Page 106 of Play of Shadows

I couldn’t tell if this was meant to be a joke– if it was, it wasn’t very funny– but for some reason, I laughed anyway, and soon we were both chortling like schoolboys.

‘Your Grace is wasted on the throne,’ I said, trying to catch my breath. ‘A great future awaits you in the comedias.’

Monsegino, barely able to get the words out, giggled in a most un-ducal fashion. ‘What, and trade the crown of iron spikes my enemies have planned for me for a mere jester’s cap? A man of my rank must maintain his dignity, you know!’

At first, the sense of release was overwhelming, unexpected, undeserved and unimaginably welcome, but I couldn’t seem to stop laughing, until deep-bellied glee became uncontrollablesobbing. My legs went out from under me and I fell to my knees, prostrated on the marble floor like a grovelling courtier. Shame overwhelmed me as I wept before the man whose political machinations, however well intended, had contributed to the death of bold, ribald Roslyn and gentle, earnest Shoville, and so many others besides.

A tentative hand patted my shoulder, then pulled away, as if ordinary comfort was a foreign language. Retreating to the safer ceremonial dignity of his office, Monsegino said, ‘You have the condolences of the Duchy of. . .’ He hesitated. ‘Hells, Damelas– I never meant foranyof this to happen, not to you or to your friends. I wish. . .’

A long silence elapsed until at last the duke’s more formal, commanding tone returned. ‘You have to finish the play, Damelas– you must dive one last time into Corbier’s past and return with the secret of the Court of Flowers.’

‘And what do the dead get for their trouble?’ I asked, my words quick and sharp, delivered like a slap to the duke’s dignity.

‘Excuse me?’

‘You said I had your condolences, your Grace. A generous gift indeed, but what do the dead get? Free funerals? Spouses and children spared the high cost incurred even for the meagre death rites merited by common players?’

The duke rose to his feet. ‘If they wish it.’

‘A pension, perhaps? Can’t have the households of patriotic artists go hungry when winter comes, can we?’

Monsegino walked to a table near the wall by the great windows opening onto the courtyard below. He poured wine from a painted ceramic flagon into a simple bronze goblet. ‘Are we negotiating now, Master Chademantaigne? Are you expecting promises of wealth? A position at court, perhaps? Maybe the arrest and execution of the Margravina di Traizo before she finally kills either you or your grandfather? Tell me, what willit cost me to have you perform your duty to your sovereign and your city?’

I considered the question. There was a certain pleasure to be had in envisioning the gratitude of the most powerful person in all of Pertine. Unfortunately, I’d yet to make that person’s acquaintance. I scratched at an itch at the back of my neck which turned out to be dried blood. It wasn’t my own, but whether it belonged to friend or foe, I would never know. Staring back at the duke, I said, ‘Corbier would’ve liked that coat.’

‘What?’

‘Your coat. Corbier would’ve liked it. You have similar tastes in clothing.’

Monsegino plucked at his lapel. ‘I don’t understand. You want my coat?’

‘No, your Grace, I merely suggest you consider the role of the Red-Eyed Raven for yourself; find a nice stage somewhere– alas, the Belleza’s is no longer available– and reveal whatever “truth” pleases you.’

The duke swirled the wine in his goblet before draining it in one swig. ‘I shouldn’t have stopped you playing the Clever Jester, Damelas. Your portrayal of the Hapless Naïf lacks conviction.’

‘I’ll drop my mask when you drop yours, your Grace.’

Monsegino turned back to refill his goblet. ‘I am willing to negotiate, but I will not be made to beg.’ He drank this one as quickly as the first, then poured a third. With his free hand, he gestured to the throne. ‘A line of nobles a mile long come to meeveryday, offering their counsel– theiradvice– and each one leaves convinced they’ve wound me around their little finger.’ He lifted the goblet to his lips, then stopped. ‘Behind my back they call me “the Violet Duke” and mock me as a foreigner, but all they accomplish by that is to remind me that I am both an outsiderandthe lawful ruler of Pertine.’

He drained his goblet, and reached for the decanter beforefinishing, ‘Youwillperform the final act and youwilluse your Veristor’s gift to unearth the secrets I need to unmask the Court of Flowers. I will not allow the Iron Orchids to pose as rebels when we both know they are something far more devious and dangerous. The truth lies somewhere in Corbier’s past and Imustknow the answer. Mock me all you want, Damelas, but I am still the damned Duke of Pertine and so long as I reign, that which I commandwillcome to pass.’

The duke might have intended to convey strength, but his words betrayed only weakness. Perhaps Shariza was right and he was a decent man underneath it all, but it didn’t matter. I was done risking the lives of those I loved, especially on someone whose golden crown would soon be replaced with iron spikes.

‘Thank you for allowing me to sit on your throne, your Grace,’ I said, ‘but I’m done playingThe Duke and the Dullardwith you.’

‘Damn your arrogance! Can’t you see I’m trying to save this cursed duchy before it’s too late?’

I looked up in time to see the goblet come flying through the air, a trail of ruby-red drops splattering in its wake. The duke’s aim was remarkably accurate. The bronze rim struck me square on the forehead. As the goblet clattered to the marble floor, my fingers went to my brow. They came away smeared with blood – my own this time.

‘A blow well struck, your Grace.’

‘Saints, man– On my honour, I didn’t mean to. . .’

The apology trailed away. Monsegino’s face hardened and at last he retook his throne. I didn’t hear him shout for his guards or ring a bell, but he must have given some signal, because the doors burst open, a dozen armed soldiers poured in, and within seconds I was wrapped in chains and on my knees before the throne.

‘Neither of us chose our roles, Damelas, but we must both play them until the final curtain falls.’

At his gesture, the guards lifted me into the air, not even granting me the dignity of walking myself to whichever cell they had ready for me. I relaxed in their grip, imagining myself borne aloft on a luxurious palanquin.

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