Empire of Shadows

by Miriam Forster

“It’s all your fault!” he shouted. “I could have made her love me if you hadn’t interfered. We would have ruled the Empire together. It would have worked!”

  Tamas threw the statue at her and ran. Mara ducked as the owl hit the floor behind her with a crash, skidding and rattling over the stone. Then she ran to Revathi.

  The girl lay on the tile, her eyes closed. Blood pooled under her dark hair. Mara slipped her fingers under the scarf, feeling for the pulse in Revathi’s throat. There was a flutter under her fingers. . . .

  Then it stopped.

  “Revathi!” Mara put her ear to the girl’s mouth, trying to catch a whisper of life. But there was no brush of air against her skin. And no heartbeat under her frantic hands.

  There was nothing.

  “No.” Mara shook Revathi, her voice rising. “No. No. Wake up. Wake up, Revathi.” She was pushing at the still body, and there was water on her face and salt on her lips and she couldn’t stop.

  “Please. We won. It’s over. Wake up.”

  But there was no response.

  A broken wail filled the room, and Mara realized it was coming from her own throat. Cold grief filled her. Not the red fire of rage she’d felt when her family was killed, or the determined fury that had come at Paithal’s death, no, this was something else. Something sharp and jagged and frozen. An icy pain that coated her insides and sharpened her mind.

  When her voice ran out and her breath came back, Mara forced herself to her feet. Her eyes turned to the door where Tamas had vanished.

  Tamas.

  The magic was there almost before she reached for it, warm and sparkling, coming to her call. But not even magic could warm her now. She wrapped herself in it anyway, letting it change her, until her skin was covered with plush, protective fur, until she could feel the power in her coiled muscles and the tile under her huge brown paws.

  She nuzzled Revathi’s motionless form. The girl smelled of blood and poison, and Mara licked her forehead with a rough tongue. Then she raised her head, sniffing the air.

  Tamas’s scent was all sour sweat and fear. It left a clear trail, like a rope trailing after him. Marking him.

  Mara growled, lifting her lips over her sharp canines.

  It was time to hunt.

  EMIL FOUND THE healers setting up a tent just inside the palace gate. Servants ran back and forth, fetching bandages and jars of salve. Imperial soldiers and unconscious mercenaries were being laid out nearby.

  “Help me,” Emil called to a woman with tightly pulled-back dark hair and a green asar. “Help me, please.”

  The woman paused, frowning at him. Her stern look dissolved into concern when she saw the girl sagging against him.

  “Wounded in the fight?” she asked. Her fingers probed the girl’s bloody side. The girl moaned.

  “Caught the wrong end of a sword,” Emil said. “It didn’t look too deep, but I didn’t want to take any chances.”

  “I should say not,” the woman said. Her hands and arms were painted with green dye, like intricate vines over her skin. “She’s too young to be out there anyway. I don’t know what Suni was thinking.” Her brow folded in concentration. “It’s not life-threatening, but she will need stitching. Put her over there and I’ll have one of the assistants see to her.”

  Emil followed her directions, setting the girl gently on the grass, next to an archer with a bandage around his head.

  He turned to find the woman studying him. “Any of that blood yours?”

  Emil touched his face. His fingers came away tacky and brown. His gray servant’s tunic was streaked as well. “No,” he said, swallowing.

  “Then you don’t belong here,” the woman said, waving him away. “Uditi!” she shouted to a nearby assistant. “What are you doing? We don’t need that bowl of cotton ash over here; it’s for making burn salve. Take it to the other side of the tent. And fetch another jar of cold water while you’re at it. We’ve got more coming in with hot oil burns.” She shook her head. “As if people needed more ways to hurt each other.”

  “I’ve got a leg wound here and I can’t stop the bleeding!” a voice called. Someone screamed in pain. The healer cursed and darted away.

  Emil stood feeling lost and useless for a moment. Another passing healer shoved a basket into his arms.

  “We need more bandages,” he ordered. “They might have a stash in the Palace of Flowing Water. Ask there.” He rolled his eyes at Emil’s look of confusion. “Behind the Lotus Wall,” he said, shoving him. “Go. Now.”

