Rule of Wolves

by Leigh Bardugo

  “Here,” Tamar said, handing Mayu a sword belt and a curved blade.

  “Where did you get this?” she asked, and fastened it around her waist. The talon sword was the traditional weapon of the Tavgharad, often worn with a pistol, but they weren’t easy to come by, and none of the Tavgharad had been permitted to bring them to Ravka.

  “My father,” said Tamar. “It was a gift from one of his students long ago. I’ll be expecting it back. Let’s go.”

  “Why this place?” Mayu asked as they walked down the long gangway to the fields where Mayu had once trained to become Tavgharad. Though she couldn’t see them, Mayu knew some of Tamar’s Grisha were stationed around the temple.

  “We can’t just go marching up to the palace gates,” said Tamar. “My spies have made contact with Ministers Nagh and Zihun. We’ll meet them in the Temple of Neyar. My scouts recommended a barn farther afield, but the princess insisted on the temple.”

  “The ministers will be skeptical,” Ehri said. “We need the temple to give our words weight.”

  Neyar. One of the Six Soldiers, the sacred protectors of Shu Han. Mayu knew this temple. She’d been reminded of it when she’d seen the six-sided hall at the Little Palace. It was built as a hexagon, the six entries guarded by slender garnet columns, the statue of Neyar holding her famous sword, Neshyenyer, beneath a roof open to the sky. This was where Mayu had taken her oath when she’d been inducted into the Tavgharad. And this was where she would break it and betray a queen.

  They approached through the eastern entry. The ministers were waiting with guards in tow.

  “You vowed to come alone,” said Tamar.

  Minister Nagh recoiled. “What is this treachery?” he demanded. “You bring Ravka’s trained attack dog beneath the roof of one of our temples?”

  Everyone in the Shu government knew of the kebben who served first the Sun Saint and then a Ravkan king. Tamar’s tattoos, her axes, her short hair, all made her instantly recognizable.

  “She is the enemy,” said Minister Zihun, and punctuated the statement by spitting at the floor near Tamar’s boots.

  Tamar didn’t react, but her golden eyes narrowed, and Mayu wondered at the arrogance of these politicians. Tamar was not someone she would seek to provoke, and Ehri seemed to agree.

  “Friends,” Ehri said sweetly, shyly, “I do not believe you think Tamar Kir-Bataar is a threat. If you did, you would never speak to her thus. Not when you know she is a Heartrender. Not when she wears those silver axes as another woman might wear jewels. She has put her life at risk to save mine. I hope you will hear me out.”

  “To save your life?” Zihun sputtered. “What is the meaning of all of this, Princess? The queen was supposed to be attending your wedding this very day. Have we sent her into a trap? You must explain yourself.”

  “The trap is of the queen’s own making,” said Tamar.

  “You dare—”

  Ehri stepped forward. “I will explain. If you will only give me the chance. That is why Tamar escorted me here.”

  We’re lost, Mayu thought. Ehri had none of Makhi’s authority, none of her mighty presence.

  Minister Nagh sniffed. “And what does the traitor get from this?”

  “A chance to see two windbags in a temple,” Tamar muttered.

  “What was that?” the minister snapped.

  Tamar plastered a smile over her face. “I said, a chance to see peace thrive.”

  “Please,” said Ehri. “As a Taban princess, I ask you to hear me.”

  The ministers exchanged a glance and gave the barest nod. They couldn’t very well deny her, but they didn’t intend to be won over.

  “Gentle friends,” the princess began, using the formal address, “my story is a sad one, but I hope you will hear me.”

  Ehri didn’t speak like a politician. She told her tale in the cadence of the great poets. It was like listening to someone play music, as if she had her hands on the khatuur at this very moment and was plucking out a melancholy song, each verse revealing a new tragedy: a cunning plot to kill a king, a failed assassination, a sister’s betrayal. No, Ehri didn’t have Makhi’s fire. There was a sweetness in her, a softness that Mayu had never liked. But now she couldn’t help but think of the legendary generals who feigned a weakened flank to lure their enemy closer. Mayu watched as the ministers’ expressions shifted from rigid suspicion to stunned disbelief to outrage and then to fear. Because if Ehri’s story was true, they had no choice but to challenge Makhi.

