Shadow Magic

by Jaida Jones

  “Stop,” I said, breathless with fear. I had never seen such a rage on Kouje’s face before. I never wanted to see it again. “Please. That’s enough! Control yourself—stop.”

  Kouje strained against my hold for a moment and I threw all my weight into it, nearly dropping to the ground like a theatre actress pleading with the hotheaded hero. Then I heard Jiang stumbling backward, coughing wetly as the dust rose up all around in clouds from the road. The crowd around us muttered in disappointment, and Kouje caught me underneath my elbow, his stiff hands possessed of a sudden gentleness as he drew me to my feet.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and bent low to see me face-t o-face—but also because it was the closest he could get to kneeling. There was something in his eyes, in the absence of his rage, that betrayed a deeper misery. It wasn’t that he regretted what he’d done. It was that he’d known what it meant to do it, had understood all too well what a risk he’d be taking, and had done it anyway.

  It wasn’t regret I saw in his eyes. It was shame.

  I wanted to ask him why he’d done it if he’d known as well as I did how foolish it was. It didn’t solve anything. It only made matters worse.

  “Your cheek,” I said instead, touching the bruised space just above the line of his jaw. “It’s going to hurt something awful tomorrow morning.”

  Kouje bowed his head under my touch, and I knew that my acceptance of his actions was far worse than any scolding I could have given him. He swallowed something back, as if refusing to speak any words that weren’t the right ones. I knew what he wanted to say, of course. It was what Kouje had always said, especially when he could think of nothing else. My lord.

  “It’s all right,” I said, willing it to be. I didn’t know how to shake him from his guilt without using his name, either, since it was all I’d ever used to recall him to himself. Instead, I squeezed his arm gently where I’d grasped it with such desperation earlier and repeated my useless words. “It’s all right.”

  When Kouje lifted his head at last, he wore an expression I at least recognized. He was resolved.

  “We have to get out of the street,” he said.

  I nodded, glad for some action, any action, that would take us away from here, where the crowds had dispersed, but continued to watch us, from windows and from doorways. The streets were as good as empty as we made our way back to the noodle house. I didn’t realize how far we’d drifted from it in the chaos. I didn’t see Jiang, or Inokichi either, but I hadn’t really expected to.

  I felt a momentary pang of guilt when I remembered how Inokichi had cleared the way for me to get to Kouje. I hoped that Jiang wasn’t so stiff and sore that it stopped them from reaching their destination, or gave them any trouble at the border crossing.

  My heart sank. The border crossing. I didn’t know how we were going to get past it.

  I followed Kouje all the way back to the front of the noodle house to where we’d tied our horse before I realized I was still holding on to his arm.

  “We should leave,” he said, “before there’s any trouble.” The apology lay unspoken between us again, but there was no point in casting blame between the two of us.

  We were all each other had.

  “Any more trouble, you mean,” I said, trying valiantly to lighten the mood.

  Someone snorted, the sound of it more like a laugh than anything else, and I whirled around, startled at the idea of having been overheard when I’d thought we were speaking privately.

  Inokichi was standing with his back to us, brushing down the spotted horse tied up next to ours. I didn’t know how to put my finger on it, but I felt as though something about him had changed. It was odd, since we’d been traveling together all this time and yet I couldn’t shake the sense that I was looking at a stranger—a new man, somehow. He was still the same Kichi in appearance—unusually tall, his arms awkwardly long—but he didn’t look at all clumsy or unsure of himself. I wondered, with faint awe, how he managed that. He scratched at fleas and his hair was unkempt, but I’d never seen anyone so perfectly at home with himself. I’d been raised as a prince, but I felt I could have learned a thing or maybe two from Inokichi’s self-confidence.

  “You take care now, little blossom,” Inokichi said.

  “About your friend,” Kouje began, then stopped himself. “And the noodles…”

  Inokichi shrugged it off, and when he turned, he was smiling his monkey smile. “A man’s got to protect a lady like that, brother. I can’t say I blame you for getting a mite carried away.”

