by David Estes
For there, in that enormous canyon, were hundreds—no, thousands—of slaves, each wearing flexible leather armor and performing the tell-tale aerial flips and leaps of masters of phen ru.
At long last, Jai knew, he was seeing Vin Hoza’s slave army.
No, he thought. Not Vin Hoza’s. Falcon Hoza’s. This is his army now.
Slaves shoved their way around Jai, but he didn’t move, staring at the sea of red flesh, none of the young soldiers older than himself. His justicemark flared on his heel, pulsing energetically. An idea fought to the front of his mind, and it took all his self-control not to smile. Could it be? His mark never lied, and he knew it wasn’t lying now.
This is our army now. The rebel army.
Shanti’s eyes met his once more, and what he saw was a reflection of his own mind. The corners of her lips tugged upward for a bare moment, before she too mastered her emotions.
For a while, Jai’s water-bearing services weren’t needed, and he sat in the shade, continuing to watch the slave army train.
The more he watched, the more his hope slipped away, and his justicemark seemed to realize the same thing, its pulsing slowing and then stopping completely.
There was something off about them. Their eyes were too focused, for one. Focused on their masters, a handful of Phanecians who were taking them through their paces. The soldiers obeyed without question, never straying for a moment. Though their masters had whips strapped to their belts, they didn’t need to use them, not even once.
Jai stared intently at the slave army as they stood at attention, having just completed a vigorous set of coordinated movements to perfection. His eyes narrowed beyond what the translucent pins already caused. For, between the gaps in their leather armor, he saw them.
Scars. Ancient, hardened. White stripes drawn in their red skin. On their arms, their legs, their backs. He even saw scars on several of their cheeks, pale slashes that told the story of their breaking.
Jai’s father had been an experienced horseman, and as a boy he’d watched him break several wild Phanecian stallions. It had been a long, arduous process, in which Jai repeatedly felt bad for the horses as their will had been slowly stripped away, until there was nothing left.
Nothing but obedience.
And once they were well and truly broken, the horses would obey none other but his father. Their master.
It was in that moment that Jai knew this slave army was useless to the rebel cause, unless…
No. I can’t.
His justicemark burst back to life, warm against his heel.
I can’t, not ever again.
Throbbing, throbbing.
I must.
His conflicting emotions warred for several long moments, until one of the Hoza brothers, Fang, flicked his fingers in Jai’s general direction. A command. Bring me water, crippled slave. Now.
I must, Jai thought again.
Somehow, some way, he would need to become a master again, a master of this slave army.
His justicemark was on fire, and he knew the way.
A sinking feeling had grown in Jai’s stomach during the journey back to Phanea. He could kill the emperor and his brothers without remorse—this he knew. But to command the slave army they’d bred, they’d created? That was an entirely different task, one that filled his heart with sickness.
Several times Shanti had tried to catch his eye, but he couldn’t look at her, not knowing what he was going to have to do to her people. What he was going to have to make them do.
She brushed past him as they exited the chariot, her small finger curling around his, squeezing. There for a moment and then gone. It was as if she could feel the struggle inside of him, lending him a measure of her strength.
Watching her walk away was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.
He fell back into his act, hobbling into the palace, dropping his now-empty jugs back in the kitchen to be refilled for the next journey. Then he began making his rounds, entering the rooms, removing the foul-smelling chamber pots, emptying them, and returning for more. Though he was doing his work much later than usual, it was still early enough that each room’s occupant would still be eating their evening meal.
Though the work was repugnant, there was something about its monotony that helped him clear his mind. A single word kept finding its way to the forefront of his thoughts.
Sacrifice.
It was a word he’d always hated in the past, because it felt like a badge of honor—and no one in this country, save the true slaves perhaps, deserved to wear such a badge, especially him. Yet now, he felt the truth of the word like a thick blanket on his shoulders. He was making a sacrifice. They all were. They had to, else nothing would change.
And that slave army he’d seen, those broken soldiers who followed orders without thought, without question, they had already sacrificed so much. But they would need to sacrifice more to overthrow their masters.
Jai was so focused on his thoughts and completing the task at hand, that he was more than halfway into the next room before realizing someone was in it.
He froze, hunched over, his eyes stuck on the woman whose back was to him, her body flowing like water from a cliff’s edge, like wind through the clouds, like a dust storm across the desert.
As she danced, her movements lithe but powerful, graceful but forceful, her entire form seemed to glow, though the sun had given way to shadows at least an hour earlier.
The dance was phen sur, considered by the men to be the lowest of the martial arts, useful for nothing but entertainment. Jai might’ve thought the same once. But since meeting the Black Tears, who were all masters of the womanly dance, Shanti included, he’d changed his mind. He’d seen how it could be used to kill even more effectively than the manly arts of phen ru and phen lu.
However, he’d only seen one woman dance the way this woman danced now, her movements so perfect that the light of the sun goddess, Surai, was drawn into her. The memory sent a shiver through him, and he knew even before her maneuvers turned her face toward him who she would be.
