City of a Thousand Dolls

by Miriam Forster

  A tiger.

  Nisha was half tiger.

  She touched the mark under her collarbone, the tiger that had set her apart ever since she could remember. It seemed to warm under her hand. Was that why her mother joined the Arvi? Because their symbol reminded her of her past life?

  Do the Kildi know? Nisha asked.

  Jerrit shook his head. I don’t think so.

  More questions were bursting out of Nisha’s skin. Am I going to change? Does it hurt?

  Slow down, Jerrit sent, a warm laugh accompanying his mind-voice. Remember what Josei told you? Half-Sune don’t change until they’re finished growing. It’s usually not until eighteen at the least. You have a couple of years yet.

  Half relieved, half disappointed, Nisha dragged her attention back to Esmer and the prince.

  “Well,” the prince said finally, “that does alter things.” He craned his neck until he spotted Matron in the crowd.

  “You there, new Council Head. Come and talk with me.”

  Matron made her way slowly through the crowd. Her head was bent in respect, but Nisha saw a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. The two retreated to the dais with Esmer, where they spoke in low voices. The Shadow Mistress stood nearby, watching them.

  “Did Matron know? About my parents?” Nisha asked.

  Jerrit looked surprised at the question. “Yes, of course. She was the one who agreed to let us stay in the City. She took you as her assistant and promised Esmer she would protect you as best she could.”

  Nisha felt dizzy and leaned against Jerrit for support, the way she always had, even before she’d known who he was. “Why would she do that for me?” she asked.

  “Not out of choice.” Jerrit grinned. “Your father blackmailed her into it.”

  “He what?”

  Jerrit nodded, clearly amused. “Yes. He’d learned a few secrets about the City in his years of trading between here and Kamal. He had discovered that Matron had been funneling City funds to a school in Kamal that takes in older orphans. Only the Council Head has ever been allowed to take City money for any purpose other than running the City. So Matron was basically embezzling the money. When your parents realized they were in danger—from what, they never said—your father came straight to Matron. He threatened her with exposure if Matron didn’t take you in and protect you as best she could until he could come and get you.”

  “But they died....”

  Jerrit rested his forehead on hers. “Yes. And Matron refused to send you back to the Kildi without knowing who killed your parents.”

  Nisha’s gaze drifted to Matron’s stiff figure. “She saved me.”

  Matron looked over to see Nisha staring at her, and raised one eyebrow in grim amusement.

  Nisha looked away, her gaze falling on the Shadow Mistress. “And you,” she said. “You were following me?”

  “From the moment you found my House and I knew what you were about” was the woman’s quiet reply. “Before that, you didn’t need me. You were safe here. But when I heard your story, I knew you were in danger. And I, too, had made a promise. Your mother was one of my closest friends.”

  “My mother?” Nisha whispered, feeling the words flutter like songbirds in her throat. ”You knew my mother? You knew she was Sune?”

  “Of course I did.” The Shadow Mistress slid her eyes away from Nisha’s, her face unreadable. “I owe her my life many times over. But when I gave up my name to come here, I never expected to see her again. Then one day, there she was, in my House. She said her daughter was sitting at the gate, and that she and Emil were in danger and were going to try to reach someone who could help them. She wouldn’t tell me any more, but she charged me to protect you, to swear by our friendship and by the debt I owed her. When your mother left, she dropped this scarf.”

  Nisha reached up to touched the red scarf over her hair.

  “But … if you were watching me, why didn’t you help before now?” Nisha asked, trying to understand. “They were going to sell me.”

  A flicker of anger crossed the Shadow Mistress’s face. “When I promised to protect you in the City, I didn’t know that you would be here for ten years. I am oath bound to the Emperor. He sent me personally to this estate under a solemn charge of obedience, and I could not directly oppose the Council’s decisions. I chose my battles, and perhaps not as well as I could have. But I would not have left you in their snares long.”

  “Somehow, I didn’t think the rules applied to you,” Nisha said.

  The Shadow Mistress bent down, looking at something on the floor. “The rules apply to everyone, Nisha. Even your parents.”

