EMIL LOOKED DOWN at the girl in his arms. He’d settled with his back against the wall and Mara half in his lap. She felt warm and solid in his arms, but her skin had a grayish cast, and she trembled as Revathi and Garen took turns working on her shoulder. The stab wound looked deep and angry to Emil, but Garen assured him that Sune healed quickly.
“You just keep talking to her,” he said. “Let us worry about the wound.”
It should have felt strange, holding Mara like this. He barely knew her after all. But it didn’t feel odd. It felt . . . right. It felt like a good session of bargaining. Like lying by a stream on a hot, muggy day. Like home.
Mara curled into him, her face buried in his shirt, and Emil stroked her short, soft hair. And he talked. He told Mara about his camp and his family. He told her of the time that Stefan tried to catch the biggest male goat in camp, and how he was butted into the river while Emil laughed himself sick on the bank. The time the two of them had snuck out of camp and gotten lost trying to find just the right flowers for their mother’s name day. How when they were small, they looked almost identical, and how they used that to play tricks on villagers and merchants.
And he told Mara the stories his mother had told him and Stefan when they were very little. He told her the legends of the Kildi and the Horned God, he told her the story of Pillaiyar, the Ancestor who watched over travelers and strangers. When she cried out in pain, he whispered soothing lullabies, singing them softly in her ear.
When the wound was washed with wine and herbs and the edges were stitched together, Garen bandaged Mara’s shoulder, while Revathi made a strong-smelling tea. She handed it to Emil.
“This will keep you awake,” she told him. “Garen says Mara needs to keep a clear head, which means no pain herbs for her, and more talking for you.”
Emil glanced pointedly at the teacup. “That’s not poisoned, is it?”
To his surprise, Revathi smiled. “Poison’s not my style.” She leaned down and put her mouth close to his ear. “I meant what I said before,” she whispered. “About what happens if she dies.”
Emil’s arms tightened around Mara. “She’s not going to die,” he snapped. “Give me the damn tea.”
Revathi handed him the cup. Still looking at her, Emil sipped the tea, tasting it. It was smooth and dark, with a faint sweet undertone, hot, but not scalding. He drank it down in one draught, then handed the cup back to Revathi.
“Not bad,” he said. “Could have been a little stronger, though.”
Revathi snorted, then went to help Garen, who was gathering up the medicines. She collected the bloody towels and started to pick up the scraps of bandage. Esmer was curled up near the door in cat form, her long spotted legs tucked underneath her. Her golden eyes seemed to take in the whole room, and her ears twitched with every sound.
“Standing guard?” Emil called to her softly.
The cat stood, stretched, and trotted over, the black tip of her tail twitching. When she shimmered back into human form, she was smiling.
“Someone had to do it,” she said. “And I’m no good with sick people. How is she?”
Emil looked down at Mara, whose eyes were half-closed. “She’s in control, and I can help her stay that way.” He paused, glancing at Revathi and Garen. The two were talking in low voices and didn’t seem to be listening to him and Esmer.
He lowered his voice to a whisper anyway. “Esmer, I found them.”
Her eyes widened, understanding. “Where?”
Emil motioned for her to lean over. “Next to the house Mara was stabbed in,” he breathed into her ear. “I almost got caught by someone there, and I know I heard Rajo’s voice. Can you check?”
Esmer nodded. “I’ll go now.” And before anyone could stop her, she flashed into cat form and leaped out the window.
“Where is she going?” Revathi asked.
Emil just shrugged. Revathi frowned.
“She’d better not tell anyone what’s happened here,” she said. “It could put Mara in danger.”
“Esmer’s not stupid,” Emil said, sharper than he intended. “And she cares more about Mara than you do.”
Revathi smiled again, but Emil thought her eyes were sad. “Emil, I’ve defied my fiancé, allowed an injured tiger-Sune into the palace, and lied to my grandmother. That’s more than I’ve ever done for anyone before.”
Garen straightened, his arms full of glass herb jars. “Revathi,” he said. “Will you help me return these to the palace healers?”
