“The Arvi are free to choose who they love,” his father said. “It has always been so. But as leader, you should be considering more than just yourself. It would be best for you to choose a mate who strengthens your position, not weakens it. There are plenty of Kildi girls you could make profitable clan-alliance marriages with. . . .”
“I’m not looking for a mate,” Emil said. “Esmer and I are just friends.”
Without waiting for his father to answer, he turned and walked away, a slow anger burning in his stomach. His father never had time to hear Emil’s concerns, but he always had time to tell Emil what he should be doing to become a better leader. Sometimes Emil thought he could replace himself with a wooden statue and his father would never even notice.
He might be hard on Stefan, but at least Father sees him, Emil thought. The only thing he sees when he looks at me is a copy of himself.
Still, he was going to work in the Arvi booth tomorrow. That was something. And maybe, at least for a little while, he could pretend to be someone else.
Listen to how it was in the beginning.
Before the Barrier rose, the Empire worshipped the Horned God, overlord of the world. The Horned God was both just and merciful, male and female, sky and earth. Now this god had two children, the son, the Sacrificed Bull, and the daughter, the Eternal Flame. And the people worshipped these three gods and respected the magic that flowed through the land and through the people of the land.
But in their prosperity, the people grew arrogant. They thought themselves as powerful as the gods. And one day they cast a spell they could not control, a spell that ripped the magic out of the land and flung it outward, forming a Barrier that no one has crossed in five hundred years. All that had magic died, including every man, woman, and child with a shred of power.
The loss was more than the people could bear. Grieving and angry, they threw down their leaders and abandoned their old gods. And the world as we knew it ended forever.
The words of Aishe Yanora, Rememberer of the Kildi
THE NEXT MORNING Mara wriggled out of the cramped space between the banyan roots. The air was thick with noise: the snap and hoot of monkeys in the branches, the high-pitched buzz of cicadas. A yellow-crested woodpecker added its rat-tat-tat to the chorus. Thin tendrils of mist drifted over the ground, rare for summer.
Mara got to her feet and stretched her stiff shoulder. Putting it back in yesterday had hurt just as much as she’d feared, but she’d managed to stay in control. Now, after a night of sleep, the pain was only a dulled memory.
Even in human form, Mara healed quickly. The thought made her feel bitter and grateful at the same time.
She rubbed her neck, thinking. If she really had dropped the earring pouch when she fell, it should still be near the tree somewhere. Mara broke into a jog, retracing her steps from yesterday.
The spot where she’d met the other tiger-Sune looked curiously empty now. Mara saw signs of people, tracks and broken branches, but whoever they were, they were long gone. She located the tree she’d fallen out of and searched the ground around it. Then she searched it again. And again.
But the pouch—and the earring—weren’t there.
Mara forced herself not to panic. If the pouch wasn’t here, then someone must have picked it up. One of the Kildi hunting parties. Maybe even Emil, the boy with the warm smile, the one who’d touched her hand.
And the best place to find the Kildi—any of them—was probably the Clothing Fair that Esmer had mentioned.
Mara dusted off her clothes, rubbed some of the dirt and leaf stain off her face, and headed for the road.
Mara paused on the outskirts of the fair. The Clothing Fair turned out to be a sprawling collection of booths and entertainment tents spread out on either side of the main road. The road itself was a river of hard-packed dirt, and Mara knew from her studies that it ran from the nearby capital into the wide, flat farmlands of the west. Kamal, the capital city, wasn’t in the exact center of the Empire, but it was close. It housed the Imperial Palace and the royal family, most of the important noble families, and many of the wealthier merchants.
But all that seemed very far away right now. Mara took a deep sniff, savoring the smell of pastries fried in butter and dipped in sugar. Her stomach rumbled.
A few horses stood tied to nearby trees, watched over by gray-clad servants. The sound of their snorts and neighs mingled with the music of flute and drum and the buzz of conversation. As Mara watched, two nobles rode up, a broad-shouldered man in a peacock-blue tunic and a girl Mara’s age dressed in brown. They appeared to be arguing.
