Another soldier, a tall woman named Ferla, barked out a laugh. "Remember, Derin, if she finds her maggot mother before the new moon, you owe me a silver coin."
Derin spat. "Won't be till after the new moon. Her mother's a tough one."
"No one's tough in the mines, boy." Ferla snorted. "And you're going to owe me that silver coin."
Ignoring the soldiers, Madori rummaged through the wheelbarrow of bodies, seeking her, seeking Koyee. The dead were almost unrecognizable; fallen to starvation, disease, and their cruel masters' whips, even freshly killed they looked like old corpses, shrunken and shriveled. She found men, children, youths . . . all strangers.
Madori breathed out a shaky sigh of relief. "She's not here," she whispered.
A few Radians roared with laughter. Ferla muttered and spat, while Derin boasted of the coin she owed him.
You're strong, Mother, Madori thought, returning to the armor. You'll survive this. We both will.
She gave the armor a few last passes with the rag, then turned to her next task: preparing Lari's dinner. The princess often went out riding for hours in the darkness, claiming the camp stank of death. When she returned, weary and hungry from her ride, she demanded her meals waiting on her table.
Madori hobbled to the wide tent that served as the camp's kitchens until the fortress was completed. Wobbling on her chained, bony legs, she carried plate after plate into Lari's embroidered tent, setting out the feast upon the giltwood table. Lari was a slim young woman, not much heavier than Madori had been before arriving at this camp, and yet she could eat as much as the burliest soldier, her appetite knowing almost no bounds.
Perhaps cruelty sucks up a lot of energy, Madori thought, arranging the silver cutlery.
Soon the meal was set: a roast honeyed duck upon a bed of shallots and wild mushrooms; grainy bread rolls still steaming from the oven, topped with butter; a silver bowl of dried figs, persimmons, and apricots; and a wooden box full of sweet almond clusters dusted with sugar. It was all fine Timandrian fare, imported from the day, and intoxicating with its aroma. Madori's mouth watered and her head spun. She craved a bite, desired it more than anything. Her head spun and her body shook as the smell entered her nostrils.
Only a bite, she thought, reaching toward one of the figs. Only a little . . .
She stopped herself.
No.
The first few times Madori had set this table for the princess, she had stolen a few morsels. And each time, somehow Lari knew. Each time, Madori was punched in the gut, forced to gag. Each time, Koyee was dragged into the tent, punished for Madori's crime.
There is magic here, Madori knew, looking around at the tent. Magic like my locket. Some item in this tent—perhaps one of the chalices, perhaps one of the jewels sewn into the walls—had the magic of sight, allowing Lari to spy upon her from afar.
And so Madori placed her hands behind her back, desperate for the food but daring not take a single morsel. She was slowly starving, but she wouldn't risk more punishment for her mother.
Finally trill laughter sounded outside, and the tent flap opened. Lari stepped inside. She wore a fine riding gown trimmed with fur, the skirt cut down the sides to allow her to straddle her horse. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and sweat dampened her hair.
"Mongrel!" she said, kicking off her boots. "Come. Polish them."
Madori nodded and rushed forward. The boots splattered mud across the rug as Lari kicked them aside. Madori knelt, rag in hand, and got to work, polishing the leather again and again.
As Madori knelt, polishing away, Lari sat at her table and began to feast. The duck's crunchy skin cracked. Gravy dripped off the shallots as Lari tossed them into her mouth. Her throat bobbed as she drank the wine. Madori had always imagined princesses to only nibble their food, a few bites here and there of lettuce, but Lari guzzled down her meals; it was an obscene, unfathomable sight. Madori did not know where all that food went, for Lari remained slender. Perhaps some magic was involved, a way for Lari to feed like a pig and magically transport the food away from her belly.
Or perhaps she simply burns up the energy by tormenting me, Madori thought, her mouth still watering.
Finally Lari was done eating. She slapped her feet onto the tabletop, causing the plates to bounce. She tossed one of those silver plates at Madori. It crashed onto the rug, scattering the duck's bones and fat.
"Eat your meal," Lari said. "Eat it all up, then clean up this mess."
