The Forbidden City: Book Two of Rogue Elegance

by K A Dowling

  “Untie Tur’ret,” she orders. “Do it now.”

  The Hawk hesitates, his pistol still sitting at the back of the man’s skull.

  “You heard her,” snaps Alexander. “Do it.”

  “Aye, Cap.” The Hawk procures a small blade from within his sleeve. He saws deftly through the rope, his expression unreadable.

  As soon as the binding hits the floor, Tur’ret scrambles to his feet. Wringing his wrists, he glowers at each of his captors in turn. His attention stops at the Lethal and his already sour expression darkens still further, his lips curling downward beneath his thick beard. He spits on the floor at the Lethal’s feet.

  “Enough,” Ha’Rai barks. “Leave us.”

  For a moment, it looks as though Tur’ret has failed to hear her. He continues staring at the Lethal, his gaze murderous. And then he drops into a low bow, angling his attention toward Ha’Rai. Barking out a word in his native tongue, he turns and disappears through a small, dark opening to the right of the throne. The door slams in his wake, setting the firelight to dancing. Shadows flicker ominously across the curved stone walls. Emerala has the sudden and unwanted sensation of being in an oven, the heat turned too high. She swallows thickly, resisting the urge to fan at herself.

  At the front of the room, Ha’Rai’s attention is fixated, once again, upon Alexander.

  “You come all this way to steal my rubies and kill my hunter. Such a fuss, all to see me.” She leans down with startling grace, grasping a ruby between two trembling fingers. When she stands up again, her eyes pass briefly over Emerala. The ruby in her hand is as red as blood.

  “You have my attention, so speak.”

  “I’m trying to translate a map,” Alexander says.

  Ha‘Rai’s eyes narrow dangerously. “You take the life of my best hunter for a bit of parchment? A costly price, no?”

  “It’s worth the price,” Alexander assures her. “I can’t make out a word of it.”

  “And you think I can?”

  “Not you,” Alexander says. “We’re looking for Ha’Suri.”

  At that, Ha’Rai’s bares her teeth in a full grin, her red lips nearly splitting her face in two. Somehow, Ha’Rai is even lovelier when caught in a laugh, and Emerala finds her dislike for the woman deepening.

  “You have sailed far for nothing, I am afraid,” Ha’Rai says. “Ha’Suri is pirate lore. The story of the four wind women is a tale that men tell to keep themselves warm at night.”

  “Are you certain of that?” Alexander asks.

  “Ha’Suri is the wind woman of the north, no? I am king in the north. I tell you true—there is no Ha’Suri, not here and not over the mountain pass.”

  Alexander turns to the Lethal, fixing the murderer with a beseeching glare.

  “You said—”

  “Don’t whine, boy,” barks the Lethal. “It’s horribly self-indulgent.”

  At the far side of the room, the Hawk leans back against a stone pillar, looking thoroughly pleased. “This probably isn’t the best time, Cap, but I tried to tell you.”

  “You told me nothing,” Alexander spits, rounding on the lanky pirate.

  “I told you Ha’Suri was an old legend,” the Hawk reminds him. “You didn’t listen to me. And now, in a move that surprises no one, you’ve gone and made a fool of yourself all on your own.”

  Emerala turns away from the bickering pirates, glancing back toward Ha’Rai. The woman watches the pirates with amusement, running her trembling fingers across her necklace of teeth.

  “Ha’Suri doesn’t exist, and U’Rel is dead,” Emerala observes. “That leaves you. Can you translate the map for us?”

  Ha’Rai’s honeyed eyes snap towards Emerala. “So the girl speaks. I was beginning to think you were a mute.”

  “Not a mute,” Emerala says. “Just observant. You said you’ve met Samuel Mathew before. The map Alexander has in his possession is his father’s map. Do you know it?”

  Ha’Rai hesitates, her eyes glimmering as she studies Emerala. Behind the women, the pirates have fallen silent. Emerala can feel the Hawk’s glare boring into her, but she ignores him, waiting for the woman crowned king to offer up a reply.

  “You are asking dangerous questions, girl,” Ha’Rai warns. “I am not sure if you will like the answers.”

  Emerala ignores her. “Do you know it?” she repeats.