  “Thank you,” Kouje said, the words as heartfelt as I’d ever heard them.

  Kichi nodded. “Good luck at the crossing. Maybe we’ll meet up again in the next life, hey, brother?”

  “Thank you, Inokichi,” I said, wishing I could have offered him more.

  He grinned and winked at me, then glanced at Kouje to make sure he’d given no offense before speaking again. “Not every day you get to help a lady out. Just think of old Kichi the next time you’re at a roadside shrine, right? I didn’t do it for anything but that ladylike smile.”

  “Thank you,” Kouje managed, when I nudged him in the ribs with my elbow. And then, just like that, Inokichi was gone, sauntering down the street and leading the two horses behind him.

  Kouje helped me onto our mount, then swung into the saddle behind me. I could see where his knuckles were bruised and cracked from the day’s activity, and felt a pang of regret that I’d ever reacted to Jiang’s wandering hands at all.

  “What now?” I asked, looking toward the wall. It loomed overhead. Somewhere in the distance children were laughing—perhaps still playing their game of Lord Kouje and Prince Mamoru.

  “I’ll think of something,” Kouje said. Then, against the back of my neck, he added fiercely, “I swear it.”

  All his good intentions, I thought privately, did little when we were faced with that wall. My brother’s men were waiting to find me and, if I knew my brother, they were getting more thorough and more ruthless with each passing day. We had no time to waste. Yet I bit my tongue and said nothing as Kouje nudged the horse into a trot beneath us and led us soberly away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CAIUS

  Alcibiades deserved something special, I thought. After all, he’d only just narrowly escaped being killed by the Emperor. Anyone in his position would have needed a bit of perking up, me included. And even though Alcibiades hadn’t spoken of it since, I was determined to make things up to him.

  “Go on,” I said, watching his face eagerly for some reaction other than mulish brooding. “Open it.”

  “It’s not snakes, is it?” he asked.

  Wherever did he get those ridiculous ideas? One had to wonder about his countryside upbringing. “Is that a custom among farmers?” I asked. “Wrap snakes up in boxes and give them to their friends? I’m not entirely sure I like it. Wouldn’t it be better suited for your enemies?”

  Alcibiades snorted. “So long as it’s not something alive,” he muttered ungraciously.

  “Not last I checked, no,” I said, trying my best to placate him. “Come now, or we’ll be late for supper.”

  “Hm,” was all Alcibiades deigned to grace me with before he tore into the wrapping paper without any ceremony. He was an awful brute sometimes, in need of far better training. Poor Yana. I sympathized with her deeply.

  It had been awfully hard to come by, mostly because I’d needed to guess at Alcibiades’ measurements. I’d thought about sneaking in to his room at night with some measuring tape, but one could never trust Alcibiades to react like a normal person under the circumstances. He was as angry as fire ants.

  “It’s… cloth,” Alcibiades said finally, pushing aside all the extra wrapping paper. “Red cloth.” The Ke-Han were exquisite gift-givers; the paper was thick, brocaded, shot with flashes of silver and gold. I’d gone for something particularly ostentatious, since Alcibiades was a simple man and might have been swayed by bright colors or the like.

/>   “You’re being deliberately obtuse, my dear, and it’s making it very hard for me to be gracious,” I said. “You might try unfolding it.”

  Alcibiades looked, at least momentarily, appropriately sheepish, and did as he was asked. Perhaps I might shame him into proper etiquette yet, though who could tell how long it would take to teach this old dog a few new tricks?

  “It’s a coat,” Alcibiades said, unfurling it like a war banner. “A red coat.”

  I didn’t think he would appreciate it if I told him how expensive the fabric was, and how delicate, and so I merely said: “Please, my dear, try not to wrinkle it. I thought you might wear it tonight.”

  “But it’s red,” Alcibiades said blankly.

