Huntress

by Malinda Lo

  But all the luxury in the palace did nothing to dull the sharp clarity of the emotions that gripped her every time she remembered her vision.

  Since the first time she had envisioned that beach of ice, she had seen it twice more in dreams. Each time she awoke feeling torn up with loss, the sight of Kaede departing as painful as a fresh wound. Tonight in the palace, she was still awake when the vision began to pull at her, like fingers gently tugging her toward a deep blue pool. Part of her did not want to go, but part of her experienced this tugging with a kind of intellectual detachment. She had never encountered this kind of Sight before; it was like there was someone or something leading her forward. It was not unpleasant or frightening; it was merely quietly insistent. She knew it would win eventually, and so she gave in, allowing her mind to open up to what it wanted to show her—and then she was there: standing on the beach as always, her feet planted on the snow, looking out at the boat that Kaede rowed away from the shore.

  For the first time, she sensed another person with her. She knew, somehow, that if she turned around, Con would be standing behind her. And she realized that she could feel some of what he was feeling: pain, physical pain, and beneath that a knotted rope of worry. He was moving toward her, and his fingers wrapped around her shoulder as if to restrain her. She saw Kaede leaving; her stomach twisted with dread. But this time there was more: a hot wash of guilt, spreading a bitter taste in her mouth.

  The Taisin lying beneath silk sheets in the palace twisted her body, curving it as though she were running after Kaede, but the one standing on the beach did not move beneath the press of Con’s hand. Instead she looked up, past Kaede’s receding figure, and there she saw something that took her breath away. In Cathair she gasped out loud, crumpling the sheets into her fisted hands. There before her in her mind’s eye was a fortress rising up from the frigid sea like a mountain of snow. It was as though an iceberg had been carved with a giant knife, shaped into towers and walls; and cut into those walls were glass windows that winked in the brilliant sunlight like a thousand sparkling diamonds.

  The fortress was on an island—or perhaps it was simply a particularly large ice floe—and Kaede was rowing toward it. Each stroke took her farther from the beach Taisin stood on, her feet growing colder by the second, and now she heard a sound for the first time: Con speaking in her ear, an urgent tone in his voice. Come back, he was saying to her. Come back.

  Taisin awoke well before dawn, the vision still clear in her mind, her nightgown soaked with sweat. She shivered; the silk sheets held no warmth. She sat up, shaking, and climbed down from the platform bed to retrieve her knapsack. She pulled it open and rifled through it in the dark until she found her woolen traveling cloak. It had been laundered by the palace servants, and now she wrapped it around herself, the scratchy fabric a welcome contrast to the cold silk.

  What had Con meant? Come back from what? The image of the ice fortress loomed in her memory, monstrous and beautiful. Who—or what—could have built that? The only thing she was sure of was the way her heart constricted every time Kaede left, and every time she felt it, she was more determined to make sure it never happened. But now the guilt confused her. Why hadn’t she felt it before? She was bewildered; she was frustrated. She didn’t understand the version of herself in the vision. That Taisin had emotions that the present-day Taisin—the one clutching her cloak to her chest in the King’s palace—couldn’t relate to. Was she fated to become that other Taisin?

  Restless, she went to the windows overlooking the courtyard and unlatched them, curling up on the window seat. She tried to remind herself who she was right now, at midnight, in this grand, noiseless palace. She was a student at the Academy of Sages; she was in her sixth year, nearly ready to receive the mark. She was the daughter of two farmers; she was an older sister to Suri. She was not in love with the daughter of the King’s Chancellor.

  She repeated these facts to herself over and over as if they were a mantra until she fell asleep, her head leaning against the window frame.

  Chapter IX

  Kaede awoke the morning after the banquet with a thrill of excitement inside her: Today was the day. She couldn’t wait to leave Cathair behind. Her earlier misgivings were forgotten; now she tasted the allure of adventure.