Mother.
He turned and fled.
His heart refused to stop hammering in his chest.
Though he hadn’t seen the woman’s face, in his mind she was staring at him, her eyes full of tenderness and love, the way his mother had always looked upon him. In truth, he’d believed her to be dead, his father’s final sacrifice.
This doesn’t change anything, he thought. It can’t change anything. I need to stay focused on my mission. I can’t think about her. Not until after she is safe. Not until I’ve done what I need to do.
Gods, how he wanted to go back to that room, to spill through the door, to throw himself into the warmth of his mother’s embrace like a love-starved child. To be held, to be comforted, to feel safe again.
All these years…how had he never seen her in the palace? He knew the answer: Because Vin Hoza had never wanted him to see her. It was part of his punishment, his own sacrifice.
But now that she was so close…the yearning was a force more powerful than anything he’d ever experienced, even the force that drew him to Shanti.
I’ve waited so long. I can wait a little longer. He clung to those thoughts like a man dangling over a cliff clutching a rope that was beginning to fray.
At least she is alive. It was that thought alone that anchored him, that allowed his heartbeat to return to normal.
He finished his work and went to bed, sleep fighting him until late into the night, long after the other slaves were breathing deeply, gentle susurrations in the dark.
Eighty-Five
The Southern Empire, Phanes
Falcon Hoza
Falcon felt torn in two pieces.
In some ways, he’d been in awe of the slave army, of the beauty of their movements, of the raw power their presence gave Phanes. The protection. None could attack them and hope to survive.
On the other hand, seeing their scars, the vacant expression in each of their eyes
, had brought bile to the back of his throat. He could still taste the burning bitterness.
This is my father’s legacy, he thought, sitting cross-legged on the floor on his bedroll. Who am I to defy him? Even in death I can feel his presence. The very fact that he was sleeping on the floor and not in his father’s bed was proof enough.
Still, Shanti’s message to him had had a powerful effect. That final word—Unless…
Unless what?
Unless he, the Emperor of Phanes, did something to change the world. To erase his father’s legacy.
The faith the beautiful slave woman seemed to have in him only made things harder. He didn’t want to disappoint her, even if he knew he would. Which was why he knew he needed to tell her the truth about her mother as soon as possible. Needed to tell her how his father had used her and abused her, eventually killing her in a fit of rage after he had learned of the Black Tears’ latest attack—the one on Garadia.
If he shared such a horrible story with her, she would never believe in him again. It was better that way.
However, tonight she had not come to him as he’d expected. No, it seemed she was giving him a night to mull things over. To pass the time, he read the book again, his heart growing heavier with each page he turned.
Eventually, he shut the book loudly, called for a slave, and sent for her.
When the slave returned alone, he looked fearful. “The slave woman you requested to see refuses to leave the slave quarters,” he said, flinching back as if expecting to be hit.
Falcon was so surprised by her refusal—who refuses an emperor?—that he brushed the slave away with a hand and shut the door.
She is testing me, he thought. She is seeing what kind of man—what kind of ruler—I truly am. The only problem was, he didn’t know himself.
He could go back to reading, or he could simply go to sleep—the gods knew he was exhausted. But neither of those options appealed to him in the least. The desire to tell Shanti the truth about her mother was the only thing he could think about. He needed to see that look in her eyes, that hatred for him and his family. Only then could he forget about her and the last word in that book, a word that had nothing to do with him.
I am mad, he thought, even as he stole from his quarters, waving his guards away as they tried to follow him. They looked uncertain, but he pinned them with a commanding stare and they remained on either side of his door.
Alone, he made his way through the finest portion of the palace, across the courtyard, and into the slaves’ quarters. The place the slaves slept wasn’t the worst-looking building—his father wouldn’t allow an eye-sore in the palace—but they were still forced together like cattle, dozens of women on one side, dozens of men on the other.
The guards there looked surprised, straightening up quickly, but he said, “At ease, this is a private matter,” and they instantly relaxed, looking somewhat amused. Falcon wondered how many times his own father had done such a thing; probably more times than he could count.
He headed toward the women’s quarters, feeling a growing sense of foolishness, but pushing through it, biting his lip.
In the darkness, he stared into the room, dozens of sleeping forms gathered in rows across the floor. He stole between them, peeking at faces, trying to find Shanti. She wasn’t in the first row, nor the second. That’s when he spotted a shadow sitting on a shelf by the window, her knees pulled to her chest, her strong arms roped around them.
Just watching him.
“I’m not going with you,” she said. “I’m not a dog to be called by its master.” She spoke with determination, loud enough for several of the women slaves to stir in their sleep, rolling over. One of them hit his leg and she cried out, her eyes flying open.
The noise drew others awake, the room shifting from silence to a clamor in a matter of moments. Falcon was frozen, cursing his own stupidity, trying to decide what to do.
He could flee, but his guards would almost certainly notice he’d been chased away by his own slaves. Rumors would spread, and his brothers would learn of what had happened. They would begin to circle like vulzures.
