I shuffled past the certificate and found two sets of identity papers. An aristocratically handsome man with dark, shaggy hair stared at me from one card, and my own face – with my natural hair and features – from the other. I recognized it as one of the first sets of sylvos Marin had taken the last day on the Coralynne. "Why do I look like me?"

  "It'll be easier to maintain on the run," he said quietly.

  I read the details on the standing papers and the travel permits. All of it was simple. Uncomplicated. Designed to blend in anywhere. The last thing in the binder was a scrap of paper with an address scribbled on it. "I take it this is a safehouse?"

  Braeton shifted in his seat. "If we get separated, that's where I want you to go. I trust the innkeeper with my life. He'll help you get back to Aethscaul... with or without me."

  Frowning, I brought my head up.

  "These documents will be kept at that address," he continued, nodding toward the scrap of paper in my hand. "All you have to do is show up and tell Orrelian your cover name. Just... if I'm not there... do me a favor and wait a few weeks before you plan my funeral?"

  I let a grin spread over my face. "No promises." I was joking, but my smile died quickly, stolen by the enormity of what we were heading into. "Thank you," I murmured.

  Braeton's mouth curled into a smirk, and just like that the icy Braeton mask slipped a fraction and NaVarre was sitting on the seat across from me. It had been quite a while since I had last seen him. I found myself staring at those warm golden-green eyes a little too long, and looked down, closing the binder before handing it back.

  ~~~

  We reached the Capitol square of Arritagne and disembarked at the Racynne House as planned. There wasn't a screaming gaggle of sycophants waiting outside this time, mostly because this hotel was in a part of the city accustomed to the rich and famous. In fact, the Racynne House catered strictly to people like Braeton, and many other members of the Circle took rooms there when they were in town. Braeton was counting on it.

  After the luggage had been installed in our rooms, he insisted that I change my morning dress for a touring outfit of rose silk, and then we headed for the Exchange with Arramy, Enrys, and Longwater trailing along behind us. We were out to be seen.

  Several hours later Braeton had bought an entire wardrobe, complete with six new sets of insanely expensive jewelry, six new matched sets of accessories, and 'peasant' costumes for the veildfaste, and spent a fortune in the process. My job was to act the part of his plaything, giddy and clinging, openly demonstrating my appreciation in front of dressmakers and haberdashers and shop goers, attracting attention and causing as much of a commotion as possible.

  I did it. I did it, and I squashed every twist of awareness when Arramy glanced away, his jaw tight. I did it, and the longer I did it, the easier it got to make myself smile and laugh while not looking for the big, silent, steel-eyed blond guarding the door.

  When we had made a big enough spectacle of ourselves, and splashed our names across several society papers, Braeton whisked us all back to the hotel, where we got ready for the veildfaste, exchanging sophisticated city clothes for rustics – a white linen tunic and brown denims for Braeton, and a quaint tapestry half-bodice over an off-shoulder white lace tunic and tiered linen skirt for me. I spent an extra hour making sure my Pretty Pendar mask was glued on well enough to withstand energetic dancing, and none of the edges could be seen, then I let Ina work her magic on my hair. I looked like some sort of nonsensical fairy-tale version of a farm girl when she was done, with ribbons and wildflowers woven through the copper-gold curls tumbling down my back.

  Braeton smiled when he saw me, took my hand, and twirled me around so he could get a better look.

  Arramy didn't smile. He just double-checked the reel on my Misinet and made sure my infuser was hidden well enough in the secret pocket in the hem of my bodice, his touch impersonal and efficient, his expression cool as stone. Then he buckled on his gauntlets and walked out the door ahead of us.

  34. A Sort of Victory

  12th of Dema, Continued

  An hour later, we were motoring north along a rutted country road, looking for the farm Braeton thought could be the site of the veildfaste. It became obvious we had found the right one when we turned down a sweeping, tree-canopied drive, and didn't get more than a few hundred meters around the first bend before we came to a temporary security barricade.

