Counting Shadows (Duplicity)

“It’s going to be okay, Ashe,” I lie. “Everything is going to be just fine.”

Ashe looks at me with wide eyes, and I’m shocked he’s able to focus. His gaze usually darts around in a frantic search for danger, fluttering this way and that, never daring to settle on one object.

Now Ashe stares right at me.
Into
me. He seems to realize it’s pointless to look for danger; five castle guards have already burst into my chambers and surrounded him, their spears pointing at Ashe’s chest. The arrest orders hang heavy in the air:

“By command of the High King, the Guardian of Princess Faye is to be taken into custody, where he will await trial for treason.”

His black eyes settle on mine, the pain in them a silent accusation. Ashe knows he’s about to die. And he knows I’ve lied about his Fate.

I can’t feel guilt. I can’t feel
anything
. There’s only my ragged breaths and the tears pressing against my eyes. Ashe steps toward me, even though I’m in the opposite direction of the door.
No,
I silently beg him.
Run.
I don’t realize I’m shaking my head until he falters.

“Stop,” one of the guards hisses, even though he already has. “Don’t go near the Lady Faye.”

My heart pounds wildly.
“Just count the beats when you get scared,” Ashe told me months ago, as he pressed his palm over my heart. “Remember that I’ll protect you until the day they stop. And don’t be scared anymore.”

I gasp in air.
One, two, three, four…

He walks toward me, his face hard with determination.

Five, six, seven…

One of the guards shouts and stabs his spear forward. At Ashe.
My
Ashe.

My heart stops.

I scream at the guard, telling him to stop, to leave, to disappear and never show his face again. But my words are a jumbled mess, and it’s too late. The spear pierces Ashe’s right wing, drawing blood. Nausea fills me as the red blood mingles with his crimson feathers. I’ve always loved his wings. They mark him as an Angel, the one bit of perfection in my life.

Now those wings are ruined.

Ashe’s eyes never leave me, even as the guard tears his spear out of the wound. I swallow hard. I’ve never stared into his eyes for too long, knowing I’d probably lose myself in all the pain and loneliness in their depths. Now I never want to look away.

“Get moving,” the guard with the bloodied spear growls. He stabs at Ashe again, but Ashe grabs the shaft of the spear before it strikes him. He yanks the spear from the guard and snaps it in two. Ashe allows one of the halves to clatter to the stone floor, but keeps hold of the sharpened end. His gaze slowly sweeps over the four guards with weapons, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

“You can’t do this,” I say, finally finding my voice. “My father would never allow it.”

“Your father
ordered
this,” snaps the guard without a spear. He braces for an attack, as do the others.

Then their leader takes a step forward and pushes out a staying hand. “Wait.”

I recognize this leader as Jolik. He was my bodyguard for awhile before Ashe became my Guardian. I’m not sure how many bodyguards I went through—five, six?—but they never lasted long before I excused them.

Jolik nods to Ashe. “Let him say goodbye.”

The weaponless guard speaks up. “He could kill her.”

“He won’t,” Jolik says, shaking his head.

Ashe doesn’t wait for Jolik to change his mind. He drops the broken spear and rushes to me. Cupping my face with one hand, he uses the other to press me against him. Familiar heat radiates off him this close. He tilts my chin up and kisses me so gently, I barely feel his lips against mine. But I can feel the desperation, and as he presses me a little closer, I know this is a goodbye.

The kiss only lasts a moment. Then the guards drag him away, and those threatening tears finally spill. I’m not sure if the tears are angry or anguished. Or maybe just broken.

“You’re right, little sparrowhawk,” Ashe says over his shoulder. “Everything is going to be okay. I promise.”

I don’t get to respond. The last guard exits my chambers and slams the heavy door closed, leaving me truly alone for the first time in years. I take a shuddering breath, willing the doors to burst open, for Ashe to come rushing back to me.

They don’t. Silence settles over the room, screaming the truth:

Nothing will ever be okay.

Darkness fills the alley. I tug my hood closer and glance up at the only light around—a candle in a window above me, its flame struggling to show through the clouded glass. I sidestep away from the faint light, silently thanking the owners of these buildings for being too cheap to install clear windows. If someone spotted me here… Well, Father wouldn’t be happy, to say the least. And it’s always stupid to upset the king.

The flame in the window sputters and blinks out, leaving me in complete darkness. I think back to five years ago, before Ashe came into my life, before he changed everything. That winter, I’d spent every Wednesday evening in Father’s chambers. He would lick his fingers and pinch the wicks of the candles, leaving the room pitch dark, except for the starlight filtering in through the window.

“There’s so many,” I’d whispered, my hand pressed against the cold window. Condensation formed a little outline around my fingers, and I wiggled them, smearing the handprint.

“The Angels believe each star is a broken promise,” Father murmured, staring out alongside me. “They say they’ll linger above the heads of people forever.”

I frowned and looked up at Father. “That’s so sad.”

“Well, the Fae’s belief is happier. They think their dead transform into stars, so they can look down on their loved ones forever.”

“I like that better.”

He patted my shoulder and chuckled. “Of course you do, Faye. Why do you think I named you after them? Your heart is just as pure as their kind.”

I close my eyes against the memory. Against the failure.

