Page 104 of Play of Shadows
Jereste itself, this city whose citizens were raised to venerate art as a gift from the gods, was itself a game board. Children were born, raised and buried in the same neighbourhoods as their parents andtheirparents before them, never rising from poverty, never sinking from privilege. Burglars and pickpockets plied their trades not from the purses of the wealthy but off the backs of their fellow paupers. The rich who rode insideopulent carriages, fancying they could go wherever they pleased, returned night after night to the same mansions inherited from their parents, rarely seeing beyond their own walls. The city was a prison for all its inhabitants.
And you, Duke Monsegino,do you feel any freer than the rest of us, sitting in that grand throne room of yours, forced to send others out to do your dirty work? Are you not as much a captive as I am, surrounded by those noble families who call you their liege and to whom you must pander or risk not just the crown being taken from your head but your head from your neck?
‘Damelas!’
I’d never heard Shariza shout before. I decided her voice was better suited to subtle, threatening whispers.
‘Have you come to stroll the streets of this glorious city arm-in-arm with me, my Lady?’
The sound of her footsteps picked up. In the short time we’d known each other, I’d grown accustomed to not hearing her movements, which made me wonder if she was deliberately making her heels clack against the cobblestones so as not to make me uncomfortable.
Her hand grabbed onto my arm in a grip that quickly disabused me of that notion. ‘Damelas, the duke commands your presence.’
‘Alas, as you can see, I’m headed in the opposite direction.’
The deceptively strong fingers wrapped around my forearm squeezed tighter, forcing me to stop. ‘You’re headed where?’
‘To wherever a person can live free of the encumbrance of dukes, past or present. Would you like to join me?’
‘No such place exists, Damelas. You know that.’
I turned and caught her gaze. I loved the deep black of her eyes; I supposed I was coming to love a great many things about her. But I was beyond romantic self-delusion now. ‘No such place exists precisely because men like Duke Monsegino always have people like you hunt us down when we dare to go in search of it.’
‘Please,’ she said, ‘you’re in shock. You’ve seen terrible things this night, and the grief inside you feels too much to bear, but bear it you must, because—’
I reached out and let my fingers slide through her dark curls, impertinently allowing the palm of my hand touch her cheek. ‘Because very soon you’re going to decide that words won’t be enough to persuade me, because the Black Amaranth is the sort of name that can only belong to a spy, an assassin and, above all else, the personal servant to the Duke of Pertine. You warned me, didn’t you? I kept calling you Shariza but you said I should think of you as the Black Amaranth. Do all the Dashini take names like that? I suppose it doesn’t matter now. The only thing that matters about the Dashini is that they never fail to complete their missions.’
‘Damelas, don’t do this. Don’t make me—’
I put a finger to her lips. ‘So in a moment you’re going to knock me unconscious– a toxin hidden in a fingernail, perhaps? A precise strike to some minor muscle that causes a man to pass out instantly? Then you’ll catch me as I fall and those guards who, out of politeness for mygrief, as you so gently put it, are staying out of view until summoned, will come running. The next time I open my eyes, those same guards will be propping me up in Duke Monsegino’s throne room, where he will tell methe way things are. And when he is done giving memyorders, those guards will force me to my knees to bow before his Grace.’
She looked stricken. ‘If you know all this, why must you play the belligerent child?’
‘Because when I dared to play the hero, people I cared aboutdied!’
I hadn’t meant to shout at her. Shariza wasn’t to blame for the burning of the Belleza or the death of its director, or the usher, or any of the dozen or more who fell beneath the Orchids’ blades. Her actions were driven by duty, tempered by what mercy shecould afford, but always in keeping with the promises she’d made. In a city overrun with corruption, at a time when no one was who they claimed to be, the Black Amaranth was that rarest of blooms: a person of honour who always told me the truth.
‘People die for reasons far beyond your intervention, Damelas,’ she said gently.
I shook my head. ‘You’re wrong, don’t you see? All my life, I have run from fights. You think the Vixen was the first person to call me Rabbit? People have been calling me worse than that since I was ten years old. My own grandmother hated my cowardice. But you know what she never understood? Nobody got hurt because of me. Nobodydiedbecause of me.’ I tore the silver Veristor’s mark from my collar. ‘Had I run from this, had I fled the city and ignored Corbier’s voice in my head, Roz would be alive. Shoville would be alive.’ I hurled the silver brooch to the ground. ‘Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll come with you, Shariza. I’ll bow before the duke and do his bidding– only tell me that doing so will prevent more of my friends from dying.’
She held my gaze, not turning away as others might when forced to confess an ugly truth. Even now her eyes weren’t soft, not even with the faint glimpse of tears there. ‘You know I can’t, Damelas.’
I nodded, determined to hold my tongue to keep from saying something that would for ever break whatever tenuous thread bound us together. But my skin was still blistered from the fire and my lungs still ached from the smoke. Corbier’s mocking voice was drowned by the roars and screams of men and women killing and dying for no reason I could see, save that they, just like Shariza, were doing what they believed was their duty.
‘Then do what you came to do, my Lady,’ I said. ‘Follow the script without restraint or remorse. Play your part.’
Her lips tightened and I saw tiny wrinkles at the corners of her eyes that I’d never noticed before. ‘You speak to me as if I had noheart, as if I were a wind-up toy that goes in whatever direction it is pushed. But you’re wrong, Damelas: I do have a heart, and if ever I questioned that before, you’ve removed all my doubts, because these cold, cruel words that slip so easily off your tongue are breaking it!’
Stop now, I told myself.Drop to your knees, kiss her hand and beg forgiveness. How hard must it be for someone who’s lived a life like hers to confess such vulnerability? If Beretto were here, he’d shout at you to admit to her– and yourself– that you love her, that the distinctions between you don’t matter. If Grandfather were here, he’d remind you that the difference between a boy and a man is grace.
But I wasn’t Beretto, nor was I Paedar Chademantaigne. A fire had brought down the Operato Belleza tonight and somewhere under its ruins, the body of Hujo Shoville still smouldered.
So I said, ‘I fear, my Lady, that a heart is a terribly inconvenient organ for one in your profession. You should thank me for ridding you of it, as I thank your master for ridding me of mine.’
I never saw her reaction, or if tears had come to her eyes; instead I closed my own and spread my arms wide. ‘I’m ready,’ I said.
I barely felt the blow that rendered me unconscious.
