Empire of Shadows

by Miriam Forster

  But instead of throwing himself forward with a roar of rage, Stefan just . . . stood there. He didn’t yell, he didn’t scowl, he just stared at Emil, his face wiped clean of expression.

  “If that’s what you think, then I guess there’s nothing to say,” Stefan said finally. He grabbed his bedroll and a sack of clothes. “I think I’ll sleep outside tonight.” Then he pushed past Emil and out of the tent.

  Emil stared at the empty space where Stefan had stood, still littered with blankets and sacks of grain. Then, with a deep sigh, he started packing up the rest of the tent. Maybe having someone call him on his attitude was just what his brother needed. Maybe he’d take what Emil said seriously and actually try to do something about his situation.

  The thought didn’t soothe the sour feeling of guilt in his gut. First his father, now Stefan. He’d never spoken to his twin that way before. He’d never spoken to anyone that way before.

  He must be more tired than he thought.

  He’d apologize to both of them tomorrow. After they both got some sleep and Emil could trust himself again. He’d apologize and they’d start over again.

  Tomorrow.

  Never trust a human who wants something from you.

  Sune proverb

  MARA COULD NOT stop staring.

  Situated in the exact center of the Flower Circle, the walls surrounding the Imperial Palace rose above the houses, drawing the eye. The bottom half of the walls were smooth gray stone, polished until there could be no foothold for intruders to climb over. The top half was a series of graceful pavilions on strong stilts, their roof edges trimmed with fantastic swirls and carved monsters. The palace complex was encircled by a canal of its own, a pure expanse of sparkling water dotted with lily pads and lotus blossoms. A delicately carved bridge ran up to the front gate.

  Unlike the infantry in the rest of the city, the guards of the palace were dressed in dark-blue quilted silk. There was one at each end of the bridge, both holding long spears, and Mara saw several archers patrolling the top of the walls. The guards on the Imperial Bridge saluted Revathi as she passed by.

  Once inside the walls Mara saw that Revathi was right. The palace resembled nothing so much as a large, perfectly kept park, scattered with pavilions and graceful buildings. Revathi took a sharp right and followed the wall until they came to a stable complex the size of a small village. “Finally,” she said, jumping off her horse and handing the reins to a stable servant. She pulled her heavy, dark hair loose from its tie and shook it a few times. “I get so tired of being Lady Revathi sa’Hoi. All anyone out there sees is a title and a pretty face. Sometimes I wonder why I ever leave the palace.”

  “So you live here?” Mara looked around. “Not in the general Flower Circle?”

  “We do indeed,” a crisp voice answered, and an old woman stepped out of the shadows of the stable. She wore an asar of rich white-and-silver brocade and a long braid of heavy gray hair. Her eyes were sharp and quick, like a sparrow’s.

  “I’ve been looking for you, Granddaughter.”

  Revathi knelt and touched the woman’s feet. “Hello, Grandmother,” she said. “Are you feeling well today?”

  “Worse than I would like and better than I deserve. Why is your hair down?”

  Revathi put her hands to her head. “I was just about to rebraid it.”

  “Well then, do so,” the woman said. “Sathvik u’Gra has been prowling the palace all day, waiting for you to get back. The Ancestors only know what he’d say if he saw you in this state.”

  “Tamas’s father?” Revathi ran her fingers through her hair and started to braid it back up. “What does he want?”

  “To invite us both to supper, apparently,” the old woman said. “At least that’s what he told the servants. I managed to avoid him, but I wouldn’t put it past him to find an excuse to come back.” Her eyes flicked to Mara. “You haven’t introduced me to your friend.”

  “Forgive me,” Revathi said. “Grandmother, this is Mara. She’s my new guard.”

  The woman gave Mara a startled look. “She is, is she? And why do you suddenly need a guard?”

  “There was a riot at the Clothing Fair,” Revathi said. “Nothing serious. No one was killed that I know of. But Tamas was . . . concerned. So he hired me a guard.”

  “And of course, she’ll be well paid to report on you,” Revathi’s grandmother said, frowning at Mara.

  “I’m not a spy!” Mara blurted out, too annoyed to worry about politeness. “For Nishvana’s sake, what kind of world do you people live in that you think everyone’s paid to spy on you?”

