Echo in Emerald

  Echo in Emerald

  Sharon Shinn

  Echo in Emerald

  Copyright © 2019 Sharon Shinn

  All rights reserved.

  This edition published 2019

  Cover image by Dave Seeley

  ISBN: 978-1-68068-149-9

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  This book is published on behalf of the author by the Ethan Ellenberg Literary Agency.

  This book was initially an Audible Original production.

  Performed by Emily Bauer

  Executive Producers: David Blum and Mike Charzuk

  Editorial Producer: Steve Feldberg

  Sound recording copyright 2019 by Audible Originals, LLC

  Where to find Sharon Shinn:

  Website: www.sharonshinn.net

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sharonshinnbooks/

  Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/s?k=Sharon+Shinn&ref=dp_byline_sr_all_1

  Books by Sharon Shinn

  Uncommon Echoes:

  Echo in Onyx

  Echo in Emerald

  Echo in Amethyst

  Samaria series:

  Archangel

  Jovah’s Angel

  The Alleluia Files

  Angelica

  Angel-Seeker

  Twelve Houses series:

  Mystic and Rider

  The Thirteenth House

  Dark Moon Defender

  Reader and Raelynx

  Fortune and Fate

  Elemental Blessings series:

  Troubled Waters

  Royal Airs

  Jeweled Fire

  Unquiet Land

  Shifting Circle series:

  The Shape of Desire

  Still-Life with Shape-Shifter

  The Turning Season

  Young adult novels:

  The Safe-Keeper’s Secret

  The Truth-Teller’s Tale

  The Dream-Maker’s Magic

  General Winston’s Daughter

  Gateway

  Standalones, Collections, and Graphic Novels:

  The Shape-Changer’s Wife

  Wrapt in Crystal

  Heart of Gold

  Summers at Castle Auburn

  Jenna Starborn

  Quatrain

  Shattered Warrior

  THE KINGDOM OF THE SEVEN JEWELS

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  PROFESSIONALS & WORKING CLASS FOLKS

  Chessie: a young woman who lives in the “Sweetwater” district of the royal city

  Red and Scar: her echoes

  Morrissey: one of Chessie’s professional acquaintances

  JoJo: Morrissey’s partner

  Dallie: a server at a tavern called Packrat

  Jackal: a dangerous man who trades in information

  Bertie: a man who works for Jackal

  Pippa: a woman who works for Jackal

  Halloran: Jackal’s chief rival

  Trout: JoJo’s brother, a thug for hire

  Covak: Trout’s partner

  Orrin: Morrissey’s nephew

  Malachi Burken: the king’s inquisitor

  Nico Burken: Malachi’s nephew and apprentice inquisitor

  Nadine Burken: Nico’s mother

  Brianna: Nico’s fiancée, a seamstress

  Angela: the former governess who raised Chessie

  Lourdes: head housekeeper at the royal palace

  Gina: a purveyor of recreational drugs

  Eva Candleback: a jeweler

  Curtis: one of her clerks

  Ronin: another jeweler

  Mallory: a priestess at a small temple in Alberta

  NOBLES AND ROYALS

  Leffert: a low noble who was found murdered in the royal city

  Wimble: a low noble who throws notorious parties

  Trev, Jordie, Barton: lords who attend Wimble’s parties

  Harold: the king

  Tabitha Devenetta: the queen, Harold’s second wife, the mother of his daughter

  Cormac: the king’s oldest legitimate son and heir

  Jordan: the king’s second legitimate son

  Annery: Harold and Tabitha’s daughter

  Jamison: Harold’s bastard son

  Edwin of Thelleron: the first king of the Seven Jewels (long dead)

  Amanda: the first queen

  CONTENTS

  THE KINGDOM OF THE SEVEN JEWELS

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  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

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

  CHAPTER ONE

  It’s always a bad sign when someone wants to meet you at midnight under a bridge in a dicey part of town. I’d only agreed to the meeting because Morrissey and I had a long history, and he’d been more or less honest in all our past dealings. The last job I’d done for him hadn’t gone so well, but I figured everybody should be allowed at least one mistake. Certainly I’d made more than one in my own dubious career.

  I got to the rendezvous an hour ahead of time, trailed as always by Red and Scar. I left them lurking in the shadows of a noisy tavern while I went to investigate the terrain. We were on the easternmost corner of Camarria, in a part of town generally known as Sweetwater in honor of the foul trenches of offal that used to line half the streets back when this area was home to most of the city’s slaughterhouses. Every third building was locked up or abandoned, but the ones that were occupied were doing a lively business as they offered every form of after-hours entertainment. I had glanced through the doors of the bars and brothels and gambling halls as we slipped through the city, and nobody had seemed to notice us at all. That was pretty much always my goal.

  The bridge Morrissey had specified was a crumbling structure of wood and plaster that arched over a long-dry drainage canal. At one time it had probably allowed farmers coming up from Banchura to drive their carts over the trenches without splashing through the blood and entrails, but it had been unstable and unused for as long as I had been in the royal city.

