Shadow Magic

CHAPTER SIX





KOUJE

One matter weighed heavily on my mind, more than all the rest: There was no way to reach any kind of haven without crossing the border between prefectures, and there was no way to cross the border between prefectures as two travelers without being caught.

The first night after we heard the rumor, I could not sleep, and it was not because of the owls hooting or the mosquitoes humming by my ears, or because I had, shamefully, grown used to a soft bed during so much time spent at the palace. My thoughts haunted me the way fireflies haunted the bushes; the moment I thought I’d managed to quiet them, another worry lit bright and fierce in the corner of my vision, and I was wide awake once more, my throat tight and my heart pounding.

I did not know whether or not my lord slept. It seemed he always did, sometime toward morning, but managing some sleep and being well rested were miles apart from each other.

But if the arrangements did bother him, he hadn’t yet complained.

That morning I watched him for some time as he slept, the distant light very pale as it rose not quite high enough yet to crest the trees. Mamoru wished for me to wake him when I began the hunt, but he was sleeping more peacefully now than before. It seemed a shame to disturb what little respite he had. Yet, if we were to be equals, I should honor his request as a friend the same way I had once honored his commands as a prince.

“Mamoru,” I said, touching his shoulder.

He was awake at once, with such a look of terror on his face that I could barely hide my remorse.

“Oh,” he said at length, leaves tangled in his braid. “Are we hunting rabbits?”

We did, and he was quiet at least, if not skilled enough to catch them himself. I taught him how to skin them, and though his mouth grew tight and his eyes widened, he was not sick at the sight. He was being very brave, but to tell him so was to patronize him. So I said nothing; and in that fashion, things between us were just as they had been at the palace.

“Your hair,” Mamoru said, when we’d eaten our fill. “It isn’t right.”

“My lord?” I began, confusion making me forget myself. “Mamoru,” I added hurriedly, forcing myself not to bow in apology.

“It isn’t the same as the other merchants wear theirs,” Mamoru explained, motioning for me to turn my back to him. I did as he wished, though I turned to look at him over my shoulder. “It’s merely something I noticed yesterday in town. People of—People of our standing don’t wear their hair down. The women plait their hair, but the men twist theirs back, I assume so that it won’t get in their eyes, or perhaps to keep the backs of their necks cool while working. It’s very clever, for otherwise it gets in the way.”

“I have no knowledge of how to fix my hair in that fashion,” I admitted.

My lord smiled evenly and with his eyes. “I think I might be able to approximate it,” he said, brow furrowing. “It’s a small detail, but it might help us in some way. It is clever. It’s just a matter of what is most convenient.” He came closer, the leaves and grass crunching under him, and knelt behind me, undoing the haphazard knot I’d used to sweep at least some of my hair from my eyes. He combed his fingers through my hair once, almost as though he were about to return my warrior’s braids; then, his fingers began a different and unfamiliar task, twisting my hair up and back and doing his best, with a braid strap, to affix it in place.

“Now turn around,” Mamoru said.

I did so, and faced him hopefully. I’d barely asked “How is it?” before my lord began to laugh at me.

“I’ve done it wrong,” he managed, after he’d regained composure. “It’s all to one side. Either that or it hardly suits you, Kouje. Here, let me try a second time. I’m doing something wrong.”

It took three more attempts before Mamoru achieved a topknot that didn’t send him into fits of laughter, but by the time he was done both our moods were much improved.

“Now,” I said, making an attempt at restoring what order we’d lost in our laughing, “I think it might be a good idea, Mamoru, if we were to bathe here. We are near the river and we might not get another chance for some time.”

My lord’s eyes brightened with a laughter he kept hidden, this time. “Are you suggesting that the need to bathe has become rather dire, Kouje?”

I bowed my head, but it was a friend’s gesture, meant to hide embarrassment and not to offer supplication.

“That’s quite all right,” Mamoru said. He waved his hand as if it were a courtly fan in front of his face. “It is becoming rather dire, all things considered. I’m surprised we managed to sleep at all last night.”

It seemed that he’d made a joke, and so I allowed myself to laugh. “I am glad we’re in agreement.”

“So long as you keep your hair out of the water,” Mamoru stated, as firmly as he had ever issued a command to me before. He was smiling as he rose. “I shouldn’t think it a valuable use of our time if I have to try and master it again. We’d be here for days.”

I nodded, joining him in the joke. “Indeed, it would seem that you will have to style my hair every morning from now on.”

“I shall accept it as my lot in life,” Mamoru said, and placed a hand over his heart in an overdramatic gesture favored by actors from the theatre.