Madori wanted to refuse. She wanted to toss the plate back at Lari. But she needed this meal, as poor as it was. She leaped onto the morsels, stuffing the duck skin into her mouth and crunching the bones between her teeth, then licking the gravy off the plate.
"Truly you creatures are pigs," Lari said, watching the spectacle, disgust in her eyes.
Madori ignored her, picking out the last bits of fat and skin from the rug. She no longer cared for Lari's mockery; any dignity Madori had once possessed had vanished here long ago. These scraps would keep her alive a little longer, long enough to find the right moment.
Chewing on a bone, she glanced up and stared at the tabletop. A knife lay here, stained with the duck grease.
If I move fast enough, Madori thought, maybe I can grab the knife. Maybe I can—
Lari lifted the knife and tilted her head. "You'd like to thrust this into my heart, wouldn't you, little one?" Lari balanced the knife in her palm. "Perhaps one turn you will try to grab it. And when you do, this blade will enter flesh—your mother's flesh." Lari licked the knife. "And if by chance you do manage to stab me, mongrel—perhaps freeing yourself from your shackles and cutting me in my sleep—you better also stab every guard in this camp. If anything is to happen to me, they have their orders." Lari grinned hungrily. "They are to immediately torture your mother before your eyes, making it last for turns, until she dies. And only then will your torture begin. So keep staring at this knife, worm. Keep dreaming of ways to kill me. You are only planning your own nightmare."
Madori looked away.
Not yet. Not while Mother is imprisoned. I have to free her first.
She did not know how she'd reach the canyon where the miners worked. Guards patrolled it around the clock. All Madori could do was bide her time, grow stronger, keep eating whatever scraps were tossed her way, and wait for her wounds to heal. If she obeyed Lari for long enough, perhaps the beatings would stop. Her bruises would fade, and with the pain lessened, she would find her magic again.
With magic I can sneak past the guards into the mine, she thought. With magic I can free my mother and everyone else. Her eyes dampened. I miss you, Mother. I miss you so much.
Kneeling here before Lari, eating scraps like a dog, Madori thought back to her time back in Fairwool-by-Night, living with her parents. How she had clashed with her mother then! How often she had yelled at Koyee, rebelled, made her mother cry! Whenever Koyee would scold Madori for her hairstyle or clothes, Madori would shout, smash things, storm out of the house and not return for a turn or two, leaving Koyee in tears. She had hated her mother then, had thought Koyee the most ruthless tyrant in the world.
I'm so sorry. Madori's tears fell. I love you so much, Mother. I'd give everything in the world to live with you in that old house again.
Sniffing, she tried to remember that house which the Radians had burned; it still stood in her memory. She remembered her father working in the gardens, tending to sunflowers, tulips, and sweet summer peonies. She remembered her soft bed and quilt, and how she would lie there for hours, reading in the sunlight that always fell through her window. And she remembered good times with her mother from before her rebellious youth, back in childhood when the world had seemed so bright: walking with Koyee to the river to look at the fish, entering the night with Koyee to watch the stars, or simply listening to Koyee sing her old songs of Qaelin.
At the memory of warmth, music, and love, Madori's tears would not stop falling, and she vowed that if she ever saw Koyee again, that if the two ever escaped this place
, she would never yell at her mother again.
I will always love you, Mother. Always, whether we die this turn or in many years.
Lari finally left her table and lifted a lantern. She stared down at Madori's tears with a smirk on her face. "Follow me, mongrel. I have a new task for you this turn."
The two left the tent and moved about the camp. The other tents rose at their sides, and soldiers moved among them. In the east, the workers were bustling across the scaffolding, and a great wooden lever—dozens of feet tall—was lowering a basket of bricks onto a half-completed wall. In the west lay the mine; Madori could not see into the canyon from here, but she heard the cracking whips and the screams of workers. As usual, she was the only Elorian up here outside of the canyon.
Lari led her toward the camp's serrated iron fence. Guards moved aside from the gates, and Lari walked outside into the open night, beckoning for Madori to follow.
Madori stood frozen, hesitant. Why is she leading me out of the camp? She swallowed. Does she intend to kill me out there, to leave my body for the worms?
"Follow!" Lari barked. "Here, mongrel."