  Mayu felt an ache in her throat. Her own story was woven in with Ehri’s words, a silent counterpoint, a harmony that would go unheard. What it had meant to wear another woman’s clothes, another woman’s crown, to believe she had fallen in love with a king, to be forced to choose between the funny, gentle boy she’d known she could never have and the brother Queen Makhi had stolen away from her.

  It was Isaak’s story too. A boy who had given up his heart to an impostor, who had given up his life for his king. Mayu had no right to grieve for him. She’d chosen Reyem. She’d driven a knife into Isaak’s heart. Sometimes she wished her aim had been better and she’d died that day too. But then who would remain to fight for Reyem? She had to find her brother, or it was all for nothing.

  Mayu gave her testimony when Ehri called upon her to do so. Her words felt shapeless in her mouth, blunt soldier’s talk after Ehri’s eloquence. Still, it was no small thing for a Tavgharad guard to speak against her queen. Then Tamar showed them the note Makhi had sent, and Mayu told them of the coded message within it.

  The ministers stepped aside to consult with each other as Mayu and Tamar and the princess waited. What the ministers did next would tell them everything they needed to know.

  Minister Nagh and Minister Zihun turned slowly. They bowed their heads and knelt before the princess. “We have failed you. We should have protected you from your sister’s deceptions.”

  “But I must beg your forgiveness,” said Ehri. “I have put you at risk by sharing this information with you. We are all in danger now.”

  “You can set this right,” said Tamar. “Queen Makhi may be returning to the capital even now. Bring Ehri to the palace and place her under your protection.”

  “We can,” said Zihun as they rose. “Of course we can. We only beg that you will show us mercy when you are queen.”

  “I do not want the crown,” said Ehri. “Only justice and peace.”

  I should be relieved at that, thought Mayu. She’d always considered the princess useless, a woman who could barely fight, who liked to sip tea and play her songs and who dreamed of an ordinary life. She’d thought Ehri’s charm and gentle ways were liabilities. Now she wondered. Had the princess always been a diplomat, wielding the careful ways of court and etiquette as her weapons while Makhi chose the cudgels of might and cunning? Which type of leader did Shu Han need?

  But the next step would require more than fine speeches. In many ways, the palace was the most perilous place for them to be. They would be surrounded by guards, Tavgharad, Makhi’s spies. But it was also where they had to make their stand. They couldn’t simply meet with ministers. There had to be a public reckoning, and Princess Ehri would only be safe when everyone knew she was back on Shu soil and Makhi couldn’t pursue action against her in secret.

  “You should come to the palace by night,” said Minister Nagh. “Under cover of darkness.”

  “Yes,” agreed Ehri. “We will join you at the garden door in two hours.”

  The ministers departed with many pledges of loyalty. But Tamar and Ehri made no move to follow.

  “We’re not going tonight, are we?” Mayu asked.

  Ehri shook her head. “We can’t arrive at the palace skulking around in the dark like criminals.”

  “You don’t believe the ministers will help us?”

  Tamar gave a small shrug. “Zihun and Nagh seem honest and righteous enough, but we need better protection than the promises of politicians.”

  That Mayu could ag
ree with. She was tired of placing her faith in the honor of kings and queens and commanders. “And if Makhi is waiting when we arrive?”

  Tamar flashed a wicked grin. “We’re counting on it.”

  * * *

  Dawn came and went and they remained inside, as they waited for the crowds to enter the morning market that surrounded the temple fields. The Shu airship and the Grisha had long since departed.

  Ehri changed into fresh silks, and when she returned, Tamar brought her a package wrapped in linen.

  “You have it,” Ehri said with obvious relief.

  Tamar unwrapped the package.

  “A khatuur?” Mayu asked incredulously. “I was hoping for a weapon.”

  “It is a weapon,” said Ehri. “Beauty of all kinds is a weapon.”

  Tamar huffed a laugh. “You sound like Zoya.”

