With sheer effort, Mara managed to wriggle out of Aari’s deadly embrace and to her feet again. But before she could retreat, Aari’s mouth closed around the top of her head. Sharp teeth pressed painfully into Mara’s scalp.
Give up, Aari sent, her growl rumbling through Mara’s skull. You’re strong, but you’ve forgotten how to fight as a tiger. You can’t win.
Sparks of pain and pressure flickered across Mara’s vision. She tensed her legs, resisting, keeping herself upright.
No, she sent, letting her lips lift up over her fangs. Never.
You can’t win, Aari repeated.
There was a flash of metal and the guard holding Sudev dropped with a choked gurgle. Out of the corner of her eye, Mara saw Revathi grab the prince, pulling him behind her.
I don’t have to win. Mara twisted her head, jerking out of Aari’s grip. I just have to keep you busy long enough for them to win.
“Now, Garen!” called Revathi.
There was the sound of splintering wood. And the room was suddenly full of swords and screaming and the roar of one very, very angry bear.
Mara kept her attention on Aari. The two tigers circled each other again, prowling, searching for weakness.
A distraction, Aari sent. Very clever. But you’re still going to lose this fight.
She reared up, and Mara met her in another charge, almost losing her balance again. Aari’s claws came perilously close to her neck.
Such a waste, Mara. You and I could have been so good together. But you chose the useless humans instead.
Not so useless. Mara lunged forward, but this time, instead of trying to strike at Aari, she dug her claws into the other tiger’s shoulder. They taught me this.
And with that she flung herself backward. The move went against all her tiger instincts, but Mara’s training from the Order held true. She rolled backward, taking Aari with her, and as soon as her back hit the floor, her hind legs were moving. She pushed up, deadly claws flailing . . .
Straight for Aari’s exposed underbelly.
Aari shrieked in pain. Her momentum carried her over Mara, and she hit the flood with a hard thud.
Mara rose to her feet and stalked over to Aari, who was trying to rise. One of Mara’s slashes had scored her hind leg deeply, and there were several deep gashes on her belly. Her cream-colored stomach fur was soaked in blood. She looked up at Mara with mad yellow eyes.
Do it. Go on. Do it.
Mara lowered her head, grabbing Aari’s throat in her teeth. It would be so easy. Just a little pressure . . .
Do it, Aari snarled inside her head. There’s nothing for me here anyway.
For a moment Mara stood there, feeling the other tiger’s panting breaths, the warm pulse under the neck fur.
You know, she sent back at last, you were right. We do have a lot in common. But you overlooked something.
Really? Aari sent, with a weak effort at her old amused tone. And what was that?
I’m not you.
Mara released Aari’s throat and stepped away, pulling the magic back inside her as she did so.
Coward, Aari spit, closing her eyes.
Once back in human form, Mara staggered and would have fallen if Garen hadn’t caught her elbow.
“Well and bravely fought, Mara,” he said softly.
“Revathi,” Mara said, trying not to gasp. Her torn shoulder burned with pain, and her trembling legs didn’t feel like they would hold her up much longer. She reached up to touch the shallow scratches on her cheek, feeling the blood trickle down her face. “Is Revathi all right?”
Garen nodded. “She fought well,” he said. “Kept Sudev alive long enough for me and my soldiers to take care of the other men. She’s making sure Sudev reaches the Emperor’s quarters safely, and then she will return.” He turned to look at Aari. “What shall we do with this one?”
Mara looked down at the wounded tiger. Aari’s gut wounds were bleeding freely, the ragged edges gaping. The tiger’s sides heaved. Without medical attention, she probably wouldn’t survive.
“Bandage her up and take her into custody. She should face justice for what she’s done,” Mara said.
Aari snarled at them, teeth bared. I’d rather bleed out here on the floor than let traitors like you touch me, she sent. Her head fell back onto the carpet. Just leave me here to die.
Very well, Garen sent, his mind-voice raw. Mara could sense the rage and grief thundering through him and marveled that he had been able to change back at all. As you choose.
