The Shadow Watch

by S. A. Klopfenstein

  “The boy is right,” said Ashi. She remained by the door, anticipating the next person to enter.

  “I can assure you,” said Kale, “Xander Mynah’s plot is more clever than poisoned cheese.” Kale replenished himself, with no ill effects. He offered some to Ashi, but she shook her head, without a word, her gaze fixed on the door.

  It was several minutes before there was a loud knock, followed by, “Sweetling?”

  It was Jerrah. Ashi paused to collect herself. She breathed, and her body relaxed a little. Accepting her fate, she opened the door to him. “I am attending my prince this evening, Captain.”

  Jerrah chuckled, looking around the room. “It would seem he is away at the moment. Perhaps praying? Why don’t we pray, you and I? We won’t be gone long, Sweetling. You will have plenty of time to attend our prince tonight. Or would you deny a man of the Red Palace?”

  Ashi released a labored breath. “No, Captain, of course not. I will meet you for prayer in a moment.” And Jerrah left them.

  “Pelah,” Ashi said, turning to the servant boy. “I must attend to other… duties. Please do not take your eyes off our new slave.”

  “I know what he is, sera.” Pelah addressed Ashi formally, as servant boys addressed free women of the Yan Avii.

  “Do not call me sera. I am a slave just like you.” Though Ashi feigned contempt, Kale could tell she longed for the title to be true.

  “We are alike. Both of us will not be slaves for long,” said Pelah. “I will look after the Sky Blood until my prince returns, sera.”

  Ashi shook her head, but Kale sensed a fondness for the boy. She clapped him on the shoulder, then turned to Kale.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere without Kirra.”

  “He’s a good man, Sky Blood,” said Ashi. “Salla is a man of his word. If you do what he asks, he will do as he’s promised. Don’t play games with him.”

  “You speak to me of playing games?” Kale said.

  Ashi glanced away. “I must go.”

  He felt a surge of pity for the woman. There was fear buried deep within her spirit, though she strove hard to walk with her head high.

  Kale called after her. “I hope for your sake, as well as mine, that you are right about Salla.”

  “I do not hope, Sky Blood. I trust.” And Ashi left for Jerrah’s chambers.

  “Did Salla promise you freedom too?” Kale asked the servant boy once she’d gone.

  “There are many things wrong with the ways of my people,” said Pelah. “Much corruption. Salla will make the Yan Avii better than we’ve ever been. He is a good man. And he will make a fine Great Soltayne.”

  Kale smiled and nodded. He would not squelch the poor boy’s dreams, but truth be told, he was coming to trust Salla less and less by the hour.

  The longer he waited, the more anxious he became. How was it that Kirra had remained hidden from his sense all this time, if she was truly nearby? And how had Salla so conveniently learned of the godstones they sought? Had Salla learned to use them? Kale could think of no other explanation for Kirra’s absence from his sense. It was said they could be used to travel long distances in moments. And there was much darker lore associated with the legends of the godstones, which Kale dared not let his mind linger upon.

  His fears and suspicions were forgotten quickly at the sight of Kirra. A young soldier led her through the great doors. Shackles bound her wrists behind her back, but she looked well enough. Her short black hair fell into narrow, nearly black eyes. Her olive skin was clean and smooth, and Kale wanted to rush to her, to unbind her wrists and clasp her hands in his own. But he resisted, standing still, hands at his sides, showing cool composure.

  Salla followed the young soldier and Kirra into the room, accompanied by two Ilya wearing Red Palace ranks. Salla nodded, and Kirra’s shackles were removed. She rushed forward and pulled Kale into an embrace.

  Kale was startled at first. Kirra was not usually the type for such unabashed affection. A surge of anger rose up in him. What had they done to her? Kale recovered himself quickly, noting Salla’s scrutinizing gaze, and wrapped his arms around her. She felt weak, clinging to him for support. It was unnerving to see her this way.

  “Are you well?” Kale whispered, stroking the hair out of her eyes.

  “Still alive.” Kirra’s voice was barely a whimper.

