The Truth-Teller's Tale Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Part One

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  Part Two

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  SHARONS SHINN

  Teaser Chapter From The Dream-Maker's Magic

  The kirrenberry and the chatterleaf

  Our father ordered two full-grown trees to plant in the green area behind the inn. One was a kirrenberry, the tree of silence. Sit beneath it in spring or summer and its limbs, with their flat dark leaves, would stretch noiselessly above you; in autumn or winter, you would hear no rustle from its slim branches as they shook in a frenzied breeze. It was traditional for Safe-Keepers to plant a kirrenberry tree on their property so that anyone desperate with a secret to tell would know where to go to speak in safety.

  A few yards away from the kirrenberry, he planted a chatterleaf, the tree that Truth-Tellers had taken as their emblem. This was a species that was never silent at all. Its lime-bright leaves made silky whispery sounds during any light spring breeze; even in the dead of winter, its bare twigs and branches rattled against one another like sticks in a drummer’s hands. . . . A whistle from a chatterleaf would yield a deep and satisfying sound, like a foghorn in Merendon harbor or the bellow of a small, angry animal.

  But during no storm and no season did the kirrenberry tree make a sound.

  FIREBIRD WHERE FANTASY TAKES FLIGHT™

  Books by Sharon Shinn

  THE SAMARIA NOVELS

  ARCHANGEL

  JOVAH’S ANGEL

  THE ALLELUIA FILES

  ANGELICA

  ANGEL-SEEKER

  THE SHAPE-CHANGER’S WIFE

  WRAPT IN CRYSTAL

  HEART OF GOLD

  SUMMERS AT CASTLE AUBURN

  JENNA STARBORN

  THE SAFE-KEEPER’S SECRET

  THE TRUTH-TELLER’S TALE

  THE DREAM-MAKER’S MAGIC

  MYSTIC AND RIDER

  THE THIRTEENTH HOUSE

  FIREBIRD

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, U.S.A.

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario,

  Canada M4P 2Y3 (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

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  (a division of Penguin Books Ltd)

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  (a division of Pearson Australia Group Pty Ltd)

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  Penguin Group (NZ), Cnr Airborne and Rosedale Roads, Albany, Auckland 1310,

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  Registered Offices: Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Published by Firebird, an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2007

  Copyright © Sharon Shinn, 2005

  All rights reserved

  THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE VIKING EDITION AS FOLLOWS:

  Shinn, Sharon.

  The Truth-Teller’s tale / Sharon Shinn.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Twins Eleda, who can tell only the truth, and Adele, who cannot

  reveal others’ secrets, are sorely tested by a newly arrived pair of

  handsome dance instructors who seem to harbor a secret.

  [1. Twins—Fiction. 2. Mistaken identity—Fiction. 3. Honesty—Fiction.

  4. Secrets—Fiction. 5. Courtship—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.S5572Tru 2005 [Fic]—dc22 2005005453

  eISBN : 978-1-440-68431-9

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any

  responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  http://us.penguingroup.com

  FOR SHEILA

  who always tells the truth

  AND ALICE

  who knows how to keep a secret

  WHEN WILL A DREAM BE THWARTED,

  NO MATTER WHAT DUES WERE PAID?

  WHEN IS THE TRUTH DISTORTED

  AND A CONFIDENCE BETRAYED?

  Part One

  CHAPTER ONE

  What would you say if I told you there was a time a Safe-Keeper told a secret, a Truth-Teller told a lie, and a Dream-Maker did everything in her power to make sure a wish went astray? Believe what I tell you, for I am a Truth-Teller, and every word I say is true.

  No sisters could ever have been less alike than my twin and I. To the casual observer, we looked exactly the same, for we both had wheat blonde hair and exceptionally pale skin, and the bones of our faces had an identical structure. But Adele was right-handed; she parted her hair on the right; her right eye was blue and her left eye was green. I was left-handed; I parted my hair on the left; my left eye was blue and my right eye was green. We each saw in the other the very same face, the very same figure, we saw in the mirror every morning.

  You could not blame people for getting us mixed up—until they knew our personalities, and then it should have been easy to tell us apart. For Adele was devious and secretive. She would listen to whispered conversations between strangers and learn all manner of interesting revelations, but never repeat a word. From the time we were quite little, she could lie with utter sincerity, so that you never knew if she was making up a story or concealing a dreadful fact. I, on the other hand, tattled on everyone. If a boy pushed a girl into a puddle, I told his mother about it that very afternoon. If your bow was crooked, your shoes didn’t match, or your hair was a mess, I would be sure to let you know. At school, when the teacher asked a question, I could hardly wait to be called on before I would blurt out the answer. Words wouldn’t stay inside me, whereas Adele could go days without bothering to make conversation at all. If such a thing were possible, I would have said that I was as transparent as a window—that light and color and information passed through me as if I was not even there—whereas Adele was as opaque and mysterious as a dark curtain motionless before that window on a starless winter night.