“Of course, Garen,” Revathi said. “I have to figure out a good lie to tell them anyway.” She set a cup of water on the table by the bed. “Try to get her to drink this,” she said to Emil. “I’ll try to keep the servants and my grandmother away as long as I can.”
Emil watched as they walked out.
Mara shifted a little in his lap, and Emil looked down to find her eyes were open and fixed on his face. There were subtle golden flecks in them that he hadn’t seen before, the mark of a Sune. He was suddenly very aware of the weight of her body resting in his arms, of the heat of her cuddled against him.
“Hello, you,” he said, covering his confusion. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I was stabbed,” Mara said, her voice soft and hoarse. “But it could have been worse.” Her eyes closed, tears slipping out from the corners. “It could have been so much worse.”
“But it wasn’t,” Emil said. Without thinking, he wiped the damp trails from her cheek with his thumb. Her skin was soft under his hand, and she leaned into his touch in a way that made his mouth dry. “No one else was hurt, and you’re still here.”
“Thanks to you,” Mara whispered. A spasm of pain twisted her face. “I’m still . . . could you talk to me some more?”
“I’m out of stories,” Emil said.
“Not quite,” Mara said. “You haven’t told me why you’re here.”
“Well,” Emil said, shifting so Mara could look up at him more easily. “I saw this girl I know attacked and . . .” He waved an arm. “Here I am.”
Mara’s mouth curved into a shaky smile, the first real one he’d seen on her since the Clothing Fair. “Not why you’re in the palace,” she said. “Why are you here in Kamal? It doesn’t seem like the sort of place you’d be comfortable living.”
“It’s not,” Emil said. “I mean, it’s nice but . . .”
“. . . there are too many people,” Mara finished. “And not enough sky.”
“Exactly,” Emil said. “I can’t wait to go home.” A memory of his father’s angry face rose up, and he swallowed.
“Must be nice,” Mara said. “Having a home to go to.”
Emil didn’t answer for a moment. “I don’t know if I do,” he said at last. “Have a home, that is. I had a bad fight with my father right before I left.”
“A fight about what?” Mara asked. And the words were like a key turning in a lock. Emil told her everything: Stefan, his father, the mercenaries, even his search across the roofs of the Flower Circle.
“So I don’t know,” Emil concluded. “Even if I find Stefan, and he’s willing to come back with me, I don’t know what our father will say. Stefan ran away, and I . . . I defied him. He might not welcome us.”
He waited for Mara to reassure him, to tell him that of course his father would accept them again.
“Why did you defy him?” she asked instead. “It wasn’t just because you were worried about Stefan, was it?”
“No,” Emil said, caught off guard. The truth spilled off his tongue. “I couldn’t stand the idea of losing Stefan like I lost my mother. Sacrificing him for the good of the camp.”
Mara looked up, her eyes very wide and dark. “Tell me.”
So Emil did. “It was the coldest Earthsleep anyone in camp could remember,” he started. It was a relief to say the words out loud, words that had been swirling inside him for years, carving out hollow space. “The fog was so thick you could get lost, and it went straight through to your skin, no matt
er how many layers you were wearing. The wild animals either fled to the deep forest or died of cold and lack of food. I don’t know what we would have done if Esmer’s Tribe hadn’t helped us. They hunted small game and birds for us in return for a share of our meals.” He smiled at the memory. “Esmer said we were doing them a favor, that no one in her Tribe could cook properly.”
“She must care about you a lot,” Mara said. “To treat you like Tribe that way.”
“We’ve been friends since we were kids,” Emil said. “Esmer’s the most loyal person I’ve ever known.”
Mara coughed again, and Emil helped her take a drink of the water Revathi had left. “Sune don’t give their loyalty lightly,” she said. “You’re lucky. What happened to your mother?”
“Right,” Emil said. “The story.” He settled Mara up on some pillows and stretched out next to her, propping himself up on one elbow so he could face her.
