Tracing the Shadow Read online

  “You vowed to join up together?”

  “I vowed to avenge his death.”

  “How did he die?” Her voice dropped to a whisper. There was something about his eyes that told her he must have been through some terrible ordeal. He must still be nursing scars from that experience. She found herself wanting to know what had happened to damage him so deeply.

  “Besides,” he said, avoiding her question, “I also owe Captain de Lanvaux. He saved my life.”

  “The captain saved you?” She became aware that she was looking at Jagu differently, wondering what had happened to him, how deep the scars ran. “What happened? Was it overseas? He fought in Enhirre, didn’t he?”

  “It wasn’t overseas.” He began to pack away his music, sliding the scores into his music case. So he didn’t want to talk about that either. She felt hurt that he didn’t want to confide in her. “I promised him I’d join up when I was eighteen.” There was that determined, resolute tone in his voice again. And it infuriated her that he could be so sure of himself, so certain that he was doing the right thing.

  “But what about the Maistre? What did he say when you told him?”

  She saw him swallow and knew that she’d touched a raw place.

  “He tried to dissuade me,” he said stiltedly.

  “It must be difficult for him to see one of his best students throw everything away. It must feel like a—a rejection.” The words came out before she could stop them. But when it came to the Maistre, her feelings were so strong, so unpredictable that she could not always guard her tongue.

  “He said it was my decision!”

  “But he’s given you so much. Is this how you repay his generosity?”

  “How can you know what’s right for me? You, with your sheltered convent upbringing? How can you know anything?” He seized his case and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

  CHAPTER 22

  The greenhouse was hot and humid, and the fronds of trailing plants brushed Rieuk’s face as he made his way to Magus Aqil’s laboratory. The moist air was heavy with strange scents, some peppery and vivid that tickled his nostrils, others musky, tinged with a fetid odor of decay.

  Aqil’s gift lay in the culture and uses of plants. Rieuk supposed that he should have guessed that such a talent would make the secretive magus a master of poisons as well.

  “Ah, there you are, Rieuk.” Aqil looked up from his work; earthy tubers lay sliced open on a marble board beside a pestle and mortar. “Oranir, bring me the elixir we prepared for Emissary Mordiern.”

  A dark-eyed youth appeared from the inner room, carrying a phial, which he presented to Rieuk, bowing his head. As he looked up, Rieuk felt a sudden jolt of recognition. The boy was regarding him gravely with a gaze that reminded him painfully of Imri, although the mage-glitter in his black eyes was not warm amber but the scarlet and gold of burning magma.

  “Oranir?” Rieuk said dazedly. “An earth mage?” Oranir vanished swiftly into the inner room before Rieuk could thank him.

  “My new apprentice. He somehow found his way to Ondhessar from Djihan-Djihar. He doesn’t say much. I’d guess from the scars on his body that he was treated very harshly when his mage blood first asserted itself.”

  Aqil’s words stirred bitter memories in Rieuk. The thought that anyone could have been cruel enough to damage the boy’s flawless olive skin sent a stab of bright anger through him.

  “So in spite of the Inquisition’s purges, there are still children being born with the gift?”

  “Oranir is the first since you came to us, Rieuk. We are a dying breed,” said Aqil, lightly enough. “Now, this elixir works in two ways. It will give Gobain of Francia the illusion that the cancer eating away at his bowel has been cured.”

  “Isn’t that more cruel than poison?” Rieuk held up the phial, examining the viscous liquid within. It had a purplish tinge, reminding him of the dusty bloom on the skin of fresh-picked grapes. “To give him false hope?”

  “If you really want to be arrested and executed as a poisoner and regicide, then I can give you a far swifter poison to administer,” Aqil said mildly, taking back the phial. “But to allow you time to ‘disappear,’ you need your remedy to be seen to work.”

  “And the second stage?”

  “The elixir will accelerate the growth of the cancer, making it much more aggressive. By the time you’ve left Francia, the king will suffer a sudden relapse and die. So your challenge is to find a way to administer the elixir. Have you worked out a strategy?”

