Empire of Shadows
Page 33
Mara ripped another few strips from her shirt, letting the warm air caress her waist and stomach.
“You don’t have to do that,” Emil said. “I’m sure someone around here has bandages.”
Mara shrugged. “Bandages are always the first thing to run short in a battle,” she said. “Besides, it’s your shirt.” She felt Emil’s eyes on her as she worked. Mara rebandaged his hands carefully, then tossed the salve to Esmer.
“Where will you go now?” Emil asked softly.
Mara shook her head. She felt empty and oddly light, as if a feather could blow her away. “I don’t know. I just know I don’t want to go back to the Order. Or the palace.” She thought with a pang of the wooden tiger, hidden under her pillow in Revathi’s room.
“I’ll make you a new one,” Emil said, and Mara realized she had spoken her last thought aloud. “Wood can be replaced,” he continued, brushing his thumb along her cheek. Mara leaned into the touch, careful not to hurt his bandaged palms. His touch was solid and real and made it easier to breathe.
“Come with me,” Emil said. “Come back to the Arvi.”
Mara jerked back, panic spilling through her. “Emil, I can’t . . .” I can’t tie myself to someone else. Not now. Not while this still hurts so much.
“Come as our guest,” Emil said, as if reading her thoughts. “Stefan’s and mine. At least stay until my hands heal and I can carve you a new tiger. I . . . we owe you that much.” He reached over and put his hand on hers—not gripping it, just letting it rest there. “Mara,” he said, and his voice was so tender that Mara could hardly bear it. “I’m not going to pretend that I’m being unselfish here. I don’t want to lose you. But more than that, I don’t want you to be alone. And I’ll be your friend, no matter what you decide.”
“Me too,” Stefan said. There was the sound of a smack, and Mara opened her eyes to see Stefan rubbing his head and glaring at Esmer. The cat girl looked back serenely.
“That’s what you get for interrupting,” she said. Then her gold-flecked eyes shifted to Mara. “But he’s right. We’re all your friends. You don’t have to be alone unless you want to be.”
Mara took a deep breath, letting the word settle inside her. Friends.
“All right,” she said, turning her hand palm up, so that Emil’s bandaged palm rested against hers. “I’ll come. On one condition.”
Emil’s smile was as warm as a summer afternoon. “What condition?” he asked.
“I want you to call me by my real name,” Mara said. She curled her fingers into Emil’s and smiled back at him. “I want you to call me Shar.”
There are no beginnings, because everything is connected.
There are no endings, because nothing ever truly ends.
There is only where you choose to start the song,
And where you choose to stop.
The words of Elina the Bow-Singer, as told to her students
THE WOMAN CALLED Shar Arvi reached the shadowed brick building just before Firstlight. The small, flat-roofed structure was hidden in the middle of a tiny, tangled forest and difficult to find unless you knew where to look. Tree shadows played over every surface, clustering close as if to protect the secrets inside. She heard a rustle in the trees, a whisper of footsteps on the roof. The back of her neck crawled with the touch of unseen eyes.
Shar put her hand against the heavy wood of the door, gathering her courage. Then she knocked sharply.
The door opened, revealing a thin woman in a brown-and-gray tunic, with close-cropped black hair. Her eyes widened when she saw the visitor.
The two stared at each other, silence stretching between them like a binding thread.
“You still smell like jasmine and sandalwood,” Shar said. Against her will, the corners of her lips curled up. “I would have known you anywhere.”
The ghost of a smile passed over the other woman’s face, then she snapped her fingers twice. The footsteps on the roof stopped. The rustle of movement in the trees died down. The feeling of unseen eyes vanished.
“They are very good,” Shar commented.
“They are,” the woman agreed. She opened the door wider. “You might as well come in.”
Shar followed her inside, to a small room paneled in dark wood. She sat down in a narrow chair and folded her arms.
“You haven’t changed as much as I imagined, Revathi. Even after ten years.”
The woman turned away, staring at the thick mat of vines that clustered over the window. “I’ve changed more than you know,” she said softly. “When did you figure it out?”
