Counting Shadows (Duplicity) (17 page)

“I’ve already thought of that,” I say.

Jackal raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes, really. If someone sees us, I’ll tell them I’m Lor’s servant.”

Lor chokes on a laugh, and I elbow him in the side. But Jackal doesn’t seem nearly as amused. He shakes his head and says, “Do you realize how many ways that plan could go wrong?”

“Yes,” I state blandly. “But what else am I supposed to do? Never leave my chambers for the rest of my life?”

“That’s one option,” Jackal says.

I roll my eyes and tug Lor further away from Jackal, heading toward the back exit of the gardens. What is Jackal’s issue? In all the years he’s been my mentor, he’s never cared much about my safety. Now he’s acting like a fretting mother.

“Get back here, Faye,” Jackal snaps. “It’s not safe out there.”

I ignore him and continue walking, Lor trailing along beside me. Jackal may be my mentor, and he might always be right, but he’s not this time. The moment he started keeping things from me, he was wrong.

I don’t slow my pace until we’re out of the gardens.

We make it to the stables without being caught. We’re seen, of course; it’d be impossible for people not to notice Lor, with his height and princely presence. But no one stops us for a conversation, and no guards stop me with orders from Father. We both breathe a sigh of relief as the stables come into view.

“Pick a horse,” I say as we enter the stone building. I gesture to the rows of stalls that line the walls. The royal stables are small, with little more than twenty stalls. It’s nothing but a speck compared to the general stables beside it.

Lor halts in the middle of the entrance. He looks around and rolls his shoulders, as if he’s preparing for some kind of fight. I walk over to the horse I usually ride—Tamal, an aging gelding with a gentle personality—, but I keep an eye on Lor. He doesn’t budge from the entrance. His shoulders roll again, and he tilts his chin up in a challenging stance.

“Needles and horses,” I say.

He clears his throat. “What?”

I stroke Tamal, smoothing the spot on his forehead where his coat meets and forms a little spiral. “Everyone has at least two fears. Yours are needles and horses.”

“Why do you have to be so observant?” Lor mutters.

“I’m not. You’re just really obvious.”

Lor lets out another hum-growl. And then he just keeps standing there, his shoulders rolling and his chin tilting higher and higher. After a moment, his foot begins tapping out another uneven rhythm.

I call to one of the stable boys cleaning out a stall. He scurries over to me, his eyes wide and curious. He can’t be older than fourteen years or so, and he’s skinny as a stick. I don’t recognize him, which makes me want to walk right back out the door. Usually, Arc is the boy who works this stable during the day; he’s the type I know I can trust to keep quiet about my presence. Of course, no one in this stable knows I’m the princess. But it’s still best to keep things quiet, in case Father gets word that I’m coming here without his permission.

“What’s your name?” I ask the new boy.

“Keth.” But he’s not looking at me while he replies; his eyes are on Lor, and Keth takes one step back while he examines my Guardian. He swallows hard.

“Keth, would you saddle Tamal for me?”

Keth nods, although he looks slightly baffled that I’m asking him. Most of the riders in this stable bark orders and wave around their hands with hurried commands. There’s no asking involved. No politeness.

I step away from the stall and let Keth enter. He busies himself with brushing down Tamal, who lazily swishes his tail back and forth. Keth feels my gaze and drops his brush. He curses, and then gasps and covers his mouth. He glances over his shoulder at me, his face flushing to a bright shade of red.

I just smile at him and leave him to his work. Then I walk over to Lor and stand in front of him. “Don’t be a coward. Choose a horse to ride. It’s the only way we’re getting off the castle grounds.”

Lor swallows hard, just like Keth had. It’s odd seeing such a huge man just as scared as a young boy, but then I remember that Lor isn’t all that old himself. Nineteen, if his story from the other night was accurate, and if my count it correct.

“We could walk,” he suggests.

“I’m not walking two miles in a dress,” I say. “Either you’re riding off the castle grounds, or we’re going back to my chambers.”

Lor’s jaw slides side to side, slowly grinding his teeth. He opens his mouth, and for a moment, I think he’s about to agree. But all he does is mutter something under his breath.

“Haven’t you ridden a horse before?” I ask. “It couldn’t have been
that
bad.”

“No,” he says. “I’ve never ridden one before.”

