Shadow Magic (2009)

by Jaida Jones

  “‘Do your Volstov and your Yana proud. It is great honor to be chosen for such special journey. And feed your horse nothing but apples, apples are the chosen food for the King of Horses,’” I managed, before I choked on my own laughter. From what I’d learned of the Ke-Han court, it was appropriate to hide one’s laughter behind a sleeve or a fan, whichever one happened to have on hand at the time. However, survival instincts bid me ignore that particular rule, so that I was set to laughing quite openly in the center of the room, in a way I didn’t normally make a habit of. It was a most unseemly display, but for a very special occasion.

  Alcibiades swore, and kicked at one of his crescent-shaped chairs that had fallen over in all the commotion.

  “‘Wear your socks!’” I shrieked. Tears were beginning to roll down my face. This was better than a holiday, better than ten birthdays, and I found that I didn’t care at all that my face might have been as red as Alcibiades’ by that point. “‘Otherwise’! ‘Your feet get cold’!”

  “It’s summer,” Alcibiades groused. “And humid as fuck here anyway. There isn’t any cold to be found. Give the damn thing back.”

  He still had that murderous gleam in his eyes, but he was losing steam. That was the problem with men his size, they tired themselves out too quickly stomping about and making a dreadful ruckus. I darted up to the dais from which Alcibiades had moved his sleeping mat and collapsed there, out of breath and out of laughter.

  “‘Take very seriously this mission of diplomacy. Take very seriously your health, or else you will sprout mushrooms from your ears and become like a mossy stone that has no rolling left to do.’”

  Alcibiades sat down on the floor, clearly plotting my demise for a future date. It was almost sweet really. He was so earnest about it. Perhaps he’d realized that I’d nearly finished the letter anyway, and there was no point in trying to keep me from reading the rest.

  There was an enormous black inkblot on the far wall. If I squinted, it looked something like a butterfly.

  “‘Listen to your Yana, and you will always be happy, healthy, and fat. Yana Berger.’”

  I sighed, feeling utterly emptied of everything and tremendously satisfied with myself. I would have to find a comb very shortly, and I would have to go over my clothing very carefully to make sure no errant drops of ink had landed on the silk, but all in all, it had been a very successful venture. I rolled my head to face Alcibiades, peering at him over the rumpled paper of the letter.

  “Who’s Yana?” I asked, in the tones of someone about to break open a terrible scandal.

  “No one,” Alcibiades grunted. He crossed his arms over his chest like a sullen child.

  “Oh, come now.” I sat up. There was a faint freckle of ink on my right sleeve, but I’d already decided it was worth the sacrifice. This outfit was a new one, and not entirely as flattering as it might have been. I was going to call the Ke-Han tailors soon, in any case. Now that everyone bent over backward to make sure that Alcibiades, the diplomat with the stolen horse, had everything his heart desired, I would tell them Alcibiades had sent for them, and they were sure to come more expeditiously and do a better job, at that. “You’re telling me that this kindly soul, whoever she is—who took the time to write you this very… unique letter full of heartfelt sentiment and best wishes for your health—is no one? This lovely dame, who counsels you so very wisely to hold your temper because it is—so true, so true—like ants? Can this delicate flower be no one?”

  “All right,” Alcibiades said in an exasperated tone. His cheeks were still bright red, though whether it was from exertion or embarrassment, I couldn’t tell. He was a fascinating creature. I was beginning to think of him less and less like the dog I’d once owned; although he’d just set to ruining a room like a misbehaved animal, he was far more difficult to train. “Just don’t talk about her, all right? I didn’t mean she’s no one. Just that she’s no one you’d know.”

  “I can’t tell whether that’s a jab at my station or an outright lie.” I tapped my chin to order my thoughts where they’d got loose from me in all the excitement. My robes were creased—another mark against them. “I’ll take it as a lie, I suppose. Perhaps you are… embarrassed to speak of her? Your dear, sweet Yana, who cautions you to wear your socks? How heartbroken she would be to learn of your reticence when it comes to speaking of her!”