Mara drifted closer. She’d never seen a member of the noble Flower caste up close before.
“. . . don’t like these Kildi markets, Revathi,” the nobleman was saying as he dismounted. Gold embroidery glistened from his collar. It matched the gleaming kanak flower tattooed on the inside of his arm. “Why can’t you buy your pretty things from respectable people? I don’t mind normal Wind caste—they know their place—but these Kildi . . . you know what my father says about them. They’re dangerous.”
The girl slid off her horse. She had copper skin and a mass of glossy black hair pinned in a low knot at the base of her neck. Her asar was wrapped loosely around her slender legs, allowing them to move freely.
“I like buying from these people better, Tamas,” the girl said, tugging down the sleeves of her undertunic. “I like buying goods from the people who make them, instead of purchasing them from some merchant in the Bamboo Circle. Besides,” she said, as the nobleman opened his mouth. “It’s cheaper this way.”
The man stopped mid-answer and grimaced. “True.”
“Come on, Tamas,” the girl said, her eyes crinkling. “This will be fun.”
“It better be,” the man mumbled. “I don’t like soiling my clothes in Kildi dirt without there being some benefit.”
The girl checked her horse. “That’s why you don’t wear court clothes to a fair,” she answered, still smiling.
This time, Tamas smiled back. “Lesson learned then,” he said, offering her his arm. “Shall we descend into the masses?”
“Gladly, good sir.” Revathi took his arm and they walked into the swirling crowd.
Mara watched them go, then shook herself. She wasn’t here to eavesdrop. She was here to find Emil and Esmer.
But it was hard to stay focused, especially once she dived into the thick press of people. There was just so much to see. Men and women from every caste of the Empire were here. Heavily jeweled merchant families mingled with nobles and with farmers wearing the beaded collars of Hearth caste. There were even a few mercenaries loitering about, trying to look harmless. They weren’t doing a bad job of it, but Mara had been trained to see weapons under clothes and inside boots. She made sure to avoid them.
Mara spotted a few Jade healers, their hands painted with dark-green patterns, and was tempted to strike up a conversation. Healers were a favorite choice for members of the Order because they often needed protection as they traveled. And what better way to regain honor than protecting someone who healed others?
But she couldn’t pledge to anyone until she got her earring back. Mara scanned the booths around her. Most of them seemed to be manned by Kildi. There was a booth that sold fine thread, where the sellers wore richly embroidered tunics. An older woman sat nearby, stitching sample designs onto swatches of fabric. At a dye booth, a girl dressed in deep purple held up bowls of brightly colored powder and bottles of shimmering liquid.
Kildi clans rarely traveled through the bamboo forests of Mara’s childhood home, and she studied them curiously. They were certainly better dressed than most of the Wind caste Mara had seen, and their clothes looked sturdy and well made. No cobbled-together rags here.
There were other differences, too. Many of the Kildi had dusky brown skin, a shade or two darker than the more common amber and copper hues. And while they spoke respectfully to those of higher castes, they also held themselves with
a dignity that drew the eye. The stories Mara’s Tribe told said the Kildi were the descendants of the original rulers of the Empire, cast down after the Barrier was raised, and looking at them, Mara could believe it.
The main part of the fair was clumped around the road, but there were a few booths and tents scattered around the outside as well, and Mara moved in that direction. She passed an unoccupied booth full of undyed cashmere and stopped to run her hand over one of the rolls of fabric. It felt glorious, soft as a flower petal.
This was one thing she did like about her human form, the sense of touch. She liked the tickle of grass on her arms and the roughness of tree bark under her fingers, all wrinkles and lines like a handprint. Touch was such a decadent thing. It didn’t help you hunt or sense enemies or call a mate. Aside from telling you if something was too hot or too cold, Mara couldn’t see that it helped you survive at all.
