When he was gone, Tané bowed to Dumusa. “You have great talent, honorable Dumusa,” she said. “I hope to be as skilled an archer as you one day.”
Dumusa bowed in return. “I hope to have the same mastery of firearms as you one day, honorable Tané.”
They left the stables together. Tané had spoken to Dumusa before, but now they were alone, she found herself unsure of what to say. She had often wondered what it must have been like for her, growing up in a mansion in Ginura with her Miduchi grandparents.
When they reached the practice hall, they sat close to each other, and Tané set about cleaning the mud from her arrows. Kanperu, the tall and silent apprentice, was already there, furbishing his silver-mounted pistol.
As they worked, Onren entered the hall.
“That,” she declared, “was the worst I have ever shot.” She scraped back her drenched hair. “I must find a shrine and beg the great Kwiriki to wash away all horses. They have been out to thwart me since the day I was born.”
“Peace.” Dumusa did not look up from her bow. “You have plenty of time to show your skill to the Miduchi.”
“Easy for you to say. You have the blood of the Miduchi. All of you become riders in the end.”
“There is always a chance that I will be the first one who does not.”
“A chance,” Onren agreed, “but we all know that chance is very small.”
Her knee was swollen from the duel. She would have to work hard if she meant to be a rider.
Kanperu returned his pistol to the wall-rack. As he left, he gave Onren an indecipherable look over his shoulder.
“I hear the honorable Kanperu has taken to visiting a tavern near the fruit market,” Dumusa murmured to Onren when he was out of earshot. “He spends every evening there.”
“What of it?”
“I thought we might go, too. When we become riders, we will all be spending a great deal of time together. It would behoove us to be well acquainted. Would you not agree?”
Onren smiled. “Dumu,” she said, “are you trying to distract me so I won’t outperform you?”
“You know very well that you outperform me in everything but archery.” Dumusa inspected her bow once more. “Come. I need to get out of this place for a few hours.”
“I should tell the honored Sea General what a bad influence you are.” Onren stood and stretched. “Coming, Tané?”
It took Tané a moment to notice that they were both looking at her, waiting for an answer.
They were serious. In the middle of their water trials, they wanted to go to a tavern.
“Thank you,” she said slowly, “but I must stay here and practice for the next water trial.” She paused. “Should you not also be preparing for tomorrow, Onren?”
Onren snorted. “I have practiced for most of my life. Practicing last night did not help me today. No,” she said, “what I need tonight is a stiff drink. And perhaps a stiff—” She glanced at Dumusa, and though their lips quaked in an effort to contain it, they both laughed.
They had lost their senses. Surely, at a time like this, no one could afford distractions.
“I hope you enjoy your evening,” Tané said, rising. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Tané,” Onren said. Her smile faded, and her brow furrowed. “Try to get some sleep, won’t you?”
“Of course.”
Tané crossed the hall and hung up her bow. Turosa, who was about to practice unarmed combat with his friends, caught her gaze and clapped his fist into his palm.
A damp breeze wafted through the corridors, warm as the steam off freshly made soup. The polished floor rattled beneath her as she strode back through the school.
She washed away the sweat and practiced alone in her room with her sword. When her arm finally tired, a worm of misgiving began to eat at her. There was no reason her horse should have stumbled during the trial. What if Turosa had impaired it somehow, just to spite her?
In the end, she went back to the stables. When she found the farrier, he assured her that there was nothing wrong. The ground had been wet. Most likely the horse had slipped.
Don’t let a little shit like Turosa get the better of you, Susa had said, but her voice seemed very far away.
Tané spent what remained of the evening in the practice hall, pockmarking scarecrows with throwing knives. Only once she could hit every single one in the eye did she let herself return to her room, where she lit an oil lamp and began her first letter to Susa.
So far, the trials are as difficult as I feared. Today my horse slipped, and I paid the price for it.
Even though I feel as if I have bled myself dry practicing, some of the others seem to perform just as well as I do without working themselves to sleeplessness. They drink and smoke and laugh with one another, but all I can do is continue to refine my skill. After fourteen years of preparation, the water in me will not run true—and I am afraid, Susa.
Those fourteen years are nothing here. We are judged for today, not for yesterday.
She gave it to a servant to send to Cape Hisan, then lay on her bedding and listened to the cut of her own breath.
Outside, an owl hooted. After a short while, Tané got up and slipped back out of her room.
She could practice a little more.
The Governor of Cape Hisan was a slender fellow, neat as a parcel, who lived in an illustrious mansion in the middle of the city. Unlike the Chief Officer, he knew how to smile. He was gray-haired, with a kind face, and was rumored to be soft on petty criminals.
A pity that Niclays, having broken the cardinal rule of Seiiki, could by no stretch of the imagination be deemed a petty criminal.
“So,” the Governor said, “the woman brought the outsider to your door.”
“Yes,” Niclays confirmed. His throat was almost too dry to form words. “Yes, indeed, honored Governor. I had been enjoying a cup of your remarkable Seiikinese wine just moments before their arrival.”
They had held him in a room for several days. He had lost count in the darkness. When soldiers had finally marched him out, he had almost fainted, thinking they were taking him straight to the block. Instead they presented him to a physician, who had checked his hands and examined his eyes. The soldiers had then given Niclays fresh clothes and escorted him to the most powerful official in this region of Seiiki.
“So you took this man into your home,” said official continued. “Did you believe he was a legal settler in Orisima?”
Niclays cleared his throat. “I, ah— no. I know everyone in Orisima. But the woman threatened me,” he said, trying to appear haunted by the memory. “She … held a dagger to my throat, and sh-she said that if I did not take the outsider in, she would kill me.”
Panaya had told him to be honest, but every good story needed a pinch of embellishment.
Two foot soldiers kept watch close by. Iron helms covered their heads and napes, secured by green cords that tied beneath their chins. In unison, they slid the screens aside, letting two more soldiers into the room. They held someone between them.
“Was it this woman?” the Governor asked.
Her hair clumped around her shoulders. One of her eyes was swollen closed. From the bloated lip on the soldier to her left, she had fought. Someone gallant would deny it.
“Yes,” Niclays admitted.
She gave him a hateful look.
“Yes,” the Governor echoed. “She is a musician in a theatre in Cape Hisan. The all-honored Warlord permits some Seiikinese artists to provide entertainment and conversation on certain days in Orisima.” He raised his eyebrows. “Have you ever been visited?”
Niclays managed a strained smile. “I have generally been content with my own company.”
“Good,” the woman spat at him. “Then you can fuck yourself, silver-loving liar.”
One of the soldiers struck her. “Quiet,” she snapped.
Niclays flinched. The woman crumpled to the floor, where she drew in her shoulders and pressed a hand to her cheek.
“Thank you for confirming that this is the woman.” The Governor drew his lacquered writing box toward him. “She will say nothing of how an outsider came to be on this island. Do you know?”
Niclays swallowed. His saliva felt as thick as pottage.
Honesty be damned. No matter how far away she was, he could not implicate Truyde.
“No,” he lied. “He would not say.”
The Governor glanced over the tops of his eyeglasses. His small, dark eyes had pouches beneath them.
“Learnèd Doctor Roos,” he said, grinding an inkstick with water, “I respect your knowledge, so I will be frank. If you can tell me nothing more, this woman will be tortured.”