“Not for a long time.” Shar swung her braid of black hair over her shoulder. “Not until Emil took over as Master of Trade a few years ago. He was here in the City of a Thousand Dolls on business and he saw you, going around the corner of a building. He couldn’t believe it and neither could I. Then he started asking questions. He has a lot of . . . interesting contacts in Kamal. When he discovered that no one but me ever saw your body, that’s when I knew.”
“Revathi sa’Hoi had to die,” the woman said very softly. “It was the only way, Mara.”
“It’s Shar now,” Shar said, and then her voice broke. “Why did you do it, Revathi? How did you do it?”
“Grandmother helped me,” the woman said. “She was waiting for me when I took Sudev to safety. It turns out one of her friends was a member of the Black Lotus family and a trainer on this estate. She was willing to take me in, if I joined them.” The woman turned from the window and took the chair across from Shar.
“You have to understand, I might have helped save the princes, but I also helped Tamas get into the palace. Even with the Emperor’s pardon, there would have been talk, people wondering, whispering. My family would have been shunned. No one would have been willing to marry my brother. It would have destroyed us.”
“Unless you died,” Shar said, starting to understand. “You could live under suspicion, or you could die a hero.”
The woman nodded. “When Tamas struck me, I was still conscious. I saw my chance and pricked myself with the poison dagger. In tiny doses, the poison causes a brief deathlike state. It only lasts a minute or two, but that was all I needed.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Shar asked. “I would have come with you.”
“I know.” The woman’s fingers tugged at the sleeves of her tunic. “This is a small, safe life, Shar. I answer only to Emperor Saro and I rarely leave the estate. It’s freedom for me, but for you?” Her voice softened. “You did more for me than you can ever know, and I owe you more than I can ever repay. I couldn’t see you miserable.”
Some of the tension in Shar’s chest eased. “I’m glad you said that. Because I need your help.” She took a deep breath. “I need you to protect my daughter.”
“You have a daughter?” Revathi’s head snapped up. “How old is she?”
“Six,” Shar said, and a smile crept over her lips. “She looks just like Emil. He dotes on her.”
“And you’re leaving her here? Are you mad?”
“No,” Shar said. “Just desperate.”
Revathi’s eyes narrowed, grew hard. “Are you in danger? Who is threatening you?”
Shar put out a hand. “Revathi,” she said. “Listen to me. I don’t have a lot of time. Something is happening, something that could shift everything we know about the Empire. Emil and I have seen things. . . .” She trailed off, letting the wonder come through her voice. “Things you would not believe. Things out of the old tales. But we saw too much, and now someone wants us gone. I wish I knew who it is, but I don’t.”
Her hand tightened on Revathi’s sleeve.
“We can’t take our daughter with us, and it’s too dangerous to leave her with Emil’s family. The Matron in charge of the girls has promised to look after her, and Esmer is coming with her Tribe as well, to help. But that’s not enough for me. I want someone on my daughter’s side who will do anything to protect her. And I want that person to be you.”
There was a moment of silence; then Revathi put her hand over Shar’s and squeezed it. “I swear by the Ancestors and by the debt I owe, I will watch over your daughter.”
Shar let out the breath she was holding.
“Thank you,” she said, rising from her chair. “Emil left her by the front gate. She doesn’t know I’m here. And you can’t tell her that you know us, not unless . . .” Shar paused. “Unless you have to. If for some reason we can’t come back, if she needs you . . .”
“I’ll be there.”
“Thank you.” She turned to leave, pausing at the door. “You could have come with us,” she said without looking at Revathi. “Emil and I would have welcomed you.”
“I lost Paithal,” Revathi said, her voice shadowed with old grief. “I failed my Emperor and my country. The least I could do was offer my own life in return.”
“Penance,” Shar said. She looked down at her hand, resting on the latch. “I understand that.”
“I know you do,” Revathi said. Her tone softened, until she almost sounded like the Revathi that Shar remembered. “This is who I am now. I’ve accepted that. But don’t think I don’t regret it.”
Shar nodded. “I miss you too,” she said, then pushed the door open.
“Wait,” Revathi said. “What is your daughter’s name?”
Shar told her.
The woman who had once been Revathi sa’Hoi watched from the door of the House of Shadows as Shar vanished into the woods.
