City of a Thousand Dolls

by Miriam Forster

  Nisha felt Vinian’s small, straight frame under her loose asar. “Of course,” she said, glad to be there. “When do I ever miss it?”

  At her feet, Jerrit mewed.

  Vinian looked down and laughed. “Still popular with our local good luck charms, I see. I’m glad someone pays attention to them.” She reached out for Jerrit, who ducked behind Nisha, bringing another laugh from Vinian.

  “Nisha, after you’re done, you must come into the kitchen and have tea with me. I want to know how your Redeeming plans are going.”

  Nisha knew she needed to jump at the opportunity. “I’d love to! I have something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Wonderful! I’ve got to oversee the next exam, but come to the kitchen when your lesson is done and we’ll talk!” Vinian’s intricate braid of black hair swung as she turned, and darted off.

  She always overwhelms me, Jerrit sent. Makes my claws itch.

  Nisha laughed and joined the other girls, who were already going through their stretches. She slid into place next to Tanaya, who gave her a smile. Nisha tried to clear her mind and focus on the warm, loose feel of her muscles, savoring the way her body did exactly what she asked when she asked for it.

  Here at least, she was in control.

  The dance began, and all she wanted was to lose herself in the rhythm and flow of the music. But as hard as she tried, she couldn’t forget her anxiety or let go of the nagging tension in her shoulders. Her movements were blocky, her steps a hair too slow.

  Frustrated, Nisha watched Tanaya next to her, envying her friend’s easy movements, the way her silken fan danced like a butterfly. All the girls in the class were learning the dance, but only the girls from the House of Flowers danced with fans.

  The dance was set to a story-song about the Sune, magical half-animal, half-human creatures that lived in the mountains and forests of the Empire. Nisha had never seen one—they were reclusive and stayed away from humans—but she knew they could switch from animal to human in the space of a breath. It was said they were fierce fighters and loyal to their tribe above all else.

  This dance illustrated a fable, a story about a tiger-Sune who fell in love with a human man. She abandoned her tribe to stay with him in a village, but it wasn’t long before she became homesick. At the end of the dance, the tiger-Sune returned to her home in the forest, leaving her husband and young son behind.

  The steps told the tale, but the fans communicated its emotions. By the end, Nisha lost herself in the story, and when the girls’ fans snapped shut in the final beats of the song, she felt her eyes sting with sadness.

  She was almost glad to start the cooldown exercises. Dancing was hard work, and she was thirsty and sore.

  The moment Nisha sat down in the House of Music’s warm, open kitchen, Vinian appeared with two steaming cups of pale golden tea.

  “How are you, dear?” she asked.

  “I’m well, thank you, Mistress,” Nisha said. She wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic and took a deep breath. “But I do have a … problem. I told you that Matron asked me to go to the Redeeming this year, but I … might not be able to go anymore.”

  “That’s terrible!” Vinian said, her eyes warming with sympathy.

  “I was hoping you could help me.” Nisha’s fingers pressed into the thin clay of the teacup so hard that she thought she might break it. “Matron said if I had an endorsement from a House Mistress, I would have a much better chance to find someone to speak for me, and to speak for me at a sum that … pleases the Council. And I thought, since I love to dance …”

  Nisha kept her eyes on the ripples of amber tea, afraid to look at Vinian. “Is there anything you can do?”

  Now that the question was out, Nisha dared to raise her eyes. Vinian’s mouth was very serious, and her fingernails tapped on the glossy surface of her cup.

  “Nisha,” she said gently, “I would love to claim you as one of mine.” She paused. “But I must be honest with you. The market for dancers is getting more and more specific. At last year’s Redeeming, I found no men to speak for my generally trained dancers. I had to send them to train at the House of Beauty so they would have a chance this year.” The Music Mistress spread her hands. “If I could help you, Nisha, believe me, I would. But I have to save these chances for my own girls. They have no other skills.”

  The stone that had fallen in Nisha’s stomach sank heavier than ever. She pressed her ankle against Jerrit’s warm fur underneath the table. “I understand. Thank you.”

