The Skyfall Era Trilogy: Books 1-3

by Matt Larkin

  Malin had sat alone in the darkness of his room when Chandi had barged in, not bothering with a candle. His eyes didn’t need more than starlight to see, anyway. The changes Rahu and Calon had wrought in him were almost immeasurable. The biggest—besides the tiger constantly controlling his emotions—was probably the scents. Everything had a scent he’d never noticed as a mere man. It was hard to remember what being human even felt like anymore.

  “Let’s spar,” Chandi blurted. She smelled tense, almost ready to break.

  She clearly needed the release, so Malin rose and claimed his toyaks. “Come.”

  He led her up to the rooftop garden above the palace. During the daytime Solars came up here—less so during the monsoons—but at night it was free. The garden was filled with palm trees and flowers, birds, even monkeys. It was as close as Malin could ever get to the natural world while he was in Kasusthali, so he came up here most nights. Tonight, it was almost a full moon. It called to the tiger. Made his muscles itch. Needed to shift.

  Chandi launched into a series of attacks. Perfect form, but overly aggressive. Malin gave ground, fending off her attacks with the least effort necessary. Let her exhaust her rage. In moments she was panting as she circled him. He swung low with one stick, then twisted away from her counterstrike. Chandi’s attacks suddenly accelerated, her breath coming more evenly. Drawing her Blessings. She shouldn’t be doing that, not for training.

  Left and right, back and forth they danced at a tempo most mortals couldn’t follow, much less match. The crack of rattan sticks hitting with so much force echoed like thunder. Malin had drilled toyak fighting into Chandi since she was ten. His nature made him stronger and faster, even in human form, and she seemed determined to match him. How many times did he have to warn the girl about that?

  But she wasn’t a child anymore, had not been a child in a long time. Certainly not these past three years. Those first few nights, they had sat up here, telling stories of the mountains of Swarnadvipa, laughing. At least until she had burst into tears, finally letting her grief over Anusapati overcome her. At first, he’d feared she’d blame him for killing the boy. But Chandi had understood. Unlike Ratna, she had always understood him.

  Malin fell back, struggling to keep up with her enhanced speed. She should not be doing that. Part of him hated having to chide her over and over for it. She was not a child anymore. She was a woman. But still his to protect. That was all.

  Mate.

  Malin grit his teeth against the tiger’s unwanted intrusion into his thoughts. It was just the damn tiger. Yes, Chandi had kissed him on the cheek that one night. It was her grief. Malin knew all about grief. He had lost his wife, had lost countless mates during the war. All the tiger wanted was to fuck her and leave her like he’d done with all the Macan Gandungan females. She deserved better.

  “Why did you want this so much, Chandi? You’ve only wanted to spar three times since you came here.”

  Chandi ran at him, and launched a series of tight swings, forcing him backwards. “Were you counting?”

  “Did you spar like this with Anusapati?” Malin backed away in a low crouch.

  Chandi fell into a crouch herself, not rising to his bait—and he hated himself for baiting her. But she had to learn to control her rage. Of course, Malin was still working on his own. “Anusapati used the keris.”

  “I prefer teeth.” He swung high, and Chandi dove under it. Malin anticipated it, and caught her in the stomach with his knee.

  The force of the blow threw her on her back, and she gasped, struggling to breathe. Malin’s stomach clenched at hurting the girl. Protect and avenge. Protect and avenge. It was his reason for being. Especially the girls, and yes, now Revati too. It had almost killed him when that Igni bitch had attacked Revati and Malin wasn’t there.

  Malin moved to where Chandi had fallen, struggling to keep sympathy from his face. She had lost control. What if he had been a real opponent? An Arun Guard would have killed her a dozen times over if she fought like that. He need not say it, of course. She’d know she made a mistake—no need to rub salt in the wound.

  “Why are we here in the middle of the night, Chandi?”

  “The Solars don’t come here at night.” She rose, taking a few deep breaths, then began walking the garden.

  Lorises had come out and cluttered the trees, watching the pair. How had the big-eyed monkeys even gotten out across the sea? Perhaps the Solars bred them for the garden. It was at least one thing the Solars did Malin could approve of.

