Echo in Amethyst Read online

  The following morning, Jordan and all his friends departed. The whole household turned out to see them off, fanning out in the courtyard to say farewell. Jordan thanked Hodia for her hospitality, bowed politely over Elyssa’s hand, lifted his eyes to do one more quick scan of Elyssa’s echoes, then turned to Bentam to make his final goodbyes.

  “I’ll tell my father what an agreeable time I passed in your house,” Jordan said.

  “And tell him I’ll be happy to come to Camarria anytime he wants to discuss business of any kind,” Bentam replied.

  Jordan’s mouth tightened slightly, but he said, “My father is always glad to do friendly business with any of the western provinces.” He glanced at the three carriages arrayed on the flagstone, all of them large enough to accommodate nobles and their echoes, then back at his companions. “Are we ready?”

  “Eager to get on the road,” said Dezmen. “The trip will be a long one.”

  “Then let’s be on our way.”

  It took a few more moments of mild turmoil for the visitors to find their assigned places in the vehicles, and there was a certain amount of good-natured banter among the prince and his friends as they complained about who might have the most uncomfortable seat. I could feel Elyssa’s impatience to be done with this part of the visit, but Bentam and Hodia stood fast, obviously prepared to wait until the last carriage was out of sight, so Elyssa kept her spot, too, though her smile grew increasingly strained.

  Finally, they were all inside the carriages and the doors were closed; a few of the travelers were peering out the windows to offer a last goodbye. Jordan was one of them.

  “Thank you again!” he called as his carriage, the first in line, began to pull away.

  Elyssa and all her echoes lifted their hands in one final wave. I saw Jordan respond in kind—and then I saw the expression on his face change to bewilderment and speculation. Glancing around quickly, I realized that Elyssa had already dropped her arm and pivoted toward the door. I had been so busy registering my last farewell to the prince that I hadn’t even noticed when she turned away.

  CHAPTER SIX

  If Bentam and the king were in conversations about a possible marriage between their children, none of that information was shared with Elyssa. Weeks passed, and a chilly spring melted into an indolent summer, and still there was no word from the royal palace. Jordan did not return to visit, which was a severe disappointment to me; neither did Roland, which I thought was a great relief to Elyssa. I had the distinct impression that her passion for him had waned almost the minute she consummated it.

  Plenty of other people made their way to Lord Bentam’s estate during that period of time, however.

  All during the late spring and early summer, Bentam entertained a stream of assorted visitors. Some arrived in fine carriages, attended by obsequious servants and silent echoes, wearing expensive clothing and dripping in amethysts, emeralds, and bits of onyx. I already knew that amethysts were the traditional gems worn by the high nobles of Alberta; now I learned that those from Empara decked themselves in emeralds, and those from Orenza favored jewelry made with onyx in white, red, and black.

  Other visitors rode in on sturdy horses outfitted with the plainest tack and bridles. They wore nondescript dark clothing and could scarcely boast even a simple gold pin among the lot of them. They often trotted up to the house at nightfall but didn’t join the family for meals; sometimes the only indication that strangers were in the house was the murmur of low voices coming from Bentam’s study. While nearly half of the noble visitors were women, all of the furtive arrivals were men.

  Elyssa had developed the habit of lurking in the library before going to bed, just so she could step casually into the hall whenever she heard the voices of newcomers. She never spoke to the late-night guests or acknowledged them in any way, but I could sense her excitement and curiosity whenever any of them were in the house.

  All of that changed late one night when muffled sounds from the corridor indicated that the servants had admitted some mysterious new visitor. Elyssa lifted her head as if to listen better, then put aside the book she had been pretending to read and headed for the door. The echoes followed.

  When she stepped into the hallway, she stopped so abruptly that all three of us bumped into her before we could stop ourselves. She didn’t bother to berate us; she didn’t even seem to notice. She was staring at the slim, silent man who stood in the shadows, staring back at her.

  He was dressed all in black, and his hair was black, and he wore black gloves on his hands, so all that was visible was his face. His skin was nearly as pale as Elyssa’s but his features were much stronger, including deep-sunk eyes, a prominent nose, and a square jawline just now stubbled with whiskers. It must have been raining outside, for the darkness that wrapped all around him glittered with wet. He seemed almost like a spirit summoned from some otherworldly place and still trailing bits of cloud and vapor.

  “Oh,” Elyssa said.

  There was a long moment of silence while they continued to regard each other, both of them absolutely unmoving. Finally, the man took a single step forward. His eyes were still fixed on Elyssa and he seemed webbed with mist and intrigue. “I didn’t realize you would be awake at this hour,” he said, his voice low and serious. “Have you been sitting in on your father’s councils?”

  Elyssa shook her head, seeming to have an uncharacteristically difficult time finding her voice. “No, he— I have not been invited.”

  A swift smile lit his somber features. “A mistake,” he said. “I am sure you would have much to contribute.”

  Now Elyssa was the one to step forward, the echoes following daintily in her wake. “I didn’t know—my father never mentioned—I didn’t realize that you were still …” She didn’t seem to know how to end that sentence, but finally just added, “Involved.”

