by Devin Madson
I hadn’t long been asleep when a gentle knock woke me. A figure slipped furtively in and I had my knife out before the door closed, my heart thumping hard despite there being nothing threatening about the cloaked figure carrying a tray. It didn’t slow its heavy thud when Empress Miko set back her hood. If anything, it sped.
She paused her approach, eyeing the blade. I lowered it and, drawing the required blood from my upper arm, slid the knife back into its sheath. It stung a little, as it always did when the first blood seeped out. The empress didn’t move.
“Tradition,” I said, though she wouldn’t understand. “Ildoa.”
“Hello,” she said. “You, well?”
I nodded, hoping I looked better than I felt. My brief sleep had been undisturbed and might have been restful had Gideon and Ezma not haunted my dreams and left me unsteady.
Approaching on bare feet, Empress Miko held out the tray to show why she had come. It held a trio of dishes—one fruit, one a sort of flavoured nut, the other fish. And tea. I hadn’t enjoyed tea the few times it had been offered to me, but cold seemed to have settled like fog in my very flesh, and I could do with something warm to drive it away.
She set the tray on the floor beside my sleeping mat and, dragging over a discarded cushion, settled herself on the other side. It made me think of the inn where we had eaten until we could eat no more, sharing each other’s words. We had talked until suddenly the room had been full of tension and lacking in air. This time her very arrival seemed to have stolen it all away.
Watching me warily, the empress pointed at each of the foods and named them, only fish a word I had heard before. And tea. She poured some and I took up the tea bowl as I had seen her do many times, held cupped in my hands to warm them. She smiled, nodding, and picked up her own. My heart drummed a loud tattoo that ought to have sent quakes across the cup’s surface.
Empress Miko blew the steam from her tea, once, twice, three times, always three times, even for hot food. I wondered if it was a Kisian tradition or merely her own habit.
Still nursing the tea, she spoke in a slow, considering way, while I watched for meaning. She seemed to have come for my company rather than because something was wrong, but I couldn’t shake the fear her sudden appearance had sparked.
She sipped from her bowl and shot a furtive look at me over the rim like I was a wild creature who might bolt at any moment. Yet I was the one who hadn’t moved, who sat watching while she fidgeted and shifted and sent her gaze dancing from me to the tray and the mat and the walls. The only place she didn’t look was at the door.
More words. And gods I wished I could understand them and for a brief moment was envious of Tor having been force-fed their language, no matter what it had cost him. They started slow, her words dragging their considered meaning across my mind and leaving no trail of understanding, but they grew faster, more manic, her hands beginning to shake. She gestured at her lips and at me and flung her hand in the general direction of the courtyard, and finally I possessed a glimmer of understanding. Was she apologising for a kiss it had been hard to stop thinking about?
She set down her tea, leaving her hands to flutter nervously in her lap, her words descending into a mumble.
I reached for her hand, as much to draw her attention as to offer reassurance. She flinched and looked up, hope and fear in her eyes. “Miko,” I said, liking the sound of her name on my tongue without its title. “You don’t have to apologise.”
She drew closer, that tiny movement the question she could not ask. A warning of what she wanted. A request for assurance it was what I wanted. The excruciating slowness of having to communicate consent without words was a whole new experience.
A little closer still. Her eyes had fixed on my lips, every lash on her lowered eyelids a fine trail of dark ink. She had felt so warm against me in the stable, but the chill gulf between us now was more tantalising. My skin tingled its anticipation as little by little we leant in until our lips brushed and our quickened breath shared the same air.
I slid a hand into her hair. It was soft and tangled about my fingers, the sensation odd after many years of lying with Swords whose scalps prickled beneath my touch.
Bowls clinked as she pushed the tray aside and pressed against me with enough strength that it was difficult to hold my ground as our kiss grew fiercer, deeper. I had to press back against her as her hands ran over my chest and my back and my arms—everywhere her eyes had hunted that night in the bathhouse. That had been my naked flesh, my exhausted, broken soul, yet this was far more intimate, the trailing of her fingers gentle as she laughed something against my lips.