  Three guards were waiting with Con and Taisin in the palace stable’s south courtyard when Kaede and her father arrived. Though a few stable hands were standing nearby with the horses, no one else had come to see them off, and the small group was dwarfed by the vast expanse of carefully raked gravel around them. Even Taisin had arrived alone, having already said good-bye to her family. Kaede supposed they were already following Con’s plan to draw as little attention to themselves as possible.

  The prince introduced Kaede to Tali, a burly guard with a salt-and-pepper beard and hair shot through with gray. The second guard, Pol, moved with the stealthy grace of a dancer. He was older than Con but younger than Tali, and he spoke with a northern accent. The third guard, Shae, was Con’s age or perhaps a year or two older, and like the other guards and Con, she wore her black hair cut very short. She had expressive dark brown eyes, and there was a liveliness in her that Kaede liked immediately.

  There were four riding horses, and two hitched to a supply wagon. Taisin would ride with Pol on the wagon seat; Con, Tali, and Shae would ride their own horses; and Tali led a chestnut mare to Kaede. “Con tells me you can keep up with us,” the guard said.

  She had to crane her neck to look up at him. “I can.”

  “Good.” Tali gave her an unexpectedly encouraging smile. “The mare’s name is Maila.” He left her with the horse and went to talk to her father and Con.

  When everything had been checked one last time, Kaede’s father came to kiss her formally on both cheeks. The press of his lips was so dry and light that she might have imagined them. “Go safely,” he said.

  She felt a twinge of disappointment at how distant he was. She did not see that he turned his face away to hide the worry that lined his forehead.

  They exited Cathair through the North Gate, passing a short line of travelers waiting to be admitted into the city. There was no encampment outside this gate, only brown fields with patches of moss growing over the ground. Every so often they passed a family walking toward Cathair, their belongings dragged behind them on a handcart or piled onto their backs. At noon they stopped by the side of the road to eat steamed bread stuffed with salty pork.

  “From the palace kitchens this morning,” Tali said as he passed around the buns. “We won’t get much of this from now on, so enjoy it while it lasts.”

  Kaede took a bite as a gust of wind blew around them. The horses stamped. In the distance she saw smoke rising from a farmhouse chimney, and two figures moved slowly in the empty field as if cataloguing their losses. “The road wasn’t so empty south of Cathair,” she observed.

  “The winter was much harder north of the city,” Tali said. “I think that those who wished to seek shelter in Cathair have already come; most of the rest refuse to leave their villages.”

  Con squinted up at the sky. “It’s going to rain.” He looked at Kaede. “North of here is the Great Wood. People believe that the trouble comes from that direction—I don’t think anyone wishes to seek it out. With few people coming or going, it makes for an empty road.”

  “Then won’t we be highly noticeable?” Kaede said. “What about maintaining some secrecy?”

  Tali frowned. “We’ll be all right. There are travelers on the road—just not many. And we’re such a small group that we shouldn’t attract too much attention.”

  “What will we say is our purpose?” Taisin asked. The damp wind whipped back loose strands of her hair.

  “Sir,” Shae said to Tali, “if I might make a suggestion?”

  Tali gestured with his half-eaten bun. “Go ahead.”

  “If we are asked, we could say that we’re going to visit my family. That will take us to Jilin, and beyond that is the Wood itself�
��we won’t need a story then.”

  “It’s a good idea,” Tali said. “We can do that if we need to, but I don’t think we’ll need to tell much of a story.” He turned to Con and added, “Let me do the talking, Your Highness, and no one will ask.”

  “All right,” Con said. “But you don’t need to address me so formally. None of you do—in fact, you shouldn’t while we’re on the road. What happens to one of us happens to us all. We are all equal in this.”

  As if to underscore his words, at that moment the sky opened, and Kaede stuffed the last bite of her bun into her mouth as they all scrambled for their rain gear.

