Counting Shadows (Duplicity)

the Iris Guard—would strangle him if he ratted me out.
    “I took a long walk,” I say, and try to brush past him.
    He steps in my way. “This is the second time you’ve taken a ‘long walk’ this month. I don’t like you sneaking around like this.”
    “I’m not sneaking.”
    “Oh, really? Then why didn’t I see you leave?”
    “Maybe you weren’t watching me close enough.”
    He leans forward, letting me get a good look at the frustration in his red eyes. His irises are the only pale feature on him, and I absently wonder if he’s been eating enough. Usually, they’re an eerie blood-red color.
    “Cut the bull, Miss Princess. I watch you like a hawk, and you know it.” He shakes his head. “You’ve been sneaking out, and I want to know why.”
    I shove past him. This time he lets me, probably knowing it will attract other guards if I put up a fuss. “Jolik, you’re not Jackal. Stop trying to act like him.”
    His voice gentles just a touch. “I’m not trying to act like a mentor to you. I just want you safe. You know Jackal assigned me to protect you when he left. Do you really think I can ignore his last order?”
    I sigh, knowing I’m trapped. “No. You couldn’t.”
    “Then tell me where you were tonight.”
    “Out.”
    “And how you got out?”
    For a moment, I’m tempted to tell him about my hidden passage. I’d discovered it in one of my visions years ago; it’s a dusty, winding tunnel that leads from my library to the base of the castle. The passage is great for getting out, but I prefer to come back using main routes. That way, there’s less chance of people discovering the passage. But, instead of telling him, I shake my head and snap, “None of your business.”
    Jolik throws his hands up in exasperation. It’s a little odd watching him do that, a mountain of a man getting so frustrated by tiny, little me. “Just… Get inside, okay? I don’t want you wandering around any more tonight.”
    I nod, not wanting to fight him. Jolik is one of the few people who can get away with treating me like I’m not royalty, and as much as Father hates him for it, I find it kind of relieving. Except for situations like this, when I know that if I argue, I’ll get a verbal butt-kicking.
    He pushes open my chamber doors for me, shoving it a little harder than he needs to. As I’m about to step inside, he mutters, “Sometimes I wonder if what they say about you is true.”
    He’s not referring to the rumors that I’m trained to fight. No, he’s talking about the more vicious rumors, the ones that say I’m a witch and should have been put to death along with my Ashe. Those whispered lies should probably sting, especially since they mostly revolve around my Guardian, but I can’t bring myself to feel anything but biting contempt.
    Because I’ll never regret taking Ashe as my Guardian. Ever.
    “You’ve been listening to too many rumors, Jolik,” I say. “I’m not a magic-user.”
    Jolik merely shrugs. But as he stares at me, I can almost feel his disbelief as his harsh gaze wanders over me for the millionth time. I’ll admit I look a bit witchy. Black stick-straight hair, ivory skin, and pale blue eyes. In a land where people are supposed to have brown-tanned skin, curly brown hair, and brown eyes, I’m what Father calls “exotic”. Or what others like to call “freakish”.
    And the visions don’t help. Ever since I was three, I’ve seen visions of the past. Historical events, places, people—I see them all. At first, I was proclaimed to be a Sage, and the people celebrated me. But, as I got older, it became obvious that I only saw the past, not the future. I was deemed to be a worthless magic-user.
    And a dangerous enemy.
    Jolik finally steps to the side, granting me access to my chambers. “Lord Farren is inside.”
    I nod and walk inside my chambers. I fight against the guilty twist that strikes my gut the moment I see the small entryway. The entrance looks just like it has for ten months: no furniture, no rugs, nothing. Just stone walls and flooring, and a hallway leading toward the other rooms in my chambers. When Ashe was taken away, he left spatters of blood in this room from his injury. Father insisted everything stained had to be thrown out, but I refuse to replace anything.
    “Faye?”
    It’s Farren’s rich voice, his deep timbre resounding through the room. He always sounds like he’s giving a momentous speech, even when he’s just calling my name from