  Two big, rough-looking men flagged us down, and as Enrys brought the horseless to a stop, one of the guards stepped forward, indicating that he wanted us to lower the luxfenestre.

  Calmly, Braeton did as ordered and handed our papers and Delmyrre's seal-stamped invitation card through the open window.

  The guard took his time examining them, periodically frowning at us, then at the sylvographs, then at the invitation. My heart stopped when he walked away to confer with the other guard. Then, finally, he came back, returned the papers, and waved us on through the stanchions.

  Braeton let out his breath on a silent whistle and gave me a sidelong look. "That was close."

  I nodded and went back to staring out the luxfenestre as Enrys continued on down the drive. The fact that this party was guarded, and Delmyrre's invitation had gotten us in, could only mean one thing: Braeton's hunch was right. This was a Shadow Road event.

  A big white-washed stone barn came into view, gilded by the rose-gold light of an early-summer sunset, surrounded by neat paddocks in a green field lined with trees. The farmhouse was similar, but instead of paddocks it had a wide porch and a roof of heavy thatch.

  Whoever the farm belonged to, they weren't there, and they had taken all their animals with them. The farmhouse was dark, the barns empty. The only sign of life was a corridor of colorful lanterns that had been strung from the end of the parking yard through the picket gate of a pretty little kitchen garden. They continued through an orchard of apple trees in bloom, then through a barely tamed rambling, with pathways mown through tall grass, scrub-willow and wild gorse. At the far corner of the rambling, the lights led through a gap in a tree-choked fence and into a broad hayfield.

  As we walked, the sound of music and conversation began growing louder, clearer. Then we stepped through the gap in the fence and found the veildfaste. Brightly lit awnings and tents of every color and shape stood in a loose circle, with a bonfire roaring away in the middle of it all, warding off the gathering dusk.

  There were several hundred people there, lounging on lawn cushions, drinking and carousing, dancing to the music coming from a sonularri stage. All of them were dressed like peasants - or, rather, a rich person's idea of how a peasant would dress. Silk and linen, denim and lace, leather and gauze, necklaces of hempen string, glass beads and tassels, amulets of wood, crystal and feathers. There wasn't a dirty work shirt to be seen, or any sweat-stains, or patched over pants. None of the girls wore their hair cut short or knotted up into scarves.

  Arramy didn't say a word, hanging back at the edge of the courtyard as Braeton pulled me straight into the dancing, jumping into the middle of a country brevyeda as easily if he had been born doing it, lining up with the other men, shaking his shoulders and snapping his fingers, flying through the steps without missing a beat.

  I slipped into my Pretty Pendar act, smiling and giggling as I took up a position across from him with the other women, waiting our turn to answer the men's challenge with our reply.

  The men all gave a shout as they came to a s
top, and then it was the women's turn. We went through the motions, flicking pretend lint off our shoulders, acting saucy and stand-offish before forming ranks and twirling away, then back, then away, with the men whistling and crooning encouragements at us. It might have been fun if we were on Aethscaul. Here, it took on another, more predatory note, and anxiety twisted through me.

  I might have looked like a Shadow Girl to Arramy, but that didn't make me one. Braeton was using me, but not for that. I wasn't going to wind up on the slave blocks, or in a cargo bin bound for the colonies. The difference rubbed my conscience ragged as the brevyeda ended. I kept my eyes on Braeton, avoiding real interaction with any of the other girls when we paired up as couples again.

  But the next dance started without us. Laughing, Braeton took my arm and led me away from the dance toward the amuletiary booth, his arm around my shoulders. Halfway there, he bent to whisper in my ear, his voice low and intense, "Desmodian Pha Mun-Ghour is here."

  I pasted on a smile and chuckled like he had just said something funny.