  Revathi made a choked noise, but the old woman burst out laughing. She bent her head in Mara’s direction, long years of practiced grace in every movement. “A dangerous one, child. A very dangerous and very subtle one, not for the timid or the dull. Please forgive my rudeness. I am the Lady Ekisa sa’Hoi. I’ve overseen this family and the administration of the Imperial Palace since my husband died.”

  Mara knelt as Revathi had, touching the woman’s sandaled feet in respect.

  “It is an honor to serve one of your house, lady,” she said. “I apologize for my outburst.”

  Lady Ekisa looked at her carefully. “Order of Khatar?”

  Mara nodded.

  “Pledged?”

  “Not yet, Lady sa’Hoi,” Mara replied, deciding that honesty was the best tactic. “I hoped to find a suitable charge here.”

  A smile twisted Lady Ekisa’s face. “Lord and Lady sa’Hoi are my son and his wife,” she said. “Since I am widowed, you may call me Lady Ekisa. As for finding you a charge, I’m afraid there is a sad lack of worthy candidates among the nobility. You would be better served offering your skills in the Bamboo Circle, or to the Jade scholars and healers.”

  “It might come to that,” Revathi said. She finished braiding her hair and pulled it over one shoulder. “It probably will. But I need to keep her around at least long enough to convince Tamas I tried. It would be best if letting her go was his idea and not mine.”

  “True,” Lady Ekisa said. She looked at Mara again. “And it might be nice for you to have a girl your own age about. You spend too much time alone.”

  “Grandmother,” Revathi said, her voice warning.

  “Don’t ‘Grandmother’ me, young woman,” Lady Ekisa said. “One of the few pleasures left to an old person like me is the ability to speak my mind whenever I choose. Especially when it’s the truth.”

  Her voice softened. “When I was your age, I had formed friendships with other women, friendships I can still call on to this day. The world is not an easy place, Revathi. You’ll need those connections to support you.”

  “Yes, they’ve been very helpful so far,” Revathi snapped; then she sighed. “I have my duties to the princes, and I have my family. That’s enough for me.”

  “And when you marry?”

  Revathi tugged at the edges of her sleeves. “I’d rather not discuss that now,” she said abruptly. “Servants gossip, and you said Lord u’Gra was lurking around. You may not have to play the Great Game anymore, but I do.”

  Lady Ekisa pressed her lips together. “You missed the evening meal. You must be hungry.” She reached out and caught the sleeve of a stable servant who was hurrying by with Revathi’s saddle. It was a boy with a shaved head and the bronze cuffs of a bond slave on his wrists.

  “Bhagi,” she said. “As soon as you’ve finished with Lady Revathi’s tack, go to the kitchens in the Palace of Flowing Water. Have them send two trays to Revathi’s room at once.”

  The boy bowed deeply. “As you wish, Honored Lady.” A faint gleam of humor creased his eyes as he straightened up. “For you, I will brave the cook’s prickly temper.”

  Lady Ekisa smiled. “Tell Hanoi I’ll buy him a nice tender lamb as a present. He’s been complaining that all he gets to work with these days is mutton and fish. And tell him I said to give you a sweet roll as well.”

  The boy bowed again. “Thank you, Lady.”
Then he hurried off.

  “Bribing the servants again, Grandmother?” Revathi said.

  “People want to be seen,” Lady Ekisa said. “If they feel appreciated, they work harder and are more loyal. The Ancestors know your grandfather never learned that lesson. He was heavy with his anger, and the servants lived in fear. Things run much smoother this way. Remember that, my dear, for your own home.”

  “I said I didn’t wish to discuss that,” Revathi said.

  “Tamas’s two years of service are almost over, dear. You’re not going to be able to avoid it forever.”

  Revathi folded her arms.

  “Very well,” Lady Ekisa said. “We’ll discuss this later. Go and get your dinner, and I will see you tomorrow.” She looked at Mara. “You and your new addition.”

  “Good night, Grandmother,” Revathi said. She bowed, and Mara copied her.

  Mara watched the gray-haired woman walk away, the line of her back straight and proud. “Your grandmother seems . . . nice,” she said, carefully.

