Counting Shadows (Duplicity)

But Jackal doesn’t seem nearly as amused. He shakes his head and says, “Do you realize how many ways that plan could go wrong?”
    “Yes,” I state blandly. “But what else am I supposed to do? Never leave my chambers for the rest of my life?”
    “That’s one option,” Jackal says.
    I roll my eyes and tug Lor further away from Jackal, heading toward the back exit of the gardens. What is Jackal’s issue? In all the years he’s been my mentor, he’s never cared much about my safety. Now he’s acting like a fretting mother.
    “Get back here, Faye,” Jackal snaps. “It’s not safe out there.”
    I ignore him and continue walking, Lor trailing along beside me. Jackal may be my mentor, and he might always be right, but he’s not this time. The moment he started keeping things from me, he was wrong.
    I don’t slow my pace until we’re out of the gardens.

Twenty-Five
    We make it to the stables without being caught. We’re seen, of course; it’d be impossible for people not to notice Lor, with his height and princely presence. But no one stops us for a conversation, and no guards stop me with orders from Father. We both breathe a sigh of relief as the stables come into view.
    “Pick a horse,” I say as we enter the stone building. I gesture to the rows of stalls that line the walls. The royal stables are small, with little more than twenty stalls. It’s nothing but a speck compared to the general stables beside it.
    Lor halts in the middle of the entrance. He looks around and rolls his shoulders, as if he’s preparing for some kind of fight. I walk over to the horse I usually ride—Tamal, an aging gelding with a gentle personality—, but I keep an eye on Lor. He doesn’t budge from the entrance. His shoulders roll again, and he tilts his chin up in a challenging stance.
    “Needles and horses,” I say.
    He clears his throat. “What?”
    I stroke Tamal, smoothing the spot on his forehead where his coat meets and forms a little spiral. “Everyone has at least two fears. Yours are needles and horses.”
    “Why do you have to be so observant?” Lor mutters.
    “I’m not. You’re just really obvious.”
    Lor lets out another hum-growl. And then he just keeps standing there, his shoulders rolling and his chin tilting higher and higher. After a moment, his foot begins tapping out another uneven rhythm.
    I call to one of the stable boys cleaning out a stall. He scurries over to me, his eyes wide and curious. He can’t be older than fourteen years or so, and he’s skinny as a stick. I don’t recognize him, which makes me want to walk right back out the door. Usually, Arc is the boy who works this stable during the day; he’s the type I know I can trust to keep quiet about my presence. Of course, no one in this stable knows I’m the princess. But it’s still best to keep things quiet, in case Father gets word that I’m coming here without his permission.
    “What’s your name?” I ask the new boy.
    “Keth.” But he’s not looking at me while he replies; his eyes are on Lor, and Keth takes one step back while he examines my Guardian. He swallows hard.
    “Keth, would you saddle Tamal for me?”
    Keth nods, although he looks slightly baffled that I’m asking him. Most of the riders in this stable bark orders and wave around their hands with hurried commands. There’s no asking involved. No politeness.
    I step away from the stall and let Keth enter. He busies himself with brushing down Tamal, who lazily swishes his tail back and forth. Keth feels my gaze and drops his brush. He curses, and then gasps and covers his mouth. He glances over his shoulder at me, his face flushing to a bright shade of red.
    I just smile at him and leave him to his work. Then I walk over to Lor and stand in front of him. “Don’t be a coward. Choose a horse to ride. It’s the only way we’re getting off the castle grounds.”
    Lor swallows hard, just like Keth had. It’s odd seeing such a huge man just as scared as a young boy, but then I remember that Lor isn’t all that old himself. Nineteen, if his story from the other night was accurate, and if my count it correct.
    “We could walk,” he suggests.
    “I’m not walking two miles in a dress,” I say. “Either you’re riding off the castle grounds, or we’re going back to my chambers.”
    Lor’s jaw slides side to side, slowly grinding his teeth. He opens his mouth, and for a moment, I think he’s about to agree. But all he does is mutter