  Well, unused except as a meeting spot for people who didn’t particularly want to be seen.

  I poked around, but there weren’t many hiding places where I could install Scar and Red to make sure this meeting didn’t suddenly get ugly. The shallow drainage ditch stretched out for a quarter of a mile in either direction from the crossing point of the bridge, and it was entirely empty except for the accumulated trash of a decade and the occasional slick of ice. Not only that, a three-quarter moon rained down a watery light that illuminated anything that wasn’t standing in the shade of something else. There were no buildings crouched along the stony banks of the canal, at least none that were close enough to provide cover for my backup team. I would have t
o rely on shadows if I wanted to keep my echoes nearby.

  I retraced my steps to the tavern to fetch Scar and Red. As far as I could tell, I was the only person in Sweetwater who had echoes—creatures who looked like me, exact replicas down to my moles and fingernails—though they had no real volition of their own. I could direct them from short distances, making them turn or wave or smile even when I was doing something else. I could maintain the illusion that we were three separate people. That was critical to my survival. Here in Sweetwater, it never did anybody any good to be out of the ordinary, and I didn’t want to be the only girl in this part of town with echoes. And the only person with echoes who had a few other tricks, too—again, as far as I knew.

  I hid Scar on the opposite side of the ditch, directly under the overhang of the bridge, hunkered down close enough to the ground to almost disappear into darkness. Red carefully climbed the broken scaffold of the bridge to take her place directly above the meeting point. My hope was that, if I needed her, she could swing down with a few quick swoops. Then I settled into an easy crouch to await Morrissey’s arrival, placing myself so that I was visible from the street but could quickly dive into the shadows if it sounded like trouble was on the way.

  The view from down there was utterly tedious, so I shifted my consciousness into Red’s body and looked around. I liked this vantage point better. I could see flickering lights and moving silhouettes as people milled past windows and doorways in the nearby neighborhood. For a while I watched a tumbling ball of flying limbs and torsos—a barroom fight that had spilled out onto the street, it seemed, taking half the patrons with it. The wind, which had been tame all day, developed a rebel streak and whistled past my shoulders, causing me to draw my jacket a little tighter. Here at the border of autumn and winter, I probably should have been wearing a wool coat already, but I didn’t like the way the heavier garment restricted my movements. I’d endure the cold if it meant I was free to fight.

  A moment later, my eyes caught the rhythm of purposeful movement as two shapes headed my way. The smaller one was probably Morrissey. The bigger one—a hulking body at least a head taller than Morrissey—was likely to be JoJo, a broad bull of a man who was usually trailing Morrissey to make sure everyone listened to what his smaller friend had to say. Morrissey had told me we should both come alone, and I’d agreed, but obviously we’d both been lying.

  Still in Red’s body, I drew myself almost flat with the splintered floor of the bridge, so neither of them would see me even if they glanced up. Then I cast myself back into Chessie’s body and angled my head up toward the neighborhood behind me. When it seemed reasonable that I might hear footsteps, I came to a standing position and turned to face the street. The pose of someone waiting.

  Morrissey must have ditched JoJo somewhere nearby because he was alone as he skidded down the shallow, rocky bank of the canal. I waited till he came to a halt and found his footing about two yards away. Close enough for me to hear him, too far for him to make a sudden lunge for my throat. I studied him in the frosty moonlight. He wasn’t much taller than I was, scrawny, with wild hair and nervous hands. His patched overcoat looked much warmer than mine.

  He nodded. “Chessie.”

  “Morrissey.”

  “You looking for work?”

  “Depends on the job.”

  “I need something returned to me.”

  I cocked my head. “Something that actually belongs to you?”

  “That’s not fair,” he said sharply.

  I shrugged. “Last time you asked me to fetch something for you, it wasn’t yours.”

  “It was. Halloran never paid me, so it was mine.”

  “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you. I’m not a thief. I’ll run errands, I’ll make deliveries, I’ll find out anything you need to know, but I won’t steal.”

  “I’m not asking you to steal. This job is perfectly legal.”

  “So what is it?”

  “I need something picked up for me. From Empara.”

  “Empara! That’s a week’s journey away!”

  “What do you care? I’d pay you by the day, or the mile. Whichever you prefer.”

  “What would I be picking up?”

  “Do you want the job?”

  “Not if I don’t know what I’d be carrying.”

  “Accompanying,” he said.

  It took me a second to digest that. “It’s alive? It’s a person?”

  “A child.”

  Now I could only stare at him in the silvered dark. He was always twitchy, but he seemed even more nervous than usual, fidgeting with something in his pocket, twisting around to look over his shoulder, scuffing at the rocks with his toe. “Your child?” I demanded.

  “No. My sister’s son. She can’t keep him anymore.”