  “Impudence like yours is an ugliness,” Ha’Rai says, fingering a ruby. The multifaceted gem glows in the firelight, sending refracted crimson light dancing across the stones. “You should be more respectful to royalty.”

  “You admire force,” Emerala counters. “You’ll answer my question honestly.”

  A small smile dances in one corner of Ha’Rai’s lips. “Interesting. Why do you say that?”

  “Because we stole from you—we killed one of your people in cold blood—and yet you haven’t ordered us killed in return. You wanted to be king, so you assassinated the current king and claimed his throne. No one here calls you usurper. No one even calls you queen. You took what you wanted, and now all men bow to you. Whatever code you live by in the north, it’s a code that respects strength.”

  This time, Ha’Rai’s flashes her a wolfish grin, baring her sharp canines. “You are smarter than you look.”

  “Do you know the map?” Emerala repeats.

  “I know it,” Ha’Rai admits at last. At Emerala’s back, she hears Alexander exhale quietly. The sound is one of relief, although whether he is relieved to have answers or relieved that Emerala’s tongue hasn’t gotten all of them sentenced to death, she can’t be certain. Lachlan the Lethal lets out a low whistle, the sound barely masking his amusement. Only the Hawk is silent, still, his body tense and ready in the shadows.

  At the front of the room, Ha’Rai is still studying Emerala with unabashed interest. “Samuel Mathew had it made here,” she says at last. “Bound.”

  “What does that mean?” Alexander asks, drawing to Emerala’s side.

  “Samuel’s map is dead speech,” Ha’Rai explains. “It cannot be translated. Only unlocked.”

  Alexander runs his palm over his scruff, considering this. “Unlocked? So we need a cipher?”

  “Not a cipher,” Ha’Rai disagrees. “A key.”

  She returns her attention to Emerala. “You remind me of a man I knew, once. Same strange green eyes—same unapologetic vigor.” Stepping closer to Emerala, she peers carefully into her face, scrutinizing every detail written upon her olive skin. Emerala fidgets beneath her stare, fighting the urge to break eye contact.

  “Green eyes like yours are a singularity, did you know that? In all the old stories, green eyes symbolize royalty.”

  Emerala’s reply is dagger-sharp. “I’m not royal.”

  “No?” Ha’Rai muses. “That’s the very same thing the last green-eyed visitor told me.” Her gaze travels away from Emerala and toward the far end of the room, where the Hawk stands against the pillar as if frozen, his features hardening to stone. “I remember him well. He traveled here with a child with sharp, golden eyes and a tongue for deceit. He was only a boy, but boys grow into men, do they not?”

  The Hawk says nothing. His golden gaze smolders with displeasure.

  “I was a girl, then, not a king. Curious, isn’t it, how things tend to come full circle?”

  Out of the corner of her eyes, Emerala sees Alexander turn to look at the Hawk, his temper burning quick and hot—the muscles in his jaw already working. Before he can speak, a gong resonates somewhere in the distance. The sound reverberates through the room, vibrating the flagstone underfoot and rattling Emerala to her core. Ha’Rai extends her arms as if in welcome.

  “We dine,” she cries.

  Alexander scowls, approaching the dais. “What about the map?”

  Ha’Rai closes the space between them, taking his face between her trembling palms. “First, we dine,” she whispers, her lips dancing only inches away from his. “We will discuss more tonight. Already my hunters have led
the rest of your crew inside. You do them an unkindness, Captain Alexander, to leave them aboard in this storm.”

  CHAPTER 18

  The Great Forest

  It took a full day for the rain to stop. Nerani sits up straight in the obscurity of the cool, stone tunnel, alarmed at the sudden silence that permeates the damp air all around her. She leans forward, allowing her hair to fall into her face as she peers out of the narrow opening. Several poplar trees march across her narrow field of vision like faceless, white soldiers. Sunlight falls through the leaves overhead, dappling the saturated leaves underfoot with patches of gold.

  Her stomach growls loudly and she places one idle palm over her corset.

  “Darianna,” she whispers, nudging the sleeping young girl at her feet with her toes. “Dari, wake up, the rain has stopped.”

