The guard brought water in a clay cup and the girl sipped it, her black-brown eyes never leaving Mara’s face. When she was finished, she handed the cup back to the guard with murmured thanks, then waited until he had walked away.
“How did you know?” she asked.
Mara picked up the dagger she’d been cleaning. “Educated guess. There was a little too much tension in your muscles for it to be a true faint.”
“It’s hard to go limp when you’re in danger of getting skewered or stepped on,” the girl said, her mouth twisting in a smile. “I probably would have had to wake up and move sooner if you hadn’t been there.”
“You did very well,” Mara said. It was a strange and awkward conversation, but the girl was smiling at her and she was smiling back and it felt . . . nice. A little more uncertain than speaking mind-to-mind, but nice all the same.
“I’m Mara t’Riala,” she said.
The girl put her hands together and bowed from her sitting position. “Revathi sa’Hoi. You haven’t asked me why I pretended to faint.”
“I assume it was to keep your companion from killing Ste—that Kildi.”
Revathi’s eyes narrowed, and Mara held her breath.
“Save a Kildi boy I’ve never met?” Revathi said, but the smile was back. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you didn’t want him to get killed?” Mara said, relieved the girl hadn’t commented on her slip. “I assumed you were being nice.”
“Nobles aren’t nice,” Revathi said, tugging at the edges of her sleeve and brushing at her crumpled clothing. “But thank you anyway.”
Mara scratched the back of her head. “Well,” she said after a moment. “I wouldn’t be so quick to deny it if I were you. Pretending to faint in the middle of a riot was a really stupid thing to do otherwise.”
The girl tilted her head back and laughed. “I suppose it was.” She looked like she was about to say more, but Tamas’s voice interrupted her.
“Revathi, you’re awake!”
Tamas knelt down and put one hand under her chin, examining her smudged face. “Are you all right? No one stepped on you?”
“I’m fine, Tamas,” Revathi said. “I just fainted. Everything happened so fast, and all that fighting . . .” She gave a delicate shudder. “It was such a shock.”
“Of course,” Tamas said, running his hand over her hair. “This is why I didn’t want you to come here alone.”
Revathi folded her hands into her lap. “You know, after we’re married, you won’t be able to come with me all the time. You’ll have important duties in the court. Maybe you could teach me to use a dagger so I could defend myself?”
“Darling, what would you do with a dagger?” Tamas said. “You’re too small to fight anyone. No, what you need is a minder, someone to watch you while I’m not there.”
Some of the spark disappeared from Revathi’s face, smothered like campfire embers under mounds of dirt. “I’m not a child, Tamas. I’m perfectly capable of managing my own affairs.”
“Oh, I know that,” Tamas said, and there was a bite to his voice. Revathi’s mouth tightened.
Tamas took a deep breath. “Please be reasonable, Revathi,” he said in a softer tone. “I don’t want to be worrying about you all the time. And if that girl over there hadn’t helped us, you might have been seriously hurt.” He nodded at Mara. “Thank you for that, by the way. Let me give you something for your efforts.”
Tamas reached into his tunic and pulled out a handful of silver and copper coins. Mara backed up a step, shaking her head.
“I’m not allowed to accept money.”
“There must be something I can do for you,” Tamas said. “If you won’t take money . . .” He trailed off, looking from Mara to Revathi. “Would you like a job?”
Revathi’s head jerked up as though she’d been bitten. “Tamas, don’t!”
“Me?” Mara said. “You want to hire me?”
“Why not?” Tamas said. “You’re Order of Khatar, aren’t you? Isn’t guard work what you people do?”
“I am,” Mara said. “And it is. But—”
“Are you pledged already?” Tamas looked around the fair. “I didn’t see any—”
“No.” Mara said. She planted her feet against the urge to run, and tilted her chin up. “I’m not.”
“You’re a good fighter,” Tamas went on, relentlessly persuasive. “A very good fighter. I saw the way you protected my betrothed. You could pledge to her, couldn’t you?”
