Empire of Shadows

by Miriam Forster

  Mara spread her hands and gave a little spin. Her short, damp hair flopped over her forehead. “Well?”

  “You’ll do,” Revathi said. She turned back to the waiting woman and rattled off a complicated set of orders, most of which seemed to be about schedules and laundering. She dismissed the servant and turned back to Mara. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Garen and we’ll get some breakfast.”

  Mara’s stomach rumbled at the mention of food. Revathi led her down another long hall, ducking through a sheer silver curtain. “That was the women’s area of the palace,” she explained, gesturing back to where they had come from. “When the Empress was alive, it was strictly women only—no men allowed—but since she’s gone and there are no princesses to guard, people are getting lax.” She paused. “Mara, there’s something you need to know about Garen. . . .”

  “Who needs to know something about me?” said a deep voice.

  Mara’s head snapped up, and she stepped in front of Revathi without thinking.

  But there was no danger—it was only a man and a boy in the hallway. The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with graying brown hair and muscular arms. He wore a sword the length of Mara’s leg buckled over his dark-blue tunic. Mara let her gaze flicker up, meeting his eyes.

  His surprised, gold-flecked eyes.

  Mara sucked in a sharp breath. The man’s eyes narrowed and he sniffed the air. Then he stepped in front of the boy, shoulders up. A muffled growl rose from his throat.

  Who are you? he roared into her head. And the force of his will, the sheer power of it, struck Mara like a body blow. Her spine hit something hard and she realized she’d backed into the wall.

  This is my territory. The man stepped forward. And I don’t know you. His mind-voice was deep and strong, with a rumbly undertone that Mara recognized.

  One of the Great Bears, she thought. Nishvana help me.

  The bears that lived in the forests of the East were the stuff of legend. Huge and fierce and massively strong. Even Mara’s Tribe avoided them.

  The magic uncoiled inside her, hot and insistent. Danger. Change now.

  No, Mara thought fiercely, digging her fingers into the inlaid wall behind her. No. I won’t.

  As if from far away, she felt Revathi tug her arm and heard voices, sharp and questioning. But Mara couldn’t look away from the man in front of her. He was still watching her, not attacking. Not yet. But his eyes never left hers, and his hand was on his sword.

  Identify yourself, he commanded. You don’t smell Sune, not entirely. But I know what you are. Identify yourself before I lose my patience.

  Mara raised her chin and exposed her throat. I am nikrysta, she sent, using the ancient word for outcast. My name is Mara. I have confined myself to human form of my own free will and sworn the oath of Khatar. Your Emperor and his court have nothing to fear from me.

  The man took a step back and broke eye contact.

  Mara pulled herself away from the wall. Her legs were shaking, and her breathing was ragged and loud in the silent hallway.

  Mara turned to see Revathi staring at her, eyes wide. The boy who’d been standing with the bear-man was staring at her too. He was about ten years old, wearing a midnight-blue tunic that went down to his knees, with silver embroidery around the neck and sleeves. There was a lotus tattooed at the base of his neck. Unlike Revathi’s flower tattoo, this one wasn’t gold, but white. The mark of the Imperial family.

  “Garen,” the boy said, and his voice was calm and unafraid. “I would like an explanation, please.”

  The big man bowed very low. “I have caused you anxiety and confusion, Prince Paithal, and for this I am deeply sorry. I was taken by surprise.”

  “By her.” The prince gestured at Mara. “Why?”

  “She is . . .” The man hesitated, glancing at Revathi. “She is also Sune, my lord.”

  And so the Third Lotus Emperor made his peace with the Sune

  With those strange creatures

  Neither animal nor human

  Creatures of magic

  In a world that had left magic far behind.

  And this was his decree:

  That they would take no human life

  That they would consent to bear an identifying mark while inside a city

  And that they would allow humans in their territory to hunt and live as they wished.

  And the Sune elders agreed

  For they were tired

  Of being hunted

  Of being hated

  Of being feared

  And there was no war anymore.

