ORBIT
First published in Great Britain in 2020 by Orbit
Copyright © 2020 by Andrea Stewart
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Map illustration by Charis Loke
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978-0-356-51492-5
Orbit
An imprint of Little,
Brown Book Group
Carmelite House
50 Victoria Embankment
London EC4Y 0DZ
An Hachette UK Company
www.hachette.co.uk
www.orbitbooks.net
For my sister, Kristen, who has read nearly everything I’ve ever written. I owe you.
Contents
1 Lin
2 Jovis
3 Jovis
4 Lin
5 Phalue
6 Sand
7 Jovis
8 Lin
9 Jovis
10 Lin
11 Ranami
12 Jovis
13 Lin
14 Sand
15 Jovis
16 Lin
17 Jovis
18 Lin
19 Phalue
20 Jovis
21 Lin
22 Jovis
23 Jovis
24 Ranami
25 Lin
26 Sand
27 Lin
28 Jovis
29 Lin
30 Jovis
31 Lin
32 Jovis
33 Lin
34 Jovis
35 Lin
36 Phalue
37 Lin
38 Jovis
39 Sand
40 Lin
41 Jovis
42 Lin
43 Jovis
44 Lin
45 Ranami
46 Jovis
47 Lin
48 Jovis
49 Sand
Acknowledgements
1
Lin
Imperial Island
Father told me I’m broken.
He didn’t speak this disappointment when I answered his question. But he said it with narrowed eyes, the way he sucked on his already hollow cheeks, the way the left side of his lips twitched a little bit down, the movement almost hidden by his beard.
He taught me how to read a person’s thoughts on their face. And he knew that I knew how to read these signs. So between us, it was as though he had spoken out loud.
The question: “Who was your closest childhood friend?”
My answer: “I don’t know.”
I could run as quickly as the sparrow flies, I was as skilled with an abacus as the Empire’s best accountants, and I could name all the known islands in the time it took for tea to finish steeping. But I could not remember my past before the sickness. Sometimes I thought I never would – that the girl from before was lost to me.
Father’s chair creaked as he shifted, and he let out a long breath. In his fingers he held a brass key, which he tapped on the table’s surface. “How can I trust you with my secrets? How can I trust you as my heir if you do not know who you are?”
I knew who I was. I was Lin. I was the Emperor’s daughter. I shouted the words in my head, but I didn’t say them. Unlike my father, I kept my face neutral, my thoughts hidden. Sometimes he liked it when I stood up for myself, but this was not one of those times. It never was, when it came to my past.
I did my best not to stare at the key.
“Ask me another question,” I said. The wind lashed at the shutters, bringing with it the salt-seaweed smell of the ocean. The breeze licked at my neck, and I suppressed a shiver. I kept his gaze, hoping he saw the steel in my soul and not the fear. I could taste the scent of rebellion on the winds as clearly as I could the fish fermentation vats. It was that obvious, that thick. I could set things right, if only I had the means. If only he’d let me prove it.
Tap.
“Very well,” Father said. The teak pillars behind him framed his withered countenance, making him look more like a foreboding portrait than a man. “You’re afraid of sea serpents. Why?”
“I was bit by one when I was a child,” I said.
He studied my face. I held my breath. I stopped holding my breath. I twined my fingers together and then forced them to relax. If I were a mountain, he would be following the taproots of cloud junipers, chipping away the stone, searching for the white, chalky core.
And finding it.
“Don’t lie to me, girl,” he snarled. “Don’t make guesses. You may be my flesh and blood, but I can name my foster son to the crown. It doesn’t have to be you.”
I wished I did remember. Was there a time when this man stroked my hair and kissed my forehead? Had he loved me before I’d forgotten, when I’d been whole and unbroken? I wished there was someone I could ask. Or at least, someone who could give me answers. “Forgive me.” I bowed my head. My black hair formed a curtain over my eyes, and I stole a glance at the key.
Most of the doors in the palace were locked. He hobbled from room to room, using his bone shard magic to create miracles. A magic I needed if I was to rule. I’d earned six keys. My father’s foster, Bayan, had seven. Sometimes it felt as if my entire life was a test.
“Fine,” Father said. He eased back into his chair. “You may go.”
I rose to leave, but hesitated. “When will you teach me your bone shard magic?” I didn’t wait for his response. “You say you can name Bayan as your heir, but you haven’t. I am still your heir, and I need to know how to control the constructs. I’m twenty-three, and you—” I stopped, because I didn’t know how old he was. There were liver spots on the backs of his hands, and his hair was steely gray. I didn’t know how much longer he would live. All I could imagine was a future where he died and left me with no knowledge. No way to protect the Empire from the Alanga. No memories of a father who cared.
He coughed, muffling the sound with his sleeve. His gaze flicked to the key, and his voice went soft. “When you are a whole person,” he said.
I didn’t understand him. But I recognized the vulnerability. “Please,” I said, “what if I am never a whole person?”
