by Devin Madson
‘Yes, Your Majesty. Buried with the family, Your Majesty.’
‘Thank you. You may rise.’
The man straightened a little reluctantly, and when he risked a glance at me I was sure to smile. It was such a simple way to honour a simple man. ‘You see,’ I said. ‘It is important to me that this is done. Family is all we have in the end.’
‘Yes, Your Majesty. Of course, Your Majesty.’
I found my gaze drawn back to the box on the cart. ‘Is he in there now?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty. All ready to go.’
‘I will have a moment alone.’
The man bowed again and left me to touch the smooth surface of the burial box. ‘Goodbye, Darius,’ I said quietly. ‘I was more fortunate than I knew to have you for a guardian. If there is peace in death, I hope you find it.’
I had called it justice, for a man who had caused such pain to suffer. I had seen a heartless man, because I had not dared to look beyond the face he showed the world, had not dared to understand him. I had made him a god inside my head, and he had always fallen short.
There were no tears left to cry, not then and not later when Katashi was lowered into the ground. Another black lacquered box containing a past I could never retrieve.
In the drizzling rain Kimiko and I stood together, we two the only mourners of a man once admired by so many. Tears ran down her cheeks. Katashi had been her brother, but it took all my self-control not to shake her, not to scream and shout that she was mourning the wrong man. But no words could bring Darius back. He was nothing to her now.
Once the priest had finished his prayers, Kimiko and I were left alone to the silence of the Imperial Graveyard. Generations of Otakos had been buried here, and now Katashi lay beside his father and mine, my mother and my brothers. Katashi’s mother was the only one absent and I wondered what had happened to her body, lost beyond the borders of her homeland.
‘Goodbye, brother,’ Kimiko said, and knelt to place Hatsukoi upon the burial box. Hatsukoi had been his first and only true love.
An awkward silence gathered. ‘How are you?’ I asked when she stood, not sure what else to say.
A dark bruise marred her collarbone, like a star peeking from beneath her robe. She touched it, self-conscious, thick dark brows drawn together. ‘How am I?’ she repeated, as though it was a strange question. ‘I’m... I’m well, I think, at least I feel well, better than I have for a long time.’
And back along the blossom path and up the stairs of the inner palace, Endymion had screamed through the night.
‘I think it hasn’t sunk in yet that Katashi is gone,’ she went on. ‘I hadn’t seen him for so long, but I think there is always a bond between twins. At least I’ve always felt it. Now you and I are the only Otakos left. No, only me, I forget that you’re a Ts’ai now.’ She was frowning again. ‘Things keep slipping out of my mind. I don’t… I don’t even remember how I came to be here. Sometimes I think I remember but it’s gone.’
‘You’re here because you belong here,’ I said. ‘Because you’re my cousin and you’re an Otako. You deserve to live the life to which you were born.’
‘And you married The Usurper,’ she laughed, genuine amusement in her voice. ‘I don’t think Katashi would have approved.’
I stared at her, jaw dropped, until I could not help but laugh, too. The idea was so absurd, her sentiment so understated, that all I could do was laugh and laugh and laugh. And Kimiko laughed with me, each of us infecting the other until we could hardly breathe.
When the laughter faded there were no words left. Kimiko spoke another prayer over her brother’s grave and left me with my thoughts. I envied her peace, envied the little smile that turned her lips as she ran a hand down her body. Together we would grow our children, but only I would carry the weight. Never could I tell her that the child she carried was poison. Women died in childbirth every day. She would just be one more.
Rain started to fall again. It was a soft, caressing rain that dampened my skin and my hair and the skirt of my crimson robe as I knelt beside Katashi’s grave. His body had shattered as it cooled, sending hundreds of glowing embers scattering across the dais. Ash had slowly settled in the silence.
‘Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves,’ I said. ‘You almost made it true, but when I am laid to rest beside you, it shall be as the victor, not the victim.’
The old Monarch would have grinned and run his hand down my cheek, but now there was only the rain.
‘We will have our revenge, Katashi, I promise.’
Lying atop Katashi’s casket the unstrung form of Hatsukoi looked strangely misshapen without her string. Her wood was no longer a delicate brown, but shiny, waxed black, most of the leather grip singed to tatters.
I looked around, hunting for colour amid the grey, but Kimiko had gone. I reached into the grave and picked up Hatsukoi. The naked bow was heavier than I had expected.
‘Call it a bequest,’ I said, turning away. ‘Goodbye, Katashi.’
Epilogue
Screams echoed through the inner palace. It had been a long night, but now weak morning light eked through the high windows, gradually dispelling the darkness. Beside me Hope had found sleep, curled up in the corner with a woollen blanket brought to him by one of the many servants unable to rest but at a loss for what more they could do. Some went in and out with bowls of water and rolls of linen, but it was always blood and crimson cloth that came out, each maid’s expression grimmer than the last.