  Emil went, leaving the groans and cries behind him. He’d been mistaken for a servant, it seemed. But at least he was doing something to help now. Maybe he would find Mara in this vast palace complex.

  The wall bisecting the palace grounds was high and unwelcoming. Emil was about to turn around when one of the guards spotted him.

  “What do you want?” the guard said. He looked tired and angry. Emil wondered if he knew the heir to the throne was dead.

  Emil held out his empty basket. “The healers want bandages,” he said. The guard gave him a cursory up-and-down look and waved him through.

  Once past the wall, Emil kept walking. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but moving purposefully was better than looking lost.

  He heard the sound of feet on grass and looked up to see a young boy—a bond servant—running toward him. “A tiger!” the boy cried, waving his hands. “There’s a tiger in the palace.”

  Emil’s stomach fell into his feet. He grabbed the boy, stopping his headlong rush.

  “Are you sure?” he said, hearing the urgency in his own voice. If it was Mara and the soldiers found her first . . .

  The boy’s face had a sickly green cast. He looked about ready to faint from fright. “I—I saw it!”

  “Show me,” Emil said. “Show me now.”

  The boy shook his head. “I’m not going back there. It’s huge.”

  Emil spoke as firmly as he could. “Listen to me,” he said, shaking the boy’s shoulders. “You don’t have to come with me. But you need to tell me where the tiger is. Now.”

  His tone of command must have penetrated the boy’s panic, because he swallowed and pointed. “That way,” he said. “It was headed for the Imperial Garden of the Ancestors. You can’t miss it.”

  Emil dropped his basket and ran.

  The Imperial Garden of the Ancestors was much like the one in the outer palace, a forest of shrines. Only instead of gray stone, these shrines were made of polished white marble, trimmed with silver overlay. The figures inside were painted ceramic, polished to a gleaming sheen. Fresh flowers had been heaped at every base.

  Emil paused at the edge of the garden and listened. He heard nothing . . . but there was a waiting quality to the silence. He could see birdseed scattered at the feet of several Ancestors and a peacock feather in the grass, but the sacred birds were nowhere to be seen.

  “Mara?” he called, moving cautiously between the shrines “Mara are you here? It’s me, Emil.”

  There was a rustle and Emil caught a blow to the side of his head that made his ears ring. Someone kicked him in the back of the knee, and he fell.

  When the sparks cleared from his vision, he found himself on the ground, looking up at Tamas. The noble’s brows were high and drawn together, and his eyes looked like a terrified rabbit’s. The tip of his curved sword rested on Emil’s chest.

  “Don’t move,” he snarled. Emil held his hands up and out, showing he had no weapons.

  “I think you’ve mistaken me, honored lord . . . ,” he started.

  “Shut up,” Tamas said. “Or I’ll skewer you like the rat you are. Mara!” he yelled, moving slightly so his back was to a shrine. “Come out, or I’ll kill this man.” He prodded Emil with his foot. “See, I thought I recognized you earlier. You’re the one who broke into my house. I should have killed you then, but since you’re here, you can be useful.” He raised his voice again. “I mean it, Mara! I know you’re lurking somewhere. Come out in human for
m or he dies right now.”

  “Give up, Tamas.” Mara stepped around the corner of another statue. Her voice was flat, expressionless. She didn’t look at Emil. “It’s over. You lost.”

  “I was only trying to help the Empire,” Tamas said, the panic pitching his voice higher. “We need strong leadership. And I could have done it. I could have made my father proud.”

  “I’m not here for the Empire,” Mara said, in the same distant tone. “I’m here for Revathi.”

  “That was your fault!” Tamas shouted. “You turned her against me. Revathi belonged to me, she was mine.”

  “Revathi was never yours,” Mara said. Her hands curled into fists. “If you had been married to her for a thousand years, she would never have been yours. And you knew it. That’s why you tried so hard to break her. But Revathi was stronger than that. She was stronger than you.”

  Tamas pushed the point of his sword against Emil’s chest, and pain radiated through his body. He groaned.