He looked at me, and the sadness in his gaze scraped at my heart like teeth. I had five years of memories; before that was a fog. I’d lost something precious; if only I knew what it was. “Father, I—”
A knock sounded at the door, and he was cold as stone once more.
Bayan slipped inside without waiting for a response, and I wanted to curse him. He hunched his shoulders as he walked, his footfalls silent. If he were anyone else, I’d think his step hesitant. But Bayan had the look of a cat about him – deliberate, predatory. He wore a leather apron over his tunic, and blood stained his hands.
“I’ve completed the modification,” Bayan said. “You asked me to see you right away when I’d finished.”
A construct hobbled behind him, tiny hooves clicking against the floor. It looked like a deer, except for the fangs protruding
from its mouth and the curling monkey’s tail. Two small wings sprouted from its shoulders, blood staining the fur around them.
Father turned in his chair and placed a hand on the creature’s back. It looked up at him with wide, wet eyes. “Sloppy,” he says. “How many shards did you use to embed the follow command?”
“Two,” Bayan said. “One to get the construct to follow me, and another to get it to stop.”
“It should be one,” Father said. “It goes where you do unless you tell it not to. The language is in the first book I gave you.” He seized one of the wings and pulled it. When he let it go, it settled slowly back at the construct’s side. “Your construction, however, is excellent.”
Bayan’s eyes slid to the side, and I held his gaze. Neither of us looked away. Always a competition. Bayan’s irises were blacker even than mine, and when his lip curled, it only accentuated the full curve of his mouth. I supposed he was prettier than I would ever be, but I was convinced I was smarter, and that’s what really mattered. Bayan never cared to hide his feelings. He carried his contempt for me like a child’s favorite seashell.
“Try again with a new construct,” Father said, and Bayan broke his gaze from mine. Ah, I’d won this small contest.
Father reached his fingers into the beast. I held my breath. I’d only seen him do this twice. Twice I could remember, at least. The creature only blinked placidly as Father’s hand disappeared to the wrist. And then he pulled away and the construct froze, still as a statue. In his hand were two small shards of bone.
No blood stained his fingers. He dropped the bones into Bayan’s hand. “Now go. Both of you.”
I was quicker to the door than Bayan, whom I suspected was hoping for more than just harsh words. But I was used to harsh words, and I’d things to do. I slipped out the door and held it for Bayan to pass so he needn’t bloody the door with his hands. Father prized cleanliness.
Bayan glared at me as he passed, the breeze in his wake smelling of copper and incense. Bayan was just the son of a small isle’s governor, lucky enough to have caught Father’s eye and to be taken in as a foster. He’d brought the sickness with him, some exotic disease Imperial didn’t know. I was told I got sick with it soon after he arrived, and recovered a little while after Bayan did. But he hadn’t lost as much of his memory as I had, and he’d gotten some of it back.
As soon as he disappeared around the corner, I whirled and ran for the end of the hallway. The shutters threatened to blow against the walls when I unlatched them. The tile roofs looked like the slopes of mountains. I stepped outside and shut the window.
The world opened up before me. From atop the roof, I could see the city and the harbor. I could even see the boats in the ocean fishing for squid, their lanterns shining in the distance like earthbound stars. The wind tugged at my tunic, finding its way beneath the cloth, biting at my skin.
I had to be quick. By now, the construct servant would have removed the body of the deer. I half-ran, half-skidded down the slope of the roof toward the side of the palace where my father’s bedroom was. He never brought his chain of keys into the questioning room. He didn’t bring his construct guards with him. I’d read the small signs on his face. He might bark at me and scold me, but when we were alone – he feared me.
The tiles clicked below my feet. On the ramparts of the palace walls, shadows lurked – more constructs. Their instructions were simple. Watch for intruders. Sound an alarm. None of them paid me any mind, no matter that I wasn’t where I was supposed to be. I wasn’t an intruder.
The Construct of Bureaucracy would now be handing over the reports. I’d watched him sorting them earlier in the day, hairy lips fumbling over his teeth as he read them silently. There would be quite a lot. Shipments delayed due to skirmishes, the Ioph Carn stealing and smuggling witstone, citizens shirking their duty to the Empire.
I swung onto my father’s balcony. The door to his room was cracked open. The room was usually empty, but this time it was not. A growl emanated from within. I froze. A black nose nudged into the space between door and wall, widening the gap. Yellow eyes peered at me and tufted ears flicked back. Claws scraped against wood as the creature strode toward me. Bing Tai, one of my father’s oldest constructs. Gray speckled his jowls, but he had all his teeth. Each incisor was as long as my thumb.
His lip curled, the hackles on his back standing on end. He was a creature of nightmares, an amalgamation of large predators, with black, shaggy fur that faded into the darkness. He took another step closer.
Maybe it wasn’t Bayan that was stupid; maybe I was the stupid one. Maybe this was how Father would find me after his tea – torn to bloody pieces on his balcony. It was too far to the ground, and I was too short to reach the roof gutters. The only way out from these rooms was into the hallway. “Bing Tai,” I said, and my voice was steadier than I felt. “It is me, Lin.”