  Malin couldn’t tear his gaze off Chandi. Her slim form, her perfectly shaped hips.

  Mate.

  He snarled at the tiger, and Chandi turned, a questioning look in her.

  “Empu Baradah almost caught me spying on him tonight.”

  Empu Baradah. First of the Arun Guard. And murderer. Avenge. Avenge!

  “He’s leaving soon. I learned it today. I followed him to see if I could learn why.”

  “Where?” Malin’s voice had fallen, hardened. Avenge.

  Chandi rose and walked to the edge of the garden. “I don’t know, Malin.”

  Malin followed behind her. His mind reeled, struggling to keep the hunt against the murderer from its forefront. The war was over. Over, vengeance lost. He needed to change the subject. “You shouldn’t rely so much on the Moon Blessings.” He tried to put a hand on her shoulder.

  She pushed him away from her. “Don’t tell me how to use my own gifts, Macan Gadungan.”

  “Anusapati said something similar, before Astral Shore. Before he went lunatic.”

  Chandi spun back on him, fist clenched. She sucked in air through her teeth and hissed in wordless rage. Malin recoiled. He wasn’t trying to provoke her. Was he? With a dismissive wave of her hand, she turned back to the sea and leapt in.

  Malin shook his head and watched her as she swam about, around the palace.

  Empu Baradah was leaving the safety of the palace. That meant something.

  It meant Malin just might get an opportunity.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The monsoons would sweep over the Isles any day now, but Ratna still couldn’t bring herself to leave her chambers. The books she’d requisitioned from the library—over the curator’s objections—were simply too fascinating. Her mother had been a witch, and it would not surprise her if Simhika—Chandi’s mother—had been as well. At the very least, surely Simhika was complicit in her cousin’s activities.

  All Solar books regarding witchcraft were forbidden, carefully guarded secrets by the Ministry of Information. They didn’t destroy the knowledge, that wasn’t their way. Rather, they restricted it, perhaps to keep the general population from being tempted toward such endeavors.

  But Ratna had to know. She had to know her mother. Her parents had started the Fourth War, so she had to assume they thought victory was attainable, at least at first. And they must have used witchcraft to create the two Jadian bloodlines. As near as Ratna could tell, at least according to these Solar tomes, witchcraft and sorcery were two names for the same thing—the evocation of spirits, the denizens of Kahyangan. Some kind of barrier separated the Spirit Realm from the Physical Realm where people and animals lived, but spirits could be called across the barrier. They were non-corporeal, so they had no form in this realm, but that hardly made them powerless.

  Ratna’s mother had apparently—and thus far, no tome had explained the means of it—compelled some spirits to affect the natural world, spreading disease among both the Solars and their crops. Had mere desperation moved her mother to such extreme measures? And why not? The Solars represented a superior force poised to destroy Lunar society. They probably still could do so, if they wanted to.

  Except Kakudmi appeared to want peace, if not Ratna. Oh, the man cared for their daughter. Even now, Ratna’s little girl was spending the afternoon with her father as if a two-year-old could be interested in the workings of the Solar court. Nor did Kakudmi even bother to invite Ratna.

  The
door to her room creaked open, but Ratna didn’t look up from her book.

  “Chandi? Would you fetch me some karedok? I missed the lingsir kulon meal.”

  “You’ve taken a liking to our salad?” her husband asked.

  Ratna spun, toppling the book over and nearly tripping herself as she struggled to rise. Kakudmi hardly ever came to her chambers. When she’d moved to Kasusthali, she’d assumed they would share a room, but apparently the empress warranted space of her own. More likely, Kakudmi wanted to keep his own privacy. Sometimes it felt like months between him calling on her to sate his lusts. It had, in the past, led her to believe the man was having an affair. Sending Mahesa to spy on him had been an error, unfortunately.

  And the way he stood, looking at her now, seemed uncomfortably similar to how he had looked on her after catching Mahesa in her chamber. “It’s come to my attention you’ve been withdrawing a number of books from the Academy libraries.”