  “Well, you insist upon wearing the color anyway,” I pointed out. “And it’s better than that dusty old thing you refuse to wash. You’re beginning to smell, and it disturbs Josette. In any case, this color will match.”

  Alcibiades’ eyes instantly narrowed. “Match what?” he asked.

  “Why, the outfit I’ve had made up for myself, of course!” He really was too slow. “One moment, my dear—it’ll only take a little while to change, and meanwhile you can make sure everything fits in the shoulders and around the waist. I wasn’t sure of the exact number, so I had to guess. If anything isn’t right, then we’ll send for the tailors straightaway, and they can make the alterations before dinner is even on the table.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Alcibiades began to ask, but I was already closing the door on him. If he couldn’t figure out how to try the coat on properly, then he was on his own entirely and would receive no more help from me.

  I’d tried to be considerate when having it made—nothing more than the simplest of cloth, and the reddest, as well. I thought that ought to please him, obdurate as he was. Perhaps I’d gone overboard with the epaulettes? Yet they offset all the red quite nicely, and were the same gold as the buttons. Besides, the collar on his old jacket looked as though it were too tight for him, especially during the talks.

  And, most important, I thought he needed some reassurance. What better way to do that than to dress in his favorite color?

  My own new outfit was quite different, though I’d had it in mind to match ever since I came up with the idea. We were similar in color only—according to my plan, we’d be two bright red cardinals tonight amidst a flight of bluebirds. Yet what suited Alcibiades, a proud Volstovic military coat in proud Volstovic colors, would hardly do for me. I didn’t even like red; it made me look too pale.

  I compensated for it by designing the shape in purely Ke-Han style, from high Ke-Han collar to long Ke-Han hem, to layer upon layer of red sleeves, to bright red Ke-Han sash.

  I looked like a bloodstain, I thought, as I caught sight of myself in the mirror and smoothed out my robes. Alcibiades would no doubt ask me what, exactly, I thought I was doing wearing a dress to dinner; I was expecting it, but I would be sorely put out nonetheless.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, my dear,” I said, sliding open the adjoining door. “I had a bit of trouble with the sash.”

  Alcibiades didn’t turn for a moment—he was too busy looking at himself in the mirror. And, I was overjoyed to note, the coat fit him perfectly in the shoulders and in the back.

  “Oh!” I exclaimed. “Do turn around, General, so that I may see the complete effect! Does it fit as well in the front as it does in the back?”

  It was the first time I’d ever seen Alcibiades do something I’d requested willingly, although he could have stood up a bit straighter, and there was no reason for him to tug at the hem or adjust the collar as though the whole thing made him uncomfortable. It was made from the finest fabric by the finest tailors the Ke-Han had to offer, and I’d made sure it was in a style he’d like. If he’d only stop slouching and keep his hands still, he would cut a fine figure indeed.

  After all, since he adored the color so ferociously, it behooved him to act more proudly while wearing it.

  “Well!” I said. “Don’t you look handsome? I would never have guessed it. Those epaulettes suit you—I knew they would.”

  “Why in bastion’s name are you wearing a dress?” Alcibiades asked.

  I sighed. “Since I am doing you the favor of joining you in this fit of pure bravado,” I quipped, “I decided it might be prudent in some ways to dilute the effect by at least giving a nod to Ke-Han culture in some other fashion. Besides, the days are turning cold, and the wealth of fabric will help on those chillier nights. Are you satisfied with the explanation, my dear, or have you other complaints to make?”

  Alcibiades was silent for a long moment, staring at me. I looked him over again in the meantime, wishing he’d thought to shave. He needed a bit of a haircut, too; his curls were growing unruly.

  “You look all right,” he said finally. “I mean, for a madman.”

  “Pardon?” I asked, surprised out of my examination for a brief moment. In my distraction, there was always the possibility that I’d heard him wrong; when it was something so close to a compliment, the possibility became a likelihood.