My lord had a curious sense of humor at times, but a lively one. I found myself laughing on the path down toward the river more than I had in all my days since the war’s end combined. Without the palace to press silence in at us from all sides, I was finding myself caught up in conversation with my lord more and more, and I was pleased to learn that we understood one another well enough to wish to continue speaking of nothing at all.

I had always known that my lord was kind, that he was clever and eager to learn, but I had never known him to play the fool quite so often. I would have been able to rest at ease knowing it was his wish only to make me laugh, but I couldn’t help wondering if he weren’t venturing at so many jests to hide his deeper feelings.

We had not spoken of Iseul since leaving the palace that fateful night. I still feared that forcing my lord to confront the truth would break something inside of him, something that I would not be able to fix, but he seemed well enough, laughing at my side all the way to the riverbank.

Still, as we sat by the water and shed our rough costumes, I resolved to keep a better eye on him—a closer eye, if I could. My lord was strong, but I would die before I failed him.

The day would be warm, but it was still early and the heat was manageable. I felt a moment’s regret that we didn’t have the luxury to wait until noon, when the sun would be at its fiercest, and my lord might be able to warm himself on the rocks when we’d finished bathing. Then I pushed it aside. There was no room for me to feel regret, especially not when my lord behaved in a way that would set an example for the most noble and virtuous of men.

I entered the river first. The water pooled around my legs and waist, the current of the river strong against my chest and bitterly cold. That particular river was one of the many that ran down from the mountains in the west; the glacier-melt from the snow and ice was what made it so, even in the height of summer.

I heard a splash, and a yelp from my right, which announced Mamoru’s presence far better than he could have if he’d intended it.

“The water’s cold,” I said, feeling a rush of apology once more. My lord had never bathed in anything but the heated baths at the palace, and the great tubs that one could build a fire under during the war. He was used to those hot baths, and to servants who passed him bath oils and lotions to scent the water and soothe his skin; it was not private, by any means, but the ceremony obscured the vulnerability of nakedness. Here, we were completely bare, and both pink-edged with the chill, our fingertips wrinkling.

I should have warned him sooner.

“It’s… it’s all right, Kouje,” my lord said, though I could have sworn I heard his teeth chattering. “Really. It’s very bracing. A good start to the morning, I expect.”

My stomach tightened as a crow cawed overhead, and I strained to listen for any rustling in the bushes, any sound at all. It took flight over our heads. I watched it go.

“Do you find it a good start to your morning?” I asked my lord, taking a cue from his fondness for making jests.

He cast me a baleful look, for a moment resembling some pale river spirit and not my lord at all.

I laughed, softer this time, for the crow had reminded me that we were not alone in the woods. “You’ll feel much better once you are clean and dried,” I promised.

Mamoru nodded, pressed his lips together bravely, and ducked his head under the water to wash his hair.

I allowed my body to drift with the current, trying to put my thoughts into the same ordered flow. We would come to a checkpoint at the border of our prefecture sooner or later. We would have to cross more than one, if memory served, to get to Honganje prefecture and the fishing village where my sister lived. I thought it likely that Mamoru’s disguise would get us safely past at least one checkpoint, since the guards had doubtless been instructed to stop two men, and not a man and a woman, but what would happen after that? My lord could not very well live out the rest of his life under such a disguise, despite his admitted experience in the practice. Such times were past. He was a young man now. More than that, he was a prince.

I remembered a time when my lord had been just three months shy of his fifth birthday. Awakened by nightmares in the middle of the night and unable to sleep on his own, he’d roused me as well. His eyes had been very grave while I tried to comfort him in all the usual fashions, and finally, I had abandoned protocol that I might ask him directly what was the matter.

“Kouje, why do I look different from Iseul?” he’d asked me. “Is there something the matter with me?”

“No, my lord,” I’d told him. “There is nothing at all the matter with you.” And then, because I could not help myself, I added, “Things will change for you soon enough.”

How could I ask my lord now to return to such a state of isolation? I had already taken him from his home, from his very station. I would take no more from him than that.

A shout and a loud splash interrupted my thoughts—Mamoru, in danger—and a current of fear cut through the very center of me. My short blade was on the riverbank. Could I reach it in time? I scanned the land for any sign of movement while yet holding one hand out for Mamoru to take, that I might draw him behind me.

“What is it, my lord?” I asked.

“My ankles,” he cried, and pointed.

Beneath the clear, swirling water, I could see the dark shapes moving with the current and between the larger rocks, their long whiskers swaying beside them.

“Catfish,” I said.

“Catfish?” he gasped, splashing himself and me in a poorly-thought-out attempt to run in water that swallowed him from the shoulders down. “It was enormous, Kouje—did you see it?”