  “How did you know her?” Nisha asked, thinking again of her mother’s mysterious past. “She wasn’t an assassin, was she?”

  The Shadow Mistress gave her a brief, sad smile. ”All you need to know is that, legend or not, your parents were the best people I have ever known, and that they loved you more than they loved life itself.”

  Something deep inside Nisha relaxed, opened like a flower unfurling. She was not flawed or untrainable. She had not been abandoned. Her parents had done everything they could to keep her safe.

  She had been loved.

  The Shadow Mistress straightened, picking up a scrap of scalloped rice paper off the floor. She handed it to Nisha. Tanaya’s handwriting was clear and sharp.

  Mirrors reflecting

  Doubling the laughing crowd

  Lies set in glass

  I see no bright eyes

  Peering out from this jeweled mask

  I, too, am a lie

  Nisha crumpled the paper and let it drop to the floor.

  “You shouldn’t be standing,” Jerrit said suddenly. He picked Nisha up as if she weighed nothing, his body warm and strong against hers.

  Nisha leaned into his warm chest for a moment, then punched him in the arm as hard as she could.

  “Ow!” Jerrit said. “What was that for?”

  “You lied to me!” Nisha said, torn between tears and laughter. “You were there the whole time, and I was so worried. I thought you hated me, that I was never going to see you again—”

  “I know,” Jerrit said. “You don’t know how many times I almost spoke to you. But if I had, Esmer would have made me go back to cat form until it was all over. Matron made us swear that we would tell you nothing about us, or your parents, until your sixteenth year, after your first Redeeming. She didn’t want you to go looking for your parents until you were older. And I had to protect you.”

  His voice roughened and he held her tighter. “If anything had happened to you,” he said, resting his face in her hair, “I don’t know what I would have done.”

  A warm quiver started up in Nisha’s belly, and she spoke quickly to cover it.

  “My parents sent you with me?”

  Jerrit nodded. “I don’t remember much, since I was so young at the time. I have no idea how your parents even knew about our tribe. I do know that Esmer personally promised to look out for you until you left the City, and that we moved in the day after you did. You can ask Esmer, but I think she took another oath of secrecy for that.”

  The reminder of her broken oath to Jerrit made Nisha squirm. “Jerrit, I’m sorry I broke my promise—”

  “That’s all over now.”

  “But how can it be over?” Nisha said. “Esmer said you can’t take back oath-breakers.”

  “We can’t, so we decided to go with you.”

  “What?” Nisha choked on the word. She must have misheard him. “You cast yourselves out?”

  Jerrit nodded. “When a tribe decides not to be a part of the Marjara-Sune—the cat clans—they are Sundered. No cat-Sune will speak to them or even acknowledge their existence.”

  “But why?” Nisha said. “Why do that for me?”

  “Because if we go voluntarily into exile, we keep our honor. We won’t lose our young, and we won’t have to worry about hostile tribes because no one’s allowed to acknowledge our existence.” Jerrit lau
ghed, and it was a deep sound, almost like a purr. “And unlike breaking an oath, being Sundered isn’t permanent. It is reversible.”

  “Then you can go back,” Nisha said. “You can undo it.”

  “We could. But we won’t.” Jerrit’s voice became very tender. “Esmer offered the rest of the tribe a choice, Nisha. They could remain with us and be Sundered, or they could go freely and join another tribe. Do you know how many of our tribe wanted to stay?”

  “How many?” Nisha whispered.

  “All of them,” Jerrit said, holding her closer. “Every single one. So you see, you’re stuck with us.”

  Before Nisha could fully absorb his words, the prince approached them, followed by Esmer and Matron. Prince Sudev looked sullen, Matron looked grimly satisfied, and Esmer smiled brightly.

  “In light of the respect my father has for the Sune, I have decided to be gracious,” the prince said. His voice was anything but gracious and made Nisha very glad she wasn’t going to work in the palace.

  Prince Sudev turned to Matron. “The City is yours. I trust nothing like this evening’s … debacle will happen ever again.”