  He reached out with his sense. There was no hidden meaning behind her words that he could tell. Kirra’s mind seemed locked away from him. She had never liked him prodding around. Especially after the Isle of Jallaa. She always resisted when he tried, and he respected her privacy, and so, he rarely tried to break through. But even now? Had she been commanded to hold back her mind? Kirra had never felt so distant in his presence.

  But it was a relief to hear her voice, weak as it was. Kirra’s frailty broke him. Suddenly, Kale forgot about Salla and the Choosing and his own rage. He did not care. He would do what was expected of him if it meant Kirra would be safe. He let his emotion show, both because Salla wanted to see it and because it was a strain to hold it back. With Kirra in his arms again, relief swept over him—and guilt. “I am so sorry, Kirra. All this is my fault. The Morph attack, and now this. I shouldn’t have—”

  “There’s nothing you could have done.” Kirra pulled away from him, slowly, clutching her arms to herself. Her sleeves pulled away from her wrists, revealing fresh, swollen wounds. Kale fought to hide his rage, glancing down at the floor, hoping Salla didn’t notice. He would not give that bastard the satisfaction.

  “Don’t resist him. Don’t play games,” Kirra said, fear evident in her voice. And then, she whispered, “He knows what we’re looking for. He knows of the godstones. If we get him his throne…”

  But there was another meaning hidden beneath it, released in a brief flash.

  Things are not what they appear, Kale!

  Out loud, for Salla to hear, Kirra claimed Salla would keep his end of the bargain, but inwardly…

  Kale was ready to fight, ready to take Kirra and flee. Forget the godstones. But something held him back. There was something strange about the whole encounter, and Kale paused, forced himself to seize the glimpse into Kirra’s mind. Much as she hated it, he prodded for more.

  And it was the momentary flash that broke down the whole facade. Suddenly, Kale realized why Kirra kept her mind walled from him now—why she had remained undetectable from within a half hour’s walking distance—why she had rushed to his embrace—why she had flashed the scars.

  It was not out of fear. Though that was what Salla must have hoped Kale would come away with. Though the woman before him looked and sounded exactly like the woman Kale loved, his glimpse into her mind had revealed the truth.

  This woman was not Kirra.

  22

  Kale tried not to let this revelation show in his eyes. The woman who was not actually Kirra was eyeing him, awaiting a response, and Salla was watching them both.

  If this was not Kirra, then who could it be?

  There was only one real explanation. The woman was a Watcher, a Metamorphi, feigning Kirra’s likeness. Kale and Kirra were not the only Sky Bloods that Salla had enlisted. But if she was working with Salla, why had this Morph woman let Kale into her mind at all? Surely Salla knew a glimpse into her mind would be enough for a Cerebro to realize what was going on.

  Say something! It was the Morph again. Or Salla will suspect something is wrong.

  The Morph was letting him into her mind. Intentionally opening herself to his sense.

  You have to keep playing his game, Kale. Now, say something about my wrists. Make it good!

  The Morph was still standing with her arms clutched to her chest so Kale could glimpse the fresh wounds Salla wanted him to see. He hadn’t acknowledged them.

  “Y-your arms!” Kale managed, his gaze moving to her wrists. Wounds that were not real on a Kirra who was not real. What was this Morph up to? He sensed fear in her every time she opened her mind to him. Fear she w
as trying to mask. Fear of whom? Kale had to keep playing along until he could figure out what her motive was. “Y-you’re hurt.” He whispered it, then let the anger rise up in a flare. “What has that bastard done to you?” His icy gaze met Salla’s across the room. The prince’s expression was hard, but Kale could sense pleasure at his response.

  That’s better! Kirra the Morph touched her wrists again, then pulled her sleeves down. “Don’t play games, Kale. We have to do what he asks,” she said aloud.

  “W-we will,” said Kale, choking up now. “We’ll get out of this. I promise.” He stepped forward and pulled the woman who was not Kirra into his arms once more.

  “Where is she?” he whispered in her ear. “Where’s Kirra?”

  I am sorry, Kale. She is gone. She was gone the day you lost her… but you can still do some good yet.

  Kale pulled her tight, true tears forming. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. He kissed her forehead, and then her ear, imagining it was real. That this truly was Kirra’s soft skin at his lips. But no. She was gone. She had always been gone. His grip went tight around the Morph.