  Rieuk did not answer. He was trying to master a growing feeling of disgust. This deadly elixir seemed an underhanded and cowardly way to carry out the Arkhan’s vendetta.

  Rieuk took lodgings close to the Jardin des Plantes, the physic gardens renowned throughout the quadrant for their collection of medicinal plants from many countries. The most notable Francian physicians came to exchange ideas in the library and it was here that Rieuk went to present the specimens he had brought from Aqil’s greenhouse.

  “I doubt any of the Francians will have seen a scarlet-speckled fritillary or a white balsam poppy before; they only bloom in the hidden valley,” Aqil had told him. “The poppy will pique the physicians’ interest, especially when you tell them of its cancer-healing properties…”

  “I’ve been listening to you with great interest, Doctor Suriel. This elixir that you claim can stop the growth of cancer…”

  Rieuk looked up and saw a smartly dressed man addressing him. “And you are?” he asked levelly.

  “Vallot, personal physician to his majesty the king.”

  “Emeric Suriel,” Rieuk said, bowing. Aqil had helped Rieuk construct a convincing identity for his role, even down to inventing a Djihari physician father and a Francian mother.

  “What proof do you have that this elixir of yours works where other remedies have failed?” Doctor Vallot said, regarding him intensely through his monocle, as if he were scrutinizing one of his patients. “And why should we trust your methods more than our own?”

  Rieuk shrugged. “Indeed, why should you? I’ve studied in Enhirre and Djihan-Djihar for several years; the Djihari physicians use many remedies unknown to us in Francia.” He could sense from his silence that Doctor Vallot was interested in his proposal. “But since you don’t trust my methods…” He picked up his bag, turned, and made for the door, hoping that the ruse had worked.

  “Wait.”

  Rieuk stopped but did not turn around.

  “I’m sure you’ll understand my reticence in this matter.” Doctor Vallot’s tone was almost placating. “It’s the king’s health we’re dealing with here, after all.”

  “Of course.” Rieuk still did not turn around.

  “We’ll need to check your papers.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find that everything is in order,” Rieuk said quietly. The Arkhan’s secretaries had supplied “Emeric Suriel” with Enhirran passports and testimonials, confirming his status as a qualified physician. “But please don’t take too long in making your decision. My visa only lasts for a few more days.”

  “Where can we find you?”

  Rieuk turned away to hide a smile of bitter triumph. “I have lodgings at the rue de l’Arbalète.”

  CHAPTER 23

  The great astronomical clock in the Plaisaunces inner courtyard struck ten.

  Ruaud closed the Life of Saint Argantel. “We’ll continue with our studies tomorrow, highness. It’s late.”

  Enguerrand’s hand shot out and caught his wrist. “Captain.”

  Surprised, Ruaud saw that the boy was gazing imploringly at him.

  “There’s a passage I need to discuss with you. It’s been keeping me awake at night.”

  “Very well.” There was something about Enguerrand’s expression that made Ruaud pass him the ancient volume. “Show me.”

  “It’s this passage. Where Saint Sergius turns to Argantel and says, ‘I’m not ready to take on the task the Emperor has given me. Why has he chose
n me? I’m just a simple man, not a warrior. All I want to do is go home—’” Enguerrand’s voice faltered, “‘—go home to the mountains of Azhkendir.’” He knuckled away a single tear that had trickled behind his spectacles. “Every night I lie awake asking myself the same question: Why me? Aubrey was raised to be king. I never wanted to be the heir to the throne.” Enguerrand’s voice had dropped to a whisper.

  “Yet that simple man found the courage within himself to face the Drakhaouls, highness—”

  “My father has no confidence in me. My mother thinks I’m weak. It’s not that I didn’t love Aubrey—I did! And I miss him very much.”

  So this was what was really troubling Enguerrand. He must have been bottling up his grief for Aubrey all this time. Ruaud looked at his charge, wishing that royal protocol did not forbid him from simply giving the boy a reassuring hug.

  “But I can’t bear the way they keep comparing me to him. I’ll never replace him, and I’ll never be good enough for them!”