  “Of course.” Vinian walked around the table and cupped Nisha’s face in her hands. “Good fortune go with you,” she said, touching their foreheads together. “You do have the spotted cats. Maybe they’ll bring you good luck.”

  8

  SHE DID SEEM to want to help you, Jerrit sent, once they were outside the House of Music.

  I know. Nisha looked back at the building where she had spent some of her freest hours. She’s always been kind to me, even though I deprived her of her most gifted novice. Sometimes I wonder why she ever forgave me.

  Esmer slipped around the corner of the building. The person who needs to forgive you is you, she sent dryly.

  And Zann, Nisha sent. Let’s not forget her.

  Nisha and the two cats walked in silence for a few minutes.

  Now what? Jerrit sent.

  “I don’t know, but I have an errand to run for Matron at the House of Beauty first. I was supposed to do it yesterday, but with everything that happened, I completely forgot. Then … well, I’m meeting Devan.”

  Nisha saw Jerrit look long at Esmer.

  Will you ask Rajni for an endorsement? Esmer asked.

  Nisha laughed but stopped when she heard the note of pain in her voice. She tried to make her tone light, as if she didn’t care. No chance. There’s no place in the House of Beauty for someone like me.

  Someone like me…

  The words ran in a continuous circle in Nisha’s head as she washed herself in the brick bathhouse and changed into her plain gray asar. She peered down at the reflection of her face in the waves of water. Heavy hair, wide-set eyes under thick, dark eyebrows, a full mouth. The outline of her tiger mark, half hidden under her asar. Was she pretty enough for Devan? Graceful enough?

  Not for the House of Beauty.

  But for Devan? He seemed to think so, at least when they were together. But—as Jerrit had reminded her—Devan wasn’t risking his life by being with her. Not like Nisha, who was risking everything—

  “Hello, Nisha.”

  Nisha jumped when a voice interrupted her thoughts, a voice like the slide of feathers over iron.

  Kalia, the Mistress of Order, had slipped into the bathhouse while Nisha’s thoughts floated elsewhere. The woman’s pure-white asar set off her silky copper skin, making her glow in the shadows of the bathhouse, and her hair gleamed like a fish-owl’s wing. Nisha dropped her head, unwilling to meet Kalia’s eyes.

  Kalia hovered over Nisha’s only clear memories of her first weeks in the City of a Thousand Dolls. Nisha had been hiding behind someone in a brown-and-gray tunic. She’d watched, frightened, as Kalia stormed out of Matron’s study in a rage that she had not gotten the new girl for herself.

  “I thought that was you,” Kalia murmured. “How are you, Nisha? I wish that I saw you much more than I do.”

  Nisha had to swallow before she could answer. “I’m well, thank you, Mistress. I do have a lot to do. For the Redeeming.” She tried to edge past Kalia and out of the bathhouse, but the woman put out a hand to stop her.

  “I heard a rumor,” she said. “My cousin Akash told me that your bond might be for sale soon.”

  Cousin? Nisha willed her fingers not to shake. “I … I didn’t know you were part of the tar’Vey family.”

  “Oh yes,” Kalia said, her wide mouth stretching in a grin. She lifted her long hair, revealing a small gold tattoo at the back of her neck. “I don’t use the name, of course. The girls here have no last names unti
l they are spoken for, so the House Mistresses don’t either. They say it helps to curb discontent and status seeking. But I’ve been a tar’Vey since the day I was born.”

  A trickle of cold sweat traced its way down the back of Nisha’s neck. This was worse than she could have imagined. Nisha would have to be very, very careful.

  She pulled away from Kalia’s hand, forcing herself to stand tall, hide her fear. “I don’t know what Akash told you, but I don’t have a bond. I’m a free citizen of the Empire.”

  Kalia laughed. “Such optimism, but then you are young. The Houses have fed and clothed you for ten years. If they claim the money that supported you as your bond, who is there to stop them?”

  Nisha’s chest went hollow with fear.

  No one.

  Kalia tilted her head. “Maybe I could help you. I need a new assistant. The assistant I have … she isn’t working. Come and work for me, Nisha.”