She pushed me back onto the sleeping mat, laughing again as I grunted out a lungful of air. A laugh that faded into something far more serious when she felt me hard against her. I wondered then if she had ever lain with a man, or anyone, and while she wrestled with her own thoughts behind a glassy smile, I realised what we wanted couldn’t happen. How could I ask her where she was in her cycle? How could I be sure it was safe? Impossible enough to consider adding an unaccounted-for child to a herd; how much more so to consider adding one to this situation?
Whatever her thoughts, she did not draw back. Like a fighter choosing to charge in despite their fears, she kissed me again, all ferocity and determination, and began untying her sash.
Her robe was open before I could stop her, nothing but bare skin beneath and oh how much I wanted to touch it, to touch her, to run my hands over her curves and revel in her strength, to share this human joy with her when we both needed it so much. Instead I clenched my fists in a moment of frustration strong enough I wished I could scream, and drew back.
Her expression made me hate my lack of words all the more, so suddenly unsure she was, a question there I could not answer. I wanted to reassure her that I wanted this as much as she did, that it was nothing she had done, but the longer I went without speaking, without being able to explain, the more uneasy her expression grew until she drew her robe closed with shaking hands.
The room had felt so warm, but now the damp chill returned as she stood and backed away, her hair falling in a tangle over one shoulder. Words came to my lips, gabbled explanations she would never understand, but every attempt made no difference.
Before I even finished, she turned and hurried to the door, and I bit back an urge to throw caution to the winds, to call her back and take her in my arms. The door slid open and she was gone without looking back, leaving me lying dishevelled on my sleeping mat, aching with a need I could not sate and a frustration I could do nothing about. It had taken Tor years to learn their language to the level he had, even with a knack for such things.
I lowered my head onto the pillow and let out a slow breath, sleep very far away. In another life, Gideon would have laughed. Laughed until he couldn’t breathe, like he had the night I’d failed to realise Khanum had propositioned me and I had unwittingly turned him down after weeks of determined flirting.
Somehow, thinking of Gideon only twisted the knot of tension all the tighter. I ought to have been there when he needed me as he had always been there for me, but I hadn’t been able to see past the ideals I had dug my feet into, refusing to move. Now it might already be too late.
This ambush had to work.
The sun was setting when I left my room. It had taken longer than usual to prepare, every piece of clothing and armour seeming to press upon one or other healing wound like reminders of past failures. I had taken my time, checking and rechecking the position of my blades, pointlessly wishing over and over I still had the one I’d dropped back in Tian what felt like a lifetime ago. How different everything had seemed then. How sure I had felt.
The castle hummed with activity. I passed a dozen Kisian soldiers in the passage, all silent, anxious, unsure, but it was the first Levanti I met that made my stomach do a nervous flip. Tor stood at the top of the stairs, hovering as he so often did, knowing he would be called on to translate sooner or later and as resigned to it as
he was angry.
“Rah,” he said.
“Tor,” I returned. “Sleep well?”
He shrugged, not looking at me but down at the busy hall full of as many Levanti as bustling Kisians. “Like a baby.”
“You woke every hour screaming? I can relate.”
“It went that well, did it?”
“Nothing happened. Where’s Ezma?”
Another shrug, something pettish in the gesture. “I haven’t seen her. She isn’t going.”
“I know.”
“But she’s sending Derkka to watch you.”
“I know.”
He looked at me for the first time since I’d joined him. “And what will you do if this fails and she uses it against you?”
“That I don’t know. But it won’t fail because it’s win or die at the hands of Grace Bahain, and I am not dying here.”
Tor made no reply, and together we stood watching the activity down in the hall. The Levanti were gathered in small groups, while the sea of Kisian soldiers flowed around them. From this distance at least it looked like respectful cooperation.