There was only one option, the very same he’d relied on for years. Be what they expect you to be.
“Out of the way,” he growled, shoving women aside as he strode through the crowd of surprised slaves, his eyes focused on the form by the window.
Shanti didn’t flinch, didn’t appear surprised, watching him the whole way. If anything, she looked like she’d expected him to do exactly what he was doing, a thought that unsettled him.
He shook it away and continued, until he stood before her. “Slave,” he said. “I command you to my quarters. Immediately.”
Her eyes narrowed at his tone, one he’d practiced his entire life. He knew she’d heard him use it many times before, but never directed at her. Her lips parted, and in the green moonlight they were pale slivers. She formed a single word. “No.”
Please, he pleaded with his eyes. Don’t make me do this.
“You will come.” He grabbed her arm.
With impressive speed, her casual posture twisted into action, her leg coming up in a high, rounded kick that caught him on the side of the head. He released his grip on her arm as he stumbled backwards, stars shooting across his vision.
Though the pain was significant, he’d taken hits before, and his entire focus was on the fact that a slave had just hit the emperor, a crime punishable by death. Stars still spiraling across his vision, his mind sought a solution. He could once more try to subdue her on his own, dragging her from the room like a possession, but he could tell from the look in her eyes that she would fight him every step of the way.
Why is she doing this? he wondered, but just as quickly the answer came: She’s forcing my hand. She’s making me choose.
The facts lined up as his vision cleared. He would have a mark on his face, but he could make excuses for that. He didn’t need to force her to come with him—he could just as easily deliver his message with the other slaves watching. If anything, it would only make her hate him more.
He knew he had to hurry—the guards would’ve heard the noise and would be coming to investigate. He opened his mouth to tell her the truth.
Eighty-Six
The Southern Empire, Phanes
Jai Jiroux
A commotion in the women’s quarters had Jai on his feet in an instant. He’d been only half-sleeping anyway, his eyes fluttering with the beginnings of a dream.
He jerked awake, immediately determining the location of the sound, listening for a recurrence. Another shriek, the high tone of a woman.
Shanti.
He knew it wasn’t her screaming—she would never scream like that—but he needed to know what was happening, that she was safe. He sprang to his feet, his knee screaming in pain, almost buckling, but he managed to keep his balance. Other slaves groaned and complained as he raced between them, charging for the door between the gender-separate quarters and hauling it open.
The scene before him was chaos, and it took his mind several moments to pinpoint the focus of the action. Shanti.
Jai gaped as he saw who was standing before her, his face unpowdered, his skin free of his usual glittering jewels. They weren’t really sewn into his skin, Jai realized with a start.
Still, Emperor Falcon was standing before Shanti, rubbing his head, his eyes completely focused on her. She was upright in one of phen sur’s many stances, and looked like she wanted to hit him. No, he realized. She already hit him. Or kicked him. Hence, the sorry state he’s in.
The puzzle pieces fit together in an instant. Images of what must’ve happened came to life in his head. She’d gotten close to him by leading him on. He wanted more. She denied him. He tried to force himself on her and she defended herself.
Suddenly, the revolution, the thousands of slaves, even his own mother, were forgotten. He was a man defending a woman he deeply cared for. She might not need defending—she’d already made that clear—bu
t he would kill the dastardly man without remorse, even if it meant he would be killed for it later. At least the world would be a better place.
He strode toward the emperor, slave women parting before him. Falcon Hoza took a step toward Shanti, and at the same moment she noticed Jai storming toward him. Her eyes widened and she waved him off.
He didn’t listen, was tired of waiting for justice. The mark on his heel told him as much, faintly pulsing with each step.
He grabbed the emperor from behind, twisting him around, his fingers surrounding his throat, squeezing. Falcon gasped, a look of shock swarming across his face, which had already begun turning red.
“No!” Shanti screamed, throwing herself at Jai, slamming a kick into his ribs, knocking the wind from him. His grip weakened, and the emperor managed to slip free, tumbling to the floor. Shanti stood in front of him like a wildcat defending her mate, a truth Jai didn’t fail to notice.
“He tried…to force…you,” Jai huffed out, trying to understand.
She shook her head. “He didn’t,” she said. “He only wanted to talk. He’s not the man you think he is.” The way she said it, the slight tenderness in her tone, sucked all the fight out of Jai, even as Falcon found his feet, rubbing his neck with his hands, which was red and beginning to bruise.
Before he could respond, however, pounding footsteps signaled the arrival of the guards. “Go!” Shanti said, urging Jai to flee back to the men’s quarters, where several other male slaves were gathered in the open doorway, peeking through.
Jai didn’t move. He was numb. The woman he was beginning to love cared for the emperor of the kingdom that had enslaved her parents. That had enslaved her. The world had twisted on its axis, and Jai felt exhausted by it. They could kill him—he didn’t care.
So he just stood there and awaited his fate.
Eighty-Seven
The Southern Empire, Phanes
Falcon Hoza