  Nisha suppressed a shudder. Kalia disciplined the House novices. The only time that Nisha had been beaten, it was Kalia who had done it. Nisha’s back still bore the scars, a thin crosshatch of marks she would wear for the rest of her life.

  “Thank you, Mistress. But it’s not the right position for me. I’ll wait and hope for the best.”

  Kalia’s smile slipped a little. “Are you sure? You would still have the same status that you have now. I know you think Matron is all-powerful, but she’s not.” Kalia looked behind her, as if she were making sure they were alone in the dark bathhouse. “Nisha, Matron’s time as the leader here will come to an end. The tar’Veys will see to it. If you were my assistant, you would still be free and I could protect you from Akash. He’s really quite reasonable if you know how to ask. Besides,” she said, giving the words a sharp twist, “it’s not as if you have many choices.”

  As far as Nisha was concerned, any choice was better than spending more time in the presence of Kalia tar’Vey. “I appreciate the thought,” she said with as much courtesy as she could summon. “But I have plans.”

  Anger pinched Kalia’s thin face. “Be careful, Nisha. I’m not a safe person to disappoint. Think about my offer.”

  Choking down the refusal that sprang to her lips, Nisha fled out of the bathhouse—and bumped into a stocky figure wearing an off-white asar. Chandra, Kalia’s assistant. The assistant who wasn’t working.

  Chandra cringed and looked away. Her eyes were the pale brown of dying grass. There was a beaten look about her shoulders.

  “It’s all right, Chandra,” Nisha said. She bent and picked up Jerrit, waiting by the door.

  When the girl saw Jerrit, her drawn face transformed with a smile that lit her up like a shaft of light through an open door. She reached out a hand, stopping just short of his fur.

  “Hello, pretty one,” she whispered.

  “Chandra,” Kalia said from the doorway. “Come here. Now.”

  The smile vanished and Chandra froze, quivering on the steps. Her eyes were huge and hunted. Then, head down, she hurried past Nisha and into the building.

  “You see?” Kalia said, her voice conversational, when Chandra had disappeared. “She’s far too timid for my liking. But you”—and with the speed of a snake strike, the Mistress of Order seized Nisha’s arm, her eyes glittering—“you’re different.”

  Nisha willed herself not to jerk away. Kalia’s fingers dug into her arm, sending sparks of pain from her elbow to her fingertips. Jerrit hissed. His ears lay flat against his head.

  Let me scratch her. Please.

  No, Nisha sent. If I do anything that could be interpreted as defiance, she could punish me. I can’t go through that again.

  “Kalia.” Josei, the Mistress of Combat, materialized out of nowhere. Her dark, red-brown hair was pulled back from her forehead, and her fingers twitched on the leather-wrapped hilt of her short sword. “Is there a problem here?” she asked, quietly but clearly.

  Kalia dropped Nisha’s arm. “No problem, Josei. Nisha and I were just discussing her future.”

  Josei didn’t look at Nisha when she said, “I do not think Nisha’s future is any of your concern. You are needed in the Council House.”

  “Of course.” Kalia gave a tight smile, then turned to Nisha. “If you have work to do, go do it. You don’t belong out here.”

  Without waiting to thank Josei, Nisha hurried away and spit to try and get rid of the helpless, sour tang that coated her tongue. She felt like a trap was closing around her, tighter every day.

  I have to escape. Soon, or I’ll be wearing bronze cuffs by dinner tomorrow.

  Her wrists ached to think about it.

  The House of Beauty girls were just sitting down to the lunchtime meal when Nisha slipped in. House Mistress Rajni was deep in conversation with someone, and Nisha didn’t want to interrupt. Instead she pressed herself against one wall of the large dining room and watched the girls.

  The novices sat in two long rows on either side of the table, and from a distance, they all looked curiously alike. Smiles showed straight teeth, careful nods accented dark hair that shone like candlelight on water, hands gestured with slender brown fingers.

  Even the ritual of eating lunch looked like a dance as the girls delicately placed paper-thin chicken slices, fine-grained basil rice, and mangoes that had been cut into the shapes of flower petals into their perfectly painted mouths.

  Nisha fought the urge to roll her eyes. Instead she listened carefully to the flow of words, the way Matron had taught her.

