Huntress

by Malinda Lo

  “To search for food,” Taisin answered, startling Kaede. Taisin rarely spoke, and Kaede had not yet determined whether it was because she was disinterested in conversation or merely shy.

  “How do you know?” Kaede watched Taisin struggle to contain some kind of emotion, fidgeting with the edges of her cloak.

  “It has been a difficult year. Two difficult years. My family’s farm—we have done better than some. My family has received travelers for some time now, seeking food. We send them on to Cathair, for we have heard that there are provisions there for the needy.”

  “Your family has a farm?”

  Pink crept up the curve of Taisin’s cheeks. “Yes.”

  Kaede realized that Taisin was self-conscious about it, and that made Kaede feel tactless, clumsy. She changed the subject awkwardly. “Do you have any brothers or sisters? I have three brothers. They’re all older than me.”

  Taisin seemed surprised by the question. “I have a younger sister, Suri. She is twelve.”

  “Is she as gifted as you are?”

  Taisin turned red, the color streaking across her throat and face, and she stammered, “M-my sister is gifted in her own way.”

  Kaede was taken aback by Taisin’s reaction. She wanted to tell her she hadn’t meant to embarrass her, but her classmate had turned away to stare out the window, her eyes fixed on the changing landscape. Kaede didn’t understand why Taisin seemed so uncomfortable around her. Had she done something wrong? She tried to find something to distract herself in the carriage, but there was nothing new to see in that small, dark space. She suppressed a sigh. It might be a very long journey indeed.

  On the fourth day, it rained. It was a heavy, unwelcome downpour that turned the dirt road into a muddy mess. At a crossroads that had seen better days, the caravan had to stop entirely while the drivers climbed down and dug the first carriage out of a rut that had trapped the wheels in several inches of sludge. Taisin had almost nodded off to sleep in her seat, the sound of the rain soothing away the bumpy discomfort of the King’s Highway. When Kaede cried out in alarm, Taisin jerked awake, her head knocking against the window.

  There against the glass was a man’s angry face, his mouth open as he shouted at them, raising his fist to bang against the door.

  Taisin screamed; she scrambled back as the force of his blows caused the coach to sway. Her shoulder slammed against Kaede, who was also pushing herself away from the door. In their haste they tumbled onto the floor, their bodies pressed together in the narrow space between the seats.

  The man outside raised his hand again, and this time there was a rock in it, and it smashed against the glass so hard that it cracked. But before he could strike again, a guard grabbed him, pulling him away with a force that yanked his shoulder back at an unnatural angle. Another guard joined the first, who pinned the struggling man’s head in the crook of his leather-armored elbow, and the second guard struck him full in the face, blood flying out as the man’s nose was crushed. A third guard appeared, and the man, who was thin and weak from hunger, had no chance at all. One of the guards drew his sword, and before the man could take another breath, the guard slit his throat. He doubled over, his life spilling down his chest, mingling with the rain that still fell, unceasingly, from the sky.

  It was a crime punishable by death to attack the King, and the royal mark was painted on every one of the coaches in that caravan.

  Inside the battered carriage, huddled on the floor, Taisin felt her heart pound from shock. Kaede was crowded so close to her that Taisin could feel the other girl’s muscles as tense as a drawn bowstring. Suddenly the door was wrenched open, and Kaede’s father was standing outside, the rain running down his face. He hadn’t bothered to put on a cloak. “Are you all right?” His voice was rough with panic. Behind him three guards stood with their swords drawn, and beyond them the body of the attacker was slumped on the muddy road.

  “We’re fine,” Kaede said, her voice shaking.

  “Blasted idiots!” Lord Raiden shouted, and spun toward the guards. “You paid no attention!” he snarled. “This cannot happen again. Next time it will be one of you who is dead.” He slammed the door of the carriage shut, and the cracked glass shattered completely, letting in the rain. Lord Raiden threw up his hands and ordered, “Fix this!”