Then he walked away. Mara turned her back on Aari and followed him.
Out in the hall, Garen pressed his palms against the wall and took a deep breath. Mara put a hand on his broad back, offering him her quiet sympathy.
“Will you be all right here?” Garen said after a moment. “I need to go help the Imperial Guard. There is still a battle going on outside.”
“I’ll be fine,” Mara said. “I’m just going to wait here for Revathi. But . . . Garen?” She hesitated. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but Emil’s out there somewhere, he and his brother. They only joined the mercenaries recently and they didn’t know anything about the plan to harm the princes. Could you . . . would you . . .”
“I see,” Garen said. He stood up straight. “I’m not allowed to grant Imperial pardons, but I think I can arrange something.”
Mara closed her eyes. “Thank you.”
“You saved Sudev, Mara,” Garen said. “It’s the least I can do.” He strode down the hall, then stopped and looked back. “How did you know that Aari would take your challenge?”
Mara leaned her head against the wall and felt herself smile. “I’m Sune,” she said. “I knew.”
EMIL WAS IN trouble.
He was still blowing the horn Karoti had given him. He didn’t know why, except that some part of him thought if he kept blowing it, maybe more men would lay down their weapons, maybe people would stop dying, and maybe this whole bloody mess would just stop.
He was in an alley now, but he could still hear the screams and cries from the main battle. Some of the mercenaries had laid down arms, but not enough, not nearly enough. Emil had sounded the trumpet until his breath was gone, but people were still fighting, and the smell of blood and gore was getting thicker.
He put the horn to his lips and blew again, but the sound was ragged and weak. And the bamboo mouthpiece tasted like sweet copper and had dark, damp spots on it.
Emil threw the horn against a nearby wall. He was still staring at it when a commotion at the end of the alley caught his attention. One of the mercenaries was battling a small figure in Jade green. A young girl.
Emil’s first thought was that the girl looked like his cousin Rona. She was about the same age, with the same sort of unruly dark hair confined in a braid down her back. But this girl had a cleft lip and fierce eyes, and she was wielding an iron-tipped lati staff. She was good, but the man she was fighting outweighed her, and his sword gave him just enough reach that he could avoid her twirling staff. As Emil watched, the man knocked the girl’s weapon aside and swung under her guard. She cried out and staggered backward.
Emil was moving before he thought. He flung himself at the mercenary, tackling him to the ground. The two went down in a tangle of limbs and swords.
The man recovered quickly and tried to stand, but the girl wasn’t out of the fight yet. She took advantage of her opponent’s distraction and swung the staff. The heavy metal point struck the man in the stomach, and he fell to his hands and knees with the breath knocked out of him. She followed up with a kick to the face that laid him out entirely. Then she turned to Emil. He braced himself for her attack . . . but none came.
The girl’s copper skin had taken on an unhealthy pallor, and she swayed on her feet. She pressed her hand to her side and Emil saw with horror that her tunic was dark with blood. She took a step toward him, then collapsed.
Emil was at her side in a second. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to keep running, to fin
d Stefan and Esmer and get somewhere safe. But the girl was crumpled up in pain on the pavement, her face small and scared. Her resemblance to Rona was even stronger now.
He couldn’t just leave her.
“Shhhh,” Emil said, as the girl weakly tried to push him away. “I’m going to help you. It’s all right.” He found the wound easily, a long gash along her ribs. It was bleeding freely but wasn’t deep.
Fortunately, the girl’s oversize tunic was loose on her. Emil gathered the fabric into a careful handful and pressed it against the wound. The girl held her lips together but didn’t cry out.
“I need you to hold this here,” Emil said. “Can you do that?”
The girl nodded and put a hand over the wad of cloth. Emil put away his sword and helped her to her feet. She leaned on him, real and solid, with more trust than he probably deserved. The hard knot of panic in Emil’s chest loosened. His breathing steadied and his thoughts cleared.