  She was, in many respects, the most irritating person I knew. If you were ready to leave the house and you called her, sometimes she would not answer. If you wanted her opinion about a dress you were wearing or a boy you liked, she would merely look at you and give you that enigmatic smile. She never told you if she had fallen down and hurt herself or if a girl in school had been mean to her or if she had found out what your parents had bought you as a Wintermoon gift. She could be difficult, obstructive, confusing, and maddening, all without saying a word.

  I would not trade her for all the gold in Wodenderry.

  The year we turned twelve, we had a brief visit from the Dream-Maker, who often stayed with us when she came to Merendon. Our parents ran a prosperous inn one
block over from High Street, and it was rare that we had more than a room or two open on any night. The Dream-Maker was our guest fairly often, for she traveled constantly between the royal city of Wodenderry and the smaller towns throughout the kingdom. She had to, of course; that was her role in life. She always had to be among people who could tell her their tales or ask for her favor or merely brush by her on the street, not knowing who she was, so that by her very existence she could, now and then, turn someone’s deepest desire into reality. There was only one of her in the entire kingdom, and so she always had to be on the move, to touch and change as many people’s lives as she could.

  I had always been fascinated by Melinda, who had become Dream-Maker a few years before I was born. She was a highborn lady with delicate skin and patrician features; she dressed in the most elegant silks and laces, and her fine white hair was always elaborately styled. It was clear that even after nearly twenty years of dream-making, she had not grown entirely accustomed to her frequent interactions with the rougher folk to be found in the small villages and seaside towns. A certain haughtiness lingered about her still. My mother always said that most Dream-Makers had been sad, lonely women whose lives had been weighted down by their own personal catastrophes, but I could never see any such desolation in Melinda’s face. My own theory was that she liked the life of a Dream-Maker very well. Perhaps she had had a dreary life up until the day that power inexplicably passed into her hands, but once she was imbued with the gift of bringing happiness to others, she began to live a life that was rich and pleasant as well.

  Whenever she came to my parents’ inn, she was greeted with great enthusiasm, for the Dream-Maker meant good business. While she stayed in one of our guest chambers, the taproom would always be full with men hoping to catch a glimpse of the woman who could grant their wishes. The tradesmen promptly made deliveries to our doors; travelers eagerly asked to book a room for an extra night.

  And, of course, there was always the possibility that she would bring richer bounty.

  Every time she arrived, she and my mother would have the same exchange while my father carried her bags up to the best room. “So, Hannah,” Melinda would ask, “any wishes you’ve been saving up? Any dreams you’d like to see come true?”

  And my mother—who looked just like us, except twenty years older and with two blue eyes—would always say, “I’d like my girls to grow up happy and good, and for Bob and me to grow old together.”

  Melinda would always smile. “Those are the best wishes of all.”

  This particular summer, Melinda arrived at the inn with great news: Queen Lirabel had had her second baby, this one a girl. The prince had been born fourteen years ago, and the people of the kingdom were beginning to wonder if their much-loved queen would ever have another child. The course of the pregnancy had been followed with great interest throughout the whole kingdom. A traveler could not come from any road that might have intersected Wodenderry without being quizzed on the queen’s health and probable due date. Melinda’s news was welcome indeed.

  “What does she plan to name the little girl? Has that been announced yet?” my mother asked. My father was overseeing the taproom, but Melinda, my mother, Adele, and I were eating around the small table in the kitchen.

  “Her official name is Arisande, but there will be a secret name as well,” Melinda said, helping herself to some potatoes.

  The three of us stared at her. “A secret name?” said Adele. She looked predictably delighted at the concept.

  “Oh, yes, just like the prince!” Melinda said. “Here, Eleda, would you pass me that ham?”

  I handed her the requested dish. I was frowning. “A secret name?” I said, not sure what that was but knowing already that I disapproved. “What’s that? Why would anyone have need of such a thing?”

  Melinda shrugged. “Some affectation of royalty, I suppose. Prince Darian has a secret name, too—and so does Lirabel, for all I know. They are kept in the royal record books and inscribed on the tombstones, but no one ever calls the members of the royal family by those names. Well, they’re secrets.”

  “I have a secret name,” Adele said.

  “Yes, it’s Liar,” I shot at her.

  “Girls,” Mother reprimanded.

