Page 115 of Play of Shadows

The Troubadour was leaning casually against one of the suits of armour. ‘Oh, and the plural is indeed “congrettos”, your Grace.’

‘How in the name of Saint Forza-who-strikes-a-blow did you sneak in past my guards?’ Monsegino demanded.

‘Ah. I might have helped with that.’ My grandfather emerged from the shadows opposite and brandished an oddly shaped triangular key. ‘Did old Meillard not show you the secret tunnels before he died? Excellent way to get in and out of the palace unnoticed. Every duke should have them. Especially the unpopular ones.’

‘Why are the gods themselves so plaguing me with actors, Troubadours and bloody-minded Greatcoats?’ Monsegino complained. ‘Are you really so blind, Damelas? Can you not see my rule is hanging by the frayed threads of those few paltry accords Kareija has been able to negotiate with the great Houses to keep them from siding with whoever’s running the Court of Flowers and their Iron Orchids? Now you’re asking me to humiliate myself before those very families– who already see me as an illegitimate foreigner– by stuffing my courtyard with hoodlums and drunkards?’

‘Strictly speaking, your Grace, the lad doesn’t require your permission to use the Great Courtyard. Players of the grand operatos may stage performances in any public square where there is an urgent and earnest—’

‘“—urgent and earnest importance to the public good”, yes, Master Greatcoat, I’m well aware of this duchy’s archaic traditions.’ He gestured at the rapier hanging at the old man’s side. ‘Have you come to challenge me to another duel?’

The old man winked at Rhyleis as he replied, ‘Only if you speak to me in that tone again, your Grace.’

After a few moments of uneasy silence, Duke Monsegino sighed in defeat. ‘I doubt killing an old man in a duel would do much to win me the hearts of my people.’

‘Losing to an old man would do even less for your reputation,’ the King’s Courtesy pointed out graciously.

The duke began pacing up and down the gallery, stopping to stare now and then at the suits of armour, as if hoping his ancestors would step off of the pedestal and rid him of his tormentors. ‘Very well,’ he said at last, coming to a stop in front of one breastplate so heavily gilded it might have been fashioned of gold instead of steel. ‘I grant you permission to stage the final act of the play inside the Great Courtyard. However, I have a request of my own– and by “request”, I mean something which you will do for me whether you like it or not.’

Here it comes, I thought. ‘Your Grace, of course I would be delighted to honour any favour you might ask of me.’

‘That fat fool Abastrini? He looks, talks and actsnothinglike Prince Pierzi.’

‘You mean, based on the historias?’ I asked pointedly.

‘What? Yes, of course, based on the historias– what else? It’s an embarrassment, watching him waddle about with that great belly of his barely fitting inside his armour. Ellias Abastrini will not perform the role of the prince.’

I gave my grandfather a small shake of my head to keep him from intervening. This had been coming since that very first carriage ride, when the duke had used Shariza to find out why I’d botched the herald’s line.

I played the game anyway. I joined him beside the suit of armour with the lion embossed on the breastplate. ‘Your Grace, the performance is set to begin at nightfall. It is rather late for us to be casting another actor.’

‘Oh, you won’t need to search far.’ Firan Monsegino began removing, piece by piece, his great-great-great grandfather’s ceremonial armour from its mounting. ‘I’ll be playing the part of the prince myself.’

Chapter 56

The Stage

Five thousand people could comfortably fit within the Great Courtyard of Pertine’s Ducal Palace. Fully twice that number were jammed inside the gates now, the heat from the press of bodies banishing the twilight chill. The stage, built for the duchy’s ceremonial events, was carved from oak, with marble columns and ornate wings sweeping out on either side. A massive curved overhang not only protected the stage from the elements, but also projected the voices of those performing beyond the crowds and into the city streets.

‘Makes the Belleza look like a shithole, doesn’t it?’ Teo asked, gazing around in awe as they waited in the wings.

Beretto favoured the young actor with an unpleasant smile. ‘Say that again and I’ll knock your teeth out, Teo.’

Like stagehands lifting the curtain, the clouds above began drifting away, revealing the first glimmers of a full moon and promising a sky full of stars to illuminate the performance.

I looked through the audience, trying to count those soldiers in the liveries of the great Houses, standing in squadrons – not so much scattered as positioned around the courtyard.

What secrets are you so worried about being revealed, my Lords and Ladies? Do any of you even know, or are you allunwittingly serving the Court of Flowers?

Captain Terine had her squad arranged in a semicircle in front of the stage, four rows of twenty grim-faced soldiers facing an uncountable horde who could overwhelm them in seconds, should the occasion arise. She was looking rather nervous about that possibility.

When a new figure strode up the stairs and into the wings, Beretto gasped and tugged my arm.

Duke Monsegino certainly did look the part of Pierzi, resplendent in shining, perfectly fitted armour. A heavy crimson cloak swung from gold cords threaded through metal loops welded to the pauldrons over his shoulders. The golden lion with ruby eyes embossed in the centre of his breastplate gleamed in the torchlight.

‘Is that Prince Pierzi’soriginalarmour?’ Beretto asked.

I nodded, wondering how many weeks it had taken the armourers to modify the pieces to fit him, for Monsegino was slighter than his ancestor.

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