by Matt Larkin
The Ignis. Chandi allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief. He’d probably figure she was just catching her breath anyway. This was about the Ignis who had tried to hurt Revati. She’d wanted to think her threats to Semar would have kept them in line, but she’d always feared the fire worshippers might try something else. It seemed the Arun Guard had the same suspicions and were willing to take things farther than she had been.
“What do you mean, the end of it?”
“They’re guilty of treason. Sentence will be carried out at dawn. In fact, I’ll be leaving Kasusthali soon after. Come.” He beckoned, and began to lead her out of the Civic District.
Chandi followed, uncertain what else to say. The man was taking her to see the Ignis executed. Grim satisfaction warred with disgust within her, and she wasn’t certain whether watching some gruesome display would leave her vindicated or nauseated. When they reached the Harbor District, she still had not decided.
Naresh led her beyond the harbor, onto the beach, where a small crowd had gathered. She saw a pair of Guardsmen flanking the Radiant Queen, who wore a brilliant gold and red baju and matching sarong.
Many of the crowd were Ignis, including Semar, who watched with cold eyes. She could not blame him. Ten men and women were bound to massive crystalline stakes in the beach. Kindling was piled around each stake. Some of the Ignis wept, others stared out with defiant eyes.
“You think fire will harm the children of Agni?” the central Igni spat at the Radiant Queen. “Fire is the great purifier!” The man—muscular, bearded, and proud—showed no hint of his fear.
An official from the Ministry of Law checked the bonds of each victim while soldiers kept the crowd at bay.
And then the first rays of dawn peeked over the horizon and the crowd fell still.
“Behold the price of treason,” the Radiant Queen said, her voice booming. “Behold the fate of traitors!” She turned, and Chandi caught a glimpse of the woman’s eyes—glowing like white-hot fire.
“Please,” one of the Ignis said. “Please, I have a family!”
Aji Bidara, the Radiant Queen, turned back to her victims and raised her arms. Some of the Ignis began to moan. The crystals glowed with incandescent heat as the sun struck them, and those groans turned to shrieks. And then the kindling around each crystal stake burst into flames. It happened so quickly Chandi had to take a step back from the sudden conflagrations that sprung up across the beach.
Naresh’s hand on her back stopped her from retreating farther. “I want you to know it is truly over. Your mistress and the imperial heir will never be threatened again. We found every conspirator, and no one will ever forget this punishment.”
Shivering despite the blazing heat, Chandi could not dispute his claim. This was what the Solars did to those who betrayed them. This was what they were going to do to her one day, when they learned her true purpose in Kasusthali. Acrid smoke carried the sickeningly sweet smell of burnt flesh to her and she gagged.
The wails of some of the victims had lessened, but others in the crowd had begun to weep. Semar took a step toward the fires and raised a hand toward his people. For an instant so brief it might have been her imagination, Chandi thought he intended to do something. Then his hand fell to his side and he closed his crystal blue eyes.
Sweet Chandra, Malin had been right. These people were like slaves. They were victims of the Solars. Chandi could not grieve for those guilty of trying to murder a baby, but for the others, for the whole of Semar’s people … how could she not empathize?
At last, all the screams fell silent. Aji Bidara dropped her arms and the crystal stakes sunk down into the beach, leaving nothing but piles of smoldering ash where once had stood people—lives, hopes, dreams. Murderers. This was the execution of attempted murderers. She had to remember that. They had gotten what they deserved, what had to be.
Just like she would one day. The longer she stayed in Kasusthali, the closer that day would grow.
And Naresh was right. No one would ever forget this.
PART THREE
1194 AP, The Dry Season
(Two Years Later)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Chandi watched Revati splashing in the palace fountain while Ratna prepared herself for their outing. Ratna had promised to take her daughter to the Armistice Festival. Every year the Solars celebrated Ratna’s anniversary, not as the anniversary of her marriage, but of peace. With the dry season ending, the days of sunshine would soon pass, and though the city’s nature kept rain out of all but the Harbor District, dark skies subdued most activity.