  “No, she doesn’t,” Revathi said. She smiled fondly as she watched Lady Ekisa leave the stable. “My grandmother is many, many things, but nice has never been one of them. All that talk about being too old for the Great Game was a ruse. She’s a master at it, and one of the most dangerous people I know. But she seems to like you.”

  The idea didn’t comfort Mara much.

  “You should see the rest of my family,” Revathi continued, bending down to retie her sandals. “Well, you can’t, because they’re in Deshe. But I’m probably the least dangerous person in the palace.”

  “I’m not sure I believe that,” Mara said.

  “Good.” Revathi straightened up. “Rule number one in the Lotus Court? Everybody lies.”

  IT WAS FULLY dark by the time Mara and Revathi left the stables. The stable yard was lit by square wooden lamps, light flickering from their carved sides. Farther out, spots of light glistened from the windows of scattered buildings. On the far side of the garden was a wall, lined with torches and guarded by more soldiers in dark-blue uniforms. Revathi headed toward it, and Mara followed, hoping they would get some food soon. Her legs ached from all the running, and her stomach felt hollow.

  Revathi didn’t speak as they walked across the smooth expanse of lawn toward the wall. She nodded to the guards as she passed inside, and the guards bowed back.

  “Was that the Lotus Wall? The one dividing the palace?” Mara asked once they were through. “I thought you said this inner area was only for the Emperor’s family.”

  “Family and attendants,” Revathi corrected. “Including those of us who were assigned to look after the princes when the Empress died.” She paused and frowned. “I’ll have to get you a pass tomorrow. If you’re found without a pass on the Emperor’s side of the wall, you’ll be thrown in prison.” She said it casually, as if her mind was somewhere else.

  Mara swallowed.

  They walked in silence until they reached another building. Mara couldn’t see much in the shadows, but it looked larger than the stables. Stone steps flanked by thick pillars led up to where torches flickered on either side of an elaborately decorated bronze door.

  Revathi pushed it open and gestured Mara inside. “Welcome to the Palace of Flowing Water.”

  The interior of the palace took Mara’s breath away. It was lit by steady lamps affixed to the walls, and the warm glow illuminated carved arches and pillars made of rich dark wood. The walls were inlaid with precious stones. Thick woven carpets cushioned their feet as they walked.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  Revathi paused and looked around. “It is, isn’t it? I suppose I don’t really notice anymore.” She started walking again, down a seemingly endless corridor. “Here we are.” She pushed through a thickly curtained doorway. “Home.”

  Mara paused, instinctively checking the room for enemies. It was a lovely open space, separated into two areas by graceful ivory pillars. The walls and arches were also inlaid with ivory, as intricate as a spiderweb. Around the edges of the rich blue carpets, Mara could see tiles of a lighter blue.

  A thick mattress with a dark-blue silken cover occupied one side of the room and a fire in a wide beaten copper bowl sat at the other, with a low desk in front of it. The light flickered off arched windows, several plush seating cushions, and a long shelf full of scrolls and copper figurines.

  A pot of tea sat in a small warmer on the desk, a tray of savory fried pastries next to it. Mara’s stomach rumbled, and she was suddenly ravenous. Following Revathi’s example, she dipped her hands in the nearby washbasin and dried them. Then she pulled a fat cushion close to the desk and sat. Revathi picked up the teapot, paused, and set it down again.

  “You’re not going to insist on trying all my food for poisons, are you?” she asked. “Because that would be tiresome.”

  “Only if we think someone is trying to poison you,” Mara said. “Is someone trying to poison you?”

  “Probably not,” Revathi said. “But in the Lotus Court, one never knows.”

  She slid a thin packet of paper out of her desk and poured a little of the pale amber tea into a saucer. As Mara watched, fascinated, Revathi sprinkled some powder from her packet into the saucer of tea and stirred. She examined the liquid with a critical eye, then lifted it to her lips and sipped it. “No poison tonight,” she said, sounding cheerful. “Not that I was expecting any, but it’s good to check now and again.”

  She set the testing saucer aside and gestured at the food. “Go ahead. You look hungry.”