  It rained for little more than an hour—not heavily but steadily, sliding down their oil-slicked cloaks and dripping onto chilled hands. When it stopped, there was no sun to dry them off, and they were still damp when they arrived at the hostel they planned to sleep at that night.

  It was in a small village built right up to the road, a way station for merchants. The hostel itself was tiny, and all but two of its half-dozen rooms were taken. After a supper cooked over the shared stove in the courtyard, they separated to go to their rooms for the night, Kaede with Taisin and Shae, Con with Tali and Pol. Each room had a single platform bed that looked particularly hard and unyielding.

  “There’s not much space,” Kaede said. Gauging the width of the bed, she judged that there was just enough room for the three of them. She guessed that in Con’s room, one of the men would have to sleep on the floor.

  Shae lit the murky oil lamp on the wobbly bedside table and said, “There’s no heater, either. We may as well get to know one another.”

  Kaede laughed. “I’ll take the side closest to the wall.” She began to spread her blankets out.

  “I’ll be closest to the door,” Taisin said quickly.

  Shae shrugged. “That’s fine with me—I’ll be the warmest one.” She and Kaede grinned at each other, but Taisin seemed to color a little and would not meet their eyes. She turned her back on them to unlace her boots and pull off her outer tunic. As Taisin lifted her hands to her hair to unpin her braids, Kaede caught herself watching. She looked away and saw Shae observing her with a small smile. Kaede flushed. “So,” Shae said, “you have brothers. Three of them, I understand?”

  Grateful for the change of subject, Kaede answered, “Yes. All older than I am.”

  “I have an older brother myself, and an older sister.”

  “Are they both still in Jilin?”

  “Yes. My entire family is.”

  Taisin tried to ignore them, setting up her bedroll on the edge of the platform. Kaede asked Shae, “Did you grow up there, then? What was it like?”

  Shae pulled a leather-bound flask from her knapsack and sat down on the dusty wooden floor, cross-legged. “It was a good childhood,” she answered, taking a swig from the flask and offering it to Kaede. “You’re not too young for this, are you?”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Taisin saw Kaede sit down, leaning her back against the cold wall. “Do you think I’m too young?” Kaede said.

  “One never knows. Would you like some?”

  “Not for me. At the Academy, we don’t indulge.”

  “You’re not at the Academy anymore.”

  “True,” Kaede agreed, but she did not take it.

  “Taisin,” Shae called. “None for you, either, I imagine?”

  “No, thank you,” Taisin answered, feeling uncomfortable. She didn’t know what to make of Shae. They had said very little to each other all day, and they didn’t seem to have much in common. But she could tell that Kaede liked her, and that made Taisin feel oddly jealous of the guard. Annoyed at herself, Taisin pulled out the Book of Rituals from her knapsack, telling herself that she should review it. She climbed onto the bed and opened the book in her lap, squinting at the page in the dim light.

  “There are stories about the Great Wood,” Kaede was saying.

  “What have you heard?” Shae asked.

  “I’ve heard that things work differently in the Great Wood. That people get lost, even if they have a map. That magic goes awry there; rituals go bad. That sort of thing.”

  “I’ve heard those things, too.”

  “Are they true?”

  Shae did not answer immediately, and when she did speak, her words were measured. “Every story, I think, has a grain of truth to it. But sometimes, people are misled by what they believe, and they see what they think they should see, not what is actually there.”

  “That could be said of almost anything in life.”

  “That doesn’t mean it’s not true.” Shae paused for a moment. “I’ll tell you this much. The Wood is a special place. It was difficult for me to leave it. Every day I spend away from it, I miss it. For me—for my family—things make more sense when we are at home there beneath the trees.”

  “Then why did you leave?”

  “There was nothing for me to do at home. My family is not rich, and King Cai offers a steady wage to his guards.”