  "He's over in the mystica tent, having his fortune read," Braeton went on, pulling me under the amuletiary awning, ducking us both behind the bunches of talismans and amulets hanging from the roofing poles. "I'm going to try to corner him. I need you to mingle. Keep your ears open."

  I gave a shaky nod.

  Braeton brought me around to face him and stood looking down at me. "Be careful."

  "You too," I mouthed.

  That got a quicksilver pirate grin. He reached up above our heads and undid an amulet, then looped the string of white beads around my. He hesitated, his gaze still meeting mine. Some nameless emotion flickered behind that diamond-cut Braeton mask, barely there before it disappeared, as if he had caught it and snuffed it out. Then he was gone, parting the half-curtain of amulets and sauntering off toward the mystica tent, whistling a jaunty tune, his hands in his pockets, nonchalant as you please.

  I glanced down. A large pink crystal sparkled at my bodice, bound with gold wire and etched with Farengan runes. "May you be prosperous and well-liked," I translated aloud. "Well... At least it goes with the dress."

  With a sigh, I pushed the amulets and talismans aside and stepped back out into the courtyard. Mingle, he had said. Mingle with young, desperate girls, pretend to be one of them, and do nothing to help them get out of their immediate situation in the name of saving some nebulous, faceless 'all of them.' Even if we brought the Coventry and the Shadow Road down tomorrow, these girls wouldn't suddenly be free. If anything, they would be in more danger, not less, a risk to be gotten rid of rather than an expensive doll to play with.

  That all-too-familiar surge of nausea clawed at the back of my tongue; the light of the bonfire blurred, the noise of the party becoming a dull, indistinct rumble.

  Numb. I had to be numb, or I was going to come apart. Unbidden, my eyes picked out a tall, lean, pale-haired figure lurking in the shadows on the far side of the courtyard.

  He wasn't watching Braeton. He was watching me.

  The weight of that icy stare brought a haunting clarity, as if the moment had been frozen and only the two of us existed. We were very different weapons wielded by the same man. I wasn't alone. Looking away, I firmed my spine and dragged in a hollow breath. The armor that I had built so carefully was fraying at the edges, barely holding together, but I pulled it on anyway, mentally refusing to let myself feel anything. Arramy wasn't the only monster at this party.

  "What is a beautiful creature like you doing over here by yourself?"

  I turned to look up at the dark-haired man standing a few paces away. His thumbs were hooked in his front belt loops, his shirt gaping open to his navel, several strands of beads and talismans glittering against his oiled chest, and he was leering at me. Lord Kallovedes. Son of the late Duke of Tarakos. Very dangerous, Rule Number Six, but a definite target, may have knowledge of Coventry plans and identities.

  "Waiting," I said simply, rolling the word with a Tettian lilt.

  Kallovedes raised sleek, slender, inked-in eyebrows. "Is that so?"

  "Mmmm-hmmm. Lord Braeton is talking to a friend, so I do not have anyone to dance with. I do love to dance."

  "Ah, well then you're in luck," Kallovedes sidled up next to me, whispering as if we shared some sort of secret. "It just so happens... Braeton sent me over here to make sure you're having fun, and I, also... love to dance."

  I managed a bubbly little giggle when he offered his arm with a flourish, then I slid my hand into the crook of his elbow and let him pull me toward the bonfire.

  The easy part was the dance. The hard part was grinning like a rattlebrain when Kallovedes held me too close. Making any sort of conversation was impossible. The dance was too fast, the footwork demanding, and by the time the music stopped Kallovedes was looking at me like I was a sweet he wanted to sample, which made my flesh crawl. The need to run broke in a cold wave over my skin when his hands didn't move from my waist after the next song began. I flashed a breathless smile, curtsied and tried to step away, to put some sort of distance between us, but he just smirked and shook his head.

  "Not so fast. I'm not done with you."

  The musicians struck up the opening strains of a much slower, much more personal reparre, and Kallovedes yanked me close, his grip a demand rather than a caress.