  Mara didn’t hesitate. The pastries were filled with slices of mutton and served with a spicy red chili paste on the side. She gulped them down, trying to show good manners while Revathi poured fresh tea into two gold-leaved cups. She handed one to Mara, then took one of her own.

  “What was that?” Mara asked, as soon as her mouth was free of food. “The thing you did with the tea and the saucer.”

  “A trick my grandmother learned from a friend of hers,” Revathi said. “The powder is a special mix. Mostly tasteless unless it meets certain kinds of poison—then it becomes very bitter. Emperor Saro uses it too, I think.” She finished her tea and yawned. “Well, it’s been a rather trying day and I’m tired.” She indicated the roll of blankets next to the bed. “It looks like Grandmother had the servants bring a bedroll. Will that do?”

  Mara sipped her drink. The tea was hot and sweet, and the fire was making her drowsy. It had been a long day for both of them. “That will be fine,” she said, standing. She made a proper sweep of the room, the way she’d been taught. She also scanned the garden outside, checking below the windows before drawing the thick drapes.

  Revathi watched her. “My, you are thorough.”

  “I’m practicing,” Mara told her. “You’re the first person I’ve ever actually guarded, you know.” She grabbed the bedroll and rolled it out in front of the door. “In case of assassins,” she said, joking, but Revathi didn’t laugh.

  “Not a bad idea,” she said as she turned her back and quickly slipped into a loose sleeping tunic. “Though I’ve been told assassins usually prefer windows.”

  Mara narrowed her eyes, but Revathi had already climbed into bed.

  Mara moved her bedroll to the window, then thought better of it, placing it near the foot of Revathi’s bed instead. Revathi blew out the last lamp so that the room was lit by only the dying fire at the other end of the room.

  Mara lay down on the bedroll without bothering to change. For a while she stared into the dancing shadows of the bedroom; then her hand slipped into her hidden pocket and pulled out the wooden tiger that Emil had given her.

  For a long time she held it, running her thumb over its smooth back. She remembered what it felt like to wear that form, to have fur and ears and a tail. And she remembered how it felt to take the tiger from Emil’s hand, skin on skin. Both sensations were things she could not have again. But maybe it was all right—here, alone in the dark—to p
retend.

  Just for a little while.

  EMIL WOKE TO the braying of donkeys and the cries of goats. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and tried to shake the sleep-fuzz from his sight. His dreams had been restless, full of anxious searching, a sense of something lost. The smell of boiling kafei and cooking flatbread wafted into the tent, waking him further. His stomach growled.

  Pushing himself to his feet, Emil yawned and tried to rub some of the early-morning soreness out of his neck. His personal belongings had been crammed into a rough brown sack that waited by the tent entrance,. Stefan had put his own possessions in the cart last night, before bedding down outside. All that was left was to tie up the bedrolls and take down the tent and they’d be ready to leave.

  “Emil!” Lel poked his head into the tent. The Master of Camp looked far too awake for this time of morning, his smile bright. “There you are, my boy. Glad to see you’re up and ready. Is Stefan with you?”

  “He slept outside,” Emil said, trying not to sound as guilty as he still felt. “Near the back of our tent. He should be there, if he’s still asleep.” A particularly shrill donkey call made him wince. “Which I doubt.”

  “Excellent,” Lel said. “I’ll go find him.” His head vanished, then reappeared through the tent flaps. “Rona has breakfast for you.”

  “Thanks,” Emil said as his stomach gave another demanding rumble.

  Preparations to leave camp seemed to be going smoothly. Most of the tents were down and the donkeys stood in a line, hitched to wide, flat carts. Meri was overseeing the goats, which were—wonder of wonders—all gathered together without protest. The younger children stood around them with long sticks, ready to nudge stragglers back into the group. Other Arvi packed up looms, wrapped up rolls of cashmere, and moved sacks of grain.

  Emil made his way to the cooking fire and said good morning to Rona, who gave him a piece of flatbread wrapped around some pickled vegetables, and a clay cup of dark, fragrant kafei. Emil sipped it, letting the earthy, bitter taste clear the last of the sleep-cobwebs from his mind, and started on the flatbread roll. He was almost finished eating when Lel came back.