  Kaede began to get up, and Taisin realized that she was gripping Kaede’s hand with white fingers. Heat rushed through her and she dropped Kaede’s hand as if it were a live coal. Kaede turned to her, a strange look on her face, and then the guards came to sweep the glass out of the carriage. Taisin pulled herself onto her seat, avoiding Kaede’s eyes. A man had just been killed scarcely ten feet away, and yet all she could think of was the jolt that went through her when she felt Kaede’s hand in hers. She had reached for her without any awareness of what she was doing. Was it already happening? Was her vision already coming true?

  Taisin set her jaw stubbornly to prevent it from trembling. She deliberately gazed out the broken window, where the guards were carrying the body of the dead man toward the side of the road. Others approached with shovels, and they began to dig a grave in the soft ground. None of them had any idea who he was, and they would never find out. After the guards rolled him into the earth, they marked the grave with a circle of stones, and the caravan departed.

  Eight days after they left the Academy, the road widened and flat paving stones replaced hard-packed dirt. The coaches picked up their pace, and the King’s guards were able to relax just slightly. After the attack, there had been repercussions all around. The guards had been ordered to increase their vigilance, and now no one was allowed to leave the caravan unprotected. Kaede and Taisin were sent off with two female guards if they needed to stop at the side of the road, and though the guards turned their backs, Taisin especially chafed at the indignity of it. Kaede, who was more accustomed to being followed by servants, still had never experienced this level of interference in her daily life. She did her best to pretend as though it was entirely ordinary: traveling with the King, being surrounded by armed guards at every moment, riding in a carriage with a window covered by an oilcloth where it had been broken by a starving bandit. If she paused to think about it too closely, the significance of it all frightened her, and she would rather go blindly forward than dwell on what it all meant.

  By the time they saw the stone walls of Cathair in the distance, Kaede had almost convinced herself that this new existence was normal. After all, the crenellated guard towers of the city were as tall and warlike as ever. Nothing had disturbed them, so far. But then they encountered a sight that she had not anticipated: a growing collection of tents pitched on the barren fields on either side of the road. As they drew closer to the city walls, the tents appeared more and more like permanent fixtures, the canvas walls dirtied with grime from fires burning in hastily dug pits. Kaede realized that the people camped closest to Cathair had been there the longest. They stood up as the King’s caravan passed, but though some children ran toward the coaches, most remained still, gaunt as specters, knowing that nothing would come their way.

  The sight of all these desperate people overwhelmed Kaede. The world had changed so much since she had last been outside the Academy walls six months ago. She hardly recognized this city that she had grown up in. The streets were thick with guards, and all the guards carried weapons. Half the shops seemed closed; the ones that remained open had new bars over their windows. When the carriage rolled to a halt outside her family’s compound, Kaede was absurdly relieved to see that her home was the same as ever—red gates and dark red tiled roofs rising behind the wall.

  Taisin was continuing on to the palace, where she would stay until they departed a week from now. Kaede looked back at her before she exited the carriage, feeling oddly reluctant to leave her. She said, “You can send word if you need anything.”

  Taisin was surprised by the offer, but also a tiny bit pleased, and it was the pleasure that made her feel awkward. “Thank you,” she said form
ally.

  Then Kaede heard the red gates open, and her mother’s voice calling her. Giving Taisin a small smile, she climbed out of the carriage, carefully closing the door with the oilcloth tacked over the broken window.

  Chapter VII

  There was a strange man in her father’s study. Kaede paused in the doorway, her hand on the latch. He was tall, and he wore an uncommonly fine dark blue silk tunic embroidered with white-capped waves, but his hair was as short as a guard’s. He turned at the slight creak of the door that Kaede pushed open, and broke into a smile. A single dimple creased his left cheek.

  “Kaede,” he exclaimed. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Con?” she said, recognizing him at last. He had been a regular guest in her parents’ home when she was a child, for he was close in age to her brothers Taeko and Tanis. She bowed to him. “What did you do to your hair?” The last time she had seen him had been at Kaihan’s wedding last year, and Prince Con Isae Tan—like all young men of rank—had worn his long black hair in a topknot.

  The prince grinned, running a hand over the prickly ends of his black hair, now barely half an inch long. “I cut it off.”