  This might have been the first time I had laid eyes on the man—or, at least, the first time I had been conscious enough to see him—but it clearly was not the first time for Elyssa.

  He shrugged. “I have never lost my passion for the cause. But politics change, and alliances rearrange, and the high nobles of the western provinces have in recent years seemed more interested in reconciliation than secession. But now the sentiment seems to be growing again. We’ll see. I am here to learn what new developments might be unfolding.”

  She summoned a smile, although, judging by the one I felt on my own lips, it was shaky and uncertain. “I’m sure those developments are very exciting.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “I’ve heard about one,” he said. “That you are to be sacrificed on the royal altar.”

  “Oh,” she said again, in a faint voice, and then, more vigorously, “You mean that I am to marry Jordan?”

  “That’s what I hear.”

  “It’s not a settled thing yet.”

  “But the prince was here visiting just a few weeks ago.”

  Her voice recovered some of its usual mocking lilt. “I imagine the prince often rides around the countryside, visiting the high nobles on behalf of his father. His brother, too.”

  “Maybe,” the man replied. “But he could hardly expect to go anywhere else in the kingdom and find another woman so beautiful—and so eligible—and so strategic.”

  She laughed, half pleased and half disgruntled. “So you would rate those charms of mine all equally?” she inquired.

  He immediately dropped into an elegant bow so low that his dark hair brushed the floor before he quickly straightened. “I think a prince might be forced to consider eligibility and strategy when he goes looking for a bride,” he said softly. “We poor, unfortunate ordinary men notice only beauty, and it often blinds us.”

  Down the hall, in the direction of her father’s study, there was the sound of a door opening and someone speaking in a low voice. Lord Bentam, no doubt, instructing a footman to bring the visitor to see him. Elyssa glanced that way, then spoke in a quick and urgent voice.

  “How long do you
stay? Overnight, surely?”

  He hesitated. “I had planned to stop at an inn nearby and not trouble your household by asking for a room.”

  “But it’s storming!”

  He smiled. “I am not afraid of a little rain.”

  At that moment, the footman stepped into view. I thought he showed surprise at finding Elyssa in conversation with this midnight visitor, but he managed an impassive tone as he said, “My lord will see you now.”

  Elyssa assumed her haughtiest pose and coolest voice. “Have a room prepared for our guest. Marco Ross. He will be spending the night with us.”

  “Yes, my lady. This way, please.”

  Under the servant’s watchful eye, Elyssa offered Marco Ross a brief, uninterested nod, then turned toward the stairwell. She had too much pride to peer over her shoulder to watch saunter him down the hall, so naturally her echoes could not do so, either.

  I scarcely noticed. I was puzzling over a piece of information that she might have inadvertently let fall. She had told the footman to prepare a room for “our guest,” but surely if the man had a title, she would have called him “my lord”? Was it possible that he wasn’t a high noble—wasn’t even a low noble—came from the merchant category or even the working class?

  I couldn’t believe it to be true. Clearly, Elyssa had some history with the man, and it was obvious he was fascinated by her. But I couldn’t imagine that she could ever be romantically interested in someone who was not every bit her equal in rank and wealth.

  Particularly if she had a chance to marry someone like Jordan instead.

  Elyssa was habitually a late riser, but the following morning she was up practically at dawn, joined by the bewildered and yawning echoes. She poked her head out the door to demand a passing servant girl to send her new maid up right now. I thought it was interesting that she didn’t request Trima’s presence. That had to mean that Trima already had some acquaintance with this handsome fellow and greatly disapproved of him.

  We were all quickly attired in our plainest frocks and had our hair pulled back in the simplest style; the object appeared to be for us to get out the door as soon as possible. But Elyssa did not hurry down the main stairwell the minute the maid left. Instead, she stood for a moment just outside her door, listening to the sounds of the household, then headed the opposite way, toward the back stairs that were generally only used by the servants.

  Moving with the imperfect stealth that is the best that four people can manage, we exited the house through one of the rear doors and headed straight for the garden. Last night’s storm had left the air brisk and damp, but the morning sun seemed determined to bake the air to its accustomed summer temperature. Elyssa hurried down the winding path to a gazebo at the far edge of the garden. It was painted a bright, cheerful white, but was so covered with climbing roses that it seemed to be a small enchanted cottage of green vines and red blossoms. The roses were so thick along the trellised walls that, from five yards away, you could not see if anyone was already within.

  We stepped inside and found that, yes, someone was before us.

  The slender, dark-haired man turned to greet us as Elyssa offered a light, false laugh. “Oh! You’re up early! I hadn’t expected—”

  He crossed the small space in three steps and captured her hands. “You did expect,” he said, his voice low and rough. “You knew I would be here waiting.”

  As if she could not bear the intensity in his eyes, she turned her head sideways and down. “I thought perhaps you would,” she said softly.

  “Your father thinks I set out at sunrise,” he said with a flash of humor. “I even rode off this morning—in case anyone was watching—went two miles down the road, and left my horse tied up by some trees before creeping back here. I hope no one steals the beast before I get back.”

  “That would be dreadful,” she agreed. “And all my fault!”