He couldn’t stop this battle. He couldn’t protect Stefan or the princes or the people who were dying all around him. But he could make sure this girl got to safety. He could do that.
“I’m going to find you a healer,” he told her. “Come on.”
The two started moving. It was slow and awkward, trying to support the girl without hurting her further. But Emil was determined. Carefully, they made their way down the alley and into a main street. The fighting here was dying down, but there were still pockets of combat, mercenaries battling against Jade warriors and Imperial Guards. Emil kept close to the wall, trying to stay invisible.
“You!” A mercenary with a mace and a scarred face pointed at them. His face twisted with rage and contempt as he saw the girl Emil was helping. “You did this, didn’t you? You helped them!”
“No!” “Emil said. “I can explain!”
The man advanced, the mace raised for a blow. “Liar,” he snarled. “Traitor!”
The man swung his mace, and Emil turned, trying to shield the girl. . . .
Suddenly there was a roar, and a huge bear, bigger than Emil had ever seen in his life, crashed into the mercenary. The man’s scream stained the air, then cut off abruptly.
The bear lifted his head and looked at Emil. His fur was a dark reddish-brown color, tipped with silver. His head was massive and shaggy, with two incongruously fluffy ears, and his paws were bigger than Emil’s head. There was blood around his mouth.
Emil didn’t move.
There was a flicker of magic, and then a man stood where the bear had been. It was Garen, the man Emil had met in the palace. But now he didn’t look calm and solid, he looked . . . wounded. His dark eyes were mad and filled with grief.
“The heir is dead,” he said.
The words hit Emil like a blow. One of the princes was dead, and he had helped make it happen. Nausea and guilt rose up in his throat.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. If I could have stopped it, I would have.” He nodded at the girl next to him, her face almost white with pain. “If you could just let me set her down . . . I don’t want her hurt.”
Garen stared at him. “I’m not going to attack you,” he said, his words quiet, yet clear. “I’m letting you go.”
“What?” Emil floundered, confused. “Why?”
“Because I made a promise to Mara,” Garen said. “She seems to believe that you and your brother are worth saving.”
Emil swallowed. “My brother,” he said. “I think he’s helping the wounded.”
“We won’t kill anyone we don’t have to,” Garen said. “All who ask for mercy will get it.”
Emil thought of Rajo, choosing death over the justice of the Empire. He wondered if the mercy of the Empire would be any better.
He realized Garen was staring at him. “Thank you,” Emil said, adjusting his grip on the wounded Jade warrior. “And . . . I am sorry.”
Garen flicked into his bear form without answering. He took a few lumbering steps, then looked back.
Take her to the palace. The words rang inside Emil’s head, and he jerked. The Imperial Bridge is clear now, and there are healers already there, helping the soldiers. But you’ll have to leave the sword.
Then the bear gave a deafening roar and threw himself at a group of mercenaries.
Emil stood stunned for a moment, Garen’s voice still ringing inside his head. Then with one hand, he pulled off his sword belt, leaving it on the ground. The girl moved her head slightly and murmured something Emil couldn’t catch.
“It’s all right,” he told her, hoping it wasn’t a lie. “We’re all right now.”
Turning his back on the carnage, Emil and the girl made their way toward the palace.
Regarding your question about our mutual friend: We all know what the Black Lotus family does, though propriety demands that we pretend that we do not. What you may not know is that though the members of the Black Lotus are assassins, they are not cold. They mourn at every death. When asked about this odd trait, our mutual friend merely said that a hard soul is a brittle soul and thus too easily broken. But I suspect it is more than that. Perhaps the sorrow itself is a kind of penance, a way to live with who they are and what they do. Or perhaps living so close to death has given them a vivid understanding of the value and wonder of life. I would inquire further, but I know I will get no answers. And it is rather rude to make your friends lie to you.
From a letter of Lady Ekisa to a friend
MARA WAITED IN the hallway for what felt like a long time until Revathi came back. The girl’s asar was ripped and slashed in several places, and there was a smear of blood on her cheek.
