Emil’s throat was dry. “All right,” he finally said. “I agree.”
Abhra stepped back. “Excellent,” he said, pulling a charcoal stick and a sheet of rice paper from one of the lower shelves of his tea cart. “We’ll see about getting you into the Flower Circle this evening,” he said. “But first I’ll show you around, so you know how to act.” He signed the paper and handed it to Emil.
It was a work permit.
“Congratulations,” Abhra said. “You’re a tea seller.”
A little while later, Emil stood at the foot of the Bamboo Bridge, trying to control his nervousness.
“Stop fidgeting,” Abhra said. “You look like you don’t belong here.” He straightened the scarf around Emil’s neck. “To move freely in the Inner City, you must appear harmless. Look at everyone and smile, wide and stupid, like this.” He gave Emil a wide, vacant grin, the gaps in his teeth plainly visible. “They will think you only want to sell them tea and will ignore you. It’ll be all right.”
Emil stiffened his shoulders and pushed the heavy tea cart onto the bridge. The clay cups rattled as the wheels jarred over the seams in the wood. The guards paid the two of them no attention at all, as Emil pushed the cart through into the streets of the Bamboo Circle. Abhra followed.
It was a different world entirely from the Outer City. The richly painted houses clustered together like gossiping crowds, and the air rang with voices: voices haggling, voices hawking wares, voices laughing and singing and shouting. Everyone seemed to be wearing perfume or scented oil, and the constant flash of gold and jewels made Emil dizzy.
Emil was so busy staring that he didn’t see the pile of horse dung in the road. He tripped, tried to regain his feet, and lurched into a dancer who was performing on the corner. The dancer, a slim, muscled man, stepped easily out of the way, and Emil went sprawling.
Abhra cackled. “Gotta watch your step in the Inner City, boy,” he said.
Emil gathered himself up and dusted off his clothing, trying to keep his dignity about him. Abhra was still laughing.
I’m going to find Stefan, Emil vowed to himself, as he started pushing the cart. I’m going to find my brother and if he’s alive, I’m going to kill him.
After a full circuit in the Bamboo Circle, Abhra led him to the Jade Bridge. It was made of a darker wood than the Bamboo Bridge and smelled of fresh pitch. Abhra joked with the guards as they bought his tea, then led Emil farther into the city.
Emil liked the Jade Circle. He liked the wide, bare streets and the clean-smelling air. They sold their tea to ancient men leaning on staffs and to serious young women holding piles of scrolls. At last they stopped at a small side door, set deep in one of the white courtyard walls. Abhra knocked on the door, and it opened, revealing a heavyset man wearing an apron tied around his waist. He had a wooden spoon in his hand, and flour dusted the front of his gray servant’s tunic.
“Oh, thank the Ancestors,” the servant said, a wide smile splitting his face. “I’m simply perishing for a good strong cup of tea. You have no idea the kind of day I’m having. New assistant, and the boy’s simply hopeless. Can’t even boil rice properly!”
Abhra chuckled. “Emil, this is Manik, my favorite customer.”
“Oh, go on with your flattery,” Manik said, waving the spoon about as he talked. “You only like me because I give you all the best gossip.”
“It’s possible,” Abhra said, pouring Manik his tea. “Though now that you mention it, I am looking for someone. A young Wind caste worker with a broken wrist.”
“Oh?” Manik’s eyes were sharp and dark in his round face. “Why so?”
“He owes me money and he’s disappeared.” Abhra said. His voice had gone quiet and steely, and suddenly he didn’t look so harmless anymore. Emil felt his eyes widen at the sudden change. “It’s very . . . inconvenient.”
“Someone’s trying to duck out on a debt to the Lord of the Outer City?” Manik said with a low whistle. He sipped his tea. “Boy’s either brave or suicidal.”
Abhra smiled, showing all his teeth. “Now, Manik,” he said, still in that softly dangerous tone. “You know you’re not supposed to use that title here. I’m just simple Abhra, humble tea seller.”
Manik paled, then cleared his throat. “Of course you are,” he said. “My apologies.”