  He freed one hand so he could lift her chin. All of us tilted our heads at the phantom touch. “Such a loss! How will you make it up to me?”

  Now her voice was sad. “Marco—”

  He flattened his hand against her cheek. “I don’t ask much payment,” he said. “A kiss would do.”

  She didn’t answer, unless her steady, yearning regard was an answer. Marco bent down and pressed his lips to hers—chastely enough, at first. Then he suddenly shifted his hands and wrapped his arms about her waist, drawing her so close I heard her slight cry of pleasure or pain. I felt certain that, if I had been in the arms of his echo, I would be struggling to breathe.

  The kiss lasted a long, tense moment, then Elyssa gasped and broke free. “I mustn’t—you can’t—it’s too dangerous,” she said.

  He stood motionless, his hands clenched at his sides, his face stormy; he looked like he was exerting all his will not to sweep her back into his arms. Elyssa half turned away from him, her hands against her cheeks. My own skin was cool against my palms.

  “Then maybe it’s best if I just leave,” he ground out.

  “No—stay—just a while. Just to talk for a bit,” she said, a little desperately. “Tell me—what you’ve been doing—and what you’ll be doing next. And things like that.”

  He held his coiled pose another moment, then exhaled on a sharp, short breath. “Very well. We can sit here on this bench and pretend to be mere acquaintances, and I will see if I can come up with a few tales to amuse you.”

  She turned back to him with a painful smile. “I’d like that.”

  We all pressed toward the bench, but Elyssa made a sound of deep annoyance. “Echoes—out! There’s a bench right outside. Go sit.”

  She dropped her control over us so abruptly that for a moment I swayed on my feet, seeking my balance; I saw the copies on either side of me similarly lose their footing. As soon as we had adjusted, we pivoted smartly and filed out the opening of the gazebo. There was a stone bench practically backed up to the rose-covered trellis, and we wordlessly took our seats.

  The view before us was pleasant but unremarkable, showing a few branching pathways of the well-tended garden, lined with sprays of lavender and blooming hedges, and overseen by a bronze statue of some grim, disapproving forebear. More interesting to me was the fact that, from our position, I could overhear every word spoken inside the gazebo.

  “So you still don’t like having echoes,” Marco said, sounding amused.

  “I can’t abide them,” she said. “If there was some way to dispense with them altogether without shocking everyone I know, they would be gone by now.”

  “They could meet with some unfortunate accident.”

  She laughed. “Believe me, I’ve thought about it! Shoving them all off some bridge in Camarria. Or hiring someone to kidnap them and hold them for ransom before—most regrettably, of course—slitting their throats.”

  “An excellent notion,” he said. “And then, think of the additional benefits to you! Everyone would feel so sorry for you that they would treat you with exceptional kindness.”

  “That’s actually what stops me,” she said. “I hate being pitied.”

  “Well, if you ever change your mind,” he replied, “let me know.”

  “You think you know someone I could trust to carry out the job and never betray me?”

  There was a moment’s silence. By the whisper of sensation across my skin, I could tell Marco had picked up Elyssa’s hand and kissed it. “I would do it myself if it would make you happy.”

  There was another long moment of silence. “I will keep that in mind,” she said.

  He laughed, but there was a dangerous edge to it. “You’re supposed to say that you would do anything to make me happy.”

  She laughed in response. “Oh, I know better than to make such a rash promise!” she exclaimed. Her voice changed, became tentative, a little sweeter. “Though I do wish— I hope you are happy, Marco? What have you been doing these past three years?”

  “Happy enough,” he said, the verbal equivalent of a shrug in his voice. “Plott
ing revolution, mostly.”

  She sighed. “From what I can tell, the high nobles of the western provinces cannot agree on what action to take, if any. My father shares very little with me, so I’m not even sure what is being plotted.”

  “It’s all very disorganized,” Marco agreed. “Five years ago, all the talk in Alberta and Orenza and Empara was about secession or outright civil war. Then Harold made some commercial deals that placated all the lords, so the talk died away. The common people didn’t benefit much from the new deals, but that’s the way it always goes. Then Harold reneged on an agreement with Orenza, and suddenly the governor started talking war again.”

  “Do you think it will come to that?”

  Marco made a sound of uncertainty. “Hard to say. What I really think is that the western provinces need to do something to prove to the king that they are serious in their bid for independence. Maybe they start an uprising. Or maybe they grab the king’s attention with a single, shocking act of violence.”

  “What kind of violence?”

  “An assassination.”

  “Of the king?”

  “More likely, one of his sons.”

  “Marco!”

  My hands felt suddenly warm and tight; I thought he had grabbed hers in a reassuring hold. “It sounds dreadful, I know. But think about it! One man dead so that the whole kingdom escapes war. It would be worth the price, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know. If I was the king and someone murdered my son, I’d be more likely to go to war, not less.”

  “That’s because you think with your heart. A king must think with his head, making cold calculations of value and cost. He will say, ‘Ah, these rebels are willing to shed blood at the highest levels. How many more lives can I save by giving in to their demands?’ But, I admit, it is drastic.”

  “Would it be Jordan who is sacrificed?”