I heard Miko before I saw her, and I must have flinched, for Tor looked around, one brow raised as her orders echoed through the hall. She had changed into her armour, but wore no crimson as a mark of her status, only the dark greys and browns of someone intending to move around in the dark and not get caught. The only thing that differentiated her from her soldiers was the great bow upon her back.
Nerves jangled around in my gut. Ambush nerves, I told myself, understandable when there was nothing routine about this and I knew none of the Kisians under my command, but my gaze skittered to the empress every few steps, dreading the moment she would see me. Would she glare at me? Ignore me? I deserved both and worse.
We were almost at the bottom of the stairs before she looked up, and meeting my gaze, held it with her chin jutted. “Captain Rah,” she said, such chilly words that Minister Manshin’s brows shot up. I could only hope my face gave nothing away.
“We are in the process of dividing our soldiers into the twenty-seven small groups you requested,” he said, Tor translating with a little sigh. “Each group has been allocated a commander for you to communicate with, who will also take control and attempt to keep to the plan should anything happen to the lead Levanti. They all understand how this is supposed to work, so I feel we will give a good account of ourselves.”
The empress stared at nothing while he spoke. All around her preparations were ongoing, a whole group of Kisian archers making final checks of their bows and arrows.
“If you could be sure your people are ready to go within the hour,” Manshin added. “We ought to arrive by midnight. Any later and we’ll be rushing our plans.”
“We’ll be ready,” I said. “I will make my rounds now.”
It felt like being a captain again, walking from group to group, seeing they had everything they needed. Those riding were out checking their horses, while the rest had to be sorted into groups. Two for each of the twenty-seven groups of Kisians, two smaller groups on horseback, and some archers were all we had, but with luck and a lot of cooperation from the Kisians, it was all we would need.
“Captain,” Lashak e’Namalaka said when I stopped by her group. She had Shenyah e’Jaroven with her, along with her allotted Kisians.
“Captain,” I replied, saluting her as she had saluted me. “Are you prepared?”
“We are, but having abandoned my Swords, I am no longer a captain.”
“Neither am I, but that does not mean you don’t deserve the honour of the title. I know you did not abandon them lightly.”
She grunted a short laugh. “I was never really sure about you, but I can see why Dishiva likes you.”
“Likes me so much she stood by while I was removed from my position and thrown in a cell?” I said, shocked by how strongly the anger prickled inside me. “No, don’t answer that. I understand my choices were hard to follow and not always right, but this is hardly the time to discuss it.”
Lashak tilted her head, examining me. “Neither were hers. Or Gideon’s. Or anyone’s. We do the best we can with what we have, but given all that’s happened, it’s never likely to be brilliant, is it? Is there any such thing as the right choice in any situation anymore?”
“Maybe. Sometimes. Like what we are doing tonight. Protecting ourselves.”
“But are the Kisians marching this way even interested in us? Are we protecting ourselves or protecting these Kisians against other Kisians?”
“If you don’t wish to fight—”
“Oh, I’ll fight. I’ve seen enough of Grace Bahain that I’ll enjoy sticking my blade into him.”
“They want him alive.”
She puffed an annoyed gust of breath. “Do they understand how hard that is in a night ambush?”
“I did explain. They still want him alive.”
“Yes, but we don’t. See? Shit just isn’t as straightforward here as it was back on the plains. Or even as it was when we were all prisoners. The more fractured we get, the more complicated this war or… whatever it is gets, the less there can ever be a straightforward decision. And you know what? It’s fucking awful.”
I laughed because it was either that or cry. “It is,” I said. “Thank you for sharing your wisdom.”
“Wisdom? My frustrations more like. Either way, you can be sure of my support in anything that helps our people, especially if it helps Dishiva get the fuck out of there. We are heading to Kogahaera after this, aren’t we?”
“I haven’t heard Whisperer Ezma’s thoughts on it, but that is certainly the empress’s plan. And mine.”