Emil realized he was staring, but neither of the men seemed to notice. Manik continued,
“I haven’t seen anyone like that around here. Just the men working on the Jade Bridge. They’re recoating it before Earthsleep.” He swallowed the rest of the tea and gave Abhra the cup back. “Have you already given this boy a warning?”
Abhra smiled again, this time closed and tight. “How do you think he hurt his arm in the first place?”
Manik’s chuckle followed them down the street.
Once out of earshot, Emil stopped and grabbed Abhra’s arm. “Lord of the Outer City?” he whispered.
Abhra didn’t stop pushing the cart. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, once more the mild older man. “It’s a silly title anyway. I’ve tried to squash it, but you know how it is.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “People have to name everything. It’s how they feel safe.”
“But you’re not . . . you’re not just a tea seller,” Emil said. It wasn’t a question.
“Hush,” Abhra said. They turned several corners before Abhra stopped, pulling the tea cart into a narrow, deserted alley. Then he turned and looked at Emil.
“I am a tea seller,” he said. “But you’re right; that’s not all I am.” He smiled slightly. “The soldiers don’t care what happens in the Outer City as long as it doesn’t inconvenience the merchants and nobles. Someone has to keep order.”
“And that’s what you do.”
“That’s what I do,” Abhra said. His smiled widened. “I keep order, and I help people like Heema, and this evening I will sneak you into the Flower Circle, and tomorrow, I must wash all my teapots and leave them to soak. I’m a very, very busy man.”
Emil had to laugh.
THE OUTFIT REVATHI wanted Mara to wear to the dinner was pink.
“I can’t wear that!” Mara said, staring at the length of fabric that Revathi was holding out. “And how will I put it on? There aren’t any sleeve holes or anything!”
“Mara, you’re acting like you’ve never seen an asar before,” Revathi said. “I know you saw me put one on this morning. I wear them all the time.”
Mara gave the dove-embroidered fabric a suspicious stare. “I didn’t realize it was just a tablecloth.”
Revathi started laughing. “I’m sorry,” she said, when she’d gotten her breath back. “It’s just . . . you’re looking at that asar as if you’re expecting it to attack you.”
“I don’t understand why I have to have an asar at all,” Mara said. “Can’t I just wear my normal uniform?”
Revathi shook her head. “Lord u’Gra invited us to a family dinner. I can’t bring you as my bodyguard without insulting him. You have to come as my . . .” She coughed. “As my friend.”
There was a moment of awkward silence, then Mara rubbed the back of her neck. “Better hope I don’t have to fight anyone,” she muttered.
“As far as I know, you won’t,” Revathi said. “If Lord Sathvik is planning an assassination, he’s supposed to inform us ahead of time.”
Mara squinted at her. “Are you joking? Sometimes I can’t tell.”
Revathi just smiled.
“That color is going to show every dirt mark and stain,” Mara pointed out.
“So don’t do anything that gets you dirty,” Revathi countered. “Look, colors have special meaning in the Lotus Court. It’s one of the most successful ways to play the Great Game. If you choose the right color and pattern, you can communicate everything from anger to lust, and still make sure everything that comes out of your mouth is polite and civil. Basically this asar tells everyone you’re not a threat.”
“I’m supposed to be a threat!”<
br />
“Not tonight, you’re not,” Revathi said. “It’s rude.” She rubbed her shoulder, wincing a little. “Please Mara, just trust me.”
Mara huffed a breath through her teeth. “All right,” she said. “What’s wrong with your shoulder?”
Revathi dropped her hand. “Nothing,” she said. “It’s fine.”
Mara stepped closer. Revathi was wearing the loose tunic that she’d put on after her bath, and she smelled of jasmine and sandalwood. Mara reached out and carefully pulled the neck of Revathi’s tunic aside. There was a new bruise just under Revathi’s collarbone, a dull red, darkening at the edges.
“Did that happen during our lesson?”
Revathi pulled away from her hand. “Yes,” she said. “But don’t worry about it. I have an undershirt that will cover it.”
