Counting Shadows (Duplicity)

across the hallway.
    “Coming,” I call back. My words echo, reminding me of how empty my chambers are, of how it used to be Ashe calling out to me instead of Farren. I nod to Jolik, letting him know he can leave. “Thank you, Jolik.”
    He bows deeply and closes my door. I wait until his footsteps retreat, and then let the knife fall out of my sleeve. Catching it by its handle, I quickly tuck it into the sash of my dress.
    I’ve always carried a knife—Jackal insists—but I’ve never felt like I
needed
it until now. Of course, Father feels the exact opposite, and has a bad habit of confiscating the weapons I don’t hide well enough.
    “I thought Father took all your toys away.”
    Farren sounds like he’s standing behind me. His voice drips with sarcasm, something I’ve learned not to acknowledge. It’s the lowest form of humor.
    “And how was your day?” I ask, changing the subject away from my dagger.
    “Boring. More pointless meetings with pointless people.” His footsteps echo off the stone floor—
one, two, three
—and my brother comes into view. Farren looks the epitome of royalty; straight shoulders, sharp jaw, and narrow eyes that demand respect. Which is a good thing, since he’ll soon inherit the throne.
    As my older sibling by thirty minutes, Farren is the immediate heir to the Irradorian throne, and has been trained to be the ultimate ruler. The Grand Prince, the people call him. Soon to be the Grand King.
    If only those people knew he wanted none of it.
    “Although I must say,” Farren continues, breaking into my thoughts. His eyes trail over the engraved handle of my dagger. “The day just got all the more interesting.” His voice changes to a horrible falsetto that sounds nothing like me. “Why hello, Jolik. You’ll open the door for me? Why thank you, it is so very heavy, and carrying this knife up my sleeve makes it all the more difficult to open.”
    I wag my weapon in Farren’s face. “It’s a dagger, not just a knife.”
    Farren shrugs. “Same difference. My point is, I don’t know how you manage to go gallivanting around on this little murder mission, and no one notices. It’s insanity.”
    I shrug. Farren sighs, taking it as the same answer I give him about most topics: I don’t want to discuss it. I’m not sure why he bothers to visit me anymore, when I hardly talk to him.
    I walk to the sitting-room, one of the four rooms in my chambers I still use. The others contain too many vivid memories of Ashe—the bedroom where he slept, the library where he lost himself in books, the balcony where he sat every morning and let the sun warm him. The list goes on, and so do the locked doors.
    “It’s not fair,” I told him once. “You don’t have any memories at all from before I found you. And I have so many extra memories. I wish I could give you some of mine.”
    He smiled at me, that gentle, thoughtful expression I loved so much. “Maybe it’s a gift that I had my memories wiped.”
    “How could that be a gift?”
    “Because I don’t have any pain to remember.”
    I squeeze my eyes shut against the memory. Years ago, I hadn’t understood him. But now I know.
    I sit in a small chair with an intricate floral pattern and pick at a loose thread, trying to distract myself. The chair is one of the last things I have from my mom, and a constant reminder of death, of loss and pain. But Father makes me keep it, saying it’s “sentimental”.
    Farren sits on the couch across from me, dwarfing the tiny thing with his tall frame. He stretches out and crosses his feet at the ankles, then raises an eyebrow at me. “So,” he says, his voice much too cheery. “How goes the murder mission?”
    I swallow hard. Farren rarely asks about my plans to kill Ashe’s murderer, and as bile rises in my throat, I’m reminded why. It’s awkward to discuss murder plans with someone as moral as Farren. Really,
really
awkward…
    “It’s the same as always,” I reply slowly, and keep picking at that thread. “I found a lead tonight, but it won’t go anywhere.”
    “How do you know?”
    I sigh, glancing toward the fireplace. A fire crackles in the hearth, and wisps of smoke disappear up the chimney. “My leads
never
go anywhere,” I mumble. “They get me close, but not close enough. He’s always gone when I get near.”
    “But this man is still around Kastellor?” Farren asks, referring to our country’s capital.
    I nod. “He’s staying close to the castle, or at