“And she’ll keep to it whatever the outcome tonight?”
“She wants to oust Gideon so she can focus on the remaining Chiltaen and Kisian threat.”
Lashak waved a dismissive hand. “It’s all complicated nonsense, their politics, don’t try to explain it to me. I stood in Gideon’s throne room and listened to all those lords argue and look daggers at each other, always crowding around him in the hope he’d favour them above the others. Or they did until Leo became the only person he took advice from.”
I had been about to move on, but her words stayed my feet. “How is he? Gideon.”
She tilted her head again, eyes narrowing. “Different. Stubborn. I don’t know. Sometimes he seems the same, and sometimes I look at him and don’t see a Levanti anymore. It hasn’t even been that long, but fuck it feels like forever since we crowned him, so full of hope for something greater.”
I had so many questions. I wanted to know if he was healthy, if he ever spoke of me, if he knew about Sett, but there was no time, and what could I have done with the answers? To know he was alive was all I could handle right now.
With the hour almost up, many groups had begun moving toward the gates, but I found Minister Manshin and the empress still inside, Tor hovering.
“Tell them we’re ready to go,” I said.
Tor relayed the information, and with a sharp nod, the empress strode away, shouting orders as though I no longer existed.
“Remember we need Bahain alive,” Manshin said, but didn’t stay to await an answer, following his empress.
Around us, the tense buzz became a storm of footsteps and talk as everyone still inside made for the doors. I went to follow, but Tor grabbed my arm. “I… I heard you trained to be a horse whisperer,” he said.
“Heard that, did you?” It surprised me Ezma had told anyone, let alone that it had gotten back to Tor.
“What was it like?”
I had expected him to ask why I had failed the training, but my answer would have been the same. I thought of the grove with its stands of trees, of the echoing stones of the old shrine, of the cold floor and the silence and the loneliness. The heartbreaking, desperate loneliness. Having not only to learn and work and pray and learn some more, every single day without pause, but to do it for… no one. There was some theoretical time in the future when I wou
ld be a horse whisperer, when Levanti from all different herds would need my advice, but there was no herd to sweat for, no herd to strive for. Just Whisperer Jinnit and his sour expressions.
“It was… lonely,” I said, wishing there was a stronger word for the depth of isolation I had felt. A horse whisperer, always to stand apart, never to be part of a herd, never to love or be loved, never to have loyalties to anything but the honour of the task, never to fight for anything or to strive for betterment, merely to be the enduring, ongoing statue of Levanti values. “Really lonely.”
Tor nodded, digesting this. I had the feeling more questions were coming and was glad there wasn’t time. “Take care of you, huh?” I said as I prepared to join my group of soldiers.
He gave me one of his looks, part scowl, part long, judging stare. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll take care of your empress. Don’t fuck this up, huh?”
I was getting used to his habit of biting back and shrugged. “You can always make a run for it through that drain if I do.”
He snorted a laugh, unable to crush his grin. “Fuck you,” he said, affection in his tone no matter how reluctant it sounded. “Go away.”
He turned away to join the empress, double blades hanging at his hip, and though he had not been Made he looked every bit the warrior he wanted to be. There was no time to tell him so, no time to do anything but hurry out into the yard where Levanti and Kisians gathered in a buzz of low-voiced anticipation. Minister Manshin strode about checking the groups were together and prepared, setting his hands on shoulders and giving nods of encouragement as he passed. My group were waiting beside the gates. Their leader—Captain Kofi—nodded in greeting. Amun saluted. “Captain.”
“Ready?” I said as the gates swung ponderously open.
Amun nodded.
“You’re in command if I’m injured or… you know, die.”
“As long as you promise not to get injured or die, that’s fine.”
I laughed, touched by the sincerity beneath the humour. Amun might not want to lose me, not want to take over, but at least I knew he could. The Torin herd learned ekkafo as children, its sounds and its motions and its tale taught through dance.