Empire of Shadows

by Miriam Forster

  “Oh, really?” Aari asked, her eyes sparking with malicious enjoyment. “Then why are you still holding the knife?”

  Emil looked down at the blade in his hand. “I picked it up to protect her!” He stared at Revathi, willing her to believe him. “I didn’t stab Mara. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Don’t say her name,” Revathi said, and there was such fury in her face that Emil had to resist the urge to scuttle backward. “Don’t you dare. Get away from her.”

  In his arms, Mara gave a little gasping cry. “Shh, it’s all right,” Emil said, rocking her. “Shhhh.” He looked up again, meeting Revathi’s eyes. “I’m holding pressure on her wound,” he said. “If I move, she could bleed to death.”

  Revathi glared at him. “Tamas,” she snapped. “Call the guards. And send someone to the palace for Garen. We’re going to need help getting Mara out of here.”

  Tamas frowned. “I don’t know if we should . . .”

  Aari threw up her hands. “Save us from stupid men,” she said. “We have the man who stabbed her, right? So of course we’ll call the guards. I’ll do it. You watch the dangerous criminal and make sure he doesn’t escape.”

  Tamas straightened his shoulders. “Of course.” He grabbed a sword that was lying nearby and prodded Emil with it. “Don’t move.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Emil muttered. Then he turned his attention back to Mara. He wasn’t afraid of Tamas or Revathi. It would take more than a few guards to tear Mara out of his arms.

  In the end, it took four. They pried Mara away from him, giving her to Revathi. Mara cried out in pain at the movement.

  “Mara!” Emil pulled against the hands restraining him. “No! I’m not leaving.”

  He struggled and kicked until he received a swift blow to his head that made his ears ring. By the time his vision cleared, his hands were tied behind his back.

  “Take him away,” Revathi said. She looked up from where she was holding pressure on Mara’s shoulder. Her hair fell around her narrow face, and there was a streak of blood on her cheek. Her voice was cold. “I’m going to deal with him personally.”

  The soldier holding Emil laughed. “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes, thief.”

  Emil didn’t care. His eyes were fixed on Mara, bloody and limp in Revathi’s arms.

  “If you let her die . . . ,” he started.

  Revathi’s eyes glittered. “If she dies,” she said, very softly and precisely, “so will you.”

  Her words rang in Emil’s ears as the soldiers dragged him away.

  EMIL. EMIL!

  Mara whimpered, the sound broken and harsh against her lips. Emil was gone and without his presence to ground her, she felt herself slipping back into the red flood. Everything inside her screamed to change.

  And it was tempting, so tempting. But what lay under the pain was more than magic, it was rage and fury and the instincts of a wounded animal. The past was here now, the flashes of memory as real to her as the present. If she changed and lost control . . .

  She could kill everyone in this courtyard.

  There was someone else holding her now, someone who smelled of jasmine and sandalwood, and there were more voices and more hands. So many people around her. So many lives at stake.

  Help. I need help.

  Mara started breathing, focusing inward, like her instructors at the Order had taught her. Then she took that little bit of strength and reached out with her mind.

  It was less like calling and more like screaming, less like reaching out and more like groping blindly, but Mara was desperate enough to make it carry.

  Help me, anyone. Please.

  Mara? It was Garen’s voice, solid and soft and powerful. Mara, what’s happened?

  It hurts, Mara whimpered. Garen, I can’t fight it. You have to get here, you have to protect the humans. Please.

  I’m right outside the house, Garen rumbled. I won’t let you hurt anyone.

  Mara! A new voice cut in, welcome and familiar.

  Esmer! Mara was breathing ragged and hard, each inhale sending new waves of pain through her. Esmer, help me.

  I’m coming as fast as I can, Esmer answered, and even her mind-voice felt slightly out of breath. Hang on.

  Hands touched her, large and gentle on her skin. I’m here, Mara, Garen sent. I’ve got you. Strength flowed down the mental link, pouring over Mara like water from a pitcher. Her memories of being human sharpened, became solid things for her to hang on to.