  “You can be sure it won’t,” Matron said.

  The prince’s cold gaze moved to Nisha. “Now I really must insist that you declare us even. I am losing patience with this game.”

  An idea struck Nisha, one that made the corners of her mouth twitch.

  “Thank you, O Gracious One. You have been very generous in repaying your life-debt.”

  She settled back in Jerrit’s arms, feeling safer than she had in days. The City of a Thousand Dolls would continue, with its dizzying mix of good and evil, but now the girls would have at least some choices. It wouldn’t give Zann, Atiy, Jina, or Lashar their lives back, but it was something.

  “But there is one more person I’d like you to help.”

  Bracing herself on her good foot, Nisha leaned her elbows against the stone that lined the top of the wall. Thick frost soaked her heavy wool tunic, but she couldn’t have cared less.

  The view was as vast as she’d imagined, a broad carpet of treetops as far as the eye could see. The branches had shed their leaves, and a delicate cover of frost crusted each thin twig. In the soft light of day, the trees glittered like diamonds. White tendrils of morning mist wove through the branches, evaporating in the open air.

  Nisha took a deep breath, savoring the feel of the cold, sparkling air. Jerrit put a hand on her shoulder, and she smiled up at him.

  Where are we going? she sent. She was amused to still find herself communicating with Jerrit in the old way.

  We thought we’d stop by Stefan’s camp, Jerrit sent with a grin, if that’s all right with you.

  He’s still there? The thought startled Nisha. I thought they were packing up to leave.

  Jerrit began to laugh, and sent, Aishe refused to go. Esmer says she sat down in the middle of camp and threatened to bite anyone who tried to move her. She said she wasn’t going to abandon a member of their family for a second time, even if everyone else was.

  A smile pulled at the corners of Nisha’s mouth. That sounds like something Aishe would say.

  They stood in companionable silence for a moment and listened to the carefree chatter drifting up from the two wagons outside the main gate. Nisha could see Esmer’s gray head as she supervised the loading of the bigger wagon.

  The Sune woman Rashi, her dark-brown hair pulled back, argued playfully with small, red-haired Valeriana. Other Sune in human form loaded the wagons with things Nisha had never known the cats possessed.

  Her own bundles were in there somewhere, along with the sack that the Kildi had given her. It felt good to see her things bundled together with the others’, as if she weren’t leaving home at all, but taking everything with her.

  Well, almost everything.

  Nisha’s gaze was drawn to the smaller of the two wagons. A slim, green-robed figure sat stiffly upright in the front. A familiar ache started in Nisha’s chest.

  “Sashi still won’t talk to you?” Jerrit asked, following her gaze.

  “No.” Nisha shook her head. “I tried again this morning. She wouldn’t answer her door. She still hasn’t forgiven me, and I don’t blame her.”

  “She has her own life to figure out,” Jerrit said. “And you can’t change what’s been done …”

  “No matter how hard you want to,” Nisha finished. Her eye caught a cheerful figure in an off-white asar. Chandra ran to hug Esmer, then patted the sturdy cart horses, and finally clambered into the smaller wagon, settling in among the bundles and plants.

  “That was a good thing you did,” Jerrit said, “asking the prince to send Chandra with Sashi as an assistant. You probably saved her life.”

  There were so many lives she hadn’t saved, Nisha thought. Her eyes drifted again to her friend in the wagon seat. It didn’t feel like enough, and she wondered if it ever would.

  Nisha watched as the wagon master swung himself up beside Sashi and clucked the horses into action. As the healer’s wagon pulled away, Chandra looked up and saw Nisha.

  Even from the wall, Nisha could see the smile that lit up the girl’s face. Chandra waved, and Nisha and Jerrit waved back, watching the wagon until it was lost in the trees.

  “I hope she’s happy,” Nisha whispered, more to herself than to Jerrit. She felt stiff and tired and a thousand years old.

  Jerrit fidgeted for a moment. “We found this outside the main gates, by the way.” He handed her a small bouquet of star jasmine. Nisha’s heart gave a painful thump at the sight of the note tied to the stems.

