Counting Shadows (Duplicity)

And…”
    I’d said his name.
    I trail off as I realize this. I had broken my promise to myself; I said Ashe’s name, something I’d sworn to never do. Because the last time I said Ashe’s name, I’d said it to him as I looked into his eyes. And that was how I wanted it. Forever.
    It wasn’t like that anymore.
    “And you have his tattoo.” I keep speaking to stop the pressure behind my eyes. I can’t cry, not twice in one day. “You have his
exact
tattoo. He had the same flames tattooed on his back and shoulder.”
    “You’re upset,” Lor says slowly.
    I scoff and turn away. “Of course I’m upset. I’m talking about my dead friend to you.” I gesture to him. “Some filthy prisoner who lied to me.”
    “If you’re upset, then you’re sincere,” Lor continues. “I think you’re telling the truth, Faye. You really had a friend with my tattoo.”
    I glare at him. “What’s your point?”
    “I’m not sure yet,” Lor says. “But I’m relatively sure about one thing.”
    “And what’s that?”
    “Your friend was Prince Jaylor, and heir to the Angel Throne.” A small smile spreads across Lor’s lips. “And he was my twin.”

Sixteen
    I laugh.
    This is what I get? I say Ashe’s name, break my promise, and expose my feelings. And
this
is what I get in return? Some delusional claim from an equally delusional prisoner?
    Lor stares at me, and it hurts. I’m not sure if it’s his gaze or the laughter that’s causing the pain. Maybe both; everything hurts at this point. He looks at me in the eyes again, with that disconcerting way he has. I wonder how a crazy man can have such a penetrating gaze.
    “My brother had a scar,” Lor says quietly. “Just above his left eyebrow. It looked like a tiny fishhook. I used to tease him about it and say he was destined to the greatest fisherman ever, while I was destined to be the greatest Angel King.” He shakes his head. “I guess neither of us turned out great.”
    My laughter cuts off. Lor is right in front of me, but all I see is Ashe’s face. His delicate features, his thin lips and dark hair. And his eyes, so black they’re fathomless. Above his left eye is the distinctive scar Lor speaks of: a tiny, jagged fishhook that is even paler than the rest of his skin.
    “You knew him,” I whisper. “You knew Ashe.”
    Lor simply nods.
    My legs weaken. I stumble toward my dresser and lean against it, allowing my knees to wobble and nearly give out. My heart pounds, and I don’t even try to calm it.
    “My brother was stolen away when he was twelve,” Lor says. “Someone wanted his powers. They were stupid enough to think Jay would actually give away his ability.”
    “That was his name?” My mind is whirling too fast to even try to absorb his other words. “Jay was his real name?”
    “No, that was just what most people called him. His real name was Jaylor, the same as mine. We were twins, so we were given the same name. It’s a custom in our lands. And it’s a confusing one, so to make things easier, I took the last half of the name, and Jay took the first.”
    Even as he speaks, I think of the first time Ashe met my twin cousins. When I’d introduced them, he’d peered at them curiously, and then whispered to me,
“They have different names. Are they disgraced?”
Only he’d whispered a little too loudly, and I had been forced to drag Ashe away from my cousins’ Guardians before they pummeled him.
    Ashe had expected them to have the same name. Probably because some part of his memory, a part he didn’t even realize was there, remembered that he shared the same name with his twin. The twin that now was right in front of me, still giving me that disconcerting stare.
    Lor’s other words slowly filter into my mind, and I bite my lip as I absorb them. “You say Ashe had an ability. Would it be enough of a motive for someone to want him dead?”
    Lor cocks his head to the side as he considers my question. It’s a habit Ashe used to also have, and I wonder if Lor remembers that. His gaze evaluates me, and I straighten a little, urging my wobbling knees to work again.
    “His ability wouldn’t cause motive,” Lor says slowly. “It’d cause obsession. Enough for entire countries to want him dead.”
    “Why?” It’s the only reasonable question I can think of.
    Lor’s face darkens, like it did when I questioned him in the prison, and he shakes his head. “I don’t think I should tell you that.”
    “
What?
But I have to