Counting Shadows (Duplicity)

Choosing.
    “No,” I say, my voice a little quieter, but still loud enough to carry. “I Choose Lor.” I point again to Lor’s prone figure. He’s finally noticed the arrow next to his head, and frowns at it with a perplexed expression.
    Father shakes me, making me bite my tongue. Wonderful. Now both my lip and my tongue are bleeding.
    “I told you,” he hisses. “You could Choose any of the three men I selected.” He follows my gaze to Lor, and his face twists with disgust. “That Angel is
not
one of those men.”
    I widen my eyes and look down, doing my best to look like an innocent child receiving a scolding. But my heart won’t stop pounding, and my lungs just keep gasping for air. It takes me a moment to realize I’m shaking.
    I’m not sure what does it. Maybe it’s the shaking, or maybe my attempt at a pitiful look. Whatever it is, Father lets go of my shoulders and pulls away.
    He makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "I should have known better than to let you Choose. You’re a disgrace to Irrador and the throne. You’ve been ruined for years, ever since you Chose that Angel boy.”
    I keep my eyes on the ground, refusing to look up and meet his words. If I do, I’ll lose it. He can’t just talk about my Ashe like that. He can’t pretend that anything is Ashe’s fault. He
can’t
.
    “Sire?” Jolik says quietly. “I… I don’t think I can give the order. Not if she’s Chosen him.”
    I’m glad I’m looking down; I might not be able to hide my vicious smile if I wasn’t. As my Guardian, Lor is now a part of the royal family. The guards are bound by the ancient laws to protect him, just like they protect Father and me. They can’t harm him, not without forfeiting their own life.
    Father opens his mouth and pauses, as if he’s not sure how to respond. It’s a new sight for me. Father always has something to say.
    I hold my breath. Father could always tell Jolik to kill Lor anyway. It would mean the end of Jolik’s life, along with every single one of the archers.
    But Jolik would listen. He always does.
    It would also mean the end of the support the people give Father. Half the city would be here to witness him forfeiting twelve men to take down one. One man who is now a hero to this crowd.
    Father closes his mouth and shakes his head. He points a finger at me, his narrowed eyes accusing. “Jolik,” he says, his voice deadly quiet, “take Faye back to her chambers. Make sure she stays there. I don’t wish her to leave unsupervised.”
    I bite my lip, keeping a curse from escaping. Father has always given me freedom; as long as I stay out of his way, he doesn’t care what happens to me.
    But now I’m in his way. Now he cares.
    “Of course,” Jolik says. He grabs my arm, his hand much gentler than Father’s, and leads me toward the exit of the booth. “Come along, Miss Princess,” he says quietly. “I’ll get you back to your chambers safe and sound.”
    As we move past the two guards standing at the exit, Jolik hesitantly turns back to Father. “Sire… What of the Angel?”
    Father doesn’t turn, his eyes focused on Lor’s prone form. “What of him?”
    “Should I direct the arena guards to see him back to his cell?”
    Father turns around, a small smile on his lips. “No. The Angel is Faye’s Guardian now, remember? Have the guards bring him to her chambers.”
    My stomach twists. I hadn’t thought my plan out this far; saving Lor is one thing, but
rooming
with him? He’s an Angel. He has a natural grudge against humans, especially the royal ones. And, as he’s proved to the entire Amphitheater, he could easily kill me.
    “Goodbye, Faye,” Father says as Jolik leads me away.
    I don’t respond, other than to glance back one more time at the arena. Lor has been taken away, and nausea scratches at my gut as I realize that tattoo is now out of my reach. A pool of blood remains where Lor lay, and I take a deep breath, hoping he survives.
    And hoping I do, too.

Part Two

Ten
    “Where shall I put him?”
    The castle guard sounds exaggeratedly polite as he glares at me. I don’t know his name—he didn’t bother to give it to me, and I didn’t bother to ask.
    Lor is slung over the guard’s shoulder, unconscious and dripping blood onto the stone entrance way. I shudder, remembering Ashe’s blood in that place. Lor’s is the same color, a deep maroon almost as dark as wine, both pretty and disturbing at the same time.
    I shake away the