“Are you all right?” Revathi asked. “Is Aari . . . ?”
“She’s in there,” Mara said, jerking her head toward the princes’ room. “Wouldn’t let anyone near her.”
“Good.” Revathi’s voice was fierce, as she examined Mara’s bloody shoulder.
“What about you?” Mara said, wincing as Revathi touched the slashes on her cheek. “Are you all right?”
“Just a few scratches,” Revathi said. “Nothing serious, I promise. You’re a good teacher.” She held out her hand. “Of course this helped.”
Mara looked at the knife. It was a wicked-looking thing, with a worn wooden handle and a serrated edge. The blade was dark, as if permanently stained, and it looked like it had been dipped in some kind of oil.
“Where did your grandmother get that?” she asked. “And what is that on the blade?”
“It’s called nightshadow oil,” Revathi said. “Don’t touch it.” She pulled a handkerchief out of her asar and wrapped the dagger in it. “Another present from one of my grandmother’s friends. It’s a nasty poison, paralyzes before it kills.”
“Why on earth would your grandmother need something like that?” Mara asked.
Revathi shrugged. “She says she uses it to kill rats.” She rubbed the back of her neck and winced. “Ancestors, I’m tired.”
“Me too,” Mara said. She peered into the princes’ room. Aari lay motionless on the floor, and Mara could not tell if she was alive or dead. The bodies of the mercenaries lay scattered over the rich rug and the few survivors were being guarded by angry-looking Imperial Guards.
“Where’s Tamas?” she asked.
“What?” Revathi’s spine straightened, tight as a bowstring. She looked inside the room, her eyes darting from face to face. “He’s not there. Why isn’t he there?”
“He must have gone out the window during the fight,” Mara said. “The other men stayed and died and he ran.”
Revathi gave a hysterical half laugh. “Paithal was right,” she said, choking on the words. “Tamas would have made a horrible emperor.” She started coughing, leaning up against the wall, her breath coming in short gasps.
“Oh gods, Mara,” she said, putting shaking hands over her face “What have I done? How did this happen?”
Mara took her by the shoulders. “Revathi, it’s not your fault. We did everything we could. And it’s over now.
I took care of Aari, and the guards are hunting Tamas. Garen will tell them what he did. They’ll catch him. And then they’ll make sure he won’t be able to hurt you or anyone else ever again.”
Revathi took one deep shuddering breath, then another. “You’re right,” she said. “I know you’re right. I should be grateful we managed to save one of them.” She looked up. “You can let go now. I’m not going to collapse.” Her voice was stronger, but her eyes were dark and unreadable, and Mara could not tell what she was feeling.
She let go of Revathi reluctantly. “Come on,” Mara said, heading down the hall. “We’ll take a bath, get our wounds looked at. You’ll feel better when you’re clean.”
“I’m never going to be clean,” Revathi said, so quietly that Mara barely heard her. Then she smiled, thin and cobweb fragile. “A bath does sound good, though.” She put a hand on Mara’s arm. “Thank you, Mara. For being my friend.”
Mara put her hand over Revathi’s and squeezed. “I’ll always be your friend.”
Revathi didn’t answer, but Mara thought her smile grew a little more solid.
“Garen sent soldiers to Lord u’Gra’s house,” Mara told her, pushing open the door to the bathing room. Steam rose from the warm bathing pools, but there were no servants in sight. “Aari said he was giving Tamas money to hire the mercenaries.”
“Sending his son to do his dirty work?” Revathi said. “That’s pretty cold. But it makes sense. This plan was way too detailed for Tamas to come up with on his own—”
There was a crack behind her, and Mara whirled around in time to see Revathi pitch forward. Tamas stood behind her, a bronze owl statue in his upraised hand.
Hiding behind the door. Stupid, stupid. Why didn’t I check that?
Tamas was breathing heavily. “She never loved me,” he said, looking down at Revathi’s prone form. “It wasn’t fair. We could have been so good together, but she never—”
Mara lunged for him, but Tamas swung the statue at her, making her step back.
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