  “There will be a great naming ceremony in a week or two and then—well, now, Hannah, you and your girls would be interested in this—then there will be a full year when Lirabel will invite Truth-Tellers and Safe-Keepers from all over the kingdom to come in and visit with the little girl. She did the same thing when Darian was born. You can’t believe the number of Truth-Tellers who announced, in the most pompous way, ‘This boy will be brave and strong and true. He will grow to be a young man of exceptional honor.’ That sort of thing. As if you could know such a thing about a baby.”

  “What did the Safe-Keepers have to say?” Mother asked.

  Melinda gave a rather unladylike snort. “Well, of course, they never say much, do they? I suppose they were all watching him with their eyes half closed and storing up little bits of information, and in twenty years when he turns out to be demented or ill-favored or just plain odd, they’ll nod their heads and say, ‘I knew when he was in the cradle.’ ”

  I was giggling. Adele looked amused, but in a pitying way, as if Melinda was too obtuse to understand some great and obvious truth. My mother said, “My, it sounds like you have a low opinion of Safe-Keepers.”

  Melinda shrugged her thin shoulders in her fashionable dress. “Not at all. You know my own daughter is a Safe-Keeper, or she used to be, and she is the dearest girl. But I do always wonder how much these people really know, and how much they pretend they knew after a secret has already been revealed. It does not seem like it would be so hard to nod your head wisely and say, ‘Ah, yes. I knew it all along.’”

  “They really do know,” I said regretfully. It pained me to admit that anyone could willingly swallow knowledge and hold it inside himself for days or weeks or decades, but I simply knew it was true. “And it’s harder than you would think to keep a secret.”

  “You couldn’t do it,” Adele said in a taunting voice.

  I stuck my tongue out at her. “I wouldn’t want to,” I replied.

  “Anyway, so I thought you and Bob might be taking the girls into Wodenderry in the next few months,” Melinda said. “I can make sure you’re introduced to the queen, if you like, for I know everyone at court. But you’d be welcome without my introduction.”

  All three of us were staring at her with our blue and green eyes.

  Melinda put down her fork, an arrested expression on her face. “What?” she demanded. “What did I say?”

  My mother also laid down her silverware, as if it had suddenly become very heavy or very breakable. “Why would you think Bob and I should take the girls to Wodenderry to meet the princess?” she asked in a careful voice.

  Melinda looked surprised. “Because Adele is a Safe-Keeper, of course, and Eleda is a Truth-Teller. They’re still really too young to be practicing, I realize—indeed, it’s rare that they would even show signs of their talent at this age—but it won’t be long now before they’re hiding secrets and announcing truths. I think Lirabel would be charmed to have such fresh, young faces at the palace.”

  My mother was still staring. “My daughters? Are—they are—such special people? But are you sure?”

  Melinda looked even more surprised. “Well, of course I’m sure. Do you mean to tell me you didn’t know?”

  And then it was as if all the thoughts inside my head went into a dizzying whirl, spinning around three times before yielding up a bright, tiny nugget of light. It was as if knowledge burst inside me in a star-colored pinwheel. Suddenly I had a piece of information I had not had before—and it was certain, it was absolute.

  “Oh!” I said, and I knew I sounded amazed. “Melinda’s right! We are—it’s just like she said. I’m a Truth-Teller. Adele’s a Safe-Keeper. She’s right. It’s true.”

  My mother looked at me, u
ncertain but hopeful. “Well—if you say so. I’ve never known you to tell a lie, not ever. But does that mean—if you’re a Truth-Teller—you couldn’t lie, even if you wanted to.”

  “But I never want to,” I said, a little too earnestly. Adele giggled.

  My mother turned her doubtful eyes on my sister. “And does that mean Adele—”

  “She’s a Safe-Keeper,” I said a little grumpily. Because now that she had an official sanctified reason never to tell me anything I asked, Adele would be even more insufferable.

  “Well, isn’t this excellent news!” my mother said, puffing up a little with pleasure. “Melinda, you’ll never have to ask me again what I’m wishing for. This is better than a dream come true!”

  Melinda looked from me to Adele. “Are you happy? Or are you shocked at the news?”

  “I’m quite happy,” I said—and then, to be scrupulously honest—“though I admit I am a little shocked.”

  “And you, Adele?” the Dream-Maker asked. “Are you surprised as well?”

  Adele gave us all her most annoying smile and said, “I knew it all along.”

  You would have thought my father had been told his daughters were next in line to take the throne. There had never been a Safe-Keeper or a Truth-Teller on either side of the family, and he could not have been prouder. He told all of his acquaintances; he told guests who checked into the inn for the night; he managed to work the information into every conversation he had with friends or strangers. My father in general was a hearty, happy, genial man who thought his life had been blessed beyond his desserts; his ruddy face was always creased in a smile, and his big hands were always reaching out to pat someone on the back or offer help in some task. To him, this was just further proof of the overwhelming goodness of the world.