A whirring sound hums in my ears, jarring me back to the present, where darkness surrounds me and the stars are covered by thick clouds. A faint light appears at the end of the alley, and I take a hesitant step back. No one is supposed to be here, or at least not anyone dumb enough to carry a lantern in this part of town. That light is practically a beacon for muggers, and I step toward the rough brick wall to my right, hoping the shadows are enough to conceal me.

But the light comes closer, floating through the air with that whirring sound trailing after it. I glance behind me, but there’s only a decrepit dock and the churning waters of the dark ocean. What was I thinking, coming here alone? Stupid, stupid, stupid…

I look closer at the light, squinting into the blackness and trying to make out who is carrying the lantern. But there’s no one, and it’s not a lantern. A faint smile crosses my lips as I realize what I’m seeing: a hummingbird phoenix, its feathers alight with magical fire, its flaming wings beating the air. It’s a juvenile, its fire a vibrant purple color and tipped with flickering shades of green and blue.

But its eyes… They aren’t right. The flames in its pupils are red, which shouldn’t be possible; only mature phoenixes have red flames.

I take a step toward the bird and hold out my hand, hoping it might land on my wrist like one of Father’s hunting falcons. But, just then, footsteps ring out from the entrance of the alley, and a man’s shadow drifts over the stone ground. The hummingbird phoenix twirls around, and as soon as it sees the figure approaching me, it darts off into the sky.

Blackness drapes over the alley, but I stare into it and focus on the man approaching.

“You’re early,” a throaty voice says, and the footsteps halt.

I keep my expression bored as I reply, “No, Derrin. You’re just late.”

Derrin chuckles. Most of him is hidden behind a long black coat, but he’s thrown the hood back. I’m not as brave, and pull my cloak tighter around my shoulders. The soft fabric is warm, and for a moment, I’m able to pretend it’s one of Ashe’s wings wrapped comfortingly around me.

“Any news?” I ask.

Derrin cocks his head to the side, like a curious bird of prey. I imagine he used to be handsome— he’s half Fae, and a unique mix of harsh angles and willowy grace. But now his face is ruined by a jagged scar that rips across his forehead and down his cheek. “You know, my little friend, I was beginning to think you were crazy,” he says, his accent just as thick and ugly as the scar. “But then I found
this
.” He pulls an envelope out of his cloak and extends it to me. “Says your man is back in Kastellor. And he can be found.”

I try to snatch the envelope from him, but he jerks back. “It’ll be extra if you want to read what’s inside.”

“I already paid you,” I growl.

“You paid me to find the information. You never said anything about letting you read it.”

I grit my teeth, holding back a frustrated groan. “I don’t have any more money to give.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Oh, really?” Derrin steps toward me, until I can smell his breath that reeks of alcohol and decay. “Don’t think you’re fooling me,
princess
.”

I stumble back.
Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm…

Derrin grins at my reaction. “Yeah, that’s right, isn’t it? The king’s little girl running around at night, trying to find a man. Let me guess, you fell in love with him, and he ran off without you. Right?”

“Wrong.”

Derrin scoffs. “Oh, really? Then why are you so desperate to find this guy?”

“That’s not your business.”

“Yeah, princess, I guess not. But that doesn’t change that I could tell the king what you’ve been up to. You think he’ll appreciate hearing that his daughter has been hanging around the Water District?”

No, of course not. Everything about this place is wrong for a princess: the dark waters bordering the buildings, the smell of fish blood and burnt tar, the creaking sound the docks make as the wind rattles their rotted boards. But I’m not about to admit that to Derrin, and I glare at him, unsure if anything I say can make the situation better.

He laughs at my expression. “I thought not. Tell you what, hmm? You give me all the money you have on you, and I won’t breathe a word. Plus I’ll give you this.” He wags the envelope in my face.

I grind my teeth, unable to tear my eyes from the envelope. What Derrin holds is probably just another dead end and false lead, but… what if it’s not?

“Fine.” I reach into my cloak and pull out a small bag of coins. It’s too light, and a harsh reminder of how much money I’ve already spent tracking down this man. I let my head hang as I approach Derrin, my hand clenched angrily around the coin bag. It doesn’t have to happen this way.

But
none
of this should be happening. Because Ashe shouldn’t be dead.

I stop a yard in front of Derrin, standing lightly on the balls of my feet, ready to react to any threat. The smell of his breath strikes me again, and I wince. Derrin thrusts his hand forward, wiggling his grimy fingers in a silent order to hand over the bag.

Too bad I’ve never been very good at listening to orders.

I drop the bag, Jackal’s voice echoing in my head: ‘
Step one: Distraction. Distracted foes are always easier to take down.’

‘But isn’t that fighting dirty?’ I’d asked.

‘Better dirt than your own blood.’

Derrin lunges for the bag, tilting down and throwing himself off balance. I snatch hold of his thumb and twist it. My muscles strain with the effort, reminding me of all that weight I lost since Ashe’s death. But I can beat myself up for that later, after I finish beating Derrin. I jerk on Derrin’s thumb, twisting it behind his back.

‘Step two: Attack. Quickly. Don’t give your enemy enough time to figure out what you’re about to do
.’

He cries out, and I jerk it a little tighter, a silent warning that I could easily snap his bone.

‘Step three: Kill. Either their spirit, their motives, or their body. Whatever it takes.’