  “She as good as raised me from a sprog,” Alcibiades finally said, though he spoke as though the words were being dragged from him by torturer’s hooks. “After my parents were carried off, what with one thing or another.”

  “Carried off by one thing or another?” I asked. “Were they eaten by mountain birds?”

  Alcibiades gave me a filthy look. Perhaps my excitement over discovering Yana had caused me to overstep my bounds, and I attempted to look appropriately apologetic. “My mother had bad lungs,” Alcibiades ground out at last, “and my father had a wound from a threshing accident that he never quite got over. After that it was just Yana to look after my brothers and sisters and me. We never did quite figure out what country she hailed from, but my mother had her in to help with the twins when they were born, and she never left.”

  “How ghastly!” I said, imagining Alcibiades as a chubby young man crouched in a hovel with an army of brothers and sisters around him, all clamoring for food. It was very clear the lady was foreign from the way she wrote, but possibly he hadn’t also noticed that she’d taken leave of her senses. “I didn’t know you were a farmer.”

  Alcibiades looked at me sharply. “Didn’t say I was.”

  “Well, I assumed,” I clarified. “From the accident with the thresher.”

  “That was my father,” Alcibiades said. “I’ve been a soldier since I was old enough to leave home, and I haven’t looked back.”

  “Ah, of course,” I said. “That explains a great deal.”

  Alcibiades gave me another dirty look. “Not every one of us can be raised like th’Esar’s little lapdog,” he said, a bit more unkindly than he ought. After all, I’d presumed that we were only having a bit of fun.

  “I am sorry about your parents,” I managed, very generously. Perhaps that would placate him. “Here, would you like your letter back?”

  I held it out to him, as a peace offering between us. After a moment of staring warily at my hand, he snatched it back. I noticed, with a touch of affection, that he smoothed out one of the crumpled edges when he thought I wasn’t looking.

  “Well, that was fun,” I continued, when he showed no signs of replying. “We ought to do that more often. Have you told our dear Yana about me yet? I am, after all, a significant part of your life here during the Important Diplomatic Mission.”

  “I’ve told her I’m being driven insane by a tiny madman named Caius Greylace,” Alcibiades replied.

  That would have to suffice. “I do hope she approves of me,” I said helpfully. Alcibiades merely shook his head and sighed, as though he were afflicted by some incurable disease.

  That was when the Ke-Han guards burst into our room.

  Alcibiades, ever the soldier, nearly killed one with his chair, and there was a great deal of shouting from all parties in their respective languages, and pointing, and more chair brandishing, while I stood behind Alcibiades and offered words of encouragement and tried to decipher what the guards were saying, before we were able to determine what was going on. My ability to speak their language was shaky at best, and with all of them yelling at once it was impossible to understand half of what they were saying.

  Thankfully, Lord Temur arrived to sort things out. He did so in an extremely dashing manner, stepping into the room with one hand held up palm forward, and roaring a command loud enough to make the sliding doors shake in their grooves.

  The guards stopped shouting. Alcibiades almost put the chair down, but then thought the better of it. I remained where I was, although I waved to Lord Temur over Alcibiades’ shoulder.

  “Now,” Lord Temur said. “What seems to be th
e trouble?”

  “We’re being attacked, that’s what the trouble is!” Alcibiades growled.

  “Well, that is,” I explained, translating from Alcibiades into more common speech—the sort that human beings employed when successfully communicating with one another—“we were having a bit of a romp, you see, and then all of a sudden there were guards everywhere, can you imagine?”

  Lord Temur paused to make a careful assessment of the situation. His eyes flicked over the room, surveying the ink spot on the wall and the shattered inkwell beneath it, the overturned chairs, the desk perched on the stool and the sleeping mat barricade by the door separating Alcibiades’ room from mine. At length, he turned to one of the guards and spoke with him quietly, before focusing once more on us.

  “There has been fighting here?” he asked.

  “Oh, no,” I said. “We were just being friendly.”

  Lord Temur surveyed the scene before him once more, then looked to us again for some explanation.

