In Her Shadow(20)

The tall soldier grabbed her by the upper arm and pulled her through the gates, heedless of her station or how rough he was being. "She's coming with me."

He hauled her up the path and through the front door, the boy trailing behind them. For a place that seemed like it should be in a tizzy over the absence of a favored child, the ballroom was oddly silent. The soldier's fingers tightened around her arm. He pulled her up the stairs and down a hall that led, Britta assumed, towards the girl's room. And she wasn't wrong, mostly. It wasn't a child's room, but a soldier's with a little cot in the corner upon which rested a handful of stuffed animals and dolls. The Governor, the Dux, and a few others Britta didn't recognize, gathered around it in silence, as if each lost in his own thoughts, trying to figure out how this had happened, where Ava could be and what to do next.

Dux Lucius was the first to notice Britta and the soldier's arrival. He swiveled towards them, his face as blank as ever. "Captain Marcus?"

The soldier snapped his heels. "Dux Lucius, I dispatched men to secure the walls as soon as I heard."

"Good. But why did you bring her here?"

"She was at the gate when we heard the news. I don't know. I thought maybe. . ."

"That I was involved?" Britta yanked free from the soldier's grasp. She'd had about enough of people jerking her around by that particular appendage, and was glad she'd left her dagger back at home because she was sorely tempted to gut the man.

"I don't blame you for considering the idea, Captain Marcus, but I doubt she had anything to do with this," said the Governor. "Take her away."

The soldier reached for her again but she stepped away. "I'm not leaving. I can help."

"Help?" asked Dux Lucius, his voice cool, measured. How could a man whose daughter was missing be so restrained? If it had been her own, Britta knew she'd be up the wall with panic. "How can you help?"

Britta furrowed her brow. "I don't know, but I want to."

The Governor gave a little shake of his head. "Get her out of here."

Britta threw up a hand. "Wait!"

"What?"

"I really can help. I can talk to the Abbess of Night, get her to marshal our forces. Between your soldiers and the abbey, we can find her."

"Assuming you didn't take her in the first place," said the Governor.

Britta's gaze swung wildly between the Dux and Governor. The abbey did bad things, yes, but only insofar as they controlled those bad things. People were going to rob, loot, and smuggle no matter what. The abbey controlled that, measured it, kept in and check. Britta would have wagered the abbey caught and punished more criminals than the Regnal garrison ever had. The implication they – and by extension, she – would be involved in the kidnapping of a nobleman's daughter was ridiculous and offensive.

Britta stomped one foot forward then thought better of it. Mid-stride, cheeks burning with rage, she swiveled away from them. Someone grabbed her arm.

"I swear to the Goddess, the next person who grabs me there–"

The hand yanked her around until she faced the Dux himself. "Help us," he said, his voice firm, commanding.

"Why should I?"

"Please." Something about the Dux's voice shifted. Slight, nearly imperceptible, a ripple under the surface of a calm lake. "She's my daughter."





Chapter 9


Britta dashed through the streets. She'd opted not to go under guard – too slow. The soldiers didn't know the city the way she did, the divots, the back alleys, potholes and gutters, especially not at night. The Governor had tried to insist, but she rebuffed him for that reason and another: the political situation was tenuous. Did he know it? Could he feel it in the air the way she could? She didn't have to eavesdrop on the whispers and murmurs of the citizenry, she could sense it. The whole city knew, the Abbess of Night most assuredly did. In that, Britta wasn't bringing news to the old woman, but acting as an envoy. If she had soldiers with her, that might make the Abbess nervous, make the abbey think their New Moon had already slipped into Regnal hands. Britta knew that. If she wanted the Abbess of Night's help–

Britta froze in place at the old gate leading to the abbey. A shiver shot through her. Of course the Abbess knew. She'd probably orchestrated it. Right? Was going to her a mistake? Not the sort Britta would be punished for, most likely. Assuming her suspicions were true, the Abbess had planned for this too. So should she play along or what?

Indecision was her only response. So she stood in the night air, counting her breaths as she considered the situation. Could the Abbess of Night have done this? Could – yes. But could have and would have were two different things. The second one was what vexed Britta. The old woman was sneaky, duplicitous by nature. Worse, she was grumpy, querulous. That being said, she wasn't stupid. She lived in a dubious political situation. This was the sort of pretext the Regnals needed to bypass their treaty and simply annex the city. They could skip all the formalities of power sharing, the slow absorption of Ankshara into the imperial fold. No, kidnapping Ava was much too dangerous for the abbey, for Ankshara. There was no way the Abbess would have risked giving the Governor the excuse he needed to crack down.

Maybe that was it. Maybe it hadn't been the Abbess of Night, but one of the Regnals. Not the Dux. No. Perhaps she might have suspected him of such cold calculation before, but seeing him tonight, the split second where his practiced calm faltered and genuine concern for his daughter shined through, erased any of her doubts.