“We were doing all right until the sickness started. It started off as a cough that just never went away—people had trouble breathing. . . .” He swallowed. “Most of us got over it. Some, though, some just got sicker. My mother was one of them. Medicine is expensive, and we were spending too much money, money we needed to get us through the rest of Earthsleep. So my father decided to split the camp. He took half the family, including Stefan, and all the goats down to Deshe. He hoped to do more trading, maybe even sell some of the flock. I know he planned to return for the rest of us as soon as he could.”
Emil took a deep, steadying breath. “I tried to take care of my mother, but without my father, she just . . . lost the will to fight. A few days after he left, she died.”
He felt Mara move her hand, sliding it into his. He squeezed her fingers.
“I think that’s when I realized what being a leader really meant,” he said. “And I wanted no part of it.” He looked away from her eyes, feeling oddly ashamed. “Stefan thinks I’m spoiled, that everything just falls into my lap. My father thinks—thought—I was a good, responsible son. I don’t think they have any idea . . .”
“Of what?” Mara asked.
“Of how afraid I am,” Emil said, his voice raw with the unaccustomed honesty. “Stefan is so much stronger than I am, even with all his flaws.”
“I don’t know about that,” Mara said. Emil looked up, surprised, as she went on. “You’re right, a leader should be able to think of the good of his Tribe first. But that’s not the only kind of strength. Your father chose the family. You chose Stefan. What makes you a lesser leader has made you a better brother and friend.”
Something rose in Emil’s throat, something sweet and tight and suffocating. He tried to speak, but nothing came out.
Mara let his hand go and put her arm under her head, rolling to face him. “No one can save everyone, Emil. Some people choose to save as many as they can. Others choose to save the people most important to them. But we’ve all left someone behind.”
Emil finally found his voice. “Who did you leave behind?”
The answer was as brief as it was sad. “Myself,” Mara said. “I left myself behind.”
Emil reached over, resting his hand lightly on the curve of Mara’s hip. Her free hand reached up to linger on his shoulder. Emil leaned closer and Mara mirrored him, until their foreheads touched. Neither of them spoke. Emil could hear Mara breathing softly, feel the brush of her exhale on his lips. All he’d have to do was lean in a little. . . .
And kiss a girl who’s injured and depending on you.
Emil opened his eyes and moved back a little. “Do you need anything?” he asked. “Another blanket? More water, maybe?”
“More water would be wonderful,” Mara said, clearing her throat. “Thank you.”
She doesn’t belong to you, Emil reminded himself firmly, pushing down his disappointment. “Of course. I’ll get you some.”
He moved to get up . . .
. . . and Mara put out a hand to stop him. “Emil, wait.”
Like a noose underfoot,
Or a poison that weakens the blood,
Love is dangerous to women.
Like a roaring lioness,
Or a flash flood in the high mountains,
Is the woman who still loves unafraid.
Flower caste poem
“EMIL, WAIT.”
The words spilled from Mara’s mouth. Emil gave her a concerned look.
“Are you all right?
“I just . . .” Mara trailed off. She suddenly felt cold without Emil’s solid presence next to her. Stay with me. Don’t go. The plea sat heavy on her tongue, but she swallowed it down. Emil would go eventually. He’d have to. Kildi weren’t even supposed to be in the palace.
But Emil had saved her. He’d held her and talked to her and risked his life to be at her side. And she wanted . . . she needed to thank him. If nothing else, she wanted him to know how much he mattered to her.
Emil was studying her, that analyzing gaze that saw so much more in people than Mara ever could. “What’s wrong?” he said. His fingers brushed her cheek, and Mara had to fight not to press her face into his hand. “Is the pain bad again?”
“No,” Mara said. She pushed herself up into an almost sitting position. “It’s . . . it’s bearable now. I won’t be dancing anytime soon, but I’m in control.”
“Good, that’s good.” Emil shifted around so he was facing her, his legs folded cross-legged on the bed. A smile tugged at his mouth. “Can you dance?”
“Nishvana, no,” Mara said with a small laugh. “But it sounded good.” She plunged forward before the moment of easy laughter was gone. “I wanted to say thank you. You have no idea how much you helped me tonight. I couldn’t have . . . stayed without you.”