Madori raised her chin. Whatever Lari planned out there could be no worse than the camp. Chains rattling, Madori hobbled through the gates and outside into the darkness. The only light here came from Lari's lantern; the moon was gone from the sky.
Her eyesight will be weak here, Madori thought. She has small Timandrian eyes. I can fight her here.
They walked for a stretch before reaching a wheelbarrow of Elorian corpses. A smoking pit gaped beyond it, and a stench hit Madori's nostrils like a blow.
"Come, stand on the edge," Lari said, inviting Madori forward. "Look into the abyss."
When Madori stepped forward and looked down into the pit, she had to cover her mouth. She felt her paltry meal rise back up.
"By Xen Qae," she whispered.
Hundreds of charred skeletons filled the chasm. They were Elorian skeletons, Madori saw; the skulls' eye sockets were twice the size of a Timandrian's. Shreds of burnt flesh still clung to the bones, and a foul smoke rose to sting Madori's eyes.
"Beautiful." Lari stared down into the mass grave with delight and awe in her eyes. "It's the most beautiful sight I've seen—the purification of the world, the light we bring to the darkness." She turned to regard Madori. "Some turn soon, your mother will burn in this pit too. That turn, I will spit upon her bones. But that won't be for a while longer. I have a task for you while you still live."
Madori stared at the emperor's daughter. "You're mad," she whispered. "Lari, how can you delight in death like this? How can you slay innocents?" She gestured down at the smoking bones. "These were women, children, not soldiers. They were—"
"They were nightcrawlers." Lari licked her teeth. "Have you truly not understood yet, mongrel? They are all my enemies. Their very presence in this world disgusts me."
"Why?" Madori whispered.
The princess caressed Madori's cheek. "Because they corrupt all that they touch. Everything they approach turns to rot. Like you, mongrel. Your blood is half Timandrian; your father is a man of sunlight, sharing my own blood. The nightcrawler whore tempted him, lured him into her bed, and they produced you. A monster. An abomination. You could have been pure, Madori. You could have been like me, a lady of sunlight. We are cousins, and we could have ruled the world together, two companions, two mistresses of light. Now you are ruined, a freak."
"I'd never be like you." Madori shoved Lari's hand away. "Never. My father is a pure Timandrian, and he's also pure of heart. But your heart is rotten. There was never impurity in the night nor in me. I realize that now. For many years, I too thought I was impure." Madori shook her head. "But I'm not. The true disease is not in my mixed blood but in your heart, Lari, and in the heart of your father. If you will kill me for these words, then kill me. There is no value left to my life. Not here."
Lari smiled thinly. "Madori, have you heard tales of the old empire of Riyona?" She gazed back into the pit and seemed to contemplate the bones. "The empire was mighty and ruled all lands north of the Sern River, all the way to the coast in the north, the mountains in the west, and the darkness in the east. All other lands in sunlight paid tribute to Riyona's glory. Do you know how the Riyonans built an empire?" Lari's lips peeled back in something halfway between grin and snarl. "With cruelty. With strength. They stamped out their enemies and they intimidated all others to obey. The Riyonan emperors had a practice. When an enemy was truly great—a warlord or rebel leader—the emperor would skin him alive, then create a book out of the skin. Human parchment. Upon the book, the emperor would write the names of those he had slain." Lari turned back toward Madori. "Some of those old books survive. I've seen them in Markfir, capital of a new empire—the Radian Empire. We are the new Riyona. But unlike that old empire, we will rule forever." She gestured at the fresh corpses in the wheelbarrow. "I will have you create me a new book, made from the skin of my enemies. Choose one body. Peel off its skin, and we will write the names of all those I kill upon the parchment."
Madori found herself strangely calm; perhaps after so much pain, so much terror, she was too hurt, too jaded for shock. She met and held Lari's gaze.
"Then hand me your dagger." Madori nodded toward the dagger that hung from Lari's belt. "I'll need a blade."
Something strangely subdued, almost calm but fully dangerous, filled Lari's eyes. Not breaking her stare, she drew her dagger and held it out, hilt first. Madori took the weapon. For a moment the two women stared at each other, saying nothing.
