Page 72 of Play of Shadows
‘Glad you’re finally developing a talent for understatement,’ I said, pushing away Teo, who looked as if he was contemplating leaping on Beretto’s back. ‘Your sense of timing could still use some work.’
My breath caught in my throat when I saw Shariza approaching from the wings. She’d already shed Ajelaine’s gauzy nightdress in favour of a sturdy leather jerkin and trousers. Both the curved dagger and long, slender rapier were at her side and her hand moved between them as if she couldn’t decide which she would draw. Her dark eyes were fixed on me.
Will it always be like this between us?I wondered, the sight of her momentarily deafening me to the clangour beyond the curtain.
Despite the danger, my thoughts returned to the moment I saw her sitting on the bed, beckoning me; the scents of the candles and rose petals– the smell ofher. When she looked at me, did her Dashini training war against the same flood of emotions?
‘Saint Gan-who-laughs-with-dice protect us,’ Shoville swore, signalling for the stagehands to raise the curtains at last. ‘To your marks, everyone.’
As we shuffled into our assigned places, Shariza pushed her way to the centre and took my hand in her left, Abastrini’s in her right. It was an outrageous breach of protocol, but a clever instinct: the three of us displaying such cordiality might– justmight– remind the audience that the many outrages they’d witnessed this night had been nothing more than a piece of theatre.
‘Smile, all of you,’ Shoville commanded. ‘Smile as if your lives depend on it!’
The curtain rose, but our audience barely noticed, for they were too busy debating theories and trading explanations– all of which apparently necessitated a great deal of shouting and wild gesticulation, wailing and weeping. Some were pleading for calm, while others issued rallying cries for violence. One poor fellow was desperately trying to restrain his wife, who’d drawn a bejewelled blade from the sleeve of her dress and was threatening to slit the throat of her neighbour, who looked so similar she had to be a sister.
‘I don’t understand,’ Teo said from behind me. ‘Is this a good thing or a bad thing?’
‘Well, they’re all talking about us,’ Beretto replied. ‘What else can a troupe of players ask for?’
Not finding ourselves hanging from lantern-posts with spikes coming out of our skulls would be a nice start, I thought, but not even that hideous image could banish the more sinister thought that was presently haunting me.
‘I saw something in Corbier’s memories,’ I whispered to Beretto. ‘The two lieutenants– Pierzi’s men– they were wearing the same brooches we’ve seen on the Iron Orchids!’
Beretto kept his smile pasted firmly in place for the oblivious audience. ‘How could that be? The Orchids only started up a couple of years ago. Besides, they’re working-class thugs, not proper soldiers.’
Nor had there been any record of such symbols being part of Pierzi’s House regalia in any of the dozens of histories I had consulted in the Grand Library.
What if I’ve been hallucinating Corbier’s world the entire time, concocting this dream from my own fears and confusion? Maybe what the legends call Veristors were really no more than eloquent lunatics spouting delusion– or worse, their own political philosophies?
Amid the sea of madness in the stalls was a lone island of calm at its centre: Duke Firan Monsegino was still in his seat, still wearing his silly traveller’s cloak and broad-brimmed hat. The sight of him there, untroubled by the chaos the play had unleashed upon the audience, awoke a reckless fire in my belly.
‘My Lord Duke,’ I called out, projecting my voice to drown out the clamour of the crowd.
Shariza hissed and squeezed my hand painfully hard.
How is someone so delicate so strong?I paused to wonder, but the memory of Ajelaine and her children so cruelly slain burned inside me. ‘Might a poor player know, your Grace, if tonight’s entertainment was to your liking?’
Stillness swept over the audience as they realised that an actor– a mere performer– had defied convention by daring to call out the duke in front of his nobles.
Duke Monsegino rose, removing the hat from his head. He held my gaze a long while before saying at last, ‘I found the performance. . . illuminating.’
I returned his cynical reply with a mockingly small bow. ‘How kind that you shou—’
‘A bit melodramatic for my tastes, however,’ Monsegino continued smoothly, cutting me off. His eyes swept the audience all around him, showing that his displeasure wasn’t limited to the performances that had taken place on the stage. ‘I do hope the finalé will bring back some of the stately dignity for whichthis hallowed theatre is renowned.’
Shoville scurried to the front of the stage. ‘Of course, your Grace– the very plan indeed! We shall—’
‘No,’ I interrupted.
Again Shariza squeezed my hand, this time pressing her fingertips against small bones so painfully I almost cried out before managing to release myself.
‘“No”?’ the duke asked. ‘But we have witnessed only the first two acts.’
‘It’s a two-act play, your Grace.The Tragedy of Corbier and Ajelaine: a tale of such sorrow that to add to it would only force their suffering upon the good people of your duchy.’
The duke chuckled, but somehow the laughter never made it to his eyes. ‘I am quite certain, Master Veristor, that the men and women of Pertine are made of sturdier stuff than you credit them.’ He turned to his nobles. ‘What say you, friends? Have your hearts the strength to survive the ending to this sad tale?’
The crowd enthusiastically cheered the duke’s name, as much to demonstrate their loyalty as signal their assent. I doubted their sincerity on both fronts.