  Is she injured? Is she dead? Has she run out of money for food? Or is he so wild she can’t control him? I couldn’t imagine any person in any province within the Seven Jewels considering Morrissey a better alternative to any situation that the boy might currently be in. “I don’t think I’m the person for this job,” was all I said.

  “Think about it,” he urged. “I told her it would be a month or two before I had my living situation straightened out. She’s not in a hurry. But it’s got to be done.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Thirteen.”

  Almost, I was curious enough to ask for the rest of the details. Almost, I was sympathetic enough to agree. For reasons Morrissey couldn’t possibly know, I was undoubtedly the perfect person for this job. Ten years ago, at the exact same age, I’d made that identical trip from Empara to the royal city, though I hadn’t had someone even as pathetic as Morrissey waiting for me at journey’s end. I could probably give the boy some useful advice, prepare him for how very different life in Camarria would be from the existence he was used to, reassure him that the world hadn’t entirely ended and might actually become a place he liked again one day.

  But I had exactly zero interest in returning to Empara, on my behalf or anybody else’s.

  “I don’t need to think about it,” I said. “I don’t want the job. Ask somebody else.”

  “I will,” he said. “But I’ll keep asking you, too. You might change your mind.”

  I shrugged. Then I gestured at the bridge overhead. “So why the secrecy? Why meet me here? I could have joined you at the tavern some night to hear about a job like this.”

  He glanced over his shoulder again. “Well, yeah, that’s part of the living situation I have to take care of,” he said. “I didn’t—maybe there are a couple of other debts that haven’t been settled—”

  Almost as if his nervousness had summoned them, three men suddenly came pelting down the bank of the canal. Four, because I saw JoJo’s oversized shape charging after them, a step or two behind. Morrissey and I cursed in unison and backed toward the imperfect shelter of the bridge. I could do the math here—one of the ruffians would go for Morrissey, one would tussle with JoJo, and one of them would come for me.

  Which was exactly what happened.

  I had a knife, of course, and it was instantly in my hand, but the man who bore down on me was wearing a thick leather vest that might turn back my slim blade. I feinted—right, left—as he swung his arms in my direction, trying to connect a fist with my face or grab me in a hold that would squeeze the breath out of my lungs. He chopped at my wrist so hard that my knife went flying. Grunting in satisfaction, he lunged forward and wrapped his fingers around my throat.

  I let Chessie go limp as I threw my soul into Scar, who shot up from concealment and flew across the canal. In Scar’s body, I leapt onto the assailant’s back and started gouging his cheeks while clamping my legs around his waist hard enough to make him struggle for air. Loosening his grip on Chessie, he clawed at my knuckles and tried to throw punches over his shoulder. From Scar’s pocket, I pulled another knife and began stabbing into his meaty flesh just below the collarbone. He yowled in pain and tried to shak
e me off his back. From this angle—if he hadn’t been flailing about so violently—I probably could have sliced his jugular. But the only thing I wanted more than to survive the night was to not kill a man, so I didn’t do it.

  I shoved the point of the knife deeper into his shoulder, and he shouted again, capering around like a madman. I locked my other hand around his wrist, tightened my legs, and tried to simply tie myself onto his body in such a way that I could hold on without any particular concentrated thought. Then I skipped back into Chessie’s shape where it lay almost motionless on the ground. Just for a moment—just long enough to roll to my knees, grab hold of the bruiser’s ankles, and pull him to the ground in a noisy crash. Then I flung myself up, into Red’s body, and scrambled down over the side of the bridge, giving Scar and Chessie just enough time to roll out of the way. When I was dangling over the bully’s writhing form, I dropped down, landing on his belly with both feet. He oofed with pain, doubling up with the force of my weight; as his head jerked up off the ground, I punched him on the chin. He grunted again, fell back to the ground, and lay still.

  I looked around quickly. JoJo’s assailant was already lying in the ditch, moaning, and JoJo was hauling on the shoulders of the man who was hammering at Morrissey’s face. Morrissey had his arms up in a feeble attempt at self-defense, but it was clear that JoJo would take care of things and everybody knew it. I allowed myself to come down off my state of high alert. With a shrug and a shake of my head, I flowed back into Chessie’s body and jumped to my feet. Scar stood up more slowly, then edged closer to Red. They were both ranged behind me when JoJo grabbed the third man by the waist and sent him crashing into the dry ditch.

  Morrissey gasped and staggered sideways, and then for a moment, we all just stood there, waiting to see what might happen next. The three attackers all lay on the ground in various stages of immobility, but none of them looked eager to leap up and reenter the fray. They were all alive, of course. The king’s inquisitor took a very dim view of murder, and even in Sweetwater, killings were rare because justice was so drastic.

  Breathing hard, Morrissey stepped past one of the groaning bodies and came my way. He nodded at Scar and Red. “You said you’d come alone.”

  I didn’t even bother pointing at JoJo. “So did you.”