We Cry for Blood

by Devin Madson

  “Tell him yourself!” Tor stood so abruptly the table shook. Concerned, Shishi padded toward him, but the young Levanti ignored her sniffing at his feet.

  He had that bullish look he got when his anger burned hot, and I swallowed mine, drawing a calming breath. “You know I can’t.”

  “Well, you’ll have to find a way, because I’m done. I want to fight, not talk. I want to do something meaningful, something that might help me feel Levanti again.”

  “But, Tor, I need you here. We need you here.”

  He spun a scowl on me, pressing his fist to his chest. “And I am sick of being needed, being wanted, for nothing but these words that were forced upon me, wanted only as a bridge between two peoples—between two people—and never for myself.”

  He seemed to regret the words and crossed his arms, rolling his shoulders forward. Such defensive fury. Such proud grief. Almost I reached out to say with a touch upon his arm what I couldn’t put into words. That although we came from different places and had lived different lives, although we only spoke the same language because he had been forced to learn our words, I knew his pain because it lived in my heart every day, in my bones, in my soul. I had lost so much I could never regain.

  “That’s not true, Tor,” I said. “The two—”

  “Isn’t it?”

  His glare dared me to reassure him with a lie, but it wouldn’t be a lie. I had gotten so used to his presence, to his prickliness and his watchful gaze, to the way he hunched his shoulders as though in apology for being a little taller. I didn’t want him to leave.

  But those words wouldn’t come. Meant too much. Were sure to be sneered at. So I said nothing. And Tor, seeing my silence for the surrender it wasn’t, snorted and turned away. I gripped his arm before he could go, and with my head empty of all thought, slid my hands over his cheeks and into his hair, and kissed him.

  For a brief moment, I tried to pass through my lips all the words and feelings I had been unable to speak in the hope he would understand what I had meant, understand he was wanted and needed for himself, but it was all too brief a kiss. He did not pull away, but neither did he respond, and the tensing of every part of him sent panic ripping through me.

  I tore myself away, all but darting back like a frightened cat, apologetic words spilling from damp lips. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have—I just, you… I… I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  He had looked stunned, but at that his brows dove. “Then I will leave you now, Your Majesty,” he said, bowing, all stiff, wounded pride. “Goodbye.”

  And with my lips still tingling in memory of a kiss that shouldn’t have been, I watched him go. Unable to call him back as I had been unable to call back Rah.

  Feeling every bit the pathetic, foolish woman they both surely thought me, I gritted my teeth on a frustrated scream and smashed the teapot off the table. Shards scattered. I didn’t have enough time for this. Enough power for this. I had to let them both go if that was what it took. I had to be the Dragon Empress my mother had been and show the world nothing but ice.

  When my first flare of rage passed, tears welled, and I crouched to bury my face in Shishi’s fur, she the only one allowed to see my tears now.

  Thankfully, I had much to keep me occupied. Oaths to accept, lords to meet, soldiers to praise, and plans to make. Oyamada came and went in a flurry of secretaries, while Manshin received reports from scouts and generals. I could have left it all to them and rested, and the gods knew I needed rest, but I needed to be seen more. My position stood precariously upon the backs of the Levanti, and if I did not rebuild my position before they fractured, I would be left standing on nothing.

  For weeks I had considered Gideon e’Torin my greatest enemy, yet as the sun began to set and his execution drew near, it was sick uneasiness I felt, not satisfaction. If I closed my eyes, I could still see Rah’s face contorted into a pain I had never seen him admit, as he pleaded for the man’s life.

  You’re an empress. You can do anything.

  Having to admit it wasn’t true had left a bitter taste in my mouth.

  Nuru had told me to wear a soft, dark robe free of shimmering threads to the ceremony, so it was without my finery I made my way back to the main hall that night. For Rah’s sake I had almost thrown her advice to the wind and donned my shiniest robe in the hope of drawing the gods’ attention, but it would have been disrespectful and small consolation when he had asked for so much more.