Hope snuffled, his cheek smushed against an inlaid panel. He had often fallen asleep just so, propped in the corner of my room like a piece of furniture upon which I had come to depend. I envied him his ability to sleep now as I had every day since the war ended. I had spent many hours examining the lines of his face and holding silent conversations with his slumbering body while night after night dragged past. I was getting better; better at relaxing, better at sleeping, better at forcing down food. Hope stayed with me for every meal. Even after all these months.
A maid rushed past. The door slid open. The door slid closed. The earthy scent of blood found its way out.
The next time the door slid it was Hana who stepped out. These months had changed her from the girl I had first seen in Koi to a woman fast developing the dignity of the empress she called herself. Her blonde curls were swept up and pinned with a comb and her face glistened with sweat. Dark rings framed dull eyes and she shook her head. The screams had faded to low moaning.
‘I don’t think there is any more we can do,’ she said, not really talking to me, but to the world at large, though no one else was there to hear.
Through the winter Hana and Kimiko had become close, Hope had told me, he bringing me news from the world I could not face. I had not seen Kimiko more than once since I took her memories – a chance encounter on the stairs that had left me crying for hours. She hadn’t even known my name.
Tears welled now in Hana’s eyes, but she did not let them fall. I had warned her how it would be.
The silence crept up on us, a silence all the more terrible because I had known it would come. The pain that had been battering my defences slowly began to dissipate.
Hana was gone in a flurry of crimson sleeves.
Sun streamed through a window at the end of the hall. Through the rippled panes of glass, cherry blossoms waved their bright leaves. Spring had brought Kisia back to life. It had been a harsh winter. Word had come that the tributaries west of Esvar had frozen over and half the winter harvest had been destroyed. The stress of ruling was aging Hana even faster than motherhood.
‘What’s going on?’ Hope had woken, rubbing the back of his hand across damp lips.
All I could do was shake my head. The silence had not broken.
Casting off his blanket, Hope got to his feet with the help of the wall, balancing awkwardly as he blinked t
ired eyes.
Whispers came from the room. True whispers, not the thoughts of others that had once filled my head. Hana returned. The door opened. The door closed letting free a new smell. Incense. Death sticks, burned for a departing soul.
‘She will be buried with her family,’ Hana said, once again speaking without directly acknowledging us.
‘The last Otako gone,’ I said, and Hana looked at me then, scowling. Hope cleared his throat and there was some awkwardness, my brain too sluggish to remember why.
‘As you say,’ she said at last. ‘And so she will be buried with her family.’
‘And the child?’
‘A girl. Master Kenji has her.’
‘Where will she be buried?’
Another scowl I could put no meaning to, my Empathy clogged with memories and the pain that lingered on the air. ‘She will not be buried as she is not dead. You said she would die.’
‘Alive?’ I wasn’t sure if it was Hope who spoke or it was my word, but it hung there in front of us, unsure.
‘She can’t be alive.’ Those were my words, interrupted by the guttural sound of a baby’s cry. My heart skipped what felt like a whole minute’s worth of beats. Alive. A girl. ‘The mark?’
‘What mark?’
‘The Empath Mark!’
Thrusting her out of the way, I strode into the dark room, hit by the stench of blood coming from saturated sheets. In shadows, Kimiko lay upon the bed, eyes closed. A maid was washing her face and hands.
‘Endymion.’ Master Kenji greeted me with a nod. We’d had many conversations about the curse and how it would present itself when this day finally came. ‘I did everything I could.’
‘There was no way you could have saved her.’ In the corner of the room a middle-aged woman was cradling the tiny, screaming bundle, gently rocking it back and forth. I didn’t go closer. Couldn’t. ‘The baby is sickly?’
‘No, after your warning I am impressed. She needed no great assistance to start breathing.’
‘And you’re sure it’s a girl?’
For the first time I understood the look shot at me, amused, tolerant. ‘I’ve been a physician for more years than you have been alive, I know a baby girl when I see one. She has all the right parts, I assure you.’
Alive. Healthy. Still I could not step toward the calmed child. How could she be alive and her mother dead?
The question moved my feet. The woman eyed me warily as I approached. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, bowing deeply. ‘May I see the child’s left arm?’
The woman said nothing, just stared at my cheek before turning to Master Kenji for her answer. He must have nodded, for the woman reluctantly unwrapped the child. Immediately it started to scream, growing crimson of face. Tiny fingers were balled into fists and it was a struggle to get her to stretch out her limbs. She seemed to want to remain as curled as she had been in her mother’s womb, disliking this strange new world.
The woman held out the baby’s left arm. I took it gently, sure a stronger grip would break the tiny thing. Three horizontal lines crossed by a single diagonal stared up from her wrist, mirroring the brands I carried. I let go, allowing the child to curl itself back up.
A female Empath.