Finally Lari broke the silence. "You have a choice now. You can attack me. Maybe you'll even kill me. And then my soldiers have orders to torture your mother to death." Lari shrugged. "It might be worth it. Koyee is nearly dead anyway; I doubt she'd last more than another month here. And if you slay me with this dagger, well . . . that would be a great boon to the nightcrawlers, would it not? And a great act of vengeance for you; you might even get a chance to flee into the darkness after slaying me. There are no guards here to stop you." Lari tapped her chin. "But I wonder . . . I wonder if you'd be willing to flee, to abandon your mother here to death and torture. Let us see how honorable a mongrel is. So choose, Madori. Thrust this blade into a corpse and bring me its skin . . . or thrust this blade into me. Your choice."
Madori held the dagger before her. She looked to her right; skeletons smoldered in the pit and corpses lay in the wheelbarrow. She looked to her left; the camp fence rose in the distance, and screams sounded from beyond it.
What do I do? Madori thought. Her belly twisted. She raised the dagger an inch, desperate to attack Lari, to thrust the blade into her heart. The princess made no move to flee or fight.
It's a trap, Madori thought. It had to be. If she attacked, Lari would use magic to thwart the thrust. Perhaps magic was already shielding the princess with invisible armor. And yet . . . maybe if Madori thrust hard enough, fast enough, maybe she could kill Lari. Maybe she could have her vengeance, then run into the darkness, flee this place, be free.
And leave my mother behind.
A part of Madori screamed inside her: Koyee is already dying! She might be dead already. How could you give up your vengeance and freedom for a dying woman?
She looked east, across the chasm, to the open night. Mother would want me to flee, Madori thought. She would tell me to kill Lari, to escape, to leave her . . . yet it's something I cannot do.
"Have you chosen?" Lari asked.
Madori looked at the corpses in the wheelbarrow. A dead youth, younger than her, hung across the rim, glassy eyes staring at Madori, mouth still open in a silent scream. This was not something Madori could do either. She would not disgrace the dead.
"Choose!" Lari said.
She had only one choice left, Madori knew. The only choice she had ever had, perhaps. The only choice that could thwart Lari's plans and end this pain.
Madori placed the tip of the dagger against her own neck.
She closed
her eyes, the steel against her skin.
She saw the swaying rye fields of Fairwool-by-Night, golden in the sunlight. She saw her mother smile, singing softly as she tucked Madori into bed. She saw her father wave from his gardens, saw herself run to him, jump into his arms, and kiss his cheek. She saw all her friends: Tam, the boy she had once thought she would marry; Neekeya, her dear, brave friend from distant lands; and Jitomi . . . the only boy she had ever kissed, ever loved as a woman loves a man.
Goodbye, she thought. Goodbye, my family, my friends. Goodbye, Timandra. Goodbye, Eloria. Goodbye, this world we call Moth. I love you all.
She took a deep breath, prepared to shove the blade.
"Madori."
The voice was distant, soft, carrying on the wind. His voice. The voice of Jitomi, the voice she had thought she'd never hear again.
"Madori!"
"I have to do this," she whispered to his memory. She saw him in her mind: a young man with white hair, his nose pierced, a dragon tattooed across his face. "I have to."
"Madori!" His voice was louder now, torn with pain, coming from above her, from the stars. Perhaps he had died before her, and she would join him now in those celestial halls.
"Madori, wait!"
A chinking sound rose above, and a roar pierced the world, louder than thunder. The dagger still clutched in her hands, Madori opened her eyes, looked up, and gasped.
A black dragon flew above, and Jitomi sat upon its back, calling her name.
"Jitomi!" she shouted back at him, tears in her eyes.
A choked sound ahead of her drew her attention. Madori looked back down to see Lari trembling, her skin pale. Her eyes widened with rage. Her hands balled into a fists.
With a roar, Lari leaped forward, slammed against Madori, and knocked her down. The two women tilted over the edge of the smoking pit . . . then fell, crashing down toward the shadows and skeletons.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT:
UPRISING
Koyee swung her pickaxe again and again, chipping away at the wall. Around her, a thousand other slaves worked with her. All were silent this turn. None wept, wailed, or so much as groaned. Nervous eyes darted toward Koyee, then up at the sky. She followed their gaze.
Shadows of Moth Page 24