The gathered Solars watched with bemused expressions as the imperial heir drenched the great hall. Like her mother and Rahu, Revati had fairer skin than typical for a Skyfall native. Milky next to Chandi’s golden tan. Seeing Revati at play, Chandi could almost forget the girl’s half-Solar lineage.
The reactions of the passersby to the scene in the fountain only drove the giggling child to jump and splash more. Chandi smiled despite herself. Despite today signaling three years living in this underwater madness. Three years of sneaking, lying, stealing. And what had she really learned? That there were eleven Arun Guard and that their power came from their tattoos, which they called the Sun Brand. Apparently, in addition to the Guard, the emperor and the Radiant Queen also received the Sun Brand as a last line of defense against attacks. While she supposed those were interesting tidbits, it didn’t exactly qualify as information that could save the Lunar Empire.
“The fountain is not for swimming, handmaid.”
Chandi jumped at the voice so close behind her. She turned to put the pompous courtier in his place, then paused. It had been two years since she last saw Naresh. Not since the executions—a day she had never been able to erase from her mind. It haunted her vision every time she snuck into an office, every time she swiped some document, or stalked around the palace.
Naresh still wore the cerulean baju uniform of the Arun Guard, and seemed as fit as ever, his hair still hanging unkempt about his face.
She folded her arms over her chest. “You want to tell the emperor’s daughter where she can and can’t play?”
“She’s two. Best not to leave her in charge of her own wellbeing.”
Chandi scowled. Rangda take the man. She reached toward the fountain. “Come here, Revati.” The girl frowned, but obeyed, dripping water over Chandi’s new kemban.
Chandi sighed. Ratna had given her the bodice wrap for the Festival. Once, among the Lunars, she might have had any clothes she wanted, not waited on her cousin’s charity. But a handmaid took what she was given, and acted grateful for it. Most probably were grateful. So she’d donned the wrap, tucked a jasmine flower by her ear for contrast against her black hair, and collected her cousin’s daughter like she were some house slave.
“She’s in my charge, Guardsman. And now she’ll need to change clothes before we head to the Academy.”
Naresh nodded. “I’ll be your escort. I’m replacing Ibu Landorundun as your guardian for the immediate future.”
Chandi glowered without looking back at the Guardsman, though she could hear him following. When had he gotten back? Already they had him assigned to them. He must be good at something—fording the currents of Solar bureaucracy if nothing else. And what happened to Landorundun? The Guardswoman had been Ratna’s personal bodyguard for the past two years, ever since that day. Of course, since Landorundun had probably said all of two words to Chandi in that time, Chandi wasn’t going to miss her.
“Revati.” The voice echoed through the great hall before Chandi could even carry Revati out.
She sighed. Of course the emperor would choose now to come down, when his daughter was soaked. At least he didn’t sound angry. Not that she’d ever seen Kakudmi angry.
“Father!” Revati wiggled in Chandi’s arms, until she had to set the girl down. Revati ran to her father, who swept her up.
“You’re all wet, sunshine,” Kakudmi said, swinging his daughter around.
He wore a small golden crown, disdaining the more ornate costumes his forefathers had worn. His crimson baju, embroidered with Lunar songket, had been a gift from Ratna. She had probably meant it as a barb, but Kakudmi wore it often, though sleeved bajus had fallen out of favor in Solar fashion.
“I’m a swimmer!” Revati said.
The emperor cradled Revati in his arm. “You are? Well, aren’t you talented?”
Naresh drifted to the side of the room, drawing Chandi’s eye to Ratna. Her cousin paused in the archway, watching her husband and daughter, her face unreadable.
Hands on hips, she turned as Chandi approached. “Why is my daughter soaking wet?” she asked.
“She wanted to play in the fountain. I was just going to get her a change of clothes.”
Ratna shook her head, and drifted over to Kakudmi. “Pak Kakudmi, we leave for the Wayang show soon. Will you join us, husband?”