‘If you’re finished I will feed her now,’ the woman said, swaddling the child.
‘Yes, of course,’ I said, numb, bowing again. When I turned, Hana was right behind me, Hope in the doorway.
‘She’ll stay here of course,’ Hana said, her imperial pride shining through, straight backed, stiff, expecting capitulation.
‘No.’
‘You are in my palace. My empire. Are you going to give me orders now, brother?’
‘Don’t be a fool,’ I snapped. ‘You can’t raise an Empath and you’re an idiot if you think you can. You think you know what she needs but you don’t. What she needs is to be with her own kind.’
Hana managed to look down her nose at me while having to look up to my face. ‘She needs to be with her own blood.’
My hand closed around her throat. Hana barely flinched.
‘Really, Endymion? What are you going to do if I refuse? You don’t kill people anymore. And you wouldn’t get away even if you did.’
‘I would kill for her,’ I said. ‘Tell me you wouldn’t do as much for your children.’
‘She isn’t yours.’
I tightened my hold. ‘Give me my daughter.’
Hana’s eyes widened. ‘Kimiko?’ she said in a whisper.
‘Give me my daughter, Hana, or I will kill you before anyone in this room can move.’
She stared back, unblinking. ‘On one condition.’
‘And what is that?’
‘That Endymion takes the Oath of Word and becomes a priest. You must renounce your family. Both of them.’ The words were cold, shrewd. ‘If you do that,’ she went on, ‘you may take her and get out of Kisia and never come back. If she even survives.’
‘I’ll do it.’
‘Endymion.’ Hope took a step into the room and stopped. I had forgotten he was there, forgotten anyone else was present. Master Kenji cleared his throat but did not speak.
‘I’ll do it,’ I repeated.
‘Good,’ Hana said, my hand still at her throat. ‘Let me go and I’ll send for a priest.’
I let her go, my hand cramping, tight, unwilling to fully release and relax. But she stepped back, still watching me. ‘Her name is Saki,’ I said.
‘Like the story?’
‘Just like the story.’
She went away on the words and I looked back down at the child in the wet nurse’s arms. The nurse was scowling at me, waiting to feed, but it wasn’t anger or annoyance I felt. It was an ache in my heart for the parents Saki would never know. Perhaps in another life they might have met, the Count of Esvar and a princess of the empire. There would have been nothing to bar such a marriage, nothing to keep them apart, but with all the time in the world there would have been no fury to their love. They had met and loved in a moment; loved fiercely, loved most, and then they had been gone, leaving behind only the beautiful child sleeping now in the crook of a stranger’s arm.
Not for us to grow old. Not for us to grow tired. Without life to weary it, our love can live forever, weathering every storm.
I looked up at Hope. ‘You’ll come?’
A nod. ‘I’ll come.’
‘Then I have my family. I need no name.’
‘We all need a name.’
I thought of a day at the end of a long summer, sitting behind a stalwart ox as it walked a shimmering road. The day had been listless, yet alive with the buzz of a thousand insects.
‘Did you know that Dokei can read a man’s true name in his heart?’ I said. ‘He knows where we belong.’
‘And where do I belong?’ Hope said, asking the same question I had asked as Jian and I travelled toward Shimai and an inescapable future.
‘With me,’ I said. ‘Where else?’
And in my thoughts Jian laughed. You said you would make a very poor priest.
‘I’ll let the gods judge.’
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Acknowledgements
It has been four years (it is amazing how much life can change in four years) since I started this journey, and a difficult and emotional journey it has been. There are always so many people to thank, so many people who make a book happen whether by putting in their own hard work, or merely by existing to provide some flicker of inspiration, but there are an important few without whom there would be no book.
Firstly there is my team. I would, as always, like to thank my wonderful (and extremely patient) editor, Amanda, without whom my work would never be its best and my life
would be sadly lacking in poop emoticons. Also Dave, my wonderful designer and typesetter who takes on every extra job I throw at him with a smile. Geoff for ebooks and matchmaking and honest answers to endless questions. And Viktor for the art that gave this book a face.
Next I must thank my ever-supportive and long-suffering parents, who might not always understand the drive or the goal, but always accept it and get behind me. Also my three beautiful, frustrating, delightful and challenging children who never cease to teach me things about myself that I’m not always sure I want to know. Thank you to all the friends who have helped me through the difficult times with listening ears, advice and patience, you know who you are.
An enormous thanks is due to my partner Chris. It has been a long and difficult slog to get this book finished, and every step of the way you were there to catch me when I fell. And thanks to Devin, for beginning this amazing journey with me four years ago when everything was different.
But more than anything I would like to thank all my wonderful readers for being so patient with me as the release date for this book got pushed further and further back. Thank you. The care and support I have received throughout the journey has kept me going.
There are many stories yet to tell and really the journey is only just beginning.
- Devin Madson