  The room was packed with Levanti when I arrived, every face solemn and strained. Few Kisians were present, only General Moto and Minister Manshin, a couple of soberly clad lords who had been part of the false emperor’s court, and Lady Sichi. I joined her and Nuru on one side of the room, sliding into the shadows.

  I whispered a greeting and received a strained smile. Sichi had not spoken about her relationship with the Levanti emperor she had married, but there was no grim joy in the hard way she clenched her jaw. She was not looking forward to this. I wondered what sort of man Gideon was that, despite all he had done, two such people as Sichi and Rah cared about his life.

  It took time to find Rah in the crowd. The windows had all been shuttered and the lanterns were few and dim, but once I’d seen him, I couldn’t look away. He still wore the dark robe he’d come to see me in. The fabric had been soft under my fingers, his body beneath it so warm and vital and everything I needed. I’d wanted to go on kissing him, to feel his strong arms around me, to utter the Levanti words I’d practised again and again that would allow us to lie together, but they had remained trapped on my tongue. Now if I forgot them there was no Tor to ask.

  No. Don’t think about Tor.

  You’re exactly the whore your mother was, said a dark part of my mind. Trying to control people the way she did.

  But of course no one had ever said the same of Emperor Kin. Not even when he’d fathered an illegitimate heir.

  Ezma entered, the bones of her crown darkened with soot. The Levanti saluted her in a silent wave of respect. Or most of them did. Rah didn’t move. Neither did Lashak and a few others around her, or Nuru beside me. Tor had explained the tensions, but still I found myself gripping my hands tight. The air prickled.

  Lifting her hands, Ezma addressed the gathered press in Levanti, her solemn tone vibrant with the passion of one supplicating gods.

  “The herd is everything,” Nuru whispered for Sichi. I shifted closer so I could hear. “The herd is life. Our herds are our family and our soul, and every Levanti makes a pact to serve the herd as the herd serves and protects every Levanti. That’s how it’s meant to be. Transgressions against the herd can result in exile, but there are crimes so great they are not merely a transgression against one herd but all. Gideon e’Torin has hurt all of us, not only those of us here, but every Levanti upon the plains. He has taken our names and our tenets, our purpose and our soul, and crushed them until they were devoid of all meaning. And he demanded we be grateful.”

  Even from the other side of the room, I caught the flicker of disgust on Rah’s face and had to tell myself again there had been no other choice.

  “It is with a heavy heart that my responsibility to you all requires me to condemn him to Voiding.”

  Nuru’s already low whisper broke upon the last word. Almost every Levanti was looking at the floor, divorcing themselves from what was happening. I thought about Emperor Kin sitting on his throne, commanding the death of my brother. How many people watching would have opposed it had they been able?

  “No one else’s soul ought to be weighed down with the consequences of this,” Nuru went on when Ezma spoke again, turning slowly to address everyone gathered in the large room. “So I will perform it with my own hands. Bring him in.”

  People shuffled near the door. Heads turned. Necks craned. Rah didn’t move. He stared at Ezma with an intensity that made my stomach flip. She showed no sign of discomfort, just stood waiting. Patient. Calm. Sure.

  W
hispering started. A lone head moved through the crowd. A Levanti woman squeezed into the open space around Ezma and spoke in her ear. Ezma bent to catch the words, only to snap her head back up, gaze like daggers as she hunted Rah.

  What have you done? I thought, clasping my arms over my stomach. What have you done?

  “It would appear Gideon e’Torin is no longer here,” Nuru translated while Ezma swept the room. Her gaze locked onto me with such a flare of fury I was sure I really would be sick.

  “Empress Miko,” she snapped, in Kisian this time. “You assured me he would be well guarded. That he couldn’t escape. What do you have to say?”

  The few Kisians in the room visibly bristled, their defence of the respect owed my position shaking loose my terror. “He was. And he couldn’t,” I said. “I have had no word from my guards that anything was amiss.”

  Ezma bared her teeth, but before she could retort, Rah stepped forward. I drew in a breath I never wanted to let go, wishing I could pause time and step away, do something, change something, so I would never have to witness what was coming.