Relief made my knees go weak. “A catfish,” I repeated, just to be certain.

“It was the size of my arm!” Mamoru cried, looking about with wild eyes. It seemed cruel to mock him, when he was so clearly apprehensive, but the words were out before I could stop them.

“Your arms aren’t very big, Mamoru.”

He looked at me in surprise and utter confusion. I couldn’t blame him. I’d never had much practice at telling jokes, and perhaps I’d misspoken. Then my lord was laughing, all the louder for how anxious he’d been a moment ago, and I felt my heart resume beating at a normal speed.

That afternoon, we had catfish when we stopped to rest the horse, and my lord wore a particularly satisfied look on his face as he chewed.

It was deceptively soothing to ride the daylight hours into dusk as we were, with my lord in front of me. We were travelers, and the steady pace was like a lullaby. While we were under the cover of trees, or passing by the rice paddies, or winding our way on narrow, empty roads that encircled the hills, it was easy to imagine we were all alone in the world. But soon enough, we would come to a resting stop by the side of a larger road, or crest a hill to find a small village laid out before us, and we would learn fresh news of our very own flight toward safety.

“What shall we do at the border?” Mamoru asked me, shooing a mosquito away from his cheek. Thankfully, it was not their season. Nevertheless, he would feel the itch and the burn soon enough, and I would have nothing with which to soothe him.

“For the crossings,” I began hesitantly, “I thought we might avoid closer scrutiny by continuing dressed as we are.”

“I might pretend to be your sister,” Mamoru offered. If it troubled him to return to that mode of disguise—one so familiar and yet so remote—he did not show it.

“Two men are suspect,” I agreed. “A man and a woman… That is not the quarry they seek.”

My lord nodded, satisfied. “Yes,” he said. “They would never think…”

He did not finish the thought. I wagered a guess as to why, and did not press him. At least he was not dressed as some lowly creature of burden, but a simple common woman. I knotted my hands in the horse’s reins, and we rode on.

It was late in the day, the sun already beginning to sink below the distant horizon, when the dusty back road we were on opened up without warning, and we found ourselves riding into the roadside rest stop.

There was a tea-and-noodle house, and a sheltered bench just outside it for rainy days, should any unlucky traveler be caught out beneath a sudden storm. Only two horses were tethered outside the shop, and the door was closed, but we could hear well enough the sound of a few voices from within—no doubt belonging to the shop owner and the few travelers who were stopped there for the night.

In front of me, Mamoru breathed in deeply, as though he were trying to calm the quickened pace of his heart. After a moment, however, I realized the truth of the matter: he could smell food on the air, the simple, clean scent of white rice in the pot. There was a hunger in his eyes I’d never seen.

We had some money from my old clothes; I’d spent most of it on new shoes for Mamoru and then, when he insisted, on sandals for myself, as well. There was a little coin left—enough for a night spent at a roadside inn, a bowl of rice for each of us, and some left over.

Mamoru’s fingers tightened against the horse’s mane, and the creature whinnied. I thought of my prince sleeping on the forest floor, of his bathing in the forest stream, of skinning rabbits for his breakfast.

“I’d like to sleep in a real bed tonight,” I said. Perhaps it was weak of me to give in so easily to the mere sense of what my lord desired, but how was I to know when we might get the same chance again? Honganje and my sister’s cooking were both a great distance away from where my lord and I found ourselves.

“Kouje,” Mamoru said, but the protest was weak.

“Only if you think it wise to grant my wish, of course,” I said. “It was merely a suggestion—and perhaps it was an unwise one?”

My lord looked at me over his shoulder, his eyes bright with the conflict. He wanted a simple bed that night—we could only hope a decent business was being run there, and that there were no fleas between the sheets—and, more than that, I knew, he wanted a bowl of rice. Yet he also wanted to do what was most practical. It was better that I make the decision for him, so that it would not be his to regret. If I was treating him like a child, then I would allow him to grow resentful at my actions—but better that than to resent himself.

After a long pause, Mamoru made as if to speak, then shook his head. “If you think it wise to stop,” he said, “then you know full well I would not argue against it.”

“Then it’s settled,” I said.

We saw to the horse—or rather, I saw to the horse while Mamoru stroked its nose and murmured wordlessly to it; he was gifted with the creature in ways I was not. It was a slow night, with few travelers. When we entered the rest house, there were only two men sitting at one of the homely tables and the shop owner serving them. The latter was glad enough to see us there, and as I haggled, Mamoru kept close by my side.

The other two travelers ate and watched us to the point of staring. Just as I thought I would have to better inform their poor manners, one of the men broke into a wide smile and waved us over.