Maybe that was why human were such emotional creatures. Maybe it was something that just happened when you lived without fur or feathers or armor of any kind. In a world so based around how things felt, maybe your heart became as sensitive as your skin.
As Mara stroked the cashmere, something caught her eye. Sitting off to one side, almost hidden by the rolls of fabric, was a perfectly carved miniature tiger. It was made out of polished rosewood, and the dark pattern of the rings formed the stripes on the tiger’s side. Flecks of ebony stone made the eyes, and the tail was curled around the feet so perfectly that Mara had to touch it.
The wood was smooth against her skin, and the small tiger fit into her palm perfectly. She closed her fingers around it.
“Just a moment,” came a muffled voice from somewhere inside the booth. “I’ll be right there.”
Mara jumped back as a tall young man stood with a roll of cashmere in his arms. It was Emil. Their eyes locked, and a smile lit his face.
“Mara?”
EMIL LOOKED SO genuinely happy to see her that Mara’s wits deserted her. She fumbled with the wooden toy in her hands and put it down quickly.
“Emil, right? We met yesterday in the forest?” Mara cursed the breathless sound of her human voice.
“Yes.” The boy set the roll of cashmere down and gave her another of his disorienting smiles. “You saved my brother’s life.”
Heat rose to Mara’s face. “I just did what anyone would have done.”
“I’m not sure just anyone would have jumped in front of a hunting tiger,” Emil said. “But I’ll stop mentioning it if it makes you uncomfortable.” His eyes met hers and Mara looked away, her flush deepening.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Emil continued in a more casual tone. He reached under the counter, pulled something from a hidden shelf. “I found this and I thought it might be yours.”
It was her earring pouch.
Mara gasped, her hand reaching for it, even as she tried to be calm. “Yes, that’s mine,” she said, her words coming too fast, too eager. “Can I have it back, please?”
Emil handed the soft skin pouch to her. When Mara felt the round edge of the earring still inside, something tight and painful inside her loosened.
“Thank you,” she said, clutching the pouch close to her chest. “Thank you for finding it. I . . . this is important to me.”
Emil’s eyes didn’t leave her face. “I can see that.”
Mara suddenly felt like he did see, as if she’d turned as transparent as a mountain river. She didn’t like the feeling at all.
“Thank you,” she said again, stepping away. “I have to go. I’m glad your brother was all right.”
“Please.” The quiet word stopped her midstep. “Wait.”
Mara turned around. “What do you want?” she said sharply. What was it about the man that made her feel so off balance?
Emil studied her, as if she were a puzzle box he was trying to open. “To talk to you,” he said. “You saved my brother, and I know nothing about you.” His smile wrinkled his eyes, and Mara found herself wanting to smile back.
“Besides, I’ve been here all day by myself,” he continued. “The friend I was counting on to help me had to do something else this morning, and I’ve done nothing but talk about cashmere with customers and read people’s palms. You’re the most interesting person I’ve seen all day. Don’t go yet. Please?”
Mara knew she should say no. But it was so nice to just talk to someone, someone who wasn’t afraid of her. Someone who touched her. Emil was open and genuine in a way that Mara hadn’t known humans could be, and somehow when she was with him, she didn’t feel lonely.
So she turned and walked back to the booth.
“You can really see the future in someone’s hand?”
“Or the past, depending on which hand you give me. Tradition says the future is shown in the right hand and the past in the left.”
Mara put her left hand firmly behind her back, and Emil chuckled. “All right. The future it is.” He held out his hand, his eyes daring her.
Slowly Mara put her hand into his. He cradled it as if it were a bird’s egg.
Emil stared down at her palm. “Hmmm. I see you belong to the Order of Khatar.”
“Very funny,” Mara said “You don’t need to look at my hand to see that.”
Again he smiled, as if she had delighted him. “Ah, but it helps.” He flipped her hand over.