  Mara took another step forward. “Revathi was my friend, Tamas. But more than that, she was my charge. Do you know what that means?” She smiled, but there was no humor in it. “It means by the laws of the Empire, your life is mine. When they catch you—and they will catch you—they’ll give you to me.”

  Tamas was shaking, his eyes darting back and forth. He looked as if he was about to soil himself with fear.

  “Revathi was an accident, I swear.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Mara said. “You’re not a hero, Tamas, you’re just a man who wanted more than he was given and thought he deserved more than he had. And now it’s over.”

  “Promise not to kill me,” Tamas said. His sword trembled against Emil’s chest. A small patch of blood stained Emil’s tunic, where the tip had gouged him. “Promise not to kill me,” Tamas repeated, “and I’ll let him go.”

  Mara’s eyes met Emil’s, dark honey with golden flecks. And for the first time, Emil could read her expression clearly. He tensed.

  “Tamas,” Mara said. “Put down the sword.”

  “No!” Tamas shouted. “Get back!”

  This is going to hurt, Emil thought. And then he moved. Grabbing the blade of the curved sword, he shoved up, taking Tamas by surprise. Emil rolled to one side, pain screaming through his hands. . . .

  Just in time to see Mara leap at Tamas and change in midair. But this wasn’t Esmer’s light and graceful cat form. Mara grew, her massive bulk slamming into Tamas. They hit the shrine behind him with a deafening crash. Dust flew everywhere.

  Then everything was quiet again.

  Emil rolled to his knees, no easy task with his cut and bleeding hands. Deep slashes decorated his palm, and his chest throbbed. Dust stung his eyes.

  “Mara?” he called, coughing. “Are you all right?”

  A dark form limped toward him out of the clearing dust. Emil stared in awe.

  The tiger’s fur was a rich, velvety brown, contrasting with her creamy belly and black stripes. Her tail was as long as Emil’s leg, her eyes were a dark, burning amber, and she moved with a grace and power that stole Emil’s breath.

  Emil held out one of his bleeding hands. The tiger came closer, swiping at his palm with just the tip of her broad, rough tongue. Emil reached up with his other hand and stroked the fur of her face. It felt like spun cashmere under his fingers. He opened his mouth to thank her for saving him, to ask if she was all right.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he blurted instead.

  There was a flicker and Mara stood there, her features streaked with dirt and tears. She looked behind her and Emil followed her line of sight. Tamas was lying in the wreckage of the marble shrine, his neck bent at an impossible angle.

  “He killed Revathi.” Mara’s voice was soft and despairing, edged with raw grief. She dropped to her knees, her hands pressed into the dirt. “She’s dead, Emil. I promised to protect her, and he killed her.”

  “I’m sorry, Mara,” Emil said. “I’m so sorry.”

  “She trusted me.” Mara raised a hand to her earring. She pulled it off and stared at the small bronze circle in her hand. “What am I, Emil? Am I a monster?”

  “Of course not.” Emil held out his hands to her again, crusted and dripping with blood. “You’re someone who tries to protect the people she loves and doesn’t always succeed. None of us are heroes, Mara. And none of us are monsters. We’re just people who do the best we can.”

  Mara looked back at Tamas’s glassy-eyed corpse. “I’m tired of killing.”

  “I know,” Emil said.

  “I don’t want to be Mara anymore.”

  “All right.”

  There was another moment of silence; then, like a wall crumbling, Mara gave a deep, wounded sob and threw herself into Emil’s arms.

  THE AFTERMATH IS always messier than the battle, Mara thought as she took the jar of salve from the healer’s apprentice. At least here, inside the palace walls, the mess was composed of living human beings. Groups of wounded were clustered on the grass, waiting for the green-clad healers to come and tend them. There was a faint reek to the air, a smell of medicine and blood and burned flesh. But these people were still alive. They would heal.

  It was different near the front gate. That was where a line of bodies lay, most of them in Imperial Guard blue, and all of them with their faces covered. Mara didn’t look at them as she passed, but her hand clamped a little tighter around the jar of salve.

  Mara. Garen loped up, still in his bear form. How are you doing?

  I don’t know, Mara sent. I keep looking for Revathi, and then realizing she’s not here. I can’t believe . . . She trailed off, unable to finish even in her mind.