  She laughed. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “I wanted to look ordinary.”

  Behind her, Kaede’s father said, “Ordinary? What did your father think of that?”

  Kaede stepped aside as Lord Raiden entered his study, carrying an account book under one arm. He set it down on his desk and took his seat behind it, flicking back the wide sleeves of his black robe. “Kaede,” he said, glancing perfunctorily at his daughter, “the prince and I have business to attend to. You may leave us.”

  The smile that had lit Kaede’s face upon seeing Con disappeared. The prince glanced from father to daughter and said, “Lord Raiden, perhaps Kaede might join us.”

  “What? I don’t think so.”

  “Lord Raiden, she is part of this business.” The prince’s voice was gentle but firm.

  Lord Raiden met the prince’s gaze. There was a brief silence. “Fine,” he said gruffly. “Kaede, close the door when you come in.” He did not wait for her to sit down before opening the account book and paging through to a section marked with a ribbon. “As I was saying earlier, the King has ordered a contingent of guards to accompany you, as well as several wagonloads of supplies. I’ve no idea how long this trip will take; all the maps are confoundedly inaccurate.”

  Kaede realized they were discussing the journey she was about to embark on—and that her father had had no intention of telling her anything about it. She bit back the flaring anger inside her and sat down in the empty chair next to Con. The prince said, “Lord Raiden, I know that my father always travels with a large number of guards, but I think we would be better served by a smaller party.”

  “It is dangerous out there, Your Highness. The people are restless. Our caravan was attacked on the way back from the Academy.”

  Con nodded. “I know. But I think we would be more likely to slip by, unnoticed, if we were fewer in number. Consider this: If we travel with one guard each, we can stay at inns along the way instead of requiring shelter from my father’s loyalists. It will allow us to gain information, as well. I can send word to you by carrier or messenger if necessary.”

  Lord Raiden frowned. “One guard each is not much. The King will not support it.”

  Con leaned forward, putting a flattering smile on his face. “Lord Raiden, my father will support anything that you recommend.”

  Kaede’s eyes flickered from Con to her father. She could see that he wanted to believe what the prince said.

  “Your Highness, that is kind of you to say, but I’m afraid it will be too dangerous.” Lord Raiden glanced at his daughter, who was watching him with a stony expression. “And besides, my daughter is traveling with you. I want her to be safe.”

  Kaede choked back a laugh; he had never been so concerned for her safety before she was called to go on this journey. When she was a child, he had rarely seemed to notice her at all. She was convinced that his worry, now, was only a pretense; he was just frustrated that she was not doing what he wanted. When her father saw the disbelief on her face, he glared at her, and she glared back.

  Con saw the exchange but made no mention of it. “No one will know who we are if we travel lightly, Lord Raiden. But if we travel with a caravan of guards, we will be a slow-moving target.”

  “What about the Xi? They aren’t to be trusted. It would be better to send more guards with you.”

  “The more people we send, the more the Xi can turn with their glamours. We should bring only the guards we can trust.”

  Lord Raiden tapped the tips of his fingers together. “Whom would you propose to take with you? Which guards?”

  Con relaxed a bit. He could sense that Lord Raiden was about to give in. “Tali, of course,” Con said. Tali had been his personal guard since he was a boy, and he was trusted by both the Chancellor and the King. “He is completely loyal to me.”

  Lord Raiden nodded. “Tali would be going with you anyway. I agree he is a good choice. Who else?”

  Con had already consulted with Tali on this, and he had two names ready. “Pol should go. He is one of Tali’s favorites and has been in the King’s Guard for ten years now. He is from the Northerness, and he is a skilled hunter. He would be a valuable asset. And I think we should also bring Shae, from the Third Division, though she is fairly new to the Guard.” Tali had suggested the woman, who had only been a guard for two years. “She’s from the village of Jilin; grew up near the Great Wood. She’ll know it better than any of the other guards.”

  “So there would be six of you,” Lord Raiden said. “You, Taisin, Kaede, and three guards.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll need six horses?”