I could almost feel my father’s two commands battling in the construct’s head. One: protect my rooms. Two: protect my family. Which command was stronger? I’d bet on the second one, but now I wasn’t so sure.
I held my ground and tried not to let my fear show. I shoved my hand toward Bing Tai’s nose. He could see me, he could hear me, perhaps he needed to smell me.
He could choose to taste me, though I did my best not to think about that.
His wet, cold nose touched my fingers, a growl still deep in his throat. I was not Bayan, who wrestled with the constructs like they were his brothers. I could not forget what they were. My throat constricted until I could barely breathe, my chest tight and painful.
And then Bing Tai settled on his haunches, his ears pricking, his lips covering his teeth. “Good Bing Tai,” I said. My voice trembled. I had to hurry.
Grief lay heavy in the room, thick as the dust on what used to be my mother’s wardrobe. Her jewelry on the dresser lay untouched; her slippers still awaited her next to the bed. What bothered me more than the questions my father asked me, than not knowing if he loved and cared for me as a child, was not remembering my mother.
I’d heard the remaining servants whispering. He burned all her portraits on the day she died. He forbade mention of her name. He put all her handmaidens to the sword. He guarded the memories of her jealously, as if he was the only one allowed to have them.
Focus.
I didn’t know where he kept the copies he distributed to Bayan and me. He always pulled these from his sash pocket, and I didn’t dare try to filch them from there. But the original chain of keys lay on the bed. So many doors. So many keys. I didn’t know which was which, so I selected one at random – a golden key with a jade piece in the bow – and pocketed it.
I escaped into the hallway and wedged a thin piece of wood between door and frame so the door didn’t latch. Now the tea would be steeping. Father would be reading through the reports, asking questions. I hoped they would keep him occupied.
My feet scuffed against the floorboards as I ran. The grand hallways of the palace were empty, lamplight glinting off the red-painted beams above. In the entryway, teak pillars rose from floor to ceiling, framing the faded mural on the second-floor wall. I took the steps down to the palace doors two at a time. Each step felt like a miniature betrayal.
I could have waited, one part of my mind told me. I could have been obedient; I could have done my best to answer my father’s questions, to heal my memories. But the other part of my mind was cold and sharp. It cut through the guilt to find a hard truth. I could never be what he wanted if I did not take what I wanted. I hadn’t been able to remember, no matter how hard I’d tried. He’d not left me with any other choice than to show him I was worthy in a different way.
I slipped through the palace doors and into the silent yard. The front gates were closed, but I was small and strong, and if Father wouldn’t teach me his magic, well, there were other things I’d taught myself in the times he was locked in a secret room with Bayan. Like climbing.
The walls were clean but in disrepair. The pla
ster had broken away in places, leaving the stone beneath exposed. It was easy enough to climb. The monkey-shaped construct atop the wall just glanced at me before turning its limpid gaze back to the city. A thrill rushed through me when I touched down on the other side. I’d been into the city on foot before – I must have – but for me, it was like the first time. The streets stank of fish and hot oil, and the remnants of dinners cooked and eaten. The stones beneath my slippers were dark and slippery with washwater. Pots clanged and a breeze carried the sound of lilting, subdued voices. The first two storefronts I saw were closed, wooden shutters locked shut.
Too late? I’d seen the blacksmith’s storefront from the palace walls, and this was what first gave me the idea. I held my breath as I dashed down a narrow alley.
He was there. He was pulling the door closed, a pack slung over one shoulder.
“Wait,” I said. “Please, just one more order.”
“We’re closed,” he huffed out. “Come back tomorrow.”
I stifled the desperation clawing up my throat. “I’ll pay you twice your regular price if you can start it tonight. Just one key copy.”
He looked at me then, and his gaze trailed over my embroidered silk tunic. His lips pressed together. He was thinking about lying about how much he charged. But then he just sighed. “Two silver. One is my regular price.” He was a good man, fair.
Relief flooded me as I dug the coins from my sash pocket and pressed them into his calloused palm. “Here. I need it quickly.”
Wrong thing to say. Annoyance flashed across his face. But he still opened the door again and let me into his shop. The man was built like an iron – broad and squat. His shoulders seemed to take up half the space. Metal tools hung from the walls and ceiling. He picked up his tinderbox and re-lit the lamps. And then he turned back to face me. “It won’t be ready until tomorrow morning at the earliest.”
“But do you need to keep the key?”
He shook his head. “I can make a mold of it tonight. The key will be ready tomorrow.”
I wished there weren’t so many chances to turn back, so many chances for my courage to falter. I forced myself to drop my father’s key into the blacksmith’s hand. The man took it and turned, fishing a block of clay from a stone trough. He pressed the key into it. And then he froze, his breath stopping in his throat.
The Bone Shard Daughter: The Drowning Empire Book One Page 1