Shadowborn (Light & Shadow, Book 1)

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Book: Shadowborn (Light & Shadow, Book 1) by Moira Katson Read Free Book Online
Authors: Moira Katson
Tags: Fantasy, epic fantasy
accompany Miriel when the court
hunted, or when we traveled. I had to be close, always, not shut
away in a cart like a servant. So I had been given a horse, one the
guardsmen assured the Duke was docile, but with enough spirit to
terrify me, who preferred to have my feet on the ground.
    Riding was more exhausting than anything
else I had ever done; I rode only a few hours a day, and yet I
ached more and more as the days passed. The skin of my legs was
raw, and sitting up straight was an agony. Worse, Miriel rode with
the same easy grace with which she did everything else. She sat in
the saddle like a princess, like an elfin huntress, and if she had
not been pretending not to see me, she would gladly have mocked my
incompetence. It was the schoolroom all over again, and I hated
it.
    I was glad for the times when I was able to
rein my horse back and ride with Temar, for the Duke wanted me to
waste no time in my training. He did not bother to explain this to
me himself, leaving that task to Temar, who told me gravely and
formally that he would teach me tumbling and fighting techniques
when we reached the palace. I was left to puzzle out on my own why
I should need to know that.
    In the meantime, confined to horses, he
taught me the things a good courtier should know: mainly, to be
able to name every face I saw and not to trust anyone. There was a
litany of names and lineages and secrets to learn, but I did not
mind—I found that I missed learning, and Temar was as good as a
library, an endless source of information on anything I could think
of to ask. The afternoon sessions were structured, but he made a
point to ride with me for an hour or so each morning before I was
summoned to wait on Miriel, and answered my chattered questions
with his easy grace.
    Temar was strict as a governess—a thought
that made me giggle to myself—in his insistence that I carry myself
well, and speak clearly when I talked with him. He demanded
absolutely that I take my learning seriously, and between my love
of learning and my child’s worship of him, it was an easy burden to
do what he asked.
    He used the journey to test my knowledge of
the great families and the structure of power in the country. I had
learned, and learned well, the knowledge held in the library at
Voltur, but I learned that this was old information, a basis and
nothing more. The more recent history I knew only vaguely, and
Temar hastened to give me a more thorough grounding.
    I learned that Henry, the Boy King’s father,
had never been intended for the throne. He had been thrust onto the
throne when William died in battle, and he had been a poor ruler,
with no head for intrigue. I learned that his Dowager Queen, Isra,
had turned to faith in her grief, and went nowhere but that she had
the Head Priest at her side. She was a competent ruler, and
determined that her son should recover from his constant illness so
that the throne should not fall into the hands of the Conradines
once more, as the heir at present was Wilhelm, Conradine and Warden
both.
    I had known but little of the throne until a
few months ago. I had not had any concept of rival houses, or
warring factions. I knew that the throne passed by lineage, and so
I had known that the ruling house had once been Conradine, and was
now Warden, but had not known how this had come to be. When Temar
described it, blandly, I knew better than to say that it did not
sound righteous, but instead sneaky.
    It was my first moment as a courtier,
realizing that the truth of the thing was entirely unwelcome. I
listened to the story of how Arthur had married his brother to the
Kleist family and, with their support, swept westward across the
plains to cut the Conradines down in their beautiful city. He had
taken the throne for himself and claimed divine guidance, and if
the gods had resented his use of their name, they had kept silent
about it. The country—faced with only the women of the Conradine
line left alive on the one hand, and a

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