Counting Shadows

Chapter Two, Part One

As my Guardian and constant companion, Ashe roused more than a little suspicion about my nature. People seemed to forget why I took Ashe as my Guardian: to save his life.

I still remember the day Ashe was dragged into the throne-room by a bounty hunter. He’d been bleeding, disorientated, and completely mute. I couldn’t let Father sentence him to death, just because of his species. So I’d taken him as my Guardian, the only way I could save him.

I’ve never regretted it. Ever.

I let the memory fade and ask Jolik, “What do you mean, Mister Sir Guard? What do they say about me?”

Jolik merely smiles back at me. He’s not going to tell me about the rumors, and that half of Irrador has begun clamoring for my death. The whisperings of magical ongoings in Southern Irrador have caused a panic, and apparently I’m to blame. 

I’ll admit I look a bit witchy. Black stick-straight hair, ivory skin, and pale blue eyes. In a land where people are supposed to have brown-tanned skin, curly brown hair, and brown eyes, I’m what Father calls “exotic”. Or what others like to call “freakish”.

Jolik steps to the side, granting me access to my chambers. “Lord Farren is inside,” he says, trying to make this common occurrence sound exciting. That’s something I’ve had to get used to: People tend to treat crazies like toddlers. Even when that crazy person has been trained in martial arts, is concealing a knife, and currently plotting a murder.

But Jolik doesn’t realize any of this. He’s just a castle guard, after all. According to Jackal—my former tutor—castle guards are quietly trained to turn a blind eye to everything. It keeps scandals at a minimum. And it makes for some awfully oblivious people guarding the well-being of Irrador.

I flash Jolik one more too-big smile, and he pulls open the door to my chambers. I fight against the guilty twist that strikes my gut the moment I see the small entryway. The entrance looks just like it has for ten months: no furniture, no rugs, nothing. Just stone walls and flooring, and a hallway leading toward the other rooms in my chambers. When Ashe was taken away, he left spatters of blood in this room from his injury. Father insisted everything stained had to be thrown out, but I refuse to replace anything.

“Faye?”

It’s Farren’s rich voice. He always sounds like he’s giving a momentous speech, even when he’s just calling my name from across the hallway.

“Coming,” I call back. I nod to Jolik, letting him know he can leave. “Thank you Mister Sir Guard.”

He bows deeply—it’s the one thing castle guards seem to be well-trained at—and closes my door. I wait until his footsteps retreat, and then let the knife fall out of my sleeve. I catch its handle and quickly tuck it into the sash of my dress.

I’ve always carried a knife—Jackal insists—but I’ve never felt like I needed it until now. Of course, Father feels the exact opposite, and quickly confiscated my weapons after I was deemed unfit for the throne. But he missed one, and now I carry the dagger whenever I’m out at night. After months of meeting with sketchy informants, it’s become like a fifth limb.

“I thought Father took all your toys away.”

It’s Farren, and it sounds like he’s standing behind me. His voice drips with sarcasm, something I’ve learned not to acknowledge. It’s the lowest form of humor.

“And how was your day?” I ask, changing the subject away from my dagger.

“Boring. More pointless meetings with pointless people.” His footsteps echo off the stone floor—one, two three—and my brother comes into view. Farren looks the epitome of royalty; straight shoulders, sharp jaw, and narrow eyes that demand respect. Which is a good thing, since he’ll soon inherit the throne. 

“Although I must say,” he continues, his eyes trailing over the engraved handle of my dagger. “The day just got all the more interesting.” His voice changes to a horrible falsetto that sounds nothing like me. “Why hello, Mister Guard Sir. You’ll open the door for me? Why thank you, it is so very heavy, and carrying this dagger up my sleeve makes it all the more difficult to open.”

“It’s Mister Sir Guard. You screwed it up.”

Farren shrugs. “Same difference. My point is, I don’t know how you manage to go gallivanting around on this little murder mission, and no one notices. It’s insanity.”

I tap my head. “That’s exactly what they think.”

“Of course, and your little scheme works brilliantly.” He flicks his hand in the air, like he’s trying to shoo away the compliment he just gave. “But doesn’t it bother you that the entire castle thinks you’ve lost your mind?”

It’s my turn to shrug. Years ago, Father decided I would inherit the throne on my eighteenth birthday. As a female ruler, I’d be completely powerless. But Father could pick any husband he wanted for me, giving him precise control over the future king.

My eighteenth birthday was on the one-month anniversary of Ashe’s death. And that’s when I lost it.

It was only for a few days, but still long enough to figure out no one wanted an insane queen. After that, my insanity became an act. The Council called off the coronation, deeming me unfit to rule, and I no longer had to worry about being queen. I’d be a princess forever, still powerless, but not closely watched.

Which is exactly what I need. Without bodyguards or royal responsibilities, I can devote my time to finding Ashe’s murderer.

Farren sighs, taking my shrug as an answer. It’s the same answer I give him about most topics: I don’t want to discuss it. I’m not sure why he bothers to visit me anymore, when I hardly talk to him. Maybe he feels bad for me, trapped in a castle where I’m treated like a toddler and expected to act like royalty. Or maybe he actually needs someone to talk to. Someone who knows how to keep secrets, like the fact that he dreads the day he’ll inherit the throne.

End of Chapter Two, Part One. Continued in next section.