  The young girl grumbles incoherently, her pale brown hair tumbling into her eyes as she rolls over on her bed of leaves. Nerani watches the rise and fall of her shoulders, jabbing her big toe into the girl’s back. Dari sighs, relenting, and sits up. Her dark blue eyes glare blearily at Nerani.

  “I was having a good dream,” she mutters.

  “We need to keep moving.” Nerani rises to her feet, ignoring the sensation of pins that tingles through her legs. She runs her hands down the thick fabric of her petticoat, fussing over a wrinkle within the folds of her gown. “The sun is out. It won’t do to be caught right in the opening of the tunnels.”

  “It won’t do to be caught at all, truly,” Darianna retorts, pulling herself to her feet.

  “Yes, well, all the more reason to make haste.”

  Nerani knew the risks of leaving the city. She knew how dangerous it would be—how high the chances were that she would get caught.

  She knew, and yet she had still been willing to risk it. Alone.

  She hadn’t expected company—hadn’t wanted it. And now, somehow, she has been saddled with a traveling companion still young enough to be considered a child.

  Overnight, the stakes have grown considerably higher.

  Nerani watches Darianna as the girl fastens an old russet shawl about her shoulders. Her cream colored gown is woven with simple cotton. The hem hangs just above her ankles, exposing her dirty feet. The plunging neckline of her white chemise is frayed—one ruffled sleeve hangs loosely off of her shoulder. She looks every bit a Cairan—every bit an outcast in Chancey.

  Darianna’s countenance is in stark contrast to Nerani, who took great pains to make sure she looked the part of a Chancian common woman.

  Yes, the stakes have grown much, much higher.

  Nerani shoots a sideways glance at Darianna as they step out of the tunnel and into the copse of poplar trees. “We’ll need to do something about your clothes as soon as we get to the city.”

  “What’s wrong with my clothes?” Darianna gropes around within the sleeve of her white chemise, at last procuring a red apple from within the folds of fabric. She bites down, spraying juice into the sunlight, and offers the fruit to Nerani.

  “No, thank you,” Nerani says, ignoring her growling stomach.

  Darianna shrugs and takes a second bite, smiling easily into the sunshine. Her bare toes curl into the soil underfoot. Juice trickles down her chin. For a moment, Nerani finds herself resenting the girl’s fearlessness—her sense of ease. She resists the unnatural urge to slap the smile off of her face. Darianna notices her staring, and she smile widens to a porcelain grin. She throws her arms out to the sides, turning into a graceful spin. Her cotton gown fans out about her. Nerani is reminded of a flower breaking through the frost—unfurling beneath the tickling sunlight. Darianna laughs aloud, spinning to a stop a few yards ahead. She runs a hand through her disheveled hair, her chest rising and falling; her cheeks flushed.

  “It’s good to be out here in the fresh air again, don’t you think?”

  Nerani inhales sharply, taking an unexpected sip of the crisp morning air—the scent of the world after a rainstorm. A wordless admonition dies in her throat, and she finds herself relaxing ever so slightly.

  “It is,” she agrees. “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be careful.”

  “Of course not.” Darianna sashays to the nearest tree and takes hold, swinging herself around the trunk with ease. The leaves shudder on their branches, sending a few fluttering to the ground at her feet. Peering over her shoulder at Nerani, she adds, “I highly doubt any Guardians are going to be spending much time out here in the Great Forest.”

  “Maybe not,” Nerani agrees. “But we can’t be too cautious.”

  Her eyes scan the clustered trees all about them. Already, Darianna has already disappeared into the undergrowth, a quiet folk song trailing behind her as she moves effortlessly through the trees. Once again, Nerani finds herself reminded of Emerala. She swallows thickly, heading off after the young girl with her eyes open and her ears peeled.

  After a time, she begins to relax. The tension seeps out of her body as a slight weight lifts from her shoulders. Overhead, the birds chitter amongst themselves in a cacophony of whistles and cries. The summer sun is warm against her skin and soon she begins to feel hot beneath her constricting layers of fabric. She pauses, fanning herself, and studies the idyllic woodland all about her. It is such a drastic change from the stale darkness of the Forbidden City that she feels suddenly giddy with relief. She inhales deeply, her eyes drifting closed.

