Play of Shadows (Court of Shadows, #2)

by Sebastien de Castell

‘A prize not paid for is seldom valued. Lessons unearned are too quickly forgotten.’

‘And by every gullible fool who watches a woman swinging her tits in his face and says, “At last have I witnessed a true Bardatti Danzore!”’ ‘Are you saying the Divine Heraphina is not a proper Bardatti?’ ‘I’m saying she’s not even a particularly good dancer.’

He runs from passion like a cat scurries from thrown water.

If Grandfather were here, he’d remind you that the difference between a boy and a man is grace.

‘I’m done apologising, Damelas Chademantaigne.’ ‘I hadn’t realised you’d begun.’

After a few moments of uneasy silence, Duke Monsegino sighed in defeat. ‘I doubt killing an old man in a duel would do much to win me the hearts of my people.’ ‘Losing to an old man would do even less for your reputation,’ the King’s Courtesy pointed out graciously.

‘You sodden-witted fustilarian!’ he hissed. ‘You addle-brained walking cataclysm – how, I ask you, are we supposed to distract the fucking Iron Orchids? Do you expect me to yank down my trousers and wave my cock at the enemy in hopes they fall on their swords in astonishment and despair at beholding such a kingly sceptre?’

I had played the role of a corpse any number of times upon the stage. I’d never understood what it was to die.

I considered the grim prognosis. My chest did hurt a great deal, but I wasn’t overly troubled by the sensation. Pain, I discovered, turns out to be far less frightening when you know it’s fatal.

It’s as if the gods, caring so little for their creation, fashioned humanity from glass so fragile we can shatter each other with a single dirty look.

‘I’ll pack tonight. We’ll leave in the morning.’ ‘I can’t ask you to—’ ‘Oh do shut up, you simpering swankpot!’

‘Do you seriously believe you would have lasted five seconds against the Iron Orchids without us?’ ‘No, but—’ ‘Silence, you talentless pissing pustule!’ The blustering actor pounded a heavy, hairy-knuckled fist against his own palm. ‘You would dare leave behind the great Ellias Abastrini while you chase after glory alone? Nay, I say thee, nay, a thousand times nay! I’ve acquired a taste for remonstrating venomous arse-boils, and I weary of the audiences that infest this ill-educated parochial little burg. My talents demand a larger stage than fits inside a mere city, and so will I, by grace of my—’ ‘He gets it,’ Beretto said, clapping a hand on Abastrini’s shoulder and pulling him aside. ‘You’re joining our little troupe.’

‘Brasti is fine,’ the Greatcoat said, then paused to reconsider. ‘Actually, I prefer Brasti Godslayer, or Brasti the Handsome. Now that I think on it, I should really come up wi—’ ‘Mostly, people address him as, “Hey you, arsehole”,’ Rhyleis interrupted. ‘Although,

Beretto threw off his old coat so fast you’d have thought it was filled with snakes instead of fleas.

‘And when we dig deep into the fertile soil of our art together, with the truth on our lips and the love we bear each other blossoming in our hearts . . . well, I do believe we can save the world every night we take the stage – twice if there’s a matinee.’ The others cheered, Shariza kissed me, and I discovered