  Alcibiades shrugged, looking at the epaulettes on his coat as though he liked the effect they created as he did it. “It suits you. Better than some of the others, anyway. They look like imposters. Uncomfortable imposters, besides.”

  “That, my dear, is the difference between a good tailor and a bad one,” I said, feeling all over again that this idea had been one of my better ones. Why, I might even have ventured to say that it had put Alcibiades into a relatively good mood, which was more than I’d ever seen him exhibit.

  He wasn’t exactly smiling, but this was certainly a step in the right direction.

  “I daresay I’ll never outshine the Emperor,” I continued, venturing to stand beside Alcibiades in front of the mirror. “Oh! We make quite a striking pair, don’t you think?”

  Alcibiades looked down at me as if I were a bit of grit he’d suddenly noticed on his shoulder. Or perhaps he was thinking of the Emperor, and how he’d nearly been killed, in which case I’d been terribly gauche in bringing it up. I’d only wanted to test the buoyancy of his good mood and what would cause it to sink down beneath the waves of reticence he seemed so fond of. His stubbornness made him very difficult and very easy all at once.

  “We’re going to stand out,” he said at last. “That’s for sure.”

  I took his arm, smiling at my reflection in the mirror. “My dear, that’s entirely the idea.”

  To tell the truth, I’d been looking forward to dinner a great deal ever since Lord Temur had taken me aside after our afternoon break in the talks to inform me that a theatre company had been invited to perform that night. It was the first bit of good news I’d had all day since I’d long since begun to realize that the Emperor was using his brother’s absence as an excuse to run us all around in circles every day. He didn’t require our permission to do anything, though some saw it as a fine gesture of diplomacy. I thought it seemed more like a diversion myself, keeping us away from the meat of the treaty discussions over an issue so sensitive that even those of us who’d picked up on it felt loath to mention it.

  I felt it accounted quite well for all the sour faces around the delegation room though. A play was just the thing I needed to feel refreshed and renewed.

  The Emperor’s chamberlain had arranged for a new form of entertainment to be put on every night for us, and while I’d enjoyed the singing better than Alcibiades—and while the dancing had been divine—it was the coming entertainment that I’d truly been anticipating. A real Ke-Han play, one of the classics, performed exclusively by the most esteemed theatre company the Emperor could find.

  “What’re you skipping for?” Alcibiades asked belligerently. “Walk like a normal person.”

  I sighed, slowing my steps so that I might be more of a pace with him. “Aren’t you at all looking forward to tonight?”

  Alcibiades snorted. “Looking forward to leaving the palace in order to get some real food,
maybe. And I guess I’m looking forward to seeing some of those stuffed shirts at the high table fanning themselves into a fever pitch over our new gear. That’ll be real entertaining.”

  It was the most I’d got out of him since the incident with the Emperor. If the coat took credit for his unusual loquaciousness, there was room for me to feel immensely pleased with myself over having found the perfect solution to our problem.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve gone and forgotten the play,” I said, in tones suggesting the utmost consternation.

  Alcibiades only looked at me as though I’d told him the Ke-Han were putting a permanent ban on fried-dumpling stands.

  “Oh, honestly,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s our entertainment for tonight. You were lurking about when Lord Temur told me, same as Josette. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already!”

  “Huh,” Alcibiades said, in a way that I knew meant that he had, in fact, done exactly that. “Well, at least it’s not going to be singing. There isn’t singing involved in these plays, is there?”

  As it happened, we were among the first to arrive to dinner. This was because I’d left enough time for Alcibiades to decide if he wanted last-minute alterations to his coat, and when he didn’t, there hadn’t been much to do but leave for the dining chamber. Normally I would have abhorred arriving early at any location—it would have been deliciously dramatic to arrive late, clad all in scarlet—but there was a certain pleasure in watching the various Ke-Han warlords enter with their servants and take their proper seats at the high table. Before the meal was served there was normally some accompanying music to set the mood, which more often than not set Alcibiades to grumbling and shifting and kicking me—he said it was by accident—like a sullen child.