  “I would suggest four riding horses, and two to pull the supply wagon.”

  “No servants?”

  “Tali will do the cooking,” Con said with a grin.

  Lord Raiden let out a short laugh. “You won’t eat well.”

  “We don’t need to eat well. We just need to survive the journey.”

  Lord Raiden nodded slowly. “All right. I’ll speak to the King about your wishes.”

  “Thank you.” Con looked over at Kaede, who had listened to their conversation in silence, and asked, “Does that sound all right with you?”

  Kaede blinked. “With me?” She hesitated. Her father was watching her. Hearing the prince and her father discuss the details of the journey had made her feel largely irrelevant. Six years at the Academy behind her, and she was utterly unprepared for this sort of thing. She felt both useless and irritated by the uselessness. But she would never allow her father to see her misgivings, so she said nonchalantly, “Of course. It all sounds fine.” But the palms of her hands were clammy, and Con’s words rang in her ears: We just need to survive the journey. What was he expecting? She began to wonder, seriously, what she had gotten herself into.

  The night before their departure, the King hosted a private banquet in their honor, and even Queen Yuriya, her belly swollen in the seventh month of pregnancy, joined them in the dining room. In addition to the King and Queen, Taisin’s family was present: her father and mother, with somewhat awed expressions on their faces; and her sister, Suri, with large dark eyes that seemed to look right through a person.

  Kaede’s family had been invited, as well. Her mother, her hair twisted into the shape of a spiraling shell, sat at the King’s right hand. Her father sat next to Prince Con, who suffered the good-natured ribbing of Kaede’s three brothers for cutting off his hair. Kaede was between the prince and her middle brother, Tanis, who had recently returned from the South and only wished to discuss politics with the prince. Caught between them, Kaede fell silent, watching Taisin across the table. She was seated next to Kaede’s brother Taeko, who was the closest to her in age and had become something of a flirt in the last few years. Taisin had a small smirk on her face as Taeko attempted to impress
her, and Kaede liked Taisin the better for it, as few were immune to Taeko’s charms.

  The broad, circular table was laid with a cloth of pale gold silk printed with twining crimson and green flowers, and there were eight courses. There was cold salad and clear soup, with translucent mushrooms floating within the broth in cloudlike clusters. There was roast duck and sweet, brined pork and tender, spiced lamb. There were tender cabbage leaves sautéed with ginger; there was an entire river fish with its mouth propped open on a carrot; and at the end there were bowls of sweet bean soup, with candied plums sinking to the bottom like treasure. Kaede couldn’t help but feel as though it were a last meal of sorts, and the forced joviality of it all made her uneasy. It seemed wrong to eat like this when people were going hungry in that tattered tent city outside Cathair’s walls.

  At the end of the evening, the King stood up and toasted them as if they were about to depart on a holiday, and Kaede almost winced as she was forced to raise her glass along with everyone else. When she glanced at Con and Taisin, she saw that they, too, had sober looks on their faces as they listened to the King’s booming, slightly drunken voice. She was relieved when the toast was over. She did not know what lay ahead, but she was ready to find out.

  Chapter VIII

  Taisin lay awake on the platform bed, gazing up at the wooden canopy. The silk sheets were cool and slippery beneath her, and when she shifted, her skin slid across them with a whispering noise that sounded abnormally loud in the hush of her chamber. Her family had been given rooms adjoining hers, but the palace was so large that she could hardly believe they were sleeping under the same roof. The last few days with them had been precious, though. She would see them in the morning once more, but she already missed them.

  She tried to relax; she knew she should get as much sleep as possible, because tomorrow would be a long day. But she was anxious and unsettled, and the palace was too grand to be comfortable. When she first arrived, she had stared wide-eyed at everything. She had never seen furniture as fine as the dark red lacquered armchairs and tables in these rooms; she had never slept in a bed as magnificent as this one, with a frame carved into the shapes of singing birds on branches. At night, there had been a phalanx of servants to bathe her in jasmine-scented water, and in the morning, more servants came to dress her in clothing so exquisite she was almost afraid wear it.