  “I tried to keep him out,” Alcibiades said gruffly, as though I were a wayward kitten that had to be kept out of the room lest I get at the drapes. It was dreadfully unfair of him. His neck was red, and I could see his pulse pounding at his temple, but at least, finally, he did put down the chair. I was glad. It was frightfully embarrassing to be in the palace with a companion who insisted on using furniture as bludgeons. What would Yana Berger have said?

  “Ah,” Lord Temur replied, as though this had explained everything. “I see. Yes.”

  Alcibiades breathed a slight sigh of relief. “Sorry for, ah,” he attempted, “any disturbance we might have caused.”

  “It is a lucky thing I was passing by,” Lord Temur said, waving a dismissive hand at the guards, who bowed low to us, then to him, and filed out of the room one after the other. “Else who knows how long this… misunderstanding… would have continued.”

  “The inkwell was mine,” Alcibiades added, rubbing the back of his neck. “And the—No furniture was broken. I don’t think.”

  “No need to apologize,” Lord Temur assured him. I wanted to point out that Alcibiades had very nearly ruined my new clothes in his fit of pique, as well, but it didn’t seem to be the time. “We will send for someone to take care of the mess. Should we instruct the maids to leave things as they are”—he gestured toward the barricade—“or return things to their usual place?”

  “Might as well return them,” Alcibiades said. All the anger had drained from his voice, leaving it hoarse and almost demure. “Didn’t work, anyway.”

  “I can see that it did not,” Lord Temur agreed. “I was in fact just coming to call upon your companion, Lord Alcibiades, though now that I find you together I will extend the offer to both of you.”

  “I’m not a lord,” Alcibiades said, managing to make it sound almost like a gentle correction and not something gravely rude. It must have been my influence. Or perhaps it was merely the reminder of dear Yana so close at hand.

  Lord Temur bowed. He cut a very fine figure in his dark robes, but it was not a color that I could wear with my complexion. “My apologies,” he said. “We have a title for diplomats in our language, but there is none for it in yours. ‘Lord’ was the closest approximation I could think of, and therein lies my mistake.”

  “Oh! No offense has been taken,” I assured him, coming round to stand beside Alcibiades now that the guards had left. “That’s merely Alcibiades’ face when he’s happy; one grows accustomed to it. You mentioned an invitation, Lord Temur?”

  “It was an offer,” Alcibiades muttered, but he fell silent after that.

  Lord Temur smiled cautiously, as though unsure of the resulting expression it would leave on his face. “Yes. I was under the impression that Lord Caius was interested in learning more about our culture. I might recommend the libraries as a place to start, but the artists’ district within the capital is something to behold.”

  “The artists’ district!” I clung to Alcibiades’ arm with excitement. “We’ll go at once, won’t we? The scholars didn’t teach us anything about that.”

  Lord Temur bowed again. “They might not have found any merit in the teaching. The artists’ district is not for the… upper class, the people of the palace. But it has many fine works of art, and it is a place full of entertainment, despite its reputation for scandal. If we are to share our culture, we cannot merely offer tours of the palace. It is…” He paused, searching for the proper words. “… one-dimensional.”

  It was as though he’d known exactly what I’d been thirsting for. Perhaps the delicate network of servants had relayed such information to him, or maybe it had been one of our fellow diplomats. Whatever the reason, Alcibiades and I were about to be escorted to a place of questionable repute by one of the seven warlords.

  Josette would simply die when she found out.

  “Sounds all right,” said Alcibiades, though I caught him casting a longing look back at the desk and his unfinished letter. It was all right, I wanted to assure him; he could tell Yana all about it later that night. I didn’t think he would appreciate the effort, though, so I merely patted him on the arm. “Lead the way, then.”

  Lord Temur led us through the halls with little conversation, pausing here and there only to point out a particular element of architecture or relate the history behind a particular room. Soon enough, we were outside the palace and flanked by two fearsome-looking men who must have been Lord Temur’s retainers. Alcibiades kept glaring at them and muttering what I had no doubt were unpleasant things under his breath.