  From Battles of Spear and Claw, a story-song of the Sune war

  MARA HEARD REVATHI’S swift intake of breath. The prince put his head to one side.

  “You didn’t know?” the prince said, eyeing Revathi.

  Revathi shook her head. Her eyes flicked to Mara. “You—you—”

  “I’m sorry,” Mara said, hunching her shoulders. “I should have told you, but . . .” But that would have meant explaining her past and her shame, would have uncovered her own private wounds still raw and bleeding.

  It took her a minute to realize Revathi wasn’t angry. Instead she was . . .

  “Are you laughing at me?” Mara asked.

  “No,” Revathi said, her voice gasping and strangled. Her hands came up to hide her face, and her body shook.

  The prince was smiling, his head tilted to one side. Even Garen looked amused.

  Mara couldn’t share their laughter. Her hands were still trembling. She’d forgotten what it was like to wander into another powerful Sune’s territory. All Sune were territorial to some degree; it was an instinct as strong as the magic itself. Most of the time, the confrontation involved force of will instead of actual fighting, but not always.

  Standing between the tiger and Stefan hadn’t felt like this, probably because the other tiger hadn’t felt truly threatened. And Esmer was a spotted cat, not a top predator like Mara was. Had been.

  Mara would have to be more cautious. Confrontations like this were dangerous, to her and her control.

  Revathi finally managed to stop laughing. Her cheeks were flushed and her huge, dark eyes shone.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not laughing at you. Well, not just at you. I’m also laughing at me.” She straightened her asar. “I thought I had you all figured out. It’s been a really long time since someone’s surprised me like that.”

  Mara frowned. Surprises were not a good thing in her experience, certainly nothing to giggle about.

  I do not understand humans, she thought.

  It’s all right, tiger child. Garen sent in response. I don’t understand them all the time either. And I’ve been protecting Saro and his family since he was only the heir.

  Mara looked up, startled. She’d forgotten to shield her thoughts. It had been so long since she’d had to worry about being overheard.

  Garen was smiling with understanding. It made Mara feel a little less lost.

  Revathi turned to the prince and knelt down. “Forgive us if we frightened you, Your Highness,” she said, bowing her head. “It was unintentional.”

  After a second’s hesitation, Mara copied her. “Forgive me,” she mumbled, ducking her head. “I wasn’t prepared.”

  Prince Paithal put out a hand. “Both of you may rise. You are forgiven.” He looked up at his guard. “Lots of people aren’t prepared for Garen, are they, Garen?”

  “It’s not my place to say, Highness,” Garen said gravely, but Mara thought he sounded amused.

  The prince moved his eyes back to Mara. “Are you a bear too?”

  “No,” Mara said. “I’m not.”

  A gap-toothed smile flashed against Paithal’s brown skin. “That’s too bad,” he said. “I like bears.”

  Revathi put a hand to her mouth, hiding a snicker. Mara felt a flush creep up her neck.

  Do I need to tell him I was a tiger? she sent to Garen. I don’t want to scare him.

  Paithal doesn�
�t frighten easily, Garen said. But if you don’t wish to discuss it here, I can tell him later. But Revathi has a right to know who she’s dealing with.

  Garen turned to Paithal. “You will have time tomorrow to speak further with Revathi and her new friend, my lord,” he said. “Now we must get you to your lessons.”

  “Of course,” Paithal said, looking startled. “I forgot.” He dipped his head. “I look forward to our next meeting. You are dismissed.”

  Mara and Revathi bowed again and waited as the two walked away. Mara thought that they made an incongruous pair, the young prince and the huge guard walking together. There was an ease in the way they stood together that spoke of more than master and servant, something that reminded Mara of her own family. Paithal looked up at Garen and said something, and the man laughed.

  Maybe someday Mara would have that kind of relationship, that kind of trust with someone. In the meantime, Garen was right. Mara owed Revathi an explanation.

  There was a tray of hot rice cakes, as well as a bowl full of apples, papayas, and pomegranates, in Revathi’s room.

  “How do they do that?” Mara asked. “Make sure the food is still hot?”

