him.
Mordyn Jerain was staring at her. For an instant his gaze was unguarded, piercing, then he appeared to realise she was watching him and his expression went blank, his eyelids fluttered and he lowered his head once more. But in that brief moment she had glimpsed such naked contempt, such loathing, that she was suddenly afraid.
Anyara spent that day in restless distraction. Eleth, the maid, sensed her mood and produced from somewhere materials and needles. She suggested she might show Anyara how to produce the patterns of decorative threadwork that had become popular in Vaymouth in the last year or two. It was a kind, sincere offer, but wholly impotent as a cure for Anyara’s agitation.
She could not settle, could not sit still for more than a moment or two. She snapped irritably at Coinach without cause. He exiled himself to the passageway outside her rooms. Eleth came and went in an increasingly desperate attempt to provide some amusement. She fetched dainty cakes from the kitchens. Anyara dutifully ate them, and though she recognised that they were delicious, she found they gave her no pleasure. Eleth brought singing cagebirds. To the maid’s consternation, Anyara only laughed bitterly at them, and bade her remove them.
At last, as the afternoon stumbled towards a grey dusk, Anyara sprang up from her chair with a sigh of frustration.
“There must be parts of this palace I haven’t seen yet,” she said to Eleth. “Show me something. Anything. I can’t sit around here any more. I have to move.”
“Of course, my lady,” Eleth said promptly, evidently relieved. “There must be somewhere…”
“Anywhere,” Anyara said, and stepped out into the corridor.
Coinach was waiting there. He was a touch startled by her sudden appearance, and gave her a somewhat anxious look, as if in anticipation of a scolding.
“Come,” said Anyara briskly. “We’re exploring. Or just wandering.”
Eleth led the way, walking with quick, small steps.
“Are you warm enough?” Coinach murmured at Anyara’s side.
“I’m fine,” she said, which was not entirely true. Some of the passageways of the Chancellor’s palace gathered and retained enough heat from the kitchens and bedchambers and communal rooms to remain comfortable all day, others-such as this one-did not. She had left too hurriedly to think of bringing a cloak, but had no intention of turning back now.
As they rounded a corner, Eleth gave a soft gasp of surprise and drew to an abrupt halt. Anyara almost walked into her. Mordyn Jerain was there, standing motionless in the corridor ahead of them. His arms hung limp at his side. He was staring blankly at the wall. If he breathed, he did so soundlessly, and without discernible movement of his chest. He did not, Anyara realised after a moment or two’s tense observation, blink. His eyes were glassy, unfocused.
She took a step forward, gently easing Eleth to one side. Coinach whispered something cautionary, but she ignored him. There was something eerily unreal about the scene. The Shadowhand looked like a man who had simply… stopped; as if his body had been unexpectedly abandoned by whatever enlivening force had once inhabited it.
“Chancellor?” Anyara said quietly as she took another pace closer. Here was an opportunity to undo her reticence of the morning, if Mordyn could be roused from whatever stupor had taken hold of him. Here was the chance to find out what he knew of Orisian; what role he might play in untangling her own uncomfortable situation. She firmly crushed the urge to slip away before this troubling man noticed her presence. If she was to be of any use at all to her brother, her Blood, herself, it would not be by hiding away, by giving in to the fears that flocked about her.
And then, slowly, he turned his head. She met his cold eyes, and was reminded of the predatory gaze of the hunting hawks her family had kept at Kolglas. It brought her to an instant halt. Yet he said nothing. He simply stared at her. In the space of a few heartbeats, the silence became so potent that she imagined she could feel its pressure upon her skin.
“Chancellor?” she said again, aware of the tremor in her voice. She quelled it. “I wondered if I might speak with you?”
He tipped his head slightly to one side, narrowed those eyes a touch.
“You…” he said slowly, clumsily. “You were in the forest. You were at Anduran.”
Anyara frowned. “Anduran? Yes, yes, of course. Many times. Never… We met in Kolkyre, though, for the first time.”
“Indeed.” He fell silent once more, yet continued to stare at Anyara. There was nothing in his gaze now: no life, no interest. No hostility even. Just that dead regard.
Coinach came up beside Anyara. The Chancellor did not seem to notice him.
“Perhaps you should return to your chambers, lady,” Coinach murmured.
“I thought perhaps we might discuss my future,” Anyara said stubbornly to Mordyn. He would surely understand the absurdity of the circumstance they all found themselves in. Had he not been absent from Kolkyre at the crucial time, she doubted Aewult’s idiocy would have been permitted to follow its mad course. “I am sure this misunderstanding can be easily tidied away, now that you have returned. The High Thane will surely listen to you…”
“Yes,” said Mordyn. He still held his head at that strange angle, like a bird. “He will. He already does. You are too late, though, to exert any influence upon what it is I choose to say to him. How unfortunate.”
He took a single step towards them. Coinach edged his shoulder in front of Anyara, and for once she did not find his protective instincts foolish or misplaced. There was something in the Shadowhand’s manner so unnatural that it was impossible not to read threat into it. The corridor suddenly felt constricted: tight, like a trap.
“Things change too fast for you,” the Shadowhand said. “You’re nothing now. The struggle stopped being about you, your Blood, a long time ago.”
“Come away,” Anyara whispered to Coinach, tugging at his arm. There was, she now realised, nothing to be gained here. Quite the opposite, in fact: for the first time since she had arrived in this city, she sensed true danger rather than mere hostility or cold contempt, stirring in the shadows, in the edges. Drawing closer.
Coinach kept himself between her and the Chancellor as they walked away. Eleth was watching with a shocked expression, one hand lightly touching her lips as if in a forgotten attempt to hide her reaction. Anyara glanced back over her shoulder as they went. Still Mordyn Jerain was staring at her, leaning forward slightly, as if his own sudden, intense interest had overbalanced him.
“Hide,” he said. “Hide away. It doesn’t matter. What’s coming will find you; find everyone.”
Anyara grimaced, filled with both detestation for the man and irritation at how deeply his words and his demeanour troubled her. She gathered in Eleth with an outstretched arm, and shepherded the alarmed maid away, back around the corner.
“Stay away from my table, lady,” she heard the Shadowhand saying behind them, out of sight. “I will not break bread with you. Stay out of my sight, lest you draw my attention down upon you too soon.”
Anyara walked quickly away. She shivered as she did so.
III
Snow could conceal many shortcomings, but even its gentle blanket was insufficient to render Ash Pit appealing or graceful to the eye. Vaymouth’s most ill-reputed ward stubbornly asserted its infamous character. The dilapidated houses remained grimy and tight-packed; whores still haunted shadowed doorways; rats still scurried brazenly through the debris of destitution; odious liquids still ran in the streets, cutting steaming channels in the snow.
Mordyn Jerain came with a dozen watchful guards, the bulkiest and most uncompromising of the hirelings he paid from his own pocket. No great warriors these, but street fighters and brutes whose loyalty was solely to the man who paid them the most; and the Shadowhand could pay better than anyone save the High Thane himself.