  I’m going to lift you, Garen’s mind-voice was soothing. Hold on.

  And she was being picked up, and Nishvana, it hurt. Another flashback rocked her, another memory, her family dead and dying around her. Mara could feel her tenuous hold on her sanity slipping, feel the urge to change rising, and with it the rage. I can’t do this.

  You can, Esmer sent firmly. I’m almost there, Mara. Don’t give in.

  She was being carried, they were walking somewhere, and every step made Mara feel like she was being stabbed again.

  I am human. I am human.

  But the refrain wasn’t working anymore. Awash in Sune strength and Sune magic, Mara couldn’t pretend she’d never been anything else. Her grip on her human memories was fading, and without them, she couldn’t find the human parts of her again.

  Voices jostled around her.

  “Garen, is she going to be all right? What are you doing to her?”

  “Not now, Revathi. Go find us a room to put her in.”

  Then there was another hand on hers, and new strength was added to the mental link, as firm and comforting as a sword in her hand. I’m here, Mara. Esmer’s voice was sharp and anxious. Tell us what you need. Tell us how to help you.

  Mara wanted to answer, but the blackness had her now, sucking her down. The voices faded away until all that was left was pain and anger and the memory of earth-brown eyes. Her last lifeline. Her last hope.

  Emil.

  EMIL SAT IN the small stone cell of the guardhouse. His muscles were cold and stiff and his leg throbbed, but he didn’t notice. His mind was filled with Mara. Had they gotten her help in time? Was she still alive?

  Would he stay alive long enough to find out?

  He stood and ran his fingers over the walls again, looking for a weak spot, a hole, anything. He reached up to the small slit that served for a window, measuring it again with his hands. Too small for him, just like it had been the other five or six times he’d checked.

  Emil stood on his toes, trying to get his mouth up to the window. “Esmer!” he called. “Esmer, are you out there?”

  There was no answer, not that he expected one. Esmer was probably still searching for Stefan somewhere. If he’d had a Sune’s mind-speaking powers, he might have been able to reach her, but now . . .

  Emil looked down at his hands, still covered with Mara’s blood. His desperation hardened, turning into a thick, scalding rage that burned through his marrow.

  He hated Stefan for leaving and he hated the mercenaries for taking him. He hated his father for letting it happen and he hated the city that had swallowed his brother and refused to give him back. He hated this cell and the soldiers outside and the fact that his word was worth less than that of the woman who had stabbed Mara. He hated Revathi for not believing him and he hated Esmer for not being here to help him and he hated Mara for letting herself get hurt.

  But most of all, Emil hated himself. Because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t save anyone. Not even himself.

  The rage blurred his vision, turning everything red, and Emil threw himself at the unyielding walls. He tore at the stone until his fingernails bled and he shouted until his voice was hoarse, and he rattled the door until the guard threatened to come in and give him another blow to the head.

  And when the anger was gone, Emil collapsed onto the filthy stone floor, put his head on his knees, and let out a single, broken sob.

  It was over. Someone would come at Firstlight to pass judgment on him. If they thought he ha
d stolen anything, they would cut off his hand. At best, they would give him a fine, and if Emil couldn’t pay it, they would wrap bronze cuffs around his wrists and put him to work.

  He would never see his family again.

  It was the pain in his leg that finally pulled Emil out of the fog of despair. Fresh blood glistened on his already bloody trousers. His wound must have broken open again.

  Gritting his teeth, Emil pulled the fabric away from the skin. The cut was full of small rocks and dirt and surrounded by scrapes that were tender to the touch.

  Emil pulled his scarf out of his tunic, where it had stayed when they took away his climbing hook. He tried to use it to clean the wound, but the thin material just smeared the blood around. Finally he gave up and just started tearing strips from his tunic.

  At least the rest of him seemed to be intact. His knee was a little swollen and sore, but it held his weight. The tips of his fingers were bloody from scraping on the cell wall, and his throat hurt from shouting, but those were minor problems. . . .

  The iron-banded door to his cell creaked open.

  “They said you’d be here,” a familiar voice said.