Mara frowned at her. Revathi hadn’t taken any bad falls that morning. If the noble girl bruised so easily, Mara would have to be more careful about where she struck her. They should probably talk about that before they had another lesson. . . .
“Stop stalling,” Revathi said, advancing on Mara with the asar. “You’re going to put this on and you’re going to look amazing.”
Well, amazing is one word for it, Mara thought, staring at her reflection in the mirror later.
She’d been wrapped and pinned into the asar until Revathi had pronounced her perfect. The pink silk glowed against her brown skin, and the loose end dangled over her shoulder, leaving her arms bare. Mara had flatly refused to wear any jewelry, so Revathi had pinned a tiny cluster of jasmine into her hair. She’d also put dark lines around Mara’s eyes that made them look impossibly huge, like a baby animal’s.
Revathi adjusted the loose end of Mara’s asar, pinning it so it wouldn’t slip. “You look beautiful,” she said, stepping back. “What do you think?”
“It’s uncomfortable,” Mara said honestly. The cream-colored, short-sleeved undershirt was tighter than she was used to, and the delicate sandals left her feet exposed and cold.
“It’s only for one evening,” Revathi said. She went to her shelf and pulled out a carved box. “You can change as soon as we get back to the palace, I promise.”
Mara scowled at her reflection. She didn’t want to look harmless. She liked her short hair messy, her clothes loose. She liked being able to move easily and fight without fabric getting in the way. But it couldn’t be helped. Mara turned to watch Revathi finish getting ready.
Revathi’s asar was a dark, shimmering silver, woven in a pattern of green and brown vines. Tiny mirrors were sewn into the fabric, scattering light as she moved. She had put up her heavy black hair and rubbed a deep red stain on her lips. A ruby hair ornament in the shape of a hibiscus flower glistened against the dark waves like a single drop of blood.
“You don’t look harmless,” Mara said.
Revathi adjusted a wayward strand of hair. She pulled a thick silver chain from the jewelry box and fastened it round the high neck of her dress. “I don’t need to look harmless, because I’m not dangerous. At least not physically. The Great Game is all about subtlety, about strategy, about communicating on many different levels and trying to outmaneuver each other.”
Revathi gestured to her asar. “Silver is a color of power,” she explained. “It’s used often to mark those who speak for the Emperor and will serve as a reminder to Lord u’Gra of my family’s position. The design is of malati vines. They sometimes stand for love offered, but these aren’t blooming. I’m trying to remind Lord u’Gra that I don’t belong to him or his son. Yet.” She slid a silver cuff on her wrist, covering her noble’s tattoo. Her fingers tugged at the long sleeves of her undershirt and straightened the high collar.
“It’s unusual, going in such dark colors to a social dinner. If I’m lucky, Lord u’Gra will read it as me being unhappy, and that will make him tread carefully. He cares very much about this alliance.”
Revathi picked up a silver-painted fan. “Come on,” she said, tapping Mara with it. “We’re going to be late.”
Mara sat down and pulled up the hem of her asar. “Just a minute,” she said, tying her dagger and sheath to her calf with two leather thongs. She didn’t care what Revathi said, she wasn’t going anywhere without her blade. Revathi shook her head but didn’t comment.
Mara stood up, readjusting her asar. “What’s the fan for?”
“Communicating with Grandmother,” Revathi said, with a grim little smile. “I hate fans, but they can be very useful.”
“Wait, I read about this,” Mara said. “In the Order. You send messages with them, right?”
“Exactly. Fans were originally just a court fad,” Revathi explained, as they walked through the palace grounds. “Until the women of the court figured out that they could use them to signal to one another without the men noticing. We change the code every now and then, just to keep it fresh. It adds another level to the Game, and it’s really useful, especially for women whose husbands or fathers prefer them silent.”
“Clever,” Mara said. “I like it.”
They paused just inside the palace gate. There were a few workers on the Imperial Bridge, painting it with what smelled like pitch. Mara’s nose twitched at the strong smell.
“Fans turned out much better than some of the other fads,” Revathi continued. “Like the one about wearing fresh fruit. That got messy really fast. The newest thing is this kind of communicating through poems. I think it’s boring, but the younger nobles love it.”