  Ehri clearly didn’t appreciate the comparison. “She’s all bluster, like my sister. No, the khatuur is much more than that.”

  “Are you ready?” Tamar asked. “Once we begin this, there will be no turning back.”

  Ehri rested her fingers on the strings of the khatuur. For a moment, she said nothing, tuning the instrument, guiding the notes to arrange themselves in the air, then letting them fade.

  “I have never been so frightened,” she said. “I thought I could imagine this all as a performance, but it’s not, is it?”

  “No,” said Tamar. “It’s very real.”

  Mayu wanted to scream. They were really going to walk to the palace, out in the open, in the bright light of day. How could Tamar let the princess do something this foolish? They were never going to make it to the palace. Queen Makhi would simply send an assassin to pick them off before they ever set foot in the city proper. But Mayu was a soldier, and a soldier had to follow.

  “I’ve never wanted to be the hero in any story,” Ehri said, gazing down at the softly curved neck of the khatuur. “I only wanted to sing their tales. A hero would think of the possibility of war, the lives that hung in the balance, the women who burned at a callous queen’s order. But I find it is my own life that worries me the most.”

  Tamar tapped her axes. “That only means you’re a survivor, Princess. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Ehri put her fingers to the strings. “Very well. Let’s begin.”

  She descended the temple steps into the morning market. Instantly the shoppers left off their haggling to marvel at the sight of Ehri Kir-Taban, Daughter of Heaven, returned to them. Mayu knew this was not the first time the princess had played at the temple fields, but she was meant to be off in Ravka, courting and marrying a Ravkan king.

  The princess glided through the marketplace in her leaf-green silks, her hair drawn back, a chrysanthemum tucked behind her left ear. She played her music and the people followed, pulling their children along with them, clapping and dancing. The song Ehri chose was no coincidence: “The Flower Maiden.” She is the sun, and springtime has returned.

  As they entered the city, people emerged from their homes with bells and drums in hand to play along. They cast flowers into her path.

  “They really do love her,” said Tamar in wonder.

  “We heard you went to meet the barbarians!” someone cried.

  “We thought you were to be wife to the Scarred King!”

  “But you see I am back and unwed and just happy to be among you,” said Ehri, and the people cheered.

  Over the bridge they paraded and Ehri struck up a new song, one triumphant and patriotic, a Shu soldiers’ anthem. A fighting song.

  Queen Makhi was waiting for them on the wide palace balcony that overlooked the river.

  “Sister!” she called, her arms open. “How like you to arrive in such fine style.”

  No one who wasn’t watching closely would have noticed the way the queen’s teeth were bared, the way her eyes slid to Mayu and then back to Ehri.

  “Are we not glad to see our sister returned?” Makhi demanded of the crowd, and the people cheered in reply. “Are we not grateful for her safety and good health? Then let this be a day of feasts and celebration!” Makhi clapped her hands and the square was flooded with royal servants handing out currant cakes and little bags of golden coins.

  Mayu studied the queen’s face, the brittle smile, the hands spread wide in a gesture of beneficence.

  She wants to be loved, Mayu realized. Just as I did. She can’t understand why her sister is favored when she is smarter, stronger, more lovely. She will spend a lifetime trying to unravel this mystery, sure there’s some secret she can uncover, offering her subjects bribes of money and sweets to show her generosity. Queen Makhi had tried to murder Ehri, not once but twice, rather than live forever in her shadow. She might have a sister’s envy, but she did not have a sister’s love.

  As soon as they entered the palace, they were surrounded by guards. Minister Yerwei, the queen’s doctor, came forward to greet them.

  “Princess Ehri, are you well? We must have you examined and prescribe the proper tonics to restore your vitality after such a long trip.”

  “I thank you, Minister Yerwei. But I am in good health. I have been well fed and looked after by our Ravkan friends.”

  “Where are the rest of your Tavgharad guard?”

  “I would give my answers to my sister,” Ehri said serenely.

  “She will receive you in the audience chamber.”

  Minister Zihun cleared her throat. “I’m afraid the chamber is under repair. May I suggest the Court of the Feathered Bower?”