“See these calluses, here and here?” Emil rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, then brushed against the sensitive skin between her thumb and first finger. “Only a hand-dagger leaves marks like that.”
He ran one finger up to her wrist bone. “And the edges of the handle leave an imprint on your arm, see?”
“Does . . . does my hand tell you anything else?” Mara asked, clearing her throat.
Emil flipped her hand back over, studying the palm. “You will meet a tall, dark man in the near future.”
“That’s likely,” Mara said drily. “Considering how many tall, dark men there are in the Empire.”
Emil grinned at her. “You’re spoiling my trick.”
Mara raised her eyebrows at him and Emil laughed, and for a moment, it almost felt like being home. Like curling up with her family on cold nights, the heat of their bodies against her back. Everything at the Order had been routine and training and study, and like Mara, most of the other novices were so wrapped up in their own hurt that they had little time for anyone else’s. They’d been fellow warriors, but not really family.
Her real family was gone forever.
“Mara, are you all right?” Emil said. Mara looked up to see him studying not her palm, but her face. “You looked really sad just now.”
Mara suddenly felt exposed and transparent all over again. “I thought you were supposed to be reading my palm, not my expression,” she said, yanking her hand back.
Emil looked as surprised as if she had slapped him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean . . .” He rubbed his hand over his neck. “I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I?”
Mara drew a breath. “No, I just . . . I can’t . . . talk about it.”
“Of course,” Emil said. “Look, I owe you for yesterday.” He took the wooden tiger from the counter and held it out to her. “I had carved this for my cousin, but if you like it, it’s yours.”
Mara’s fingers itched to take the tiger from him, hold it tightly. “Are you sure?” she said, not caring that her voice was harsh with want.
Emil tucked the tiger in her palm and wrapped her fingers around it. “I can make another one easily. Consider it a gift. And an apology for making you sad.”
Mara felt a strange urge to cry. Instead she pulled the tiger close and turned her face away. When she had herself under control again, she looked back and allowed her mouth to curl at the corners.
“Thank you.”
The silence stretched between them as they smiled at each other. To break the moment, Mara asked the first thing that came into her head. “Was I really that obvious? Just now?”
“Not r
eally,” Emil said. “But I’m good with faces, people’s expressions. My uncle is the Master of Trade for our camp, and he knows all the merchant tricks. You’re actually pretty difficult to read most of the time.”
“Good,” Mara said, feeling a bit better. The idea of everyone being able to read her that way was frightening. Mara could read body language and someone’s tone of voice, but faces? Human faces were so changeable. Emotions flickered faster than she could follow. She wanted to ask Emil how he managed it. She wanted to put her hand back into his and listen to his laugh and watch his eyes crinkle when he smiled.
He wouldn’t be so kind if he knew what she’d done.
The thought chilled her, and Mara stumbled back a step. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I really do have to go. Thank you again for the tiger.”
And without giving him a chance to stop her, she turned and ran into the crowd.
WHAT DID I say?
Emil watched, perplexed, as Mara hurried away. He wanted to go after her, ask her what was wrong, and apologize if he needed to, but he couldn’t leave the booth.
Emil replayed their conversation in his mind. Up close, Mara’s eyes had reminded him even more of dark honey, thick and sweet with secrets. He’d wanted to ask her all kinds of questions about where she’d come from and why she’d joined the Order of Khatar. But asking felt too personal, too invasive.
So he’d settled for trying to make her smile. She didn’t look like someone who smiled very much. During their conversation, she’d held herself perfectly still and watched him with steady patience. Then suddenly . . . sadness. It was an expression Emil had felt often on his own face, the sudden spasm of missing someone so much you could barely breath. Mara had lost someone, just like he had. He’d reached for that connection without thinking.
He’d hurt her, and it shamed him. And in his shame, he’d offered the only thing in the booth that was his to give, the wooden tiger.
Empire of Shadows Page 5