  I should have done something, she finally sent, knowing she would choke on the words if she tried to say them out loud. I should not have let it happen.

  I know, Garen sent. He leaned into her side, his mind-voice heavy and sad. I’m pledged to protect Saro and his family, and I failed in that. I’ll have Paithal’s last moments in my head for the rest of my life.

  Mara stroked his shoulder, running her fingers through his thick reddish fur. I’m so sorry, Garen. How is Sudev doing?

  He’s in shock. Keeps asking why Paithal died, why his father couldn’t stop it. I don’t think he fully understands. And of course Saro is devastated. To lose his wife and son so close together . . . the echo of this is going to take a long time to die down.

  For all of us, Mara sent. Did you find Lord u’Gra?

  No, Garen sent. He’s vanished.

  Mara closed her eyes. I didn’t even get to say a proper good-bye to Revathi. Her body was gone by the time I returned to the bathing room.

  I heard, Garen said. Saro is seeing to her burial personally. She’ll be given the highest honors a citizen of the Empire can have. The two of you are heroes. In fact . . . He hesitated. I know this is a little soon, but I’ve been instructed to tell you that there is a job for you here if you so wish it. You could join the palace staff, or we could find you someone to pledge to, if you still wish to keep your Order vows.

  I’m done with vows. Mara took a deep breath and softened her snappish thoughts. I’m not a hero, Garen. Please tell the Emperor I’m honored, but I am tired of blood.

  I understand. Garen nuzzled her shoulder.

  Mara wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his fur. And if a few hot tears leaked out, the bear didn’t seem to care. Finally she pulled back and rubbed his fluffy ears.

  Thank you. For everything.

  Then Mara turned and walked out of the palace. Halfway over the Imperial Bridge, she stopped and looked back. Garen was still watching her. He lifted a paw in salute.

  May Yaggesil guide your path, Mara. Safe travels.

  You too, my friend, Mara sent back.

  Out in the Flower Circle, everything smelled of iron and blood and death. Soldiers were everywhere, picking up the dead bodies for cremating and guarding a few small bands of captured rebels. Mara passed a crew loading bodie
s into a wagon and averted her eyes as she walked by.

  Emil and Esmer and Stefan were sitting on the Jade side of the stone bridge, away from the stench of death. Mara walked to meet them. Her entire body ached, and she welcomed the pain. It was a distraction, keeping her thoughts from flying back to the Palace of Flowing Water and the crumpled body that she’d left there.

  I’m sorry, Revathi.

  “Mara!” Emil called. His face lit up when he saw her, and Mara felt some of the ache inside ease. “I was about to come and look for you.”

  “I was saying good-bye to Garen,” Mara said, sitting down next to Emil. The stone was warm under her legs. “And getting this.” She waved the salve jar. “It will help keep your hands from getting infected.”

  “Do you have enough for Stefan, too?” Esmer asked. She had a knife out and was carefully cutting off Stefan’s blood-soaked sleeve. There was a shallow sword cut just above Stefan’s wrist cast.

  “It’s a good thing these splints are so sturdy,” Esmer said. “You’re lucky the cast deflected the blade. Next time block with your sword, not your arm.”

  Stefan didn’t respond to her teasing tone. There were deep lines around his mouth, and his eyes were haunted. “Better an arm than something else,” he said. He rubbed his forehead. “I’ve never seen so many dead bodies before.”

  Esmer put a hand on his shoulder. “I know.”

  “I really thought . . .” Stefan took a deep breath. “I really thought we were going to change things.”

  “We will,” Emil said, as Mara bent over his hands. “Someday. Someday there will be another chance.”

  Stefan shook his head. “Maybe,” he said. “But all I want to do now is go home.”

  Esmer was examining his cast with disapproval. “This is filthy,” she said. “When you go home, you should see a healer and get it changed.”

  “I hate healers,” Stefan groaned.

  Mara bent over Emil’s hands. The hasty strips that she’d torn from the bottom of her shirt and tied around Emil’s cut palms were stiff with blood. She peeled them away and rubbed the salve gently into the cuts. They were deep, but not dangerously so.