  You must kill him, Kale. You need to kill Salla. Tonight!

  “All right, lovebirds,” said Salla, smirking. “That’s enough affection for today.”

  The young soldier came forward with Kirra’s shackles. He bound Kirra’s wrists roughly and led her away with a shove.

  You must kill him! You must!

  This was the last thing Kale caught from her mind before the Morph disappeared with a final shove from the soldier.

  And he did want to kill the prince. Salla had fooled him. He had never had Kirra. Kale eyed the blades of the Ilya in the room. If he was quick, he might be able to do it. But something held him back.

  Kale made a show of his response, storming forward without any true intentions. An Ilya moved between them, sword drawn, and Kale stood down. “You bastard, Salla! If your brute touches her again, I’ll—”

  “You’ll do what? Withhold information again, old friend?”

  Kale switched from anger to desperate pleading, giving Salla just what he wanted to see. Wringing his hands before him, he said, “Please don’t harm her. I’ll do what you want.”

  “I know you will,” said Salla. “But before you try to play games again, remember that I hold the stakes in this bet.”

  Kale nodded. But he knew better. Salla held no stakes in this bet at all. Mynah had been playing Salla for a fool. Kale realized it, then. He had known there was something more to Mynah’s plan, but he had thought it would play out during the Choosing ceremony. Now it made more sense.

  Kale was the last piece to Mynah’s plot. Kirra had been a ploy all along, and he and Salla both had been fooled.

  “If you betray me,” said Salla, “do not think for a moment that my men will hesitate to kill her… or you.”

  Kale nodded obediently. But the prince’s words held no weight any longer.

  Salla came near, his voice softening. “Now, tell me, what is Mynah’s plan, old friend?”

  It was the encounter with Kirra the Morph, and the revelation of Salla’s true stakes, that decided Kale’s plan.

  “You’re sure the assassin is him?” said Salla softly.

  “As you’ve made clear, you hold the stakes. I have no motivation to lie,” said Kale. “Mynah’s first assassination attempt will be poorly executed, and it will be unsuccessful by intention. Tell me, do you always eat in your chambers?”

  “No soltayne dares to eat or drink in public on the eve of the Choosing. All chieftains, including me, will have food sent to them, first tasted by a servant.”

  “This tasting servant will be the first assassin,” said Kale. “He will fall easily into your hands. He will make you feel strong and triumphant. You will think you have thwarted Mynah. And it will be then that the real assassin will enter, the one you have foolishly trusted. He will come to your aid at the commotion. But you must not hesitate when he enters. You must not let a sliver of doubt waver your hand. He does not expect you know his intent, and that is your advantage. But that advantage will not last long.”

  Salla clapped him on the shoulder. “Very good, old friend. You and Ashi will stand watch in my chambers tonight, until all this is over. Where is she?”

  “Ashi was called away for… other duties in the palace,” said Pelah.

  Salla cursed. “I am her only duty this night! Who called her away?”

  Pelah was about to answer when the doors to Salla’s bedchambers eased open. “It was the kitchens,” said Ashi, slipping in. “They wanted to know your breakfast preference.”

  Salla breathed a sigh of relief at her return. “Yes, very well then. Send Pelah if they require anything else, will you? I want you here by my side until I am chosen. Now I must rest for as long as I can manage. Surviving the night is only the beginning.”

  Salla drew the silks around his bed, and soon Kale could hear the rhythm of steady breathing. Even in dreams, Salla’s mind was locked away. Kale could know nothing for certain. He could only trust his instincts.

  It had seemed a marvelous coincidence that Kirra had been rescued by Salla Burodai. But perhaps it was not. It seemed Salla had fallen right into Mynah’s schemes. The Morph wanted Kale to think Kirra was dead, to use his rage to Mynah’s advantage.

  But there was one problem with that. Kale did not believe she was dead. If Kirra was truly dead, he would feel it to be true. He would sense her absence from his mind. But she lingered still, and he had to believe she was alive.

  Kale and Ashi stood watch by the doors as the world went dark. Pelah remained dutifully by Salla’s bedside. Kale could sense Ashi’s tenseness. It seemed to fill the air in the room like a fog. Her head was held lower than usual, and though she tried to hide them, he noticed the thin dark lines around Ashi’s wrists, how often she dabbed her lip with the cloth draped on her arm.