  “I did it,” he said, the tremble in Nuru’s voice as she translated proving the seriousness of the admission. “I removed him from your justice, because while it is a justice you desire to give, it is not one you are permitted.”

  She broke in with an angry exclamation, but Rah shouted over her. “You are an exiled horse whisperer, removed from your position by a full conclave of horse whisperers. That alone makes you unqualified to mete out justice. Add to it your adherence to the faith of the One True God, and it goes against every tenet I have ever lived by to allow you to lead or condemn anyone.”

  Murmuring tore through the room, but Rah only raised his voice louder still.

  “I am no one,” he said, turning to speak to the crowd now. “I am no captain or herd master or horse whisperer, but the one thing I will always be is a Levanti. The one thing I will always fight for is the Levanti. I will not remain here to be led by anyone who harms us, seeking power for the sake of power.”

  His passionate vehemence sent tingles through my skin. But Tanaka had stood just so, denouncing the emperor, and died for it. The thud of my heartbeat was the echo of his head hitting the floor over and over again.

  “I expect nothing of any of you,” he went on, holding the room in a way I’d only seen Emperor Kin hold it. He spoke and they all listened. Even the Kisians who could not understand his words were entranced. “I will no longer stay to fight the wrong battles. The plains need us. Our people need us. We have a point of vengeance to settle with the Chiltaens and their false priest, but after that the plains call me home. Any who wish to come are welcome regardless of which herd they came from. We are all one now, and I will fight for anyone who fights with me.”

  He turned on Ezma, and in barely a whisper, Nuru translated, “May the gods damn you when they weigh your leaden soul.”

  No one stopped him crossing the floor. No one stopped him pushing his way through the crowd or stepping through the door. No one stopped others from joining him, peeling off and striding in his wake. Lashak and Shenyah and many others whose names I did not know. They flooded past Ezma, following him into the night as she spat a proud reply. My hands itched to reach out, to pull Rah back and fix everything that couldn’t be fixed. I ought to have seen this coming, but I had been foolish and naive and oh so hopeful, blinded by his respect and his love.

  Love. What a ridiculous choice of word in the circumstances.

  “What is she saying?” Sichi hissed at Nuru, who stood with her hands clenched to tight fists.

  “She is reminding us of everything Rah e’Torin has done wrong. She says he abandoned training to be a horse whisperer because he was selfish. She says he wouldn’t have stood up for anyone else in Gideon’s position. ‘I have only ever given to the herd, to my people, even when I was thrown out for caring more for Levanti souls than my own position. I have done all I could to accommodate Rah e’Torin’s views, seeking anything but division in a time when we need to be united, but this I will not stand for. He is an exiled exile, a former captain removed from his position by his own Swords, who has failed you again and again.’”

  Some who had begun to follow Rah stopped to listen. Others were long gone. Some looked from Ezma to the door, the decision heavy on their shoulders.

  Their divisions ought to have meant nothing to me, but I held my breath and hoped as fervently that many would leave as that many would not. I believed in Rah, but it was Ezma I needed, Ezma I had made my alliance with. I needed her and her Swords.

  No one spoke as the crowd shifted and split. There was no shouting or raging or even looking at one another as each Levanti made their choice to walk or stay, the respect they showed for each other’s autonomy a strange and beautiful thing to behold.

  “You do not have to stay,” Sichi said, quiet and close amid the solemn footsteps. She was looking at Nuru, who didn’t turn. “Do not let me decide your choice.”

  “I am not,” she said as Levanti continued to brush past us on their way to the doors, dodging around anyone who chose to remain. “It is for me I have made my choice.”

  On the other side of the room, General Moto and Minister Manshin whispered together, and the knot of tension in my chest tightened.

  Slowly, movement ceased, leaving a diminished presence in the room. Half, perhaps, had remained of those who had attended. It was impossible to tell from Ezma’s expression if the outcome was more or less than she had hoped. More or less than she needed. Than I needed. My gaze kept sliding to Manshin, his head still bent toward my most powerful general.