I raise an eyebrow and lean against a post holding up the stable ceiling. Ashe once taught me that if one person acts at ease, others are likely to follow along. Although I’m not sure convincing Lor to ride a horse will be quite as simple as leaning against a wooden post. “You’ve never ridden one? Then how have you traveled? By foot?”

He scoffs. “Of course not. My people aren’t barbarians. We travel using gryphons.”

“Gryphons?”

He rolls his eyes and mutters something else under his breath. Then he rubs his temples, like he’s preparing to explain something to a stubborn toddler. “Yes, gryphons. You know what I’m talking about… Don’t you?”

I shake my head, and he groans.

“Your people are so uncivilized,” he grumbles.

“Civilized or not, you’re stuck with us for the moment,” I say. “And these—“ I gesture to the horses around us, “—are what we use for travel. So chose one, and I’ll have Keth saddle him.”

Lor makes that little hum-growl noise. “At least you know how to use saddles.” He pushes past me and strides down the aisle with a stiff walk, recoiling when one of the horses whinnies.

I stare after him, shaking my head. He’s going to have to be more careful to hide displays that show he’s a foreigner. If he’s going to survive in Irrador, he’ll have to conceal his Angel side.

I brush a stray strand of hair from my face, and do my best to also brush away the thought. Now isn’t the time for it; I need to concentrate on keeping Lor from having a full-on panic attack. Besides, word has already spread around that he’s an Angel, and I don’t think his actions could do much more harm. Father already wants him dead, and I’m already disgraced. I don’t see how he could do much more damage.

“I’ll ride this one,” Lor calls from down the aisle.

Lifting my skirts a little, I walk toward him. I take a take breath and focus on exhaling to keep myself from cursing the person who came up with the most recent women’s fashion. All the royal women are expected to wear long dresses with poofy skirts and flowing fabrics. They might as well have put a ball and chain around all our ankles.

As I reach Lor’s side, my stomach churns, and my deep breath turns into a hiccup. No. Lor can’t choose this horse. Any horse but this horse.

“He’s pretty,” Lor says. He peers closer at the pure-black mare and frowns. “He is… Isn’t he?”

“
She
,” I snap. “Em is a girl. She’s gorgeous, and you can’t ride her.”

Lor reaches his hand out to pet the mare. But he looks more like he’s about to poke her, and I swat his hand away. Lor yelps and recoils. He shakes out his hand, as if I’ve actually hurt him, and then sticks it under his other arm. I pet Em’s neck the correct way, and pretend not to notice as Lor glares at me.

“What is with you?” Lor demands. “First you tell me to choose a horse, and then you beat me when I just do what I’m told.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t be overly-dramatic.”

“I want to ride this one,” he says, and he makes a hesitant gesture toward Em. “Is there something terribly wrong with that?”

“Yes,” I snap. “She’s vicious. She’ll buck you off and trample you if you even try to ride her.”

I wait for Lor to recoil again, but he just shoots me a suspicious look. He glances to Em, and then back to me. “She doesn’t seem all that vicious to me.”

“She is,” I insist weakly. “She’ll kill you.”

Lor reaches out presses his broad palm against Em’s forehead. The mare doesn’t react, other than to toss her head a little. “This was Jay’s mare,” he murmurs. “Wasn’t she?”

I look away. I just can’t…
watch
. Watch as Lor presses his hand against the mare in the same place Ashe always did. Watch as he smiles a little, hesitantly admiring Em with the same uncertainty as Ashe. Watch as Lor steps in and tries to replace my Guardian. My best friend, the Angel I loved.

“No,” I lie.

In the back of my mind, I remember what Ashe once said about this mare when I asked why he liked the horse so much:
“She has a spirit like yours, my little sparrowhawk,”
he’d explained to me.
“She’s strong-willed, but kind at heart. How could I not love her?”

I blink away tears as Lor continues stroking the mare’s neck. “She was Jay’s,” he says. “I know it.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I know a lot of things, sweetheart. And I know that you’re acting weird, and the only times I’ve seen you act weird are when we discuss Jay.” He pats Em and repeats, “This was his mare.”

I grit my jaw and take a deep breath. In and out. Then I do it another time, filling my lungs and releasing the air. For once, it does nothing to calm me.

“You cannot ride her,” I snarl. “She belongs to Ashe.”