  Emil’s head jerked up so fast that he actually struck it on the cell wall. Sparks filled his vision, and he blinked them away in time to see Esmer slip into his cell.

  “Easy, Emil. Don’t hurt yourself,” she said. She knelt swiftly and put her hand under his chin, looking into his face. “You’re in worse shape than I thought. What in the name of the Long-Tailed Cat were you doing?”

  “What was I doing . . . ?” Emil stared at her. “How did you find me?”

  Esmer looked up, and Emil realized she hadn’t come alone. A huge man in the dark blue of the palace guard stood in the doorway, holding a torch. Emil had an impression of a large-jowled face and a pair of sharp, dark eyes.

  “This is Emil?” he said. The man’s voice was deep and tinged with worry.

  “Yes, help me get him up.” Esmer slid an arm under Emil’s right side while the man moved to his left.

  “Wait,” Emil said, struggling to his feet between them. “What’s going on?”

  Esmer didn’t answer. Her smooth hair hung in wisps around her face, and her mouth was tight with an emotion Emil couldn’t read. And her hands, too, were streaked with blood.

  Fear, like a chasm, yawned under Emil’s feet. “Esmer, has something happened to Stefan?”

  Esmer shook her head. “It’s not Stefan.” She looked like she might say more, but the man with her spoke firmly.

  “Young man, you’re needed at the palace. That is all you need to know.”

  The palace. Where they’d taken Mara.

  “Mara,” Emil breathed the name. “Are you taking me to her?” He put a hand on Esmer’s arm. “Please . . .”

  Esmer put her hand over his and squeezed. “We can’t talk here,” she said. “Trust me.”

  Emil forced himself to smile. “Always.”

  They followed the large Imperial Guard out of the guardhouse and through the night-softened city without stopping until they reached the palace. Torches glowed from the high pavilion, and two enormous fires in scooped stone basins lit the gated entrance. The guards at the gate only nodded at the man in blue as he hurried by. They paid no attention to Emil or Esmer.

  Their guide led them through the dark gardens and to a long, low building. Torchlight gleamed on copper-and-silver trimming. Emil thought they would go in the door, but the man veered off at the last minute, walking swiftly around the building. He stopped at the curtained arch of a window and knocked softly on the pillar.

  A girl’s face peered through the rich, heavy fabric, and Emil recognized it as Revathi’s.

  “Oh good, you brought him,” she said. “I’m trying to keep her still, but I don’t think she can hold out much longer.”

  “Who?” Emil demanded. “Mara? Where is she?”

  “Keep your voice down!” Revathi said. “Do you want the whole palace to know what’s happened? It’s bad enough I had to bring her to my grandmother’s room. . . .”

  Emil was about to argue, but Esmer put her hand on his arm, her fingers digging into his skin. “Get inside, Emil,” she said. “Please.”

  “Through the window?” Emil said.

  Revathi rolled her eyes. “I would think after climbing on the roof earlier, a window wouldn’t be any problem. Do you want to help Mara, or not?” She pulled away, leaving the opening clear.

  Emil climbed in the window as gracefully as his stiff and sore body would allow, which turned out not to be very graceful at all. He got tangled in the heavy curtains and half stepped, half fell into the room.

  Revathi scowled at him, and he scowled right back as he untangled himself. Esmer, in cat form, easily leaped to the windowsill and inside. The big soldier followed, his light movements at odds with his large frame.

  It was a noble’s room, richly decorated in red and silver and as large as half a campsite. But it didn’t smell like a noble’s room. It smelled like blood and medicine and pain. And on the bed was Mara.

  Emil ran to her. Mara lay still and tense. Her brown skin had an unhealthy pallor, and her fists were clenched so tightly that her arms shook. Blood soaked the folded fabric under her shoulder.

  “Why hasn’t this been properly bandaged yet?” Emil demanded.

  The big man knelt on the other side of the bed, smoothing Mara’s hair. Emil resisted the urge to slap his hand away.

  “She’s barely holding on to herself as it is,” the man said softly. “We can’t stitch the wound until she stabilizes emotionally, or she might lose control.”