  When all movement settled, it was not her people Ezma looked at, but me. “Our alliance was founded upon a mutual desire to bring Gideon e’Torin to justice,” she said in Kisian, standing tall and proud despite her loss. “As you have betrayed us upon a final point, giving in to the importuning of your lover”—she spat the word, such disgust in her face I could summon no part of the pride born into me—“there is nothing to be salvaged from this night’s work. Congratulations, Your Majesty, on ridding your lands of Levanti.”

  No bow, no salute, no nod, nothing but a disdainful look, and she turned away. Words to the remaining Levanti. A gesture to her apprentice. And she too strode out. Her people followed, each there and gone as they filed through the double doors, leaving behind a handful of Kisians, Nuru, and a desperate need to call them back lodged in my throat.

  “Run after Rah e’Torin,” I said to one of the guards by the door, the words bursting from my lips without thought. “Tell him I request speech with him before he leaves.”

  It was a foolish, desperate plea, and yet it ought to have been obeyed. A nod, a bow, a murmur of “Yes, Your Majesty,” and the guard ought to have hurried away. Instead, he looked at Minister Manshin, who shook his head. The man did not move.

  “Did you hear me?” I said, my voice shrill. “I commanded you to—”

  “He heard you, Your Majesty,” Manshin said in his calm way. “But no one is running after the Levanti to beg us into more debts we cannot repay.”

  He nodded to General Moto, who headed for the door without looking my way. “General Moto,” I said. “General Moto, I have not given you permission to leave.”

  The man shrugged a shoulder as though to dislodge an annoying fly, but did not turn. He took the guards with him, the doors closing with an echo of finality behind them all. Mere minutes ago, the room had been full; now there was just me and Sichi and Nuru. No guards, no generals, no lords, no Levanti. I felt exposed, like I had forgotten to dress.

  “You may leave us, daughter,” Manshin said, not having the kindness to even look at her.

  “No.”

  “No? I am your father, and that is a direct command.” Anger edged his voice, but he kept his expression neutral. The mask we all wore to cover our hurts.

  “As you have told me twice since my return that I am no longer a daughter of yours, I will stay.” She wore the sam
e mask, so much hurt she wouldn’t let him see. What right did he have to it anymore? “Unless you intend to have me carried forcefully from the room, I suggest you make peace with that.”

  “Very well, but I will not have her here.” He jabbed a finger at Nuru. “There is no reason for a Levanti to be present, and I will have her forcefully removed, don’t think I won’t.”

  No one could have doubted it from his tone. Stunned into a sick silence, I could only watch Nuru and Sichi share a look, a nod. And Nuru, scowling at the man who had once been my most trusted supporter, walked out.

  Once the door had closed behind her, Minister Manshin clasped his hands behind his back and stood before us, Sichi and I recalcitrant children.

  “Explain yourself,” I said, because I had to say something, had to maintain the pretence I was in control.

  “Explain what? You have failed in your leadership, Your Majesty. I and many others risked our lives in the hope you would be the leader we needed to unite the empire. Your ability and your sense and your passion for Kisia appeared, at the outset, to be unparalleled. It mattered not that you were a woman. Then.”

  “But now it does? Have my breasts gotten in the empire’s way?”

  He gave me a disdainful look, disliking the frank speech he had previously encouraged. “Hardly, Your Majesty. But whatever your reason, you have continuously put the furthering of the Levanti cause above the needs of your own people and kept their company in preference to the Kisian allies you ought to have been cultivating.”

  “They are the strongest warriors we have,” I said, clenching my hands to keep in my rage. “Capable of being either our greatest allies or our greatest enemies, and I know which one was better for Kisia.”

  “Even in that you have failed us.” He looked around the empty room. “They appear to no longer be here.”

  I did not answer, and he began to pace a slow length across the floor. “You once had cause to admire my dedication to the empire, Your Majesty. That dedication is unchanged; I am only sorry you now have reason to damn it.” He spun, looking me in the eye. “I am taking command of the empire in your place. Do not contest it. The generals all support me in this move.”