“Lonely night,” he said, “isn’t it?” I nodded. “Jiang and me were beginning to think we’d stumbled into a ghost story.”

The one named Jiang shrugged, arms folded over his chest. “The old man,” he said, nodding toward the shop owner, “keeps talking to himself. You never know, on a night like this.”

It was, as I understood it, as much of an invitation to join them for dinner as we’d ever get from people like them. Mamoru and I sat with them as we waited for our rice—and if the shop owner took longer with it, I thought, then he really would be a ghost; I’d see to it.

“Traveling long?” the man—not Jiang—asked, looking pointedly at the dust that had gathered on our clothes and settled, it would seem permanently, in our hair. Of the two, he was clearly the more outgoing. I wished that he were not so friendly, nor Jiang so laconic, and I wished that both of them would stop staring at Mamoru.

“And farther still to go,” I said.

“Your wife?” Jiang asked, nodding this time at Mamoru.

I swallowed my temper, forcing it back down into my chest, and balled my hands into fists under the table. Mamoru patted one of my hands; I could feel how nervous he was simply by sitting beside him.

“Not your wife, then,” the friendly one said, breaking out into a wide grin. “No need to explain to me, friend. I see how it can be. Times are changing, eh? The name’s Inokichi, but they call me Kichi for short.”

I offered up our predetermined aliases. After that, the rice was finally brought, and they paused, almost respectfully, for Mamoru and me to eat. I saw him try not to wolf his food down, but it was a struggle, and he was finished quickly enough that it was plain how hungry he had been. I offered him what was left in my bowl, but he refused, even if he was sorely tempted to accept it. I ate it as quickly as I could after that, so he would not have to sit and watch me eat longer than was absolutely necessary.

“Hungry, eh,” Kichi said. It wasn’t entirely a question, and he looked too amused by it for me to feel any traveler’s companionship for him at all. Besides which, he’d said it to Mamoru more than to me, and I didn’t like the tone of voice he was using, or the slant of his mouth.

I edged closer to Mamoru on the bench. “We’ve been riding hard,” I said, trying to find some comfortable medium between too vulgar and too polite. I was a common merchant, if that; I was dressed in a servant’s clothing, and it was better that I spoke like one. Yet to embrace the coarser speech Jiang and Kichi so readily employed, or to speak of Mamoru the way they did, was also a poor option.

“Riding hard, eh,” Kichi said. “Heard about the young prince, have you?”

“Gossip, mostly,” I said. “Have they caught him yet?”

Jiang snorted, and Kichi burst into laughter. “Caught him?” he said, slapping the table. “Giving the Emperor a run ’round the bush at every turn. They don’t even know where he is, I’m telling you; he’s given them the slip and they’ll be lucky if they ever find him. Making life damn hard for the rest of us, though.”

I feigned concern. “How?” I asked.

“Imagine this,” Kichi explained. “You’re minding your own business, just trying to sell your goods, when all of a sudden you can’t even get past the borders—that is, if you’re a man traveling alone or two men traveling together. And they search everything. My friend Hanzo was stopped for two whole hours, just ’cause he had a regal look about him.”

“Ah,” I said. “I didn’t ever think I’d say it, but… It’s a lucky thing we’re traveling together.” I nodded toward Mamoru at that, and he patted my hand again; perhaps he was trying to assure me that being disrespectful in a place like that and under those circumstances was all right. I wasn’t going to be unless I had to, though. My nails dug into my palms, but I offered a companionable smile to our new friends.

“Well, you’d think that, wouldn’t you,” Kichi said, “but they’re searching women now, too. Apparently the prince could be disguised as anyone, so they’re stripping women who fit the bill right there at the station. Naked as babies, Hanzo tells me. I tell you, brother, I was born into the wrong job—am I right?” Here he slapped at my arm for agreement, and I laughed with them, all the while wanting to slap him back.

I feared that I would do it too hard, and would then have yet another apology to make to my lord, on top of all the others I felt I owed him. Next to me, Mamoru smiled politely, so that even he looked more good-humored than I. Reluctantly, I allowed a quiet laugh to escape my lips, as though I were either too polite or too slow to have enjoyed the joke properly. Still, knowing what they’d told me now, it was rather difficult to laugh. If they were stopping anyone with even a passing resemblance—if they were going so far as to strip women naked at the station—then my lord and I would soon have a very serious problem on our hands.

How to get past the prefecture checkpoint without being detected?