  Revulsion ran its million tiny insect claws up my back. Information. I needed information. Kallovedes was on Braeton's list of targets for possibly hosting the Functions a few of the Rikkafilla girls had described. As such, it was highly likely he knew some of the other attendees, which would give Braeton more names to toss around, so I stifled the urge to swat his hands off my behind, and consciously relaxed into him, tipping my head back to look up at him. "I hope this is not being too... immodest... but I have daydreamed about you. Ever since I first saw you."

  Kallovedes' lips curled into a self-indulgent grin. "Have you, now?"

  "Yes... But... You didn't look at me." I widened my eyes a little, my expression wistful. Lost kitten. Let him see a lost, helpless kitten.

  He missed a step.

  My heart was pounding so hard my ribs ached. "Braeton is rich," I whispered. "And... soft. Not like you."

  "Where did you meet me?" He asked, brows lowering into a slight frown.

  "At a party. Like this one," I smiled. "At a house. A very big house."

  He studied me, his frown deepening just a little. "And you were there with Braeton?"

  Careful... "No. He won me later in a card game. Lord Delmyrre brought me."

  With a quick glance around, Kallovedes began dancing again, but there was something new in his face, a hard, dangerous gleam to his eyes.

  Panic slid through my middle as he maneuvered us swiftly toward the edge of the courtyard, away from the bonfire.

  In my peripheral, I saw Arramy start forward, his eyes searching the spot I had just been, but it was too late. He wasn't looking in the right place when Kallovedes grabbed my arm and pulled me between two of the veildfaste stands, heading for the lantern-lit exit in the rambling fence.

  "Where are you taking me?" I choked, trying to balk.

  "Delmyrre has never been to any of my training parties," Kallovedes said, yanking me with him, his other hand landing heavy on my shoulder, propelling me past the fence posts and into the rambling. "How do you know about them, hmmm?"

  "I...I overheard Lord Braeton talking about you!" I gasped, craning to get a glimpse behind us as he kept shoving me down the pathway. The bright glow of the bonfire was suddenly very, very far away, and the pools of light beneath the lanterns seemed too few and too far between. The darkness yawned like an open maw, ready to swallow me up. Desperation made my voice breathy and high. "He wishes he could be like you! He is obsessed with your popularity —"

  Kallovedes slammed his hand over my mouth, his face set in an ugly sneer. Then he whipped me around and began muscling me backwards into the ink-dark shadows beneath a stand of pines, pushing until my back was
against prickly bark.

  He let go of my jaw. Metal glinted, catching the lantern light, and then the point of a blade pressed cool and deadly to the hollow of my throat.

  There was no way to reach the Misinet strapped to my inner thigh. Frantic, I ran my fingers along the hem of my bodice, searching for a small oblong lump.

  Kallovedes bent to look at me. "Don't play games, filla," he hissed, nostrils flaring. "You've never been to one of my training nights. I'd remember. Sweet girls like you don't last long. I would have had to get rid of your body. And Braeton wouldn't know anything about them, he's never been vetted. So let's try again. Who told you?"

  I stared up at him, fighting a wave of panic. Keep him talking. "Reixham," I panted. Button. Find the button. "Lord Reixham. He had me before Braeton."

  Kallovedes went still, the whites of his eyes nearly perfectly round, pale in the gloom. For some reason his darted a glance at my hair. "Is that so?"

  "Yes," I said, reading the flicker of fear in the lines trenching his forehead.

  "And... what exactly did Reixham say?" Kallovedes' eyes narrowed to slits. The edge of the knife dug a little deeper.

  "He said you don't deserve to be part of the Coventry," I got out, seizing on a hunch.

  For an instant he hesitated. Then he bared his teeth in a savage snarl and pressed the blade into my skin. "Lying again. Reixham wouldn't have discussed any of this with a woman, he doesn't keep them long enough."

  I was out of time. The infuser button clicked beneath my thumb.

  "Now, I'm not going to ask again —" Kallovedes stopped talking and looked down at his middle, where the side of my fist was pressed tight against his belly. He swayed and his head came up, his mouth gaping as his horrified gaze found my face.