Chandi wouldn’t bother with the ridiculous Solar titles they afforded their equals or superiors, but Ratna always did.
The emperor grunted, held his daughter a moment longer, before setting her down. Even then, his eyes remained on Revati. “I cannot this morning. I have too many things to oversee.”
“Chandi,” Ratna said, her voice soft, “take Revati to change.”
As soon as Chandi and Revati returned Ratna headed out of the palace, Naresh in tow. They followed the northern crystal tube out of the Civic District. Women carrying baskets laden with fruit on their heads clogged the way. The footfalls of so many people created a constant din of echoes.
Revati pulled away from her mother and pressed her face against the crystal, gasping at a manta ray as it swam by. Ratna sighed and started for her daughter, but Chandi swept Revati up in her arms before Ratna could chide the girl. Who would have thought that a half-breed could be so beautiful?
“I attended the Academy,” Naresh said.
Chandi glanced at him. Why did he bother with these pleasantries? Landorundun rarely had.
“Drawing, literature, history, tactics, even painting. I didn’t focus, but my mother had never intended for me to become a scholar.”
Painting was a foolish Solar pursuit. She could see the point in a sculpture that might last for ages and remind one of history, but not painting. She followed as Ratna started off down the tube again.
Still, it would be a long day if she refused to speak to him. She’d had a great many long days with Landorundun, who had rebuffed all her questions. If Naresh was feeling talkative, maybe he was the chance to finally uncover more about the Rangda-damned Arun Guard. “How old were you?”
“Twenty-one, when I left. About a year before you came here. I spent much of that time training as a potential. My mother’s plan all along.”
A man destined to join the finest murderers in history. And the bastard was proud of it. She could use that, though. A man so proud of his accomplishments might be inclined to boast of them.
“Your mother planned your future?”
“Didn’t yours?”
“No.” Chandi bit off any further response. No. If Chandi’s mother had such plans, Chandi had never known them. Not since the Arun Guard had murdered her. The retort burned on her tongue, but if she lashed out at him she might lose the chance to pry information from him.
Drumbeats filtered down through the tube long before they reached the next district, and even Ratna’s step lightened. The light intensified as they stepped from the tube to the Academy District, the crystal dome casting the white-gold buildings in radiant splendor. Revati climbed from Chandi’s arms and scurried forward, but Naresh pulled ahead as though to interpose himself between them and danger. Chandi shook her head. She’d wanted to bring her toyaks, but couldn’t disguise them well against her kemban. But then, if half of what she’d heard about the Arun Guard was true, Naresh could probably hold off a small army by himself. Assuming he was on their side at all.
They passed through the city park, Revati rushing from one street musician to the next, once stopping to beat on a young woman’s leather drum. Musicians filled the district, plying their trade for donations or the sheer joy of it. Chandi tried not to gape at the throng, reminding herself every year was like this. Though the Market District probably stood in more chaos, vendors had set up shops throughout the park. In a way, the Academy District was like home—trees and openness melded right into the city. Of course, the dancing light above reminded her they still lived under the sea. There was airflow, but no breeze. They had created the illusion of nature, but it was a facade.
The smell of baked goods filled the air and Revati dashed off to a nagasari stall.
“Might be nice,” Chandi said when her cousin glanced at her. Ratna just shrugged, so Chandi handed the vendor two silver coins and picked out several of the banana cakes. Revati giggled and stuffed too much in her mouth at once. Ratna picked at hers. Naresh was smiling. Had she seen him smile before? When she offered him a piece, he took it, his mouth hanging open. “You’re halfway there. The nagasari goes in your mouth.”
The vendor thanked her, so she turned to answer, but broke off at his joyless expression. The man was an Igni. A fortunate one, to be running a business as respectable as this, here in this district. A Solar passed, his Igni porter struggling to keep pace with a loaded basket balanced on his head. How much time had she spent in this city that she should start to ignore the Ignis as much as the Solars did? She had often walked in the Igni District, seeking allies. But when she didn’t need them, she didn’t see them any more than the Solars did.