  She unfolded the rice paper. No poem, no elegant phrases, not even a signature. Just two simple words.

  Forgive me.

  Nisha put the white flowers down on the edge of the wall.

  “I’m sorry about Devan,” Jerrit said. “I know you cared about him.”

  “I did,” Nisha said, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Maybe I always will. But I don’t belong in his world. I don’t want to belong in it. I wouldn’t have been happy, not with people watching everything I do, waiting for me to make a mistake.”

  “Well, if you don’t belong there, then where do you think you belong?” Jerrit slid his hand over hers, and their fingers entwined like vines in a garden.

  Nisha smiled up at him. There were so many new pieces to her identity, sometimes she didn’t even recognize herself. Half Kildi and half Sune, orphaned and adopted, wounded and free. The only thing she knew for certain was that she was loved. And for now that was enough.

  “I don’t know where I belong yet,” she said. “But we’ll figure it out, won’t we?”

  Jerrit laughed and scooped Nisha up into his arms, so their faces were inches apart. His chest was warm, driving out the chill of the frost.

  Nisha half hoped her foot didn’t heal too quickly.

  “Come on,” Jerrit said, touching her forehead with his own. “Can’t keep the tribe waiting.”

  “My tribe,” Nisha said, savoring the words. She leaned her head back against Jerrit, feeling his heart beat in time with her own.

  My family.

  Acknowledgments

  IT WOULD BE impossible to thank all the people who made this book a reality, but I’m going to give it my best try.

  To my husband, Dan, the most brilliant, supportive person I know. Thanks for the hugs, the editing advice, the late-night cookie runs, and all the other million and one ways you made this possible. I love you madly.

  To my parents, who taught me to read and never took a book out of my hands because it was too hard or grown-up. Because of you, I am at home in the written word. Thank you for never giving up on me.

  (Special thanks to Dad and his tribe of cats, past and present, including Macduff, Fizben, and Pascal. It’s your fault there are cats in every book I write.)

  To my sisters, who have two of the biggest hearts I know and remember all the embarrassing stories. Thank you for being the amazing women you are.


  To my astonishing and hilarious agent, Jennifer Laughran. Of all the surprising things on this improbable journey, you were the best surprise of all. Thanks for the perspective, the cheers, and the awesome book recommendations.

  To my tireless editor, Sarah Dotts Barley. Because of you, my book is better than I could ever have made it by myself. Thank you for all your hard work, enthusiasm, wonderful ideas, and for loving Nisha and Jerrit and all the rest just as much as I do.

  To everyone at Andrea Brown and HarperCollins, especially Erin Fitzsimmons, the designer, who made my book look more epic than it actually is (no matter what she says); Renée Cafiero and Valerie Shea, who helped me find lost days and educated me on the ways of the comma; Colin Anderson, who created the completely amazing jacket art; and Taryn Fagerness, foreign rights agent extraordinaire. A book is a work of art made by many hands. I was lucky to have yours. Thank you.

  To my Starbucks coworkers and customers in the Pullman, Moscow, and Five Mile stores. You made my days go smoothly and put up with my tireless book blather. Thanks for making me feel so supported. You guys are the best.

  To Neysa, Sarah, Amy, and the rest of my original critique group. You saw this book in its rawest form and did not run screaming. Thanks for sharing the ride.

  To all my in-real-life friends who’ve walked the last year with me, thank you. Thanks to Arwen for the pizza-and-movie nights and the marathon book-reading days. Thanks to the Moscow Library YA book club—Sofia, Haley, Jamie, Addie, and Hailey—for being the coolest people I know. And thanks to my family at Real Life for letting me pounce on you and bombard you with book news at seven in the morning. I owe you all the coffee in the world.

  To all my wonderful blog readers, Twitter pals, and Facebook friends. You guys make me laugh every single day, and I’m so lucky to have an extended family like you. You make the Internet a warm and friendly place, and that’s no small feat. Thank you from the bottom of my socially awkward heart.