  “I’ve honestly never thought about it,” Revathi said. She sat down at her desk and reached for a rice cake. She tore a piece and dipped it in one of the small bowls next to the tray.

  Mara stood and watched her, feeling awkward.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Revathi said. “Go on and eat.” She gestured to the food. “The dips are mint, lime, and tamarind chutneys. I don’t care for spicy food in the morning.”

  Mara sat. Anxiety swirled inside her. She ate in silence, steeling herself to answer Revathi’s questions.

  “So,” Revathi said, licking the remains of the mint chutney off her fingertips and reaching for another rice cake. “You’re Sune.” She waited for Mara’s nod, then continued. “And you don’t want to talk about why you left your Tribe.”

  Mara almost choked on a piece of rice cake. “How did you know?”

  “Mara, I’m not stupid,” Revathi said. She started ticking off things on her fingers. “I know loner Sune are very rare, so this is something you chose for a reason. And I know that the Order of Khatar has a reputation as place where someone can regain lost honor. I’d be a fool to assume that those two things aren’t connected, and as I said, I’m not a fool.” She dipped her next piece of rice cake into the lime.

  “I’d like to know what kind of Sune you are,” she said. “But that’s just because I’m a curious person. As far as I’m concerned, your past is your own.”

  “Thank you,” Mara said, meaning it. A faint smile drifted across Revathi’s face.

  “Tamas won’t be pleased,” she said. “He doesn’t care for the Sune.”

  “Why not?”

  “Oh, he thinks they’re dangerous,” Revathi said. “And they live outside the caste system and worship their own gods and aren’t under enough control. Plus, his father employs one, and I don’t think Tamas likes her.” She made a face. “I don’t care for her either, actually.”

  “Tamas’s father employs a Sune?” Mara asked. “What kind?”

  Revathi put her head to one side. “You know, I’m not sure. I don’t think he’s ever said.” She shrugged. “Anyway, Tamas doesn’t like Sune, for much the same reasons that he hates the Kildi.”

  “Are there a lot of people who feel that way?” Mara asked, making a note to ask about the other Sune later.

  “About the Kildi or the Sune?”

  “Both.”

  Revathi spoke as if she were choosing her words carefully. “Most nobles don’t really interact with Kildi or Sune much,” she said. “We barely interact with regular Wind caste, except to hire them on occasion. We’re not familiar with you, and unfamiliar things are frightening. Some people let that fear tip into hate.”

  Mara shifted uneasily. “Do we have to tell people? About me?”

  Revathi paused. “I don’t see why,” she said finally. “I mean, you should be registered on the Sune rolls, but if Garen doesn’t insist, I’m not going to worry about it.” She shrugged. “It’s not the worst secret I’ve ever had to keep. Besides, no offense, but I really don’t want the kind of attention that having a Sune bodyguard will bring.”

  “None taken,” Mara said. She took a moment to center herself.

  “I am . . . I was Kishna-Sune.” The words felt strange and distant on her tongue. “My Tribe lives in the north, at the base of the mountains.” She swallowed. “The humans call us the dark tigers. Shadow beasts.”

  Revathi’s eyes widened, but she didn’t flinch. “I’ve heard of those. Mostly in stories around fire pits, though. I’ve never known anyone who’s actually seen them.”

  “We . . . they are very hard to see,” Mara said. “That’s one of the reasons for the name.” Her smile felt shaky and small. “Humans don’t like things that come out of the darkness.”

  “I suppose we don’t,” Revathi said. She studied Mara for a moment. “Would you be angry if I said I’m relieved?”

  “Relieved?”

  Revathi’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Because I know Tamas wouldn’t have hired you if he knew you were Sune, and that means you’re probably not a spy.”

  “I told you I wasn’t,” Mara said. “I said it repeatedly.”

  “Repeating a lie doesn’t make it true,” Revathi responded, unruffled. “You would have said the same if you had been a spy.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” Mara admitted. An idea teased the edges of her brain, an idea for how to thank Revathi for keeping her secret. “Revathi,” she said, “would you like me to teach you to fight?”