“I don’t understand poetry,” Mara confessed. “If you have something to say, why not just say it?”
Revathi shook the fan at her. “That’s why you’re not allowed to play the Great Game. You’re far too direct.” She looked in the direction of the palace. “Here’s Grandmother.”
Lady Ekisa came up, leaning on the arm of a very handsome and muscular guard. “Thank you so much,” she was saying, as she gazed up at the young man with obvious admiration. “It’s such a comfort to have strong men around to help me.”
“My pleasure, Lady Ekisa,” the guard said. He disentangled himself from her hands and bowed to Revathi. “Lady Revathi.”
“Thank you for helping my grandmother,” Revathi said. Her voice was overly sweet. “She is getting a little frail lately.”
The guard bowed again and retreated. As soon as he was out of earshot, Lady Ekisa put her hands on her hips and glared at Revathi.
“Frail? Really, Granddaughter . . .”
“Really, Grandmother,” Revathi said. “What else was I supposed to say, since you clearly needed the help?” She raised one eyebrow. “What were you doing, anyway?”
Lady Ekisa smiled. She was wearing her usual white-and-silver asar, but she’d added a silver necklace similar to Revathi’s and draped an almost transparent white silk scarf over her hair.
“If I choose to portray myself as a slightly dotty old person with an eye for young men, it’s my choice. I do what I want. Besides, men always underestimate silly women.” She opened her hand, revealing a set of metal guard keys. “I really just wanted the key to the armory, but it seems I’ve taken all of them. What a shame.” She tucked the keys into her asar and winked at Mara.
“You picked his pocket?” Mara asked.
“Whose pocket? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lady Ekisa straightened her asar, the bent old woman of moments before disappearing. “We should go. We’re going to be late.”
Mara shook her head. “Revathi wasn’t kidding when she said you were dangerous.”
Lady Ekisa’s only reply was a serene smile.
Tamas’s family’s house was a large, two-story building made of reddish stone. A gray-clothed servant answered the door. He bowed low.
“Honored ladies. You are expected.”
He ushered them through a narrow hall and into the center courtyard. The house smelled of amber and of rose incense. The walls were painted pale yellow, and the floor was mosaic tile patterned in swirling blues and greens. The courty
ard itself was open to the sky and ringed by slender pillars. A balcony with a carved mahogany banister ran around the inside of the second level. Mara could see what looked like bedrooms through the partially curtained doorways. A fountain sat in the middle of the space, burbling to itself.
“Welcome!” Lord u’Gra came forward, dressed in a midnight-blue tunic with a cream-colored vest. Unlike the last time Mara had seen him, the noble wore no silver, and only a bit of gold embroidery on his collar. His beard was freshly trimmed, and his smile was as wide and irritating as ever. Tamas stood a few steps behind him in an almost identical outfit.
Mara saw Revathi’s fan flutter in a complicated gesture. Lady Ekisa tapped her fan on her wrist.
Lord u’Gra didn’t seem to notice. “It is an honor to have the most beautiful flowers of the house of sa’Hoi in my home.” He pressed his hands together and bowed. “Ekisa, you look as young and fresh as ever.”
“Sathvik.” Lady Ekisa bowed in return. “Your manners, as always, are exquisite, though I can’t say the same for your eyesight.”
Lord u’Gra laughed. “Even a blind man would appreciate such company.” He snapped his fingers, and a servant appeared with a tray of cheese dumplings. “Please,” he said. “Accept my hospitality.”
Lady Ekisa took one of the dumplings, as did Revathi. Mara hesitated.
“It’s all right, Mara,” Revathi said. “It’s tradition.”
Copying Revathi, Mara slid the dumpling into her mouth. It was sweet and milky on her tongue and she swallowed it down, wishing she dared to eat another.
“Hospitality is sweet,” Lady Ekisa said. “We accept it with pleasure.”
Lord u’Gra clapped his hands. “Excellent! Then we shall feast!” He turned, reaching out a hand. “One more thing, though. I need to make an introduction.”
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