  There came a polite tap at the door and Fragan, Enguerrand’s valet, appeared. “Pardon me, Captain, but her majesty asked me to ensure that the prince was not too late to bed.”

  Enguerrand nodded. He looked utterly defeated.

  As Ruaud walked back to his rooms through the hushed corridors of Plaisaunces, he realized that it would take much more than readings about the life of Saint Argantel to give Enguerrand the consolation he so desperately needed. He determined to go to the king in the morning and ask him to take Enguerrand with him to the remote Monastery of Saint Bernez, high in the mountains, so that the boy could mourn his brother undisturbed.

  His hand had already closed around the door handle when he thought he heard a scuffling noise inside. He glanced up and down the empty corridor; there was no sign of a servant or guard.

  Why would anyone be in my rooms at this late hour?

  Ruaud flung the door open. At the same moment there was a flash, a loud bang, and a pistol ball whistled past his cheek, embedding itself in the opposite wall.

  “Who’s there? Identify yourself!” he cried. There was a scramble of movement in the far corner of the antechamber. The emberlight from the dying fire revealed a shadowy form, fleeing.

  Ruaud had left his sword hanging in its sheath. He drew the blade, seeing the emberlight glint on its keen steel. But the intruder had vanished. Baffled, Ruaud cast around, looking for a hiding place. Then he noticed that the tapestry that covered the main wall, a fine piece of Allegondan weaving depicting the Allegory of the Vineyard, was moving slightly. He lifted one corner of the heavy fabric and felt along the plain plastered wall behind, searching for a concealed door.

  “Captain!” Friard came running in and stopped, seeing Ruaud’s drawn sword. “Are you all right? I heard a shot.”

  “Get a light. And your pistol.” Ruaud continued his search until his fingertips traced a thin crack in the plaster. Friard returned with a lantern and by its flickering flame Ruaud showed him the faint outline of a secret door he had discovered.

  “There must a be a hidden catch. Ah.” With a metallic click, the door swung inward, letting out a gust of cold, musty air from a dark passageway beyond. “Did you know of this, Friard?”

  “No, Captain.” Friard sounded as mystified as he was.

  “I’m intrigued to see where this leads.” Ruaud took the lantern from his lieutenant.

  “Why the drawn sword, sir?” Friard asked as they edged along the dank, narrow tunnel.

  “I disturbed an intruder in my rooms.” Ruaud felt a breath of night air and spotted a small grille set in the wall far ahead, half-choked with weeds.

  “It would be a little embarrassing if we were to emerge in the queen’s apartments,” came Friard’s voice from behind him.

  “What are you implying, Friard? That her majesty has been visiting me in secret?”

  “Of course not! I’d never dream of such a thing.” Friard sounded mortified at the suggestion.

  Ruaud smiled in spite of himself; Friard was so easy to tease. “Here we are. Another door. Let’s see where it’s brought us.” He heard Friard swallow hard as he eased up the rusty catch; the door opened inward. “Well, here’s another mystery.” He emerged into the night, gazing around to get his bearings. “We’ve come out in the gardens.” A thick yew hedge ran the length of the wall, hiding the little door. He gazed up at the high wall of the palace wing towering above them. “My rooms overlook the main courtyard. Yet we’re on the river side.”

  “And our quarry has escaped into the night,” said Friard, gazing out over the darkened gardens to the distant lights illuminating the quay and the palace landing stage.

  “Unless this was a ploy to lure us out of the rooms…while his accomplice slipped in, the minute we’d entered the passageway!” Ruaud hurried back into the passageway, Friard running after.

  Someone had been rifling through his desk. The lock had been forced and papers were strewn all over the parquet floor. Ruaud swore. “I walked right into their trap.”

  Alain Friard lit candles on the desk, then helped Ruaud retrieve the scattered documents.

  “Who could it have been?” Ruaud shuffled through the letters and dispatches, wondering what the thief had been searching for. “The Inquisition are much more subtle in their methods. This was so…blatant.”

  “I’ll organize a guard on your rooms, Captain.”