  Ratna smoothed her sarong and offered a small bow, trying to keep her face as impassive—and innocent—as possible. “Yes, Pak Kakudmi. Reading is one of my favorite pursuits. Don’t you approve?” Kakudmi was, after all, probably the best-read man in the whole Solar court.

  The emperor frowned, then stepped around her and stooped to grab the book from where it had fallen. He flipped through a few pages. “Of the pastime? Yes, I approve. It’s your choice of material that has me concerned. These works are restricted for a reason, Ibu Ratna. They’re dangerous and you are not to delve any further into such subjects. You should have known better.”

  Indeed, it seemed she had underestimated just how far the Ministry of Information was willing to go to control the flow of knowledge, if they would turn to the emperor himself.

  “You’ve left me no choice but to ban you from the libraries for the immediate future.”

  “What? But I—”

  “We can discuss this again in the next dry season. Until then, I’ll have a few plays delivered to your chambers to keep you diverted.” Her husband turned and left without another word, taking the book with him.

  Ratna scowled at the bamboo door as it swung closed behind the Rangda-damned man. She was trapped. Little better than a bed slave. She was the empress of the most powerful nation in the known world and she was a fucking whore. No! No, a whore got paid. And Ratna was done being cowed by that man. If he didn’t love her, if he wouldn’t or couldn’t care about her, at least she would not be some passive strumpet to be used and cast aside as it suited him. He might have rights to her body she could not deny, but he had no claim on her mind. None.

  And two could play at the Ministry’s game. They thought to control all knowledge in their empire. Well, Ratna was going to put an end to that. Maybe Lunar libraries wouldn’t hold the extensive collections the Solar had access to, but they’d be a place to start. And she was quite certain a few heavy pearls could bribe some enterprising captain to bring her any tome she might wish. And maybe—just maybe—she’d disseminate those works to the public, just to spite those Ministry bastards who thought they could control her.

  So let the games begin.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  On a clear day, Chandi could see the harbor from the window in Ratna’s chamber. Fishing boats had long since left for the morning. Other Solars scurried about the piers, though they looked like indistinct blurs.

  “Where’s Revati?” she asked as she brushed Ratna’s hair. The brush, Ratna’s mother’s brush, was all her cousin had brought from home. Her cousin’s long silky hair stretched halfway down her back. Once Chandi had thought to grow hers like that. Well, maybe more than once. But hair that long was better for winning hearts than winning battles.

  “Her father’s taking her to a Sepak Takraw game. The team from Suladvipa came to Yawadvipa for the Festival.”

  “Why didn’t you go?”

  Ratna shrugged, disrupting Chandi’s attempt to arrange her cousin’s hair. “Pak Kakudmi didn’t invite me.”

  Chandi suppressed a sigh. So instead Ratna sat here alone. Even Chandi had to go—she’d talked Naresh into meeting her for breakfast. Couldn’t get information from him without staying close to him, after all. He was her way to finally make some progress against the Arun Guard.

  “I’m sure the emperor didn’t think he needed to invite his wife.”

  “Of course he didn’t. Why should his wife matter?”

  Damn. “That’s not what I meant. I meant he assumed you would go.” Unlikely, knowing Kakudmi. The man had given Ratna a luxurious suite to herself. But since Revati was born, he rarely invited Ratna to his own suite on the opposite side of the fourth floor.

  “If he thinks I’ll follow like a faithful Macan Gadungan, he’s mistaken.” Ratna rose from the windowsill and drifted around her chambers without apparent purpose.

  What difference did it make what Kakudmi thought? The man had agreed to an arranged marriage and lived with it. Had Ratna expected more? Had she forgotten who the Solars were? “You need to get out of this room, Ratna. There’s more to life than books. More even than taking care of Revati.”

  The creak of the door drew her gaze before she could think of anything more to say. Malin stood there, his usual smirk missing. “I shouldn’t have mentioned Anusapati last night.”

  Ratna hissed. “Callous tiger. Never consider our feelings, do you?”

  “You were quick enough to beg my presence when Revati was in danger.”

  “I beg nothing, Macan Gadungan. I order and you serve.”

  Malin glared at Ratna.