  “Your temper, my dear,” I murmured, low under my breath.

  Alcibiades merely made a noise in my direction in reply—half grunt, half growl.

  Lord Temur paused at the main gate to explain our destination to the guards. I bounced on the balls of my feet, eager to see the city we’d only been able to view previously from carriage windows. It had been so scintillating, those mere glimpses, the smells warm and exotic, the sounds of a foreign people going about their daily lives without realizing how absolutely and extraordinarily different they all were.

  “Stop all that bobbing up and down,” Alcibiades said. “You’re giving me a headache.”

  “Don’t be so sour,” I admonished him. It was time for mollifying him. “Just think of all the interesting things you’ll be able to put into your letter now.”

  Alcibiades just stared at me as though trying to assess whether or not I was making a joke.

  “Perhaps you might even purchase a watercolor,” I added. “To send along with your letter. A piece of the scenery, perhaps? Yana might like the memento.”

  “Right.” The harsh lines of Alcibiades’ face smoothed out somewhat, making him look less monstrously cranky with the world; the whole effect made him look miraculously much younger. “I could do that, I suppose.”

  “Gentlemen.” Lord Temur beckoned us and his retainers over with a regal sweep of his arm. He had such presence. “Your pardon, but the gate is open.”

  A carriage—in the Ke-Han style, of course, a deep blue color that made Alcibiades snort when he saw it—awaited us.

  The road from the palace stretched out for miles. All the city lay open before us. The scholars had given us maps before we left and explained that the lapis city was built with the palace as its hub, that formidable building set like a jewel in the very center of the glittering crown that was the capital. Buildings radiated outward from it like the sun’s corona, illuminating the glory of the palace itself. Closer to the palace were the larger houses, set far apart from one another; these were the lords’ homes, when they were recalled from duty to sojourn at the palace. The farther from the palace you traveled, the closer together the houses grew until, just in the distance, I could glimpse the cramped quarters of the town, the circumference of a great hexagon, which provided the framework for the entire city. The roads, the buildings, the lords’ houses, and the blossoming cherry trees were all planned down to the last seed or stone. It was nothing a
t all like Thremedon in Volstov, which resembled a handful of buildings flung together piecemeal and multiplying without proper planning, all scattered down the mountainside.

  This was the most beautiful place I had ever seen.

  At my side, Alcibiades snorted.

  “Isn’t it lovely?” I said.

  “That poor bastard up ahead just fell off his horse,” said Alcibiades.

  So he had. I didn’t blame him, either, for as we drew closer and closer to the outer city, the streets grew more and more crowded; wealthier men, perhaps prosperous merchants, rode on horseback, while commoners scattered as we passed. Everyone bowed. It was crowded and full of noise, men recognizing one another and calling out greetings, women doing the same, or urging their children to keep up—and all completely different from the serene beauty of the palace and its environs.

  I was somewhat disappointed with Alcibiades for being unable to recognize the great beauty laid out in perfect geometry before us.

  “There are certain parts of the city, of course, that would be most unsuitable for our esteemed guests,” Lord Temur explained. I peered past the bamboo-curtained window of our carriage out onto the street, and saw a sprightly pickpocket flee the scene of his yet-unnoticed crime, purse in hand. “I would not dream of taking you there.”

  “But what are they?” I began, perhaps too eagerly.

  Alcibiades cleared his throat. “Understandable,” he said, and Lord Temur nodded.

  “As it stands, my lord the Emperor would not approve of my giving our esteemed guests such a tour,” he continued. “This part of the city is not nearly of the same caliber as the palace itself, and there are places here that would shame us in your eyes. And yet…”

  The carriage turned a corner, and suddenly we were up against the famed wall—passing, I noticed with some interest, a section of it that had not yet been rebuilt. A young man, dressed in common work clothes, had paused against the broken gap to pass his arm across his brow and eat a stick of fried dumplings. They smelled delicious. Perhaps Alcibiades would have enjoyed them.