  It takes her several seconds to realize that the birds have stopped singing.

  Her eyes pop open, her heartbeat already quickening. The total silence is unnerving. Unnatural. She was raised to be suspicious of the quiet—to question the stillness. The world, Mamere Lenora used to tell them, is always quietest before a storm. So too, she would add, are men just before they make a terrible decision.

  The memory makes Nerani’s skin crawl as she studies her surroundings, her ears ringing in the quiet. She stands in a small clearing, cast into shadow by a tall outcropping of stone upon which crumbling leaves and burnt auburn pine rot into compressed, pungent earth. Before her, thick shafts of golden sunlight carry in flecks of glimmering motes upon the air. She stares upward into the tangled branches. The birds stare back at her.

  Where is Darianna?

  Her silent question is answered almost instantly by the gauche sounds of the young girl sprinting through the underbrush. Several of the birds overhead take off with a shrill chirrup and a flutter of wings. As the girl enters the clearing—panting, sticks in her hair—Nerani immediately notices the look of panic upon her face.

  “He saw me before I saw him,” she gasps, her cheeks rosy from running. “I ran just as soon as I noticed him standing there, but it was too late.”

  Nerani’s heart constricts within her chest. “Who? Who noticed you?”

  A stick cracks somewhere out in the woods. Darianna swallows, closing the distance between them as though a fire has been lit beneath her.

  “A Guardian.”

  Nerani falters. “Was he alone?”

  “I think so.” Darianna’s blue eyes are wild with fear. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “Was he alone or not?” Nerani asks, and her words fall away from her as quickly as a whip. “It’s a simple question, Darianna.”

  “Yes. Yes, he was alone.”

  “And you know for certain that he saw you?”

  Darianna nods. “I’m sure of it.”

  There is a fallen tree only a few feet away from them. The wide trunk, relenting at last under the strain of bearing its own weight, collapsed upon the earth with enough force that it gouged the soil with its body of heavy bark. It is hollow and weak now—a skeleton cloaked in musky green moss. It is a perfect hiding place.

  “Get in,” Nerani says, gesturing towards the opening. “Do not come out until I tell you.”

  “What about you?” Darianna asks, one leg already disappearing within the hollow.

  “I’ll be fine. Just stay in there and keep quiet.”

  She watches the opening in pi
thy silence as Darianna withdraws completely beneath the cover of moss. She pinches the inside of her wrist, fighting in vain to control the bundle of nerves that has coiled within her. If there is one Guardian in the woods, there will be others. It will not be long before the man informs his troops of the young woman alone in the woods and they begin to track her whereabouts.

  She curses herself silently. She should have been more careful—should have paid closer attention. The presence of the Guardians this deep in the woods is a surprise, to be sure, but she should have been ready for anything.

  There is the sudden sound of birds clamoring excitedly as a colony of thrushes take flight overhead. Hooves clatter against stone. Nerani can feel the shudder of it in the calloused skin of her heels. A large group of people is approaching—no doubt a platoon of Guardians hurrying at their companion’s bequest. Several low shouts emanate from the forest, bouncing off of the thick trunks of the trees and setting her heart to pounding. From the sound of it, they are somewhere overhead, idling upon the stone outcropping that looms above the clearing like a dark cloud.

  If they are to look over the edge of the outcropping, they will most certainly see her waiting there like a sitting duck. She will need to find a hiding place, and fast. Directly over her head she can hear the sound of hoofbeats settling to a stop against loose earth. There is a sharp whinny and she stifles a gasp as several clods of dirt break away from the roots and break apart against her forehead. She slides across the slick, rotting leaves underfoot as silently as she knows how, careful not to make a sound. Her back presses into the damp earth—her fingertips close around bulging roots.

  Somewhere overhead, the remaining hoof beats have slowed to a stop. She hears a grunt and a whinny as someone slides from their saddle and onto the ground.

  “See anything?”

  Nerani silently urges Darianna to stay quiet and still within the trunk of the tree. She is starkly aware of her heart thudding too hard and too fast against her ribs. She does not move—she does not breathe. Dirt tickles the tip of her nose and she fights the sudden, terrifying urge to sneeze.