My worry must have shown plainly on my face, for Kichi slapped my arm again, this time in a manner that was meant to be reassuring rather than crass. Or, at least, that was what I thought. “Worried about your lady friend? I’d be too, if she were mine. Very beautiful. There’s no telling for certain whether or not they’ll see a hint of royalty in her. Or maybe the looks of her will leave ’em feeling… particularly dutiful.”

That time, Mamoru put a hand on my arm before I could move, else I might have lost my temper entirely. He cast his eyes down, for all the world like a shy maiden. His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and I could not ignore the sharp pang in my chest of a duty neglected, no matter how I had resolved to shun that duty for another.

Had we been our former selves, I would have killed anyone who humiliated the prince so. Now I was forced to laugh with them and call them friends. Breathing slowly, I endeavored to be calm.

They seemed like decent enough men. Perhaps I was judging them altogether too harshly.

“Yes,” I said, edging the words out until I could make them sound natural. “That thought had crossed my mind.”

Kichi nodded. “I don’t blame you one bit, either. You get a woman like this for yourself, you don’t want anyone else seeing her naked.”

“She’s my sister,” I said finally, hoping that would put an end to some of the joking once and for all. I had a sister and I knew well what clarifying that relationship did to dissuade discussion of their beauty or any other… attributes.

“Ah,” said Kichi. “Say no more, good sir. It’s your protective instincts as a brother that put such a fearsome spark in your eyes. I understand completely. I’ve got sisters myself, two of them—both with faces like radishes, though. Never have to endure such talk.”

“We’ve been trying to figure out how to get past ourselves,” Jiang said, without warning. I’d almost forgotten he was there, for all that his loquacious companion overshadowed him. “Not that either of us looks womanly enough to be stripped bare, mind you, but I’d rather keep my belongings private and not laid out on display if you know what I’m saying.”

“Been at this game as long as we have and you’re still nervous as a newlywed on her wedding night. They’re hardly going to keep us, brother.” Kichi laughed, slapping his companion on the back. I was glad it wasn’t me this time. “Not with a face like yours.”

“I’m less worried about my face, and more worried about your mouth,” Jiang said, with a long-suffering eye toward the pair of us, as though he weathered such abuses every day but only rarely entertained a sympathetic audience for them.

Kichi stroked his long face thoughtfully. He looked like a painting of the monkey god come to life, I decided, only his beard was short and black instead of long and white.

“We could travel with you.”

I nearly didn’t recognize my lord’s voice as it came so sudden and clear from my side. He bowed his head when the three of us craned around to look at him, as though suddenly conscious of how he’d managed to capture everyone’s attention when he had meant to do anything but.

“What I mean to say is, that if they’re more suspicious of groups traveling in pairs, wouldn’t it make sense to go along as a bigger group? They might not scrutinize each of us so thoroughly, which would save you time, and I might escape with my dignity intact.”

Kichi gave Mamoru a look that was admiring, and Jiang surveyed him with something else besides that in his eyes, something I was sure I disapproved of.

“I like the way you think,” Kichi said, smiling his monkey smile. “Sensible and clever. You’ll want to watch out, brother, or some devilish man’s going to take her from you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, gritting my teeth together. My lord’s hand was still on my arm. He gave me a pat that was equal parts warning and reassurance.

“Anyhow,” said Kichi. He leaned back in his chair as though he meant to get up, and perhaps he’d sensed my animosity after all. “It’s a fine plan. Your sister’s got a fine head on her shoulders. If you want company for this leg of the journey, you’ve got it, right, Jiang?”

He stuck out his hand without waiting for Jiang’s confirmation. I got the impression that all their decisions were made in a similarly one-sided fashion.

I could feel my lord’s hopeful eyes on me, and despite what misgivings I had, I knew what the decision would have to be.

I put my hand in Kichi’s and shook. The radiant air of his smile did nothing to assuage my misgivings.

“That’s agreeable of you,” Jiang said, getting up from the table. He didn’t seem to bear his companion any ill will for his brash nature, or for his willingness to make decisions on his own that affected the two of them. Perhaps he’d grown used to it. “Just the spirit of brotherhood—sisterhood as well, you’ll pardon me, miss—that’s been lacking in these parts of late.”

Mamoru bowed his head and, if he felt any remorse at the mention of brotherhood, he kept it to himself. I waited until our colorful benefactors had left before I dared to turn to Mamoru, my contrition written plainly over my face.

“They have the right idea, don’t you think?” Mamoru said mildly, ignoring what apologies I might have made altogether. “Perhaps we’d better turn in.”

I wanted nothing more than for Mamoru to enjoy what comforts he could while he could. If I had the means to provide us both with soft beds for the evening, then it only made sense for us to take full advantage of them. Who knew how early Jiang and Kichi would expect to leave in the morning?