Lor grins, and I clench my hand to keep from slapping him. I don’t care if he’s a prince, or a figure from a prophecy. He’s my Guardian now. And, if he’s so determined to replace Ashe, he may as well at least act a little like his twin.

Lor makes a sweeping gesture with his hand, motioning to all the horses in the stables. “I thought your royalty could come down and ride any one of these things they wanted? You did say that no one actually owns a particular horse, didn’t you?”

I grit my teeth until my jaw aches. I
had
said that, and I’d been telling the truth. All the horses in here are strictly reserved for the royalty living in the castle. But few of us actually owned any one horse, except for Father.

“So,” Lor continues, taking my silence as confirmation, “unless you spend a lot of time down here telling other people this poor mare is vicious…” He raises an eyebrow and pats Em again, as if needing to prove to me that my own words are a lie. “Then I’d guess that you don’t care about her being ridden. You just care about
me
being the one to ride her.”

I wait for some retort to rush out of my mouth, but nothing comes. Lor seems to steal that ability from me. “You can’t ride her,” I whisper. “End of story. Now find another horse.”

Lor smirks at me and winks. “As you wish, sweetheart.”

I’ve heard stories of beaches that are comfortable to walk across with bare feet. I’m not sure if shores like those are real, but if they are, they exist far from Irrador.

The sand of Irrador is dark and rough and the consistency of fine gravel. Sharp bits of white shells stick out among the black, and it looks like someone scattered salt and pepper all across the beach.

Tamal’s hooves strike the sand in a leisurely, steady rhythm. Behind me, Lor curses at his horse—a stallion, of course; it’s only suiting for his ego. I turn in my saddle and give him an exasperated look, but Lor doesn’t notice. He’s too busy trying to untangle his reins, which he’s somehow gotten into a knot.

“Primitive,” he spits. “Your people are
primitive
.”

I scoff and face forward again. “In our culture, men are expected to be able to ride by the time they’re four years old.” I wave a hand at him, gesturing to him and his general inadequacy. “That makes
you
the primitive one.”

“I know how to ride,” Lor snaps. “Just not in such a ridiculous method and on such fragile beasts. Do you realize how helpless your steeds are? Do you? And yet you base entire units of your army on these things. It makes you utterly primitive.”

I can’t help but to smile a little at the way Lor’s speech is slowly becoming more formal, and how his accent grows stronger with each word. It seems instinctual for him to revert to princely mannerisms when he’s upset. “You’re awfully worked up about my country’s primitiveness, for a man who doesn’t understand the concept of wearing a shirt.”

This has led to a bit of tension between us in the past few days. Lor claims that it itches when fabric comes in contact with the scars on his back, and that he shouldn’t have to wear any type of upper-body clothing. Period. End of conversation. He won’t see it any other way.

And I won’t have my Guardian walking around half-naked. I keep trying to tell myself that it’s just inappropriate, or that it’s the scars on his back that are bothering me. But, in reality, it’s his tattoo that’s so unsettling.

Every time I look at Lor’s tattoo, I see Ashe. It’s as if he never died, as if he’s right there in front of me. Then Lor makes some rude comment, or smiles needlessly, or does something else Ashe would never have done. And I realize that I’ll never see Ashe again, and that Lor’s presence is nothing but self-inflicted torture. Necessary torture. But still torture.

Lor grumbles some excuse for his lack of shirt, which he took off as soon as we were out of sight from the stables. The scars on his back clearly show, and I mentally keep kicking at myself for staring at them. I can’t help but wonder if he lost his ability to feel pain before or after his wings were torn off.

Lor jerks at his stallion’s reins a couple times. He doesn’t seem to realize that pulling backward is a signal to stop, and he kicks at the horse’s flanks as the stallion tries to slow down.

“You’re lucky you picked the only stallion in the stables about to drop dead from old age,” I call back to him. He’s rapidly falling behind me, and I have to raise my voice more than before. “Otherwise, he’d have trampled you to death by now. You can’t just kick horses like that.”

“What is it with you threatening me with trampling deaths?” Lor calls back. He heaves a frustrated sigh and drops the reins, throwing his hands up like he doesn’t even want to touch them anymore. The stallion shakes his head back and forth, feeling the freedom Lor has just given him. Then he lowers his neck and nibbles at something in the sand.