  Revathi’s hand—which had been going for the fruit bowl—stopped midreach. “You mean teach me to use a blade?” she asked. “So I can defend myself?”

  “If that’s what you want,” Mara said. “Some of my fellow novices in the Order knew how to knife fight.” She touched the blade at her waist. “It’s a bit different from using a kattari, but I can teach you the basics, show you how to stand and roll and use what’s around you to your advantage. I can show you the stances tonight, and we wouldn’t have to tell Tamas.”

  A slow smile bloomed on Revathi’s face. “No,” she said softly, her eyes sparking. “We wouldn’t have to tell Tamas, would we? All right, I accept. And . . . thank you.”

  “It will be my pleasure,” Mara said, smiling back. For the first time since she’d left the Order, she felt . . . hopeful. Confident. She didn’t have to hide from Revathi that she was a Sune. She had a whole city full of people who could be her charge, and she had someone to help while she was looking.

  Maybe she would land on her feet after all.

  EMIL AND ESMER walked in the direction the scrap man had pointed, leaving the open square of the Wind Market behind.

  “So assuming this Heema person can help us, what’s our plan?” Esmer asked. “How are we going to find Stefan?”

  Emil ducked under a line of laundry that had been strung across the road. “I have to find someone to give me a work permit. There’s no way we can find Stefan in three days.”

  “While you’re looking for work, I can start searching,” Esmer said. “That will help.”

  “Good idea,” Emil said, dodging another drying line. The tunics hanging were still wet and smelled faintly like canal water. “We can start in the Wind Circle and work our way inward. The Inner City is going to be a problem, though. No one from Wind caste is allowed in, not unless they work for someone who lives there.”

  “Let’s worry about one thing at a time,” Esmer said. She gestured to a nearby cluster of dwellings. “Look, red doors.”

  It was hard to miss them. Three crooked little entrances, each covered with a curtain of thick red fabric, a splash of color on the chaotic street. There was a symbol embroidered on the doors in gold thread, a symbol Emil didn’t recognize.

  Emil tapped on the frame of the first door with his fingers.
r />   The curtain was pushed aside and a little girl peered out. Her black hair was matted, and smudges of dirt darkened her copper skin. Her shoulder blades were thin and sharp under her shirt, and the hand holding the curtain open was missing a finger.

  “Hello,” Emil said, squatting down a little to avoid looming over the child. “We’re looking for Heema. Is she here?”

  The girl stared at him with wide, dark eyes. Then she disappeared, the curtain swishing shut behind her. There were footsteps and the sound of murmuring voices.

  Emil straightened, stepping backward as a man appeared in the doorway. He was short and thick, with a full beard. A broad scar ran from the top of his eyebrow, straight down over his cheekbone, almost to his jaw. The eye in the path of the scar was white and unseeing. The man held up a thick club.

  “Who looks for Heema?” he said.

  “Emil Arvi,” Emil said, loudly enough that whoever was inside could hear him. “I was sent here by a man named Lel.”

  “Let them in, Giri,” a female voice called. “I will speak to them.”

  The man scowled but stood aside, holding the curtain open. Emil ducked inside and Esmer followed.

  The house was a single dirt-floored room, with several bedrolls stacked in one corner and a small fire pit in the center. The ceiling was made from beams of wood with pieces of goatskin stretched across them. Emil saw that one of the pieces had been tacked back, creating a hole in the ceiling, where light and air could come in.

  A veiled woman sat cross-legged on the floor, slicing onions and eggplant with a battered knife. The little girl squatted beside her. The woman looked up as they came in.

  “You are of the Arvi?” she asked, and her voice was rich and deep, the tones of a trained singer. “Then show me your clan mark.”

  Emil hesitated, then pulled up his sleeve, revealing the stylized tiger inked just below the inside of his elbow.

  The woman leaned forward, the thin pink fabric of her veil moving with her breath. After a moment, her grip on the knife relaxed. “It’s all right, dearest,” she said to the man with the cudgel. “He is who he says he is.” Her head swiveled back to Emil. “Lelkhan sent you?”