Page 16 of Play of Shadows
‘You misconjugated the final verb,’ I said in an offhand manner as I buttoned up my coat.
She appeared confused for a moment, as though reading her own words back to herself, then smiled when she realised she’d made no error, but instead had been tricked into confirming she wasn’t a native speaker. ‘You made me betray myself.’
I offered her my grandfather’s smile. ‘How are my wits seeming now, gentle Lady?’
There was no word, no glimpse of a gesture or movement – nothing, in fact, but the sudden cool sensation of steel at my throat.
‘Not entirely suited to your circumstances,’ she replied.
As quickly as it had appeared, the stiletto was gone, secreted away– I was almost positive– in the sleeve of her gown.
‘But let us leave our cavorting for another time,’ she said, and reaching over, pushed open the carriage door. It swung effortlessly, proving that not only was I as naïve as she’d said, but also gullible.
‘The door wasunlocked? The whole time?’ I asked.
‘I told you, only amateurs try to escape through the bars.’
I heard the thumping of the driver’s boots as he clambered down from his perch. A moment later, he appeared outside and held open the door for me. His long, mud-stained grey coat hadthe collar pulled up; that, along with his black felt tricorn hat, masked his features in shadow.
‘That’s it, then?’ I asked the Black Amaranth. ‘A few questions and you’ve determined I’m no threat to his Grace?’
‘I don’t decide anything,’ she replied.
The carriage driver extended a hand to help me down to the street. ‘If you’d be so kind as to step outside, sir?’ he asked politely.
Toopolitely.
Carriage drivers– especially those employed by noblemen– earn as little as actors, but they see themselves as a good deal more important. I couldn’t make out his face, but his hand on the door was barely a foot away from me and his fingers were clean, the nails perfectly trimmed.
‘Sir?’ he asked.
His fingers were unadorned, but I could see bands of paler skin between the second and third knuckles where rings had been.
‘He does not work for you,’the Black Amaranth had said of the carriage driver. ‘The driver does not work for me, either.’
Duke Firan Monsegino caught my stare and knew his little masquerade was done. He pulled up the cuff of his muddy grey coat, revealing a heavy silver bracelet adorned with metal tubes the size of his little finger. He slid a tiny blue-glass vial from one of those cylinders and lifted it to his lips. Drinking from it made him wince. ‘I wanted a sense of the kind of person I was dealing with,’ he informed me after fitting the vial back into the bracelet. His tone had become smoother, more majestic, as if to remind me that playing the role of a duke is a little different from playing that of a carriage driver.
‘And what did you decide, your Grace?’ I asked, stepping out onto the street and bowing with what I hoped was sufficiently convincing obeisance mixed with a touch of derision over his little game.
The duke gave no reply, but acknowledged my bow with a curt nod before climbing back up to the driver’s bench at the front of the carriage.
‘He likes to see how his people live,’ the Black Amaranth said through the window. ‘The advisors he inherited from his predecessor are prone to. . . optimism.’
‘So he goes out and plays the role of the Affable Inquisitor inBetween Two Midnight Murders, disguising himself as a carriage driver so he can mingle with the masses?’
The slight rise at the corner of her mouth paired with the barest hint of a shrug conveyed that she wasn’t entirely convinced of the duke’s ploy. I’m not sure why, but I found this moment of candour– however downplayed– to be utterly entrancing. That entire ride around the city, I’d thought of her only as the Black Amaranth, a mysterious and deadly assassin. But wasn’t that a role, too?
‘Might I have your name?’ I asked her for the second time tonight.
‘What does it matter?’
I recalled a line Abastrini had delivered in one of the minor romances the company sometimes performed in between the grander plays. I’d always rather liked it. ‘Because a man should know the name of the woman who might soon take his life but has already stolen his heart.’
She looked at me as if trying to decide whether I was the biggest fool she’d ever met or someone playing a more dangerous game than even she knew. It occurred to me that I might need to keep up that pretence if I hoped to survive the night.
‘Call me Shariza,’ she said at last. ‘For as long as it matters.’
I honestly hadn’t expected her to answer. I was both surprised and touched that she did.