  There was no shame in her voice, only a matter-of-factness that made Taisin wish she could be as easy about her own family background as Shae was about hers. But Shae was a guard in service to the King; it didn’t matter who her parents were. Taisin wanted to be a sage, and few of them were lowborn. Taisin knew she was lucky that the Academy had taken her, for her family could not afford to pay for her education. It was a compliment to her talent, yes, but it was also a reminder that she owed the Academy a great debt.

  “Why did you decide to become a guard?” Kaede said.

  “I like action,” Shae said, a smile in her voice. “I had no talent for the sagehood, and besides, the King makes it easy to join his Guard. When the recruiters came to Jilin two years ago, it seemed like a good thing to do.” Shae shrugged. “I’ve liked it well enough so far, though I didn’t think I’d be away from home for so long.” There was a pause, and Taisin heard Shae putting the flask away, lacing shut her knapsack. “How old are you, then?” the guard asked.

  “I will be eighteen at midsummer,” Kaede replied.

  “You’ll celebrate your birthday at the Fairy Queen’s palace.”

  “I suppose so.”

  Shae yawned. “I’m exhausted. There are many nights ahead of us; we can talk more later. I’m going to sleep.”

  “Would you like me to turn down the lamp?” asked Taisin, blushing when she realized her question showed that she had been listening.

  Shae smiled at her, and it was such a friendly smile that Taisin was ashamed for feeling jealous. “I can sleep in broad daylight,” Shae said, getting up and gathering her bedroll. “Don’t bother to stop your reading for me. But perhaps Kaede has a preference?”

  Kaede shook her head. “Stay up as late as you like,” she said, and stood to change out of her traveling clothes.

  Taisin looked away, trying to focus on her book. She shifted over to make room as Shae and Kaede climbed onto the creaking platform and settled in for the night. At home, Taisin always shared her sister Suri’s small bed; indeed, she probably had less space there than she did tonight, but it was not the same. She could have curled up against Suri’s back, sharing her warmth. Here, her body was tense, trying to avoid inching too close to Shae’s slumbering form.

  Taisin sat up past midnight, feeling awkward and self-conscious, staring at the page before her but not reading a word. Her ears rang with the sound of Shae’s and Kaede’s breathing in that small room, and beneath it, the flutter of her heartbeat seemed as loud as a drum.

  Kaede awoke very early, eager to get back on the road. Her eyes opened to dim light coming through the small window, and beside her she felt the warmth of Shae’s body. She sat up too quickly and winced; she was not used to riding a horse all day, and her muscles were paying for it. The hard bed hadn’t helped, either, and she gingerly eased herself out of it, trying to avoid waking Shae and Taisin. She dressed as quietly as she could, and after a moment’s hesitation she buckled the dagger that Fin had given her onto her
belt. It made her feel a little self-conscious to wear a weapon like that, but the guards—and Con, too—were all armed. Feeling the hilt pressing gently at her ribs, she picked up her boots and took them outside to put them on. It was chilly in the courtyard, and from the color of the sky above she could tell that it was just barely after dawn. She decided to head to the stable and look for breakfast among their provisions instead of waiting for the others to wake up.

  Just as she was rounding the corner of the hostel she heard the swift passage of an arrow followed by a thud as it struck its target. She flinched. Pol was standing in the stable yard and shooting at a tree. He looked over his shoulder at her and said, “You’re up early.”

  “So are you.”

  He went to pull the arrows out of the tree. “It’s too cramped in that room. Tali’s a big man.”

  She smiled. He shot again and again, sending a series of arrows fleet and sure to the center of the trunk, just below a branching limb. She marveled at the way he made it seem so effortless: lifting the long bow, nocking the arrow, loosing the string so that his right hand arched back gracefully, echoing the flight of the arrow itself. She wanted to be able to do that.

  “Will you show me how to shoot?” she asked.

  He looked at her as if gauging her potential. “The bow is a bit long for you.”

  “Let me try. At least it’ll be something to do while we wait for the others to wake up.”