“Tamas!” Revathi sounded horrified. “You can’t just tell a member of the Order of Khatar who to pledge to!” Her voice softened. “I appreciate your care for me, but it’s very insulting to her.” She gave Mara a swift smile. “I knew a man who had an Order of Khatar guard. They always spoke of it as an incredibly personal decision.”
“It is,” Mara said, relieved that someone understood. “We join the Order of Khatar to regain honor. It’s a lifelong pledge. So we’re careful to choose someone who can balance us, someone honorable, who needs our help. It’s not a choice we make lightly.”
Tamas huffed out a breath. “I suppose I understand that.” He frowned. “But what do you do until you find your person? How do you live?”
“Take odd jobs, mostly,” Mara said. “We’re only allowed to work for our keep, though. Food and lodgings, the occasional set of clothes. No wages. And when we pledge . . .”
“You’ll leave, yes, yes.” Tamas waved a hand. “So I can hire you.”
“Tamas,” Revathi protested. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“Don’t be silly, love,” Tamas said. “This is a perfect solution, at least until I can find a trustworthy guard.” He held up a hand, forestalling Revathi’s answer. “It’s about time you start letting me make this kind of decision for you. I’ll be doing it anyway, once we’re married.”
He looked at Mara.
“What do you say? You can watch over my girl here, and in return you’ll have whatever you need.”
Mara hesitated. She hadn’t thought to hire out so soon. But if she followed her original plan, she’d be living in the city anyway. And as the bodyguard to a noble, she wouldn’t be dependent on the kindness of Samara’s friends. She could earn her own way. The idea was appealing.
“I suppose . . . ,” she said. “As long as it’s only for a little while.” She glanced at Revathi. “And if it’s all right with her.”
“Of course it’s all right,” Tamas said. Revathi closed her eyes and let out a breath.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s fine.”
“See?” Tamas said. “Now that everything’s settled, we should head back. I’m hungry.”
“Why don’t you ride on ahead, Tamas?” Revathi said. “I’m still feeling a little woozy. I don’t want to get on a horse quite yet.”
“I suppose that’s all right,” Tamas said. “The soldiers are still around, so no one should cause any trouble.” He offered Revathi a hand and pulled her to her feet. “I have Imperial Guard rotation tomorrow, but I’ll try to come see you.”
“That will be nice,” Revathi said.
Tamas nodded to Mara. “You’ll stay with Revathi for now, of course. She’ll show you where to go.” Then he walked off toward the line of tethered horses.
Neither girl spoke. Revathi dusted off her asar and shook out her hair, tying it back with a green ribbon she pulled from some hidden pocket. Her eyes were almost black with an emotion that Mara couldn’t identify.
“I wish you hadn’t done that,” she said. The tentative feeling of connection Mara had felt was gone, and Revathi’s voice was distant, frustrated. “I know I said it was fine, but really, I don’t need a bodyguard.”
Mara folded her arms. She was tired and hungry and starting to wish she’d just gone on to the capital. “I need work until I find the person I’m going to pledge to. If you don’t want me, I’ll go.”
Revathi gave a very unladylike snort. “It’s a little late for that. No, you’ll have
to stay, at least long enough for me to convince Tamas that I don’t need you.” She pressed her lips together. “What a mess. At least you didn’t tell him I faked the faint.”
“Why would I do that?” Mara said. “I’m a bodyguard. Not a spy.”
Revathi raised her eyebrows. “We’ll see.” She dusted off her hands and looked around the deserted fair. “I don’t have a mount for you. If I walk the horse, will you be all right traveling by foot?”
“Of course,” Mara said. She was torn between walking away from the whole job and an odd desire to prove herself. “I can keep up with you.”
A swift, wry smile crossed Revathi’s face. “Like I said, we’ll see.” She walked off toward the line of tethered horses. After a moment’s hesitation, Mara followed.