Naresh cast a wary eye at the Igni. “What’s wrong?”
Ratna glanced over, but Chandi just shook her head and took Revati by the hand, pulled her along toward the Academy.
Naresh trotted after her. “Chandi?” She glanced at him, only because he remembered her name after all. “Something you fear?” His hand had drifted to his keris, though he didn’t draw the sword as he pushed past them, scanning the crowd.
“There are a lot of slaves for this area of the city.” She waved her hand at other groups, many marked by the sacred flame sewn onto their clothing. They pushed carts, worked to repair damaged buildings, one swept the streets. All the labor beneath Solars themselves.
Naresh’s hand released his sword but closed into a fist. “Solars don’t keep slaves. Lunars do.”
Her arms ached from carrying Revati so much today, but she picked the girl up again, putting the child between herself and the Guardsman. “No. We just call it what it is.”
“Our so-called slaves are paid for their labor,” Naresh said. His gaze flitted between Chandi and Ratna, who had begun to outdistance them. “And they can leave any time they wish.”
“Assuming they haven’t signed a contract, and for pay far less than any of your kind would take.” She hurried to catch up to Ratna, her breath starting to come short. She should have put the child down. She drew her Potency Blessing, flooding strength into her limbs until Revati became no weight at all. She allowed herself to breathe, and lowered her voice before she spoke again. “And can they leave? You took their land, where would they go?”
Eyes cold, he brushed past her without further comment and resumed his position at Ratna’s side. Damn it. She was an idiot. And yet, after so much time spent with the Ignis she couldn’t help but see their plight. No one spoke the rest of the way to the Academy. A white stone fence ringed the Academy grounds, its gate open to the flow of Solars on their way to hear the coming concert. Music poured from open windows in a grouping of three towers connected by a series of aerial walkways, all arranged around a central lobby.
In front of the lobby, the students had constructed a stage where they prepared for the Wayang. Chandi had seen the Solar shadow puppetry last year. Impressive in its mastery of light, but still just a tedious Solar religious reenactment.
Chandi set Revati down and bade her go to her mother. The girl ran about, ogling the students. Naresh trotted off a short distance behind her.
&nb
sp; “Ratna,” Chandi said to her cousin, “if you don’t need my services here, I beg leave to visit a friend in the city.”
Naresh turned, looking like he might object, but Ratna cut him off. “It’s fine, Chandi. I’ll see you back at the palace.”
Chandi bowed and slipped out of the Academy before the Guardsman could speak.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Solar Academy was famed for its extensive library, or rather, libraries, as each of the three towers had their own. Ratna had visited here often in her time in Kasusthali. This place was one of the few highlights of her imprisonment in this undersea city. Each tower held countless volumes of lore, though some were restricted.
Now, during the Armistice Festival, the grounds were thick with revelers, musicians, street performers, and—most likely—cutpurses. Not that any thief would dare approach Ratna while one of the Arun Guard watched over her. Naresh, of course, constantly shifted his gaze from one direction to another, as if anyone would be foolish enough to accost Ratna or Revati.
Ratna shook her head, then stared up at the Tower of Arms. Here, students studied military history, Silat, and tactics. And, if she was not mistaken, they would have records of every battle the Solars ever fought.
“Pak Naresh? You studied here.”
Naresh glanced at her, then the tower. “Hmmm? Yes, Ibu Ratna. But the towers are closed for the Festival.”
“I want to see it.”
Naresh hesitated a moment, almost as if he would deny her. Stand up to the wife of the Solar emperor? Ratna kept her face stern, regal, not even allowing the possibility that he should question her. After a moment, he offered a slight bow, then went to pound on the tower door. Shortly, a bored-looking young woman—a student here?—opened the door. Her eyes widened as she looked at Naresh, then on to Ratna and her daughter, and she bowed deeply.