For that matter, who knew when we would ever get the opportunity to sleep so well again?

“It’s a fine idea,” I said, allowing myself to praise it as my lord’s own and not Kichi’s. I paid for our dinner, then ushered Mamoru up the creaking wooden stairs ahead of me.

Our room was just off the landing, second on the right. I was almost gratified to hear that the floorboards creaked as loudly as the stairs did. No one would be able to surprise us in the middle of the night; naturally, it was not a building built with the same niceties of architecture as the palace, and for that I was grateful.

I slid the door open for Mamoru out of habit, managing not to bow only as a cursory remembrance. My lord was doing so well at playing his part. It dealt a great blow to my humility to think that I was not.

Our room was plain, with two narrow mats stretched out in the center of the room and a lamp set on the back table. It flickered uncertainly from time to time, as though unsure as to whether or not its presence was welcome. Outside the window, the moon waxed like a ripening fruit, pale and elusive.

Mamoru slipped his new shoes off and began to undo the tie that held his hair. Out of habit, I paced over the length of the room, searching into all the corners and listening to the sound of the floor as I walked it.

“Kouje,” Mamoru murmured, his voice as soft as a moth’s fluttering, “I do not think you’ll find any assassins here.”

“Mamoru,” I said, fighting the urge to bow. “I did not mean to disturb you. It is merely a habit. If you find it offensive…”

My lord smiled warm in the lamplight. “No. You needn’t stop. I find it almost reassuring, truth be told, and… I am in need of some reassurance tonight.”

He drew back the thin, summer-season coverlet. It was imprinted with a design of trees, ones that held the most elegant of songbirds. My lord had always enjoyed listening to the songbirds in the menagerie. On some occasions, if the night air was right, he said that you could hear them singing all the way from the palace.

I knelt on the mat next to my lord’s. “Everything will be well tomorrow,” I told him, “now that we’re traveling in a larger group. No one will take any notice of you.”

“My face,” he said, touching one smooth cheek thoughtfully. “That man said that they were stopping everyone with a regal air about them.”

“I shall counsel you to amend your posture,” I said firmly. “And leave your hair uncombed in the morning. And perhaps we might cover your face in dirt,” I added, as an afterthought.

“Kouje!” Mamoru looked at me for a moment, stunned and amused in equal measures. “Surely our companions would notice something peculiar about such a thing?”

I shook my head. “It was unwise to bathe when we did. I see that now.”

My lord sighed fondly, in a way that did not betray his exasperation in the slightest. “Next time, I’m sure we will both think twice, and learn to live peacefully enough in each other’s stench.”

“Indeed,” I said, allowing myself the smile I’d been holding back. I couldn’t help looking around the room once more, since there were other habits a man accumulated during his lifetime, ones less easy to break than the familiarity on the tongue of a certain title. “Is there anything I might fetch you, before the day is out?”

Mamoru cast his eyes toward the window, and the moon that had risen high over the trees.

“I believe the day is already out,” he said, then, “I’ve everything I need, Kouje. Thank you.”

I rose to extinguish the lamp, trying and failing to make my feet sound noiselessly against the floors, the way I could at the palace. That I couldn’t was some reassurance, but some loss also. I heard a quiet sigh, and the shifting of fabric as Mamoru tucked in underneath the coverlet. I tiptoed back as softly as I could to my own bed and pushed the covers back in the dark.

“Thank you,” my lord said again. Already his voice was coming slower, half-ragged with the pull of sleep.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” I assured him in a whisper that would not break the tenuous threads of sleep forming around him like a spider’s web. “I merely felt the need for a proper bed. You have forgiven me for my indulgence, and I’m very grateful. There’s no more to say on the matter than that.”

“No more to say on the matter,” Mamoru murmured, the words nearly swallowed up in a yawn worthy of the menagerie lions.

“Good night, my lord,” I said.

A quiet snore was his only response. I lay awake after that for some time, listening to the creak of men and women walking the halls, finding their rooms for the night or leaving them. Gradually the noise subsided as the rest stop closed down for the night, and then there was no sound at all but for Mamoru, sleeping peacefully in the bed next to me. In such a small roadside stop as this one, there were no gamblers or pickpockets roaming the streets at night, so there was only silence from the road beneath as well. I lay on my side, staring at the wall across the room before turning over, noiselessly as I could so as not to wake my lord.

There were no crickets to chirp and buzz in the night, and no frogs to hum their mating calls to one another from the streams. The bed was soft beneath my back. I should have been able to sleep, but I couldn’t.