  I found the perfect shade of sorrel paint for the tree branches on my fan. It will show up wonderfully against the ivory.

  No, you have to put the bellflower stems in the middle. They droop too much if you put them on the side of the arrangement.

  I’m supposed to serve tea to the Council tomorrow. I’m so nervous. What if I spill? You know the tea ceremony is supposed to be perfect.

  Nisha focused in on the nervous girl, looking for undercurrents that might mean she was growing restless or discontented. But the girl didn’t seem resentful, only anxious, so Nisha moved her attention back to the room at large. Most of the girls were talking about clothes.

  What asar will you choose for the masquerade?

  Deep blue silk with a pattern of white geese in flight. And I’m wearing milkstones in my hair.

  I have a new asar, this gorgeous cream color with dark-blue and yellow embroidery and an edging of gentian flowers. They stand for sparkling conversation, you know. And the man who is speaking for me sent me a necklace to wear. Silver with topaz stones. I’ll have to show it to you.

  You’re lucky. I have no idea who might speak for me yet.

  But that just makes it more exciting! Think of all the handsome noblemen who will be there!

  The conversation dissolved into giggles and whispers, and Nisha moved on.

  The Beauty girls might sound frivolous, but they were artists, and skilled ones. If the House of Flowers was dedicated to perfection and the House of Jade to discipline, the House of Beauty was devoted to loveliness in every form. Everything beautiful here came from the girls. All the food had been arranged by the novices, as had the bouquets of orchids and lilies that dotted the long table. Each novice was an expert in the art of creating beauty, especially when it came to her own. They were trained not to waste a word, a movement, a look, to present themselves in the best possible way.

  Because of their ability to create flawless environments, girls from the House of Beauty were in high demand, and the House was full of novices. They were the favorites of wealthy merchants and noble families who did not need their sons to marry for political power. Every girl here was certain to be picked.

  When Nisha caught Rajni’s eye, the House Mistress waved her over.

  An important part of Nisha’s job at this time of year was making sure that every House Mistress had everything she needed in advance of the Redeeming. A House could underestimate the amount of supplies it needed. Nisha’s task was to fix that, or better yet, to ensure that the su
pplies didn’t run short in the first place.

  Fortunately, Rajni needed only a few small accessories that had to do with the girls’ costumes for the masquerade: more ribbons to tie masks with, extra eye paint, and more hairpins. Nisha jotted the list down on a small piece of parchment and left to find Matron.

  9

  MATRON WAS STANDING in the largest of the Council House kitchens talking to the cook about preparations for the masquerade. She nodded to Nisha when she saw her. “I’ll be right with you, Nisha.”

  The kitchen was large and bustling, with earthen ovens, a fireplace, and several cracked wooden tables. The back door was open as servants came in and went out, bringing food from the storage cellars. The heat from the ovens fought with the draft from the open door, making the air move on Nisha’s skin.

  Matron gave the cook her last instructions and approached Nisha. “Are all the Houses ready for the Redeeming, Nisha?”

  “Almost.” Nisha handed her the list of items that Rajni still needed.

  Matron read the list, her brow creased in thought. “You might check the House of Flowers for ribbons. The girls at the House of Pleasure will probably have enough kohl to give some to Beauty.”

  Nisha nodded. “It’s going to be the hairpins that are difficult. There are never enough this time of year.”

  Matron’s smile crinkled her eyes and made her look years younger. “I know. No matter how many I order to be made, they always seem to disappear. It’s as if you girls are eating them.” She handed the list back. “Just do the best you can. If all else fails, we can tell Rajni that wearing your hair down is the latest fashion in the capital.”

  Nisha giggled. “She’ll love that.”

  “And how are the girls?” Matron asked. “Are they all still excited about the Redeeming? Any problems?”

  “Not in the House of Beauty,” Nisha said, pushing down the usual niggle of guilt that came from telling secrets that weren’t hers. “Just the usual nervousness. Lots of talk of clothing, giggling about who they might meet, that sort of thing. The girl who’s serving tea in the Council House tomorrow seemed a bit anxious.”