One of the more curious things to happen since the Barrier rose is the use of the caste marks. It started with the branding of the old rulers, those who would become the Kildi. The marks were intended to shame them, to serve as reminders of how they had failed the people. Then others were marked as well, criminals and debtors, the first true Wind caste. And before more than two generations had gone by, the caste marks had spread to every level of our Empire. Perhaps people adopted it as a way of solidifying their own identity. Or as a way to connect with others of their caste. We can’t be sure.
What we do know is that only two castes have permanent caste marks: the Flower caste, whose children bear a golden flower tattoo—or white, if they belong to the Imperial family—and the Wind caste, who are marked as they have always been, with raised dark scars on the sholder. These scars are made by packing shallow cuts with ash and can be easily felt through a tunic.
The beaded collars that the farmers and fishermen of the Hearth caste wear can be cast aside for the night. The earrings and nose jewelry of Bamboo caste merchants and artists can be removed, even if the holes remain. Even the green dye that Jade caste healers and scholars use to paint their hands and faces will fade. It is only in the highest and lowest castes that identity is permanent, only at the extremes of society that people can least afford to forget who they are.
From the writings of Vaydhish, Jade scholar
“HOW COULD YOU do this?”
Emil had never seen his father so furious. He was pacing back and forth in front of them as he shouted, his frame vibrating with rage. Emil could feel the curious glances of the rest of the Arvi as they pretended to go about their tasks. At least he and Stefan were half hidden behind the Kys’s caravan instead of in the middle of camp. It wasn’t much more than an illusion of privacy, but it was better than having everyone stare openly.
Nearby stood Besnik Yanora, his muscled arms folded over his chest. The Kys of the Yanora clan, Besnik had deep-set eyes and a gray-streaked beard. His nails were splotched with color from dye testing. He watched the unfolding drama calmly.
Emil’s father, however, was far from calm. And he wasn’t making any effort to keep his voice low.
“I never thought a son of mine could be so stupid. Do you ever stop to think of anyone but yourself?”
Stefan shrank into himself, and Emil’s heart twisted.
“That’s not fair . . . ,” Emil started. His father whirled on him.
“And you,” he snapped. “You’re supposed to be an example. You should be conducting yourself like the future leader of the Arvi, not brawling like a common thug!”
The weight of his father’s disapproval was like a physical thing, pushing at Emil, making him stiff and defensive. He wondered if this was how Stefan felt all the time. He hunched his shoulders, waiting for it to be over.
“Emil was trying to help me,” Stefan spoke up, to Emil’s surprise. “He wasn’t close enough to stop me, and once the fighting started, all he did was find me and get me out of there. He wasn’t brawling.”
“I don’t need your opinion,” their father said. “You’re in enough trouble as it is. What in the name of the Horned God were you thinking? You know how precarious the Kildi position is in the Empire. We’re only allowed to sell what we make with our own hands. We’re forbidden to trade inside the cities, and we can’t even camp too close to them. Many people already think we’re thieves. You’ve just given the Emperor even more reason to label us as troublemakers. He could send the army after us, he could put more restrictions on what and when we can trade, and there would be nothing we could do to stop him.”
Stefan flinched, shame flashing across his face. Then his mouth set in its familiar sullen scowl. “I didn’t start this, that nobleman did! He tried to humiliate me for his own amusement.”
“It doesn’t matter!” their father shouted. “Listen to me, Stefan. It. Does. Not. Matter. The world isn’t fair. The Empire isn’t fair. The nobles have hated and feared us since the day they overthrew the First Lotus Emperor and condemned him and all his family to wander. They have the power. And you’d better learn to accept that or you’re going to end up skewered on the end of some highborn sword!”
Stefan’s fists were clenched. “You’re saying I should have just licked his feet? Is that what you wanted me to do?”
The Kys hesitated, and Emil knew why. If Stefan had licked the noble’s feet, it would have been a serious humiliation for him, and by extention the entire Arvi clan. It could have damaged their reputation and made it harder for them to get fair prices for their goods.
But their father wasn’t about to back down.
“You could have turned around and walked away,” he said.
“That wouldn’t have helped,” Stefan pointed out.