Tilting her head up, she chirped, the fluted two-note trill of a songbird. There was an answering call, and a figure dropped from one of the trees that surrounded the tiny clearing. It was a girl of about fourteen, dressed in mottled gray-and-brown clothing. There was a bow and a quiver of arrows slung across her back.
“Zophia, spread the word to the others. The woman who just left is not to be bothered. Go quickly.”
The girl put her hand to her chest and bowed, giving the warrior’s sign of respect. “Yes, Shadow Mistress.” Then she darted away, as silently as she had come.
The woman went back inside and upstairs to the tiny, private space that served as her bedroom. Kneeling swiftly, she reached into a chest at the foot of the bed and pulled out a bundle of red silk, a delicate scarf embroidered with gold. She unwrapped it, her shaking fingers finding the carved rosewood tiger inside. It was smooth and cool against her palm, the features worn from years of handling.
She cradled the tiger in her hands, breathing deeply for a moment, until she felt centered again. Then she quickly rewrapped the wooden figure in the scarf, shut the lid, and left the house.
Her teacher always said meditation worked better with a focus.
Revathi walked briskly out of the small stand of trees, past the shouts and drills of the House of Combat, past the hedge maze and the girls sitting in the gardens of the House of Beauty. Down the wide main road and out the gate.
There was a tiny girl sitting against the wall, dressed in a gray skirt and blouse and playing with a carved toy cat. She jumped up at the sound of footsteps, her eyes wide.
Revathi hid a smile. The child might have Emil’s dark, unruly hair and rich brown eyes, but she moved with the same wary, unconscious grace that her mother did. And right now she was staring at Revathi as if she wasn’t sure whether to run or fight.
Go swiftly and come back soon, my friends, Revathi thought. And the Ancestors watch over you.
Looking down at the little girl, she held out a hand. “Come inside, Nisha.”
Acknowledgments
AGAIN, THE LIST of people to thank is too long for me to do justice to it.
Thank you to my husband, Dan, who was there for me through all the book two angst. You were my touchstone and my shelter, and this book would not exist without you.
Thanks to Fred and Cindy, for the gift of house and home, and for letting me scatter my work all over your living room. And thanks to my family for rooting for me this year. I love you all.
A giant thank-you to all the people who made this book better: my awesome and patient editor, Sarah Dotts Barley, Renée Cafiero and Valerie Shea, for putting up with my misuse of transitive verbs, and Erin Fitzsimmons and Colin Anderson, who made the book itself so beautiful. And thank you to my agent, Jennifer Laughran, for managing to be both hilariously honest and incredibly reassuring.
Thanks and hugs to the wonderful crew at Rediscovered Books in Boise for being the best thing about 2012. Thanks to the fabulous Jess K. for beta reading, and thanks to the Lucky13s for being amazing. And a final thank-you to all the people on Archive of our Own and elsewhere who write wonderful stories. Your words helped me rediscover my own love of reading and kept me sane during a very dry and difficult time. Thank you.
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About the Author
MIRIAM FORSTER is a recovering barista and former bookseller who is obsessed with anthropology, British television, and stories of all kinds. She lives in Oregon with her husband and her cat. City of a Thousand Dolls was her debut novel.
www.msforster.blogspot.com
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Credits
Cover art © 2014 by COLIN ANDERSON
Cover design by ERIN FITZSIMMONS
Copyright
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
EMPIRE OF SHADOWS
Copyright © 2014 by Miriam Forster
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Forster, Miriam.
Empire of shadows / Miriam Forster.—First edition.
pages cm
Summary: “After taking the oath of protector of the Order of Khatar, Mara travels to the Imperial city with her charge, Revathi; although she knew the dizzying city would hold its dangers, she never thought her life—as well as her heart—would be at stake”—Provided by publisher.
ISBN 978-0-06-212133-2 (hardcover)
[1. Fantasy.] I. Title.
PZ7.F7765Emp 2014
2013051283
[Fic]—dc23
CIP
AC
* * *
EPub Edition © SEPTEMBER 2014 ISBN: 9780062121356
14 15 16 17 18 LP/RRDH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
FIRST EDITION
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