The only way I realized that I’d eventually dozed off was when the light woke me in the morning, striking me full in the face like an unwelcome hand. I was up at once, looking about the room with considerable confusion before I realized where we were, and recalled the arrangements we’d made to slip past the border checkpoint later in the day.

My lord was still asleep, even after I’d gone to the window to judge the relative position of the sun. It was early yet. If I hadn’t promised to wake him whenever I myself was awake, then I might never have found the heart to do it, but I knelt at the side of the bed and took gentle hold of his shoulder.

“Mamoru,” I said, as softly as I dared.

He was awake immediately, in his eyes the same dread as the morning before. He seemed to calm when he saw my face, though, and relaxed back against the futon with an odd, sleepy smile.

“I had the most wonderful dream,” he said, in a voice tinged with melancholy.

“When we’re on the road,” I promised, “you may tell me about it.”

Memory passed across his face like a shadow and he sat, his hair something of a mess. Had he slept restlessly during the night? I didn’t remember the sounds of his tossing and turning, but he might have begun to sleep poorly after I myself had managed to drift off.

Mamoru left no time for concern, sitting up at once and tucking back the hem of the coverlet with delicate regret, a dreamy grace. “Well,” he said, after a moment’s pause, beginning to pull his hair back into a clumsy braid. “Let us attempt the border crossing.”





ALCIBIADES

The more time I spent with the Ke-Han, the more time it looked like I was going to have to spend with the Ke-Han.

If I’d said it once, then I could say it a hundred times: I wasn’t any kind of diplomat, not even a piss-poor one, and I didn’t see how decisions that shouldn’t even need to be discussed could take hours, sometimes whole days, to go over. Were we ever going to get to the real meat of the problem? How much longer was this nitpicking—and some on both sides of the debate had perfected nitpicking like it was a bastion-be-damned art—going to take?

Forever, maybe. And I had to sit through all of it.

Also, I was starting to feel like we were being horsed around—really taken for a ride. But Fiacre liked negotiating so much that he hadn’t caught on to it yet, and the only reason I had was because I didn’t. We hadn’t discussed any of the particulars of the provisional treaty yet, let alone anything to do with the new one, and all because the new Emperor was so hell-bent on tracking his brother down that he’d kept us on the topic for the better part of a week. I was starting to think he was just doing it on purpose.

We’d finally agreed to adjourn the talks when Ozanne had fallen asleep right at the table and knocked over his cup of frothy, bitter tea. I’d have done the same if I’d thought I might get away with it, but for all I knew two cups of spilled tea in one night spelled a diplomatic incident for the Ke-Han.

They’d never have stood for it in the war. When you were a soldier—especially when you were a soldier who knew what he was doing well enough to get promoted beyond the ranks of miserable, Ke-Han fodder nobodies—you made decisions. Sometimes they weren’t the right decisions, but you didn’t have the time for sitting around and weighing each option, and making sure all the factors had been carefully considered when most of those options were irrelevant anyway, like what the weather was like and how much cotton was going for these days and whether or not your maiden aunt had a hangnail or what you were having for dinner that evening.

Maybe I was there because I was a soldier, and maybe I was there because th’Esar liked to keep a few trump cards up his sleeve, and maybe I was there because I was paying penance for all the men I’d killed during the war without weighing each option, but at the rate these talks were proceeding, we’d be staying in the Ke-Han for ten years at the least, and only then would we move on to deciding what tile we should use in rebuilding.

Didn’t anybody just want to do something? Didn’t anybody see reason?

But Fiacre was in his element, and Josette, too; their parents must have raised them to be mean little quarrelers, for they could talk circles around the best of them, and if it hadn’t been driving me so crack-batty, I would have been a little proud.

The way I saw it, though, was that we didn’t have to argue about these things. We’d won the war; the Ke-Han’d lost. But then, I didn’t understand the finer points of diplomacy, and maybe it was better to set up a system that worked rather than having the whole thing collapse on you ten, fifteen years down the line.

Whether it was due to it being so damn hard to work things out or due to an unnecessary number of nitpickers all having a field day with each other, I didn’t know. Like I said, I wasn’t cut out to be a diplomat, and now that I knew what diplomacy consisted of, I was damn sure I wouldn’t be making it my life’s work. Even though I’d been pressed into joining the delegation.

Someone, somewhere, was having a real hard laugh at my expense, that was certain.

And meanwhile, I was going stir-crazy.

During the war, I hadn’t had the time to sit still for all of an hour, much less days. I woke before dawn and tucked in early, and a man got used real quick to his specific routines.

In the palace, the finer men and women woke late and turned in even later, on account of all the goodwill everyone was determined to show, meaning that every night we were forced on pain of death to attend stultifying parties.

