Page 23 of Play of Shadows
He thinks he’s the hero, I realised too late, no longer able to fight back. My limp hands rested upon my assailant’s forearms as consciousness began to drift away from me.I’m the villain of Abastrini’s tale, and we’ve reached the last line of his script.
The strange thing was, his uncontrolled lunacy revealed the talent I’d always lacked: the ability to commit to something–anything– with such savage intensity that, for those brief hours upon the stage, an actor was overtaken by a madness so profound that only the applause of the audience could cure the disease. I thought I could hear that clapping now– but it turned out to be coming from inside the rehearsal hall.
As if a spell had been broken, Abastrini’s eyes changed as wrath dissipated and sanity returned. The hands around my throat loosened. Desperate gulps of air brought relief so intense I would’ve fallen to the floor had Abastrini not been holding me up by my neck.
‘No one ever told me stage plays could be so violent,’ said a figure so close behind Abastrini that at first it sounded as if the distinctly feminine voice had emerged from between his own gritted teeth. Then Lady Shariza’s face peeked out over his left shoulder as she rose up on tiptoes. ‘It’s almost enough to make a girl consider a change of career.’
Breath returned to my lungs, clearing my vision, and I saw the glistening tip of a stiletto pressed against the bulging vein in Abastrini’s thick neck. He tried to pull away but the blade followed him. ‘Who in the name of Saint Laina-who-whores-for—’
‘I’ve never been fond of hearing that particular saint’s name invoked in my presence,’ Lady Shariza said. ‘Might I suggest another? Ethalia-who-shares-all-sorrows, perhaps? I’m quite certain you’ll soon be requiring the services of the Saint of Mercy yourself, Master Abastrini.’
The strong fingers at last unwound themselves from my throat.
‘There’s a good boy,’ Shariza breathed.
The slender steel blade disappeared.
Abastrini opened his mouth, no doubt ready to unleash one of the elaborate insults for which he was legendary, only to suddenly jump two feet off the ground, yelping in pain, grabbing his buttock and scrambling to get away from the source of his discomfort.
‘Run along now, Master Veristor,’ she said, wagging the stiletto at him like a reproving finger. ‘You can play with Damelas tomorrow– if you learn to behave yourself in the meantime.’
Abastrini, looking as if he was torn between fear and humiliation, stopped when he reached the doors and turned his baleful glare– the cause of many a cast member’s nightmares– upon Lady Shariza. ‘You’re the one who calls herself the Black Amaranth, aren’t you?’
‘I call myself nothing at all, a practice others would do well toadopt.’
There was something deeply terrifying in the casual, almost distracted way she spoke, but Abastrini refused to be cowed. ‘I recognise you for what you are,Dashini bitch.’ Those last two words came out with so much venom, I half expected green mist to spew from Abastrini’s mouth. ‘I’d heard the Greatcoats had put the sword to your kind– I wonder what they’ll do once they learn they missed you?’
Shariza shrugged. ‘Don’t believe everything you hear, Master Veristor. Besides, the question you should be asking yourself is whether, onceyou’regone, anyone will missyou?’
Abastrini slammed a heavy fist against the doorframe, making the wooden casing shudder, and stormed out of the rehearsal hall.
‘Oh my,’ Shariza said. ‘Was I supposed to leave the last line to him? I’m afraid I’m new to this acting business.’
I was about to warn her not to antagonise the man further, but at that moment my legs gave out. My hands grabbed instinctively for the nearest support, which, regrettably, turned out to be Lady Shariza herself. With greater strength than I would’ve expected from one so slight, she managed to keep us both on our feet.
‘You theatre types,’ she said, holding me up even as she pretended to be pushing away the advance of an overeager lover. ‘You’ve barely made a woman’s acquaintance before you’re taking liberties with her virtue.’
She helped me across the room to a chair, then proceeded to examine me, searching for signs of a head wound– or possibly just mental derangement.
Even sitting down made my head spin. I tried to steady myself by focusing on my unexpected saviour, noting that today she had dressed in black fitted trousers and a loose burgundy shirt beneath a dark leather vest. The thigh-high black boots and thenarrow-bladed sword scabbarded to her belt gave her the look of one of those free-blade fencers who wandered the streets at night provoking rich men into reckless– and generally fatal– duels.
‘You saved me,’ I said.
‘Is that what I did? My apologies if I overstepped my bounds.’
She smiled, and my gaze traced the curve of her lips to those high cheekbones, then along the line of a nose that, I saw now, had been broken at least once. From there, my attention was drawn to the barely noticeable wrinkled skin on either side of eyes so dark they could almost be mistaken for black. With an actor’s instinct for scrutiny, I looked past all that beauty she possessed and all the danger she posed until at last I decided that, while I couldn’t swear to it, I wasalmostpositive her smile was genuine.
‘You look at people too closely, Damelas,’ she said quietly, looking away. ‘That is neither polite nor wise.’
I felt my cheeks flush, never a good look on me. ‘Forgive me, my Lady, for any offence I’ve given.’
‘No, I meant only that. . .’ She shook her head before muttering something in a language I didn’t recognise, but suspected from her tone involved a great deal of swearing. ‘I must go,’ she said at last.
An unwise impulse had me rising to my feet and taking her hand. ‘What brought you to me?’
I half expected to find a stiletto at my own throat, but the blade remained hidden. ‘As it happens, this play now lacks a herald for the final act. I thought perhaps the role might suit me.’
The glib reply masked something troubled underneath. ‘It’s the smallest part in the entire play,’ I countered. ‘And I doubt you’d take to the life of an impoverished actress. The duke sent you here to protect me, didn’t he, Lady Shariza?’
