Read Online Shadowborn (Light & Shadow, Book 1) by Moira Katson - Free Book Online

first
strange thing about Miriel: she never truly smiled. She followed
the Lady about with her beautiful face grave and composed, like a
child playing dress up; she studied the Lady’s expression, always,
before she made one of her own, and when the Lady turned to see
what her daughter was thinking, she always saw a little mirror of
herself.
    When the Lady scowled at a mention of a
rival family at court, Miriel narrowed her eyes and set her little
mouth in a miniature pout. When the Lady was pretending to look
interested in something the Duke had to say, about trade or the
paving of the highways, Miriel tilted her head and leaned her back
in a tiny copy of the Lady’s feigned emotion. When I saw Miriel
nodding gravely as she listened to a discussion of the High
Priest’s new teachings on the Gods-given rights of Kings, I had to
stifle my laugh into my hand, crouching as I was in the shadow of a
curtain. Even the Duke would not have been amused at that.
    Miriel was a consummate actress, clever and
exact in her mimicry. But when the Lady smiled, startled into
laughter by some story of exploits at court, Miriel’s face could
barely follow the motion. Her mouth stretched wide, and her eyelids
crinkled, but her eyes were pools of black, falling away, a
bottomless pit. Even if the Lady’s laughter was cruel, or mocking,
Miriel could hardly mimic it. And when she walked on her own, as
she did more and more often while we prepared to leave, her face
fell into a faraway look of sadness.
    When I realized that she did not smile, I
found myself thinking back on our lessons, on the times she had
laughed, or so I thought. I thought of her perfect little giggle,
and I realized that Miriel had never once truly laughed in my
presence. She made the sound because she had learned to do so,
because she had been taught, but there had been nothing behind her
eyes. If I had not been distracted by my pain, then, I would have
seen the strain behind the motion. I would have noticed the vague
confusion whenever she smiled at her tutor, as if she had learned
to mimic him but did not know what she was doing.
    I could not think what this meant. I could
not understand it. So I tucked it away, to think about, and I
followed her, noting when she would slip away from her governess
and her maids, fall back out of her mother’s train and walk down
side corridors. I waited until after dinner one night, and then
shrank into the shadow of a doorway, waiting for her.
    I heard the swish of her gown as she turned
the hall, the quick patter of her feet that faded as she realized
she was not being followed. Then I stepped into her path. I gave a
little bow, as a servant should do, and Miriel stared at me with
her eyes narrowed. Any surprise she might have felt was masked
quickly enough with anger.
    “ I won’t talk to you,” she
announced. I was far from surprised by the sentiment, but I felt
irritation wash over me. We were the two singled out to go to
Penekket. One would think that she would be as curious as
I.
    “ You just did,” I pointed
out, petty, and she sniffed.
    “ Well, I won’t anymore.” I
just looked at her, and she raised her little pointed chin. “Get
out of my way.” And, while she waited for me to move, she added,
“And you’re not to come to Penekket. I order you to stay here.” She
spoke the words like an apprentice magician—as if she had reason to
think they might work, but no belief.
    That was the key; I saw it in a flash. “Your
orders don’t matter at all,” I said, easily. I stayed in her path,
blocking her way down the corridor. “The Duke is the one who gives
the orders. You just obey them, like me.”
    She bridled at that. “I do not!”
    “ You’re going to Penekket,
aren’t you?” She stared at me in sullen silence, and I realized
that I had backed myself into a corner. Now I could not ask her
outright, for she would be only too happy to revel in her knowledge
while I was ignorant. Cursing myself for my own