  “Lose control?”

  Mara groaned and whispered something that Emil couldn’t hear. He leaned closer. It was one word, repeated over and over, like a prayer.

  She was calling his name.

  Emil felt like he couldn’t breathe. He dropped to his knees, his fingers finding hers. “Mara,” he said softly. “Mara, it’s me. I’m here.”

  The girl’s eyes flew open. “Emil,” she said. A whimper spilled from her lips. “Please don’t leave me again, please, you can’t let me change. I can’t go through it again, I can’t.”

  “Shhh,” Emil said. Without thinking, he laced his fingers through hers and put the other hand on her forehead, stroking her sweat-damp hair. “Shhh, I’m here.” Mara seemed to relax a little under his touch, and her eyes closed again. He looked up at the others.

  “What is she talking about? Why hasn’t anyone helped her?”

  The man exchanged glances with Esmer, who bit her lip.

  “Emil,” she said, “Mara is a Sune. Like us.”

  “What?” Emil looked down at the girl. She seemed so small, so fragile, so . . . human. “A Sune? Are you sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure!” Esmer snapped. “That’s the whole problem.”

  “What do you mean?” Amazement and bewilderment twisted and swirled inside Emil, but he pushed them both aside. “Why would being Sune be a problem?”

  The guard gave him a sharp look, but answered easily enough. “A Sune’s driving instinct when injured is to change to animal form. It makes it easier to fight or escape, and the magic helps us heal. But sometimes a Sune in great physical or emotional pain doesn’t always have control over herself.” He paused. “Have you ever tried to get a thorn out of a cat’s paw? Mara is like that wounded cat right now, only bigger and stronger. She could kill someone and she knows it.”

  “But that’s not the real problem.” Revathi knelt down on the other side of Mara’s bed. “Even if she doesn’t hurt anyone, there’s a good chance that if she changes, she’ll run. And a tiger loose in the palace? The Imperial Guard would put a spear in her heart before you or I could blink.”

  “No,” Emil said, his hand tightening around Mara’s. “That’s not happening.”

  “All right,” Revathi said. “Do you think you can distract her, help her keep her human form while we tend to her wound?”

  Mara moane
d, and the pain in her face made Emil’s heart twist.

  “Tell me what to do,” he said.

  EMIL WAS BACK. Mara didn’t care how or why, but he was back and he was sliding onto the bed, easing her into his arms, supporting her. She felt the light weight of a blanket on her hips. Her mind began to clear.

  But the pain was still there, along with the magic, both of them snarling and growling just under her skin. And she was tired, so tired.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she murmured. “I could kill you.”

  Emil’s voice was low and soft in her ear. “I don’t care.”

  “You don’t understand,” Mara said, burying her face in his shirt. The words came out muffled and thick. “I’m a monster.”

  “No.” Emil said. He slid a hand along her jaw, cupping her chin with his palm. “Even if you changed, you wouldn’t be a monster.” The faith in his voice was like a physical force, shattering and holding her together at the same time. “You can do this, Mara.”

  He held her close, keeping her from turning her head as someone started to cut away the shirt from her bloody back.

  There was a sudden flare of pain, and Mara hissed through her teeth. “Emil,” she said. “Talk to me. Please.”

  “What do you want to know?” Emil asked.

  “Tell me about your people,” Mara asked. “The Kildi. Are all of you herders?”

  “Not all of us,” Emil said. “Kildi clans can do a lot of things. There’s a clan in the East that specializes in gathering rare mushrooms and tubers, and one based near Deshe that trains songbirds for pets. But we can only sell what we raise or make with our own hands. We don’t grow anything because we’re forbidden to own land. We live on what we hunt and on what we buy with the money we make from trading our wares. . . .”

  Mara relaxed, feeling his words wrap around her like sturdy cords. Emil’s shirt smelled like spices and his own special earthy scent, and his chest was warm and solid under her cheek. The smell and the touch were a rope of their own, leading her back to herself, keeping her human.

  I can do this, Mara thought. I can do this.