Emil put his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand. “I’m glad,” he said, and it was all Mara could do not to reach out and touch him. “I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever known.”
Mara felt her chest squeeze, choking off her air. “I’m not. Really, I’m not.”
“I think you are,” Emil said.
Mara shook her head so hard she was dizzy. “You don’t know what I’ve done,” she said. Her fingers moved to the leather cuff protecting her ear, and her voice was strained. “You don’t know. . . .”
“Stop that.” Emil reached up and pulled the cuff off. He ran a finger along her scarred ear, and Mara shivered.
“You’re right. I don’t know what you’ve done,” he said. “But I just spent most of the night watching you fight every instinct you have so you wouldn’t hurt us.” His finger drifted down her jawline and tilted up her chin. “You are so much stronger than you think you are, Mara. Anyone can fight when they’re unwounded. It takes a special sort of person to keep fighting when they’re broken.”
Mara felt like she was drowning. She couldn’t take in his words, couldn’t understand them. “You wouldn’t think that,” she managed. “Not if you knew.”
Emil’s voice was firm. “I know everything about you I need to know. Maybe someday you’ll tell me what you’ve done, why you entered the Order. But Mara . . .” His voice was soft. “I can promise it won’t change how I see you.”
Mara dropped her eyes, unable to bear the tenderness in his gaze. “I wish I could believe that,” she whispered.
“I wish you could too,” Emil said. He leaned over and dropped a light kiss on her forehead. The touch of his lips seared Mara’s skin, sending waves of warmth through her. She wanted to purr, to rub her face on his shirt, to curl up in his arms again and listen to his heart beating . . .
She jerked back to the present. Emil was looking at her expectantly.
“Did you say something?” she asked.
Emil flushed. “Yeah, I just wanted to know . . . why me?” He stroked her cheek, a curious wonder in his eyes. “You had friends here, you had help already, but you were calling for me. Why not Revathi or Esmer or Garen? Why did you need me?”
Mara flushed. She thought of the wooden tiger, safe under her p
illow in her room. The way she fell asleep every night with it in her hands, dreaming of a boy with deep-brown eyes, a boy who had been kind to her.
“My family,” she said at last. “We were wild Sune. We stayed in animal form most of the time. I haven’t changed since I left my Tribe, but sometimes . . . sometimes I still feel more cat than human.” She forced herself to take a deep breath. “When I was hurt, it felt like being back there, the day I lost my family. I’ve never been less human than I was that day, and the memories—they were bad. I needed something to hang on to.”
She looked down at her hands. “When we met, you touched me, took my hand. I hadn’t felt a touch like that since . . .” She swallowed. “And you gave me the carved tiger and you smiled at me like we were friends. So when I was hurt, I hung on to that and tried to remember how it felt. Then you were there and I could hear your voice and it made me want to stay human and I know that makes no sense but—”
“Mara,” Emil said, and the weight of her own name felt like more than she could bear. She looked up, ready to see him suppressing amusement, or even worse, prepared to be kind to her.
But he wasn’t smiling. Instead he was looking at her with an expression that she couldn’t read. Slowly, he leaned forward.
“Mara,” he said, his voice rough. “You don’t have to explain anymore.” His fingers slid along her neck and into her hair. Heat spread through Mara’s skin, and her breath caught in her throat.
“You make me feel more human too,” he whispered.
He brushed his lips against hers, a light touch that made Mara’s eyes close. His breath mingled with hers, his mouth was achingly gentle. She leaned into it—
Just as Emil started to pull away.
Mara growled in protest. Forgetting the Order, forgetting her promises, she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him back to her. For one horrible moment, she thought he was going to stop her, but then the hand on the back of her neck tightened, and he returned the kiss, matching her need with his own.
It was like staring into a fire pit at close range, all sparks and flame and flushing heat. Mara felt like her bones were melting. The magic curled in her stomach again, but this time it wasn’t angry. It was . . . satisfied.
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