Shadowrise Read Online Free PDF Page A

and his unending love for the music of his own voice.”
    “Hah!” Pedder Makewell was sitting up again, feeling better. “She has scored another hit on you, Hewney.”
    “I care not,” said the playwright airily. “For the mistress of all Southmarch has proclaimed I am half of the most charming man in the world.”
    “But I am not the mistress of all Southmarch.” Briony looked over to Erasmias Jino, who had been watching the entire performance with a polite smile on his face, like a theatergoer who had seen better work only the night before. “And that is why you must not go back there—not yet.” She turned to the Syannese nobleman. “News of my presence here will reach Southmarch, will it not?”
    He shrugged. “We will not keep it secret—we are not at war with your country, princess. In fact, we are told that Tolly only protects the throne against the return of your father . . . or, presumably, you.”
    “That’s a lie! He tried to kill me.”
    Jino spread his hands. “I’m certain you are right, Princess Briony. But it is . . . complicated . . .”
    “Do you see?” she said, turning back to the players. “So you must stay here in Tessis, at least until I know more of what I will do. Play your plays. I’m afraid you’ll have to find another actress to play Zoria.” She smiled again. “It should not be hard to find a better one, I’m sure.”
    “In truth I thought you were coming along quite well,” Feival told her. “Not enough to make them forget me, thanks to Zosim and all the other gods, but nicely.”
    “He speaks true,” said Dowan Birch. “You could still make a grand player someday, if you but worked at it a little.” He looked around, reddening, as the others laughed.
    Briony, though, wasn’t laughing. She had felt a sharp pang at his words, at the glimpse into an impossible other life where things were different, where she could have lived as she chose. “Thank you, Dowan.” She stood up. “Don’t fear—we’ll soon find you all a place to stay.” And in the meantime, Briony could keep the players close by and consider the idea that had come to her. “Farewell, then, until our next meeting.”
    As the players were conducted out by a pair of guards, Hewney broke away from them and came back to Briony. “In truth,” he whispered, “I like you better in this role, child. You play the part of a queen most convincingly. Keep it up and I foresee good reviews for you in future.” He gave her a quick kiss scented with wine—and where had he gotten any wine, she wondered, while in King Enander’s custody?—before following the others out.
    “Well, by the sweet Orphan,” Lord Jino said, “that was all most . . . interesting. Sometime you must tell me what it is like to travel with such people. But now, you are called to a more elevated performance—a command performance, as such are called.”
    It took her a moment. “The king?”
    “Yes, Highness. His august Majesty, the King of all Syan, wishes to meet you.”
     
    Briony would have been one of the first to admit that the throne room back in Southmarch might be dignified, even impressive, but it was not awesome. The ceiling was full of fine old carvings but they were hard to see in the dark chamber except on festival days when all the candles were set blazing. The ceiling itself was high, but only in comparison to most of the rest of the rooms—there were higher ceilings within many of the great houses of the March Kingdoms. And the colored windows that in her childhood had formed her strongest idea of heaven were not even as nice as those in the great Trigonate temple in the outer keep beyond the Raven’s Gate. Still, Briony had always thought that there could not be much difference between her home and the other royal palaces of Eion. Her father was a king, after all, and his father and grandfather had been kings before him—a line that went back generations. Surely the monarchs of Syan and Brenland and Perikal