  “But I was just in the chamber—” Yerwei protested.

  “There was a flood.”

  “A flood?”

  “A small flood by one of the fountains,” added Minister Nagh. “The workers are still inside.”

  Mayu hid her relief. Maybe Nagh and Zihun had always planned to keep their promises to Ehri. Maybe they had been swayed by the sight of a city following her through the streets. It didn’t matter. They’d done their part. Ehri and Tamar needed to speak to the queen privately, not in front of her ministers and not in a place where she could look down on them cloaked in the power of a thousand years of Taban queens.

  “I see,” murmured Minister Yerwei. There was nothing else for him to say.

  * * *

  The Court of the Feathered Bower was all soft white and gold, like the glow of clouds in the hour before dusk. It suited Ehri well, softening the angles of her face. Servants brought them glass ewers of wine and water, a plate of sliced red plums. But they scattered when the doors burst open and Makhi strode in, flanked by her Tavgharad.

  “You dare summon me like some kind of serving girl?”

  Ehri only smiled. She rose and bowed deeply. “Forgive me if I offended, sister. The audience chamber was flooded, and it seemed best we talk in private.”

  “The time for that has passed,” snapped Makhi. “You should have come to me with your concerns. Instead you conspired with the barbarian king. You went to my ministers with absurd tales of assassinations and poetry and secret laboratories. We will meet in the council chamber and you will recant your testimony and throw yourself on my mercy.”

  “I cannot,” said Ehri. “Not even you, most celestial sister, can bid me lie.”

  “You have no proof.”

  “I am the proof,” said Mayu, ashamed of the way her voice trembled. “I who was asked to kill a king to save my brother.”

  “You have no proof of that either. All I see is a girl looking healthy when all of her Tavgharad sisters are mysteriously dead.”

  “We have your note,” said Ehri softly. “It was meant to burn with me, was it not? I didn’t quite believe it until this moment. But I can’t mistake that look on your face, Makhi. I remember it from when we were children, when Mother would catch you doing something you knew you shouldn’t.”

  Makhi’s chin lifted. “What do you want?”

  “Keep to the treaty you signed with Ravka and grant them monies from our treasury. Give up your drea
ms of war. And end the khergud program.”

  “Without admitting that any of what you’ve said is true, I can agree to hold to the treaty, for now. Its terms are acceptable to us.”

  “Then you will dismantle the laboratories.”

  Makhi flicked a graceful hand through the air as if swatting a bug. “Nonsense. This khergud program you speak of is nothing but conspiracy theory and fanciful thinking.”

  “I’ve seen the khergud myself,” said Tamar. “I didn’t imagine them.”

  Makhi’s chin rose even higher. “I met your twin in Os Alta. He is as insolent and ill-mannered as you.”

  “You will take us to the labs,” said Mayu. She was tired of all this back-and-forth. She wanted to see her brother.

  “Do you really think to dictate terms to me in my own palace? You have gravely overestimated the influence of Ministers Zihun and Nagh.”

  Ehri shook her head. “I did not think to rely on their influence.”

  She had been standing in front of a golden table. Now she moved behind it and bent to smell the vase of vibrant coral roses she had placed upon it. Their petals looked like they’d been dipped in gold.

  The queen’s face paled.

  “They’re lovely, no? Bright as fire, but they have very little scent. Their beauty is all on the surface. I think I prefer wild roses myself. But these are very rare.”

  “You took them from our grandmother’s garden.” Queen Makhi’s voice was barely a whisper.

  “They were a gift. She likes a story well told.”

  Now Mayu understood where the airship had landed that night, the scent of roses on the air. Tamar and Ehri had gone to Ehri’s grandmother for protection. Leyti Kir-Taban, Daughter of Heaven, was still considered a Taban queen. She had given her crown to her daughter when she was ready to leave off ruling and enjoy her old age. When her daughter had died, Leyti had given Makhi, her daughter’s chosen successor, her blessing. But Leyti could withdraw that blessing at any time. The roses—the flowers Mayu had so naively dismissed as mere sentiment—were bred in Leyti’s garden and nowhere else.