  “I have to go,” Chandi said. If this continued, she’d lose her appetite. Why Ratna insisted on taking her frustrations out on Malin, she’d never know. Perhaps he was a convenient target since Ratna knew he’d take any amount of abuse.

  Malin followed her down the hall. “You could have waited for me, back then. You didn’t have to face him yourself.”

  “Yes I did.”

  Around the next bend she almost ran into Empu Baradah. She nodded at the First as he passed, and started to resume her search for Naresh, when she realized Malin no longer followed. He and Empu Baradah stood feet apart, gazes locked, both twitching as their hands inched toward weapons.

  “Welcome back to the palace, Pak Malin,” Empu Baradah said.

  “An honor, First.” Malin spoke through clenched teeth, his feigned civility even less convincing than Empu Baradah’s. “I do look forward to getting to know it better.”

  Empu Baradah didn’t flinch. “I have special accommodations for you, should you wish to extend your stay.”

  “When I’ve come to stay, you’ll know.”

  Empu Baradah edged past Malin, his eyes never leaving the tiger’s. “Sun warm your face.”

  Malin turned with Empu Baradah, neither barring the way nor stepping aside. Chandi tugged on his arm, but he ignored her until Empu Baradah had turned the corner.

  “What is wrong with you?” She snatched his wrist and yanked him down the hall. “We’re guests here.”

  “Nothing,” he snapped.

  “You’ll start the Fifth War over nothing, then?” Idiot tiger. She held firm under his gaze. “Well?”

  Malin cracked his neck before answering. “Come.”

  He led her through the Arun Guard lounge where Landorundun sat playing a flute. The Guardswoman watched them with more interest than usual, though she didn’t stop playing.

  Chandi nodded at her, then followed the Macan Gadungan up the stairs into the garden. A handful of Solars already clustered around the pond, so she sat in a secluded spot beneath a palm tree.

  “Well?” she repeated.

  Malin’s gaze drifted from one rainbow-colored bird to the next, though he didn’t seem to take any joy in them. Then he watched her, fury and interest warring on his face.

  “He was there. The glorious, venerated Empu Baradah, First of the Arun Guard. Butcher of Astral Shore. They say he killed more Macan Gadungan than any other. Moon Scions, too.”

  C
handi had almost let herself like the First. He’d welcomed her at his table. He’d seemed more human because of Aji Bidara, whatever Naresh thought about the affair. But he was still a monster with the Sun Brand. Deep down, of course she’d known he was at the biggest battle of the whole Fourth War. Where else would he have been, considering Ken Arok had been there? It was unfair to condemn the Solar for fighting to defend his emperor.

  Malin watched her from the corner of his eye, his jaw twitching. He was holding something back.

  “What else?”

  Malin shook his head.

  “Tell me.”

  Malin looked down at the grass a moment. “I failed to protect Calon and Simhika all those years ago. I won’t let anything happen to their daughters.”

  Chandi recoiled at the sudden mention of her and Ratna’s mothers. They had died thirteen years ago in the war, while their husbands were away. Malin had come to tell them of it, and she and Ratna had wept for phases and phases, unable to accept the terrible truth. And Chandi, like a fool, had demanded to see her mother’s body before the funeral ceremony. She had reached out to touch her skin, but had not quite been able to, fearing the cold.

  Malin cracked his neck. “Empu Baradah came for Calon. We think that’s why Ken Arok promoted him to First after the Battle of Bangdvipa, though he never fought in the battle.”

  The First had come to kill Ratna’s mother. And Chandi’s mother had gotten in the way. And for thirteen years, the man had been praised for the murders.

  Chandi had eaten at his table. Had pitied him for his loveless marriage. But scratch the surface of a Solar, and you found more than you expected. She wouldn’t forget that again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Naresh couldn’t forget that flute song. The rhapsody drifted through the fourth floor of the palace.

  Chandi wasn’t in her room. Last night she said she wanted to meet with him this morning, but he hadn’t been able to find her. He closed his eyes, letting the song wash over him, indulging for a moment in memories he knew were best left buried. Naresh sighed and followed the song to the Arun Guard’s lounge.