“Maybe not. But you didn’t even try. You just went in swinging. You put your family and the entire fair at risk. Do you have any idea of the damage that was done?” Their father gestured at Besnik. “His daughter’s booth was knocked over, and they lost some very expensive dyes.”
Oddly, this seemed to affect Stefan more than is father’s scolding. “Is Kizzy all right?”
“She’s uninjured,” Besnik said. “A little shaken up and embarrassed, but otherwise well.”
“Embarrassed?” Stefan said.
There was no mistaking the proud smile as the man answered. “Kizzy hit a mercenary in the back of the head with a bottle of kunkuma powder and it broke. A lovely shade of red, but not really meant for face paint. She’s a bit . . . streaky. The mercenary got the worst of it, though.”
Stefan relaxed and smiled back at Besnik. “Good for her.”
“The point is,” their father said, “your actions endangered Kizzy, and everyone else at the fair, and cost everyone a lot of money.”
Stefan squared his shoulders. “It was my choice to fight. I can work for the other clans to help ease the loss.”
“I’ll help too,” Emil put in, and both his father and Stefan glared at him.
“I don’t need your help,” Stefan said at the same time as his father spoke.
“You’re needed here.”
“Clearly, I’m not needed,” Stefan said, under his breath. “But you’ve got leader things to do.”
“I was involved as much as Stefan was,” Emil said, trying again. “I should bear some of the consequences.”
“I appreciate your desire to own your mistakes,” his father said. “But this is Stefan’s mess to clean up.”
“It’s always my mess,” Stefan said. “Because I can’t do anything right in your eyes.”
“Maybe if you had a little self-control . . .”
Emil blew air through his lips and rubbed his forehead with two fingers. Trying to calm himself, he turned away from the squabbling and touched the clusters of white jasmine that his mother, Nadya, had painted on the caravan’s back wall.
Emil pressed his hand against the wooden surface, feeling the echo of his mother’s touch in the brushstrokes. He missed her, with a sudden intensity that sucked the air from his lungs. Her ready laugh, the way she could always talk his father down with a hand on his arm and a few words. She’d been so bright and warm, the comforting hearth fire at the cent
er of their family. His father hadn’t been so hard on Stefan and him when his mother was alive, and Stefan hadn’t been so angry. Now the only person standing between the two of them was Emil, and neither one of them wanted to listen to him.
He caught Besnik Yanora’s eye, and the older man smiled at him sympathetically.
“Mihai,” Besnik said, interrupting the growing shouting match, “I should probably return to my own camp. The riot has drawn Imperial soldiers, and I want to take my family far away from here.”
Their father calmed himself with a visible effort. “A wise move, Besnik,” he said. “We can discuss our other business later. My deepest apologies for the rash behavior of my son.”
Besnik shrugged. “We were all young once,” he said. “And if Kizzy’s account is accurate, he was sorely provoked.”
“That’s no excuse,” their father started, but he was interrupted by a deep voice behind Emil.
“I think it is.”
Emil whirled to see the mercenary from the fair standing behind them.
UP CLOSE, THE dark-eyed man was an imposing sight, broad-shouldered and muscled like one of the elephants on the mountain. He bore several fresh cuts and bruises under his open vest. And there were others with him, three men and two women with such a variety of weapons that Emil couldn’t help but be impressed. He saw daggers and short swords, throwing circles and cudgels. One of the women sported a lati fighting staff tipped with iron, and the other had a quiver and bow slung on her back. She had an wickedly barbed arrow in her hands, fingers playing idly with the tip.
“Who are you?” Emil’s father put a hand to his tunic, reaching for the dagger he kept hidden there. “Why have you come into my camp with drawn blades? The Arvi are a peaceful people.”
The large man threw back his head and laughed. “A peaceful people? When your sons start a riot at the Clothing Fair and you are ready to pull a blade at the sight of me?”
“Who are you?” the Kys repeated.
“I know,” Besnik said. He put his head to one side, an expression of mild interest on his face, as if the mercenary were a particularly odd plant. “You’re Rajo the Black.”
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