  “Ashi…” he said when she raised her gaze from the ground.

  Her eyes were cold. “You have nothing to say to me, Sky Blood.” Ashi dabbed at her lip again, and the cloth flashed a stain of crimson.

  And Kale knew he had chosen the right path.

  It was an hour before morning prayers—while Arayeva yet turned her gaze from the world and the deeds of men—when there was a soft knock on Salla’s door. Kale had told Ashi about the tasting servant, but withheld what would follow. That was when he supposed Mynah wanted him to kill Salla.

  The tasting boy entered with a tray of roasted lamb, buttered ylkii bread, and a bowl of egg and rice, along with a golden goblet and a decanter of wine. The tray rattled in the boy’s trembling hands.

  Pelah stirred the prince as the tasting boy approached. Salla rose, spreading the curtains wide, and the tasting boy set the tray on the bedside. One by one, the boy took each item from the tray and took a small bite of it. Lastly, he sipped from the decanter. All proved safe to consume.

  “Terasi,” said Salla, dipping his head.

  The boy bowed, still trembling, and began to pour the wine. Salla leaned forward to take a sip from the goblet, and it was then the boy made his move.

  But Salla was ready. As the boy lunged with the long cutting knife, Salla pulled out a blade of his own—his Ilya blade, which sprang forth from his sleeve. Salla blocked the boy’s stab, sending the knife flying across the room.

  The boy cried out in fear, falling to his knees. “Sorenyi! Sorenyi!”

  “I am sorry you were involved in this dark game,” said Salla grimly, and he plunged the Ilya blade into the young boy’s chest, pulled it out and jabbed again and again, crying out with each attack. Salla set the boy’s body gently on the ground. His expression was hardened, angry, as though he detested what he’d done. He looked up, anticipating what was to come.

  Kale and Ashi had not moved from their post at the door. Pelah rushed and knelt beside his prince and the dead tasting boy.

  When Jerrah burst into the room, Ashi remained still. It was expected
for the captain of Salla’s guard to keep watch on the eve of the Choosing. It was expected for him to rush into the room, saber drawn, at the cry of his prince.

  Kale, however, sprang into action, attacking the captain from behind as he surveyed the bloody scene. Kale disarmed him with a flourish of the blade Salla had provided him.

  “Arayeva!” Jerrah cried. “You filthy Sky Blood!” He lunged at Kale, his Ilya blade shooting out from his sleeve.

  Kale dodged the attack, spun round, and slashed out with his saber, shredding the back of the captain’s knees. Jerrah roared with pain and collapsed to the floor. Ashi gasped in horror.

  “You bastard!” Jerrah cried. Blood streaked the floor as he dragged himself, still, toward Kale. Kale finished his attack with a thrust clean through Jerrah’s back.

  Ashi rushed forward, kneeling beside the captain as his blood pooled on the floor. “What is the meaning of this?” she wailed at Kale.

  “This is our true assassin,” said Salla, rising to his feet and crossing the room.

  “He was playing a part!” said Ashi. “He is one of us! An Ilya!”

  Kale marveled that, even yet, Ashi remained loyal to the men of the Red Palace, Ilya or not. He set down his bloody saber and stood to face Salla.

  “No,” said Salla. “No, it would seem my captain learned his part a little too well.”

  Blood gurgled from his mouth as Jerrah tried to speak.

  “What was that, you traitorous bastard?” seethed Salla. “Speak! And let me hear your dying words.”

  Jerrah reached out with a bloody hand, pointing with a long, trembling finger. “Boy!” Jerrah cried. “Boy!”

  Salla turned, too late, to see Pelah rushing at him, the tasting boy’s knife in hand.

  Kale realized with horror that he had been wrong. He was not the final piece to Mynah’s assassination of Salla.

  It was Pelah.

  Kale reached for his blade, but he was too late. The boy would run Salla through. But just before Pelah reached him, Ashi let her own blade fly.

  It lodged in the boy’s neck. Pelah’s dagger slashed his prince’s robes as he fell.