  “I’m sure there’s no need for that.” Ruaud was puzzling over an empty folder; it had contained his recent correspondence with Konan, now Commander of the Guerriers occupying Ondhessar. “Why would Konan’s dispatches be of any interest to anyone? Unless…” He looked up to see Friard regarding him with concern.

  “Details of troop movements, numbers garrisoned at the fort,” he said.

  “Enhirran agents?” It was the obvious assumption. Yet something didn’t quite make sense; the Enhirrans could assess the situation at Ondhessar firsthand. No, the whole incident had an orchestrated feel to it, as if it had been devised to undermine his reputation…or send him a warning.

  “This was a serious lapse in security, Captain. Leaving sensitive documents where they could be so easily stolen by our enemies has put our men in Enhirre at risk.”

  Ruaud stood stiffly before his Commanderie superiors, listening carefully to the charges. Grand Maistre Donatien presided over the tribunal, resting his head against his hand, his expression bland, almost absent.

  “Permission to speak.”

  Donatien nodded.

  “Whoever broke into my desk knew exactly what he was looking for. But I put it to you, Maistre, that an Enhirran agent would gain little knowledge that was not already available to him. It seems more likely,” and Ruaud phrased the next assertion with care, “that this was the work of someone with a grudge. Someone who wanted to discredit me.”

  “And why would anyone wish to do that?” said Donatien in incredulous tones.

  “Someone who resents my position at court. Someone who feels I may have too much influence over the prince.” Ruaud was watching his superiors closely, testing to see if any of them reacted to his allegations.

  “That’s absurd!” Donatien turned to the others with a dismissive little laugh. “We all hold you in the highest regard, Captain.”

  “Then why am I called to justify myself before you?”

  “An official reprimand is appropriate in the circumstances, don’t you agree, gentlemen? But given Captain de Lanvaux’s unblemished record of service, no further action need be taken…at this stage.”

  As Ruaud saluted his superior officers and left the chamber, he found Alain Friard waiting anxiously outside.

  “Let off with a reprimand,” said Ruaud, feigning a lightness of spirit that he did not feel.

  “But it wasn’t your fault, Captain—”

  “I’ll just have to be more careful in future.” Ruaud was walking away at such a swift pace that Friard had to run to keep up with him. “It’s a matter of Commanderie security, after all.�
�� He wanted to put as much distance between himself and Donatien as possible.

  “There’s more to this than you’re telling me, isn’t there?”

  Ruaud stopped on the bridge that led from the Forteresse to the city. “Friard, you’ve been a good and loyal officer to me. I don’t want to implicate you in this.”

  “You know that I’d defend you to the death, sir,” said Friard staunchly.

  Ruaud leaned out over the stone parapet, feeling the breeze from the river flowing below cool his hot face. The clattering of carts over the cobbles would prevent anyone from overhearing their conversation. “I was set up, Alain. There’s a schism in the royal household and Donatien has me marked as a king’s man. But he’s very close—too close—to the queen. And she resents me. She feels that I have too much influence over Prince Enguerrand.”

  Friard’s eyes widened but he made no comment.

  “It sounds so…disloyal to the Commanderie.” Ruaud had not realized till he began to confide in Friard how disillusioned he felt. “I’d always looked up to Maistre Donatien. I modeled myself on him. And now…” He stared down into the churning waters of the River Sénon.

  A hand gripped his shoulder. He looked round to see Alain Friard looking earnestly at him.

  “I believe in you, Captain.”

  Ruaud grinned wryly and clapped Friard on the back. “You’re a good man, Friard. I don’t know what I’d do without you to cover my back. How about a glass of wine before we go back on duty?”

  “Sounds good to me, sir!” said Friard, his face brightening at the thought. Yet as they set off toward the Pomme de Pin tavern, Ruaud found himself glancing uneasily over his shoulder to check if they were being shadowed.

  I didn’t want to believe Abrissard’s warning. But now, I fear, Maistre Donatien, your allegiance to the queen has put us in opposite camps, and divided the Commanderie.

  Jagu shaded his eyes as he gazed at the high walls of the Forteresse, a dark blur towering upward into the scalding brightness of the early-morning sun. He was still smarting from the comments Celestine had flung at him.