Page 62 of Play of Shadows

‘Fuck your “art”,’ Teo snapped. ‘Some of us have families.’ He ran to Shoville. ‘Lord Director, I beg you, cancel the play. Close the theatre tonight– close the Belleza for ever, if you must!’

Shoville’s eyes were downcast, his lips moving as if silently practising a soliloquy. I understood then that what Teo was demanding had been the director’s intent all along; he simply hadn’t yet found the courage to say the words out loud.

‘Don’t do it, Lord Director,’ Beretto warned. ‘If the Knights of the Curtain bend to the will of the Iron Orchids and their ilk, soon every theatre company in Jereste will be tamed.’

‘Tamed?’ Teo laughed, and others followed suit. ‘You do realise none of us are actual Knights, don’t you? We don’t wage war against our enemies any more than the Lords of Laughter sit in palaces and hold court. We’replayers! We speak whatever lines we’re handed in hope of nothing more than a full house and a heavy purse.’ He threw his hands up in the air. ‘Who among us gives a fuck whether or not we’re to be “tamed”?’

The backhand I’d been expecting moments ago finally made itsappearance, but it was Teo who went stumbling to the floor, one palm to his already reddening cheek.

‘Icare,’ Abastrini said with uncharacteristic calm. ‘Actorscare.’

A few of those present muttered assent, but there wasn’t much conviction. Those mumbling their disagreement didn’t dare do so loudly, in case they attracted Abastrini’s attention.

At the far end of the hall, I noticed Rhyleis balancing an ink bottle on one bent knee as she scrawled something into a small leather book.

Probably writing a song about our plight, came an uncharitable thought,with no concern about how it will likely end for the rest of us.

‘Enough!’ Shoville said, struggling to regain control of his company even as he avoided Abastrini’s gaze. ‘I am still Directore Principale of this operato and I will risk no more lives on Duke Monsegino’s mad endeavour. We close our doors tonight– and for ever, if need be.’

Murmurs of relief swelled– until a single voice, so eerily calm it brought silence to the entire hall, reminded us that our destinies were no longer ours to choose.

‘Close these doors tonight and by tomorrow you’ll find yourselves chained to the walls of a place far more dangerous than any theatre,’ Lady Shariza said.

Chapter 30

The Understudy

No one had noticed the Black Amaranth enter, but there she was, leaning against the back wall, dressed all in black. A slender rapier I hadn’t seen her wear before now hung from the belt of her long brocade coat.

‘Dashinibitch,’ Teo shouted, ‘it’s you and your duke who march us down the road to the seven Hells!’

Teo’s ill-considered words set tensions in the room afire. Grief and rage momentarily overwhelmed reason and self-preservation as the angry cast and crew, throwing caution to the wind, turned on the duke’s personal assassin, lining up shoulder to shoulder so she couldn’t escape. They stalked towards her, some armed with stage props, others with nothing more than clenched fists, all growling like a pack of hounds—

—then they fell silent.

The blade of her rapier was as black as her garments, and everyone could see the tip pressed so firmly against Teo’s Adam’s apple that surely the tiniest twitch of her wrist would open his throat.

‘Of late, I find the men of this city overfree in calling me “bitch”,’ she observed. ‘Should anyone else wish to speed their way to the grave, they need only to address me thus one moretime.’

‘Stop—!’ I shouted, clawing at shoulders, trying to pull people out of the way before someone decided to outflank Shariza and matters went from appallingly bad to utterly catastrophic.

‘You’re siding with her?’ Cileila demanded. The heavy carpenter’s mallet was no prop and her scowl made it clear she was ready to use it.

‘It wasn’t Lady Shariza who killed Roslyn to silence us, but the Iron Orchids,’ I reminded them. ‘Somehow, when we’re all on that stage, we become a danger to their interests– though the saints alone know what those interests might be.’

Ornella, who’d been standing silently against the wall, spoke for the first time. ‘Perhaps if we understood why Corbier’s infamy or Pierzi’s glory was so vital to those interests, we might devise a way out of our predicament?’

In the fading afternoon light, the silver-haired actress looked younger than her years, reminding me of Lady Ajelaine as I’d seen her outside Pierzi’s fortress. Ornella had probably played that role hundreds of times in decades past, but the unwavering gaze with which she returned my stare now suggested those performances would have been altogether different from the demure portrayals fashionable these days, or the sultry depiction that had proved fatal to poor Roslyn.

A question began to itch at the back of my mind like a misshapen key grinding inside a rusted lock:what if both are wrong? What if Lady Ajelaine wasn’t—?

‘Damelas?’ Beretto asked quietly, coming up behind me.

‘Hmm?’

‘Is there some reason you’ve been ogling Ornella like a demented pervert for the past few minutes?’

I turned away, embarrassed. ‘Forgive me, I haven’t slept in—’

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