The one thing I really didn’t get was the Ke-Han music. It was three notes howled at you over and over by a woman who sounded more like she was choking on her dinner than singing. It gave me a splitting headache and it could last for hours if you weren’t lucky.

The dancing was all right, though.

But underneath all the assurances of goodwill, things were tense. The second prince was still missing, the Emperor was still working on us to let him send out veritable armies to hunt down his brother—all while we were getting nothing done—and I could tell I would’ve been privy to some of the nastiest gossip in at least a hundred years if I only spoke a word of Ke-H an. Good thing, then, that I wasn’t a gossip.

Caius Greylace, the carnivorous little flower, was having a field day picking up Ke-Han turns of phrase right and left. Didn’t matter to me, I figured, since the more time he spent gossiping, the less time he spent bothering me.

Most of all, I just wanted my horse back.

After over a week of getting pins and needles in my own damn backside, of being restless at night for lack of doing anything proper during the day, I figured something had to start changing, and that something was me, since it sure as bastion wasn’t going to be the situation. I was out of shape enough already. There was only one half-decent solution.

I started rising when the peacocks woke me.

An interesting thing about peacocks that not many might have known was that the ones in the Ke-Han woke up just like roosters did, like they thought morning light was some alarming sign that everyone needed warning about. It happened every day like clockwork; the ones that ran wild in the Ke-Han palace courtyard shrieked like their tails’d been stepped on with the first light of dawn. Normally I just pulled my jacket over my head, since that was what I’d been using for a pillow in place of the wood block the Ke-Han had outfitted every room with. A man would’ve thought the Ke-Han could make small pillows, since they knew how to make large ones, but apparently not. Everyone in the palace slept so late that there didn’t seem to be any point in doing anything else.

That was when I’d had my brilliant idea. Instead of going back to sleep, I started going through some of the exercises we’d been taught in training camp during the years before a man became a fit enough soldier to fight on the battlefield. It was the sort of thing every man practiced in the lull between battles, so they wouldn’t get rusty in the interim. Being rusty meant life or death—usually the latter, when being in shape counted for something. I was rusty as an old iron gate just by letting myself go so long, but that was what living among the Ke-Han did to a soul, I supposed. Especially with a madman next door.

The only exercise I’d had lately was avoiding Caius Greylace at dinner, or barring the door against him with whatever I could find to wedge it closed.

It was hard to practice without a weapon. I’d had every man from th’Esar on down try to explain to me just how it was a good idea to visit a country that still loathed us without any arms to speak of, but no one could see the wisdom in what I had to say. Instead, they’d told me that was what we had men like Greylace for, whose weapons weren’t the sort that could ever be put down. And men like me, though I didn’t like to think about it, and probably wouldn’t unless I f*cking had to.

So what it amounted to was, th’Esar wanted us to give the appearance of being unarmed. Still, we had some backup defenses, just the kind that were invisible, and not the kind used by those who’d done any actual fighting in the war or anything like that.

Not having a sword threw off my entire balance in the exercises. A sword’s got a certain heft to it that a soldier had to get used to if he ever wanted to catch the enemy napping. Without a sword, my hands moved too quickly. Without that added weight, I overcompensated once or twice and stumbled over the crescent-shaped footstools that were strewn around my room once more, like the maids were trying to box me in. I’d requested them, and now they too were working against me.

On the third day this happened, I heard a quiet tutting sound from the next room over. I nudged the footstool aside with the toe of my boot and went on, ignoring what I’d heard—though by now, I knew the sound all too well.

Maybe if I ignored it, Caius Greylace would just go back to sleep. If luck was with me, I’d be able to finish and sneak in a quick bath before everyone else woke up.

Luck, as it happened, had abandoned me yet again. I heard the unmistakable sound of the door sliding open, soft as a whisper, and before I had time to pretend I hadn’t seen him, Caius Greylace was standing in the doorway, wrapped up in a cocoon of white silk robes with the front pieces of his hair pinned back like a woman’s. It was disconcerting to see both his eyes so clearly, since he normally took great pains to hide the one he’d lost the use of during the sickness. He peered at me sleepily with one green eye, the other one murky and white and without any focus or direction.

“I daresay, my dear, that you could wait until a decent hour to begin moving furniture around.” He yawned, his little pink tongue reminding me of a cat’s, and looked around the room. All at once, his expression changed from bemused and sleepy to curious, and I felt a sinking feeling within my chest, as though I would never have a moment’s peace again.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said, though the battle was already lost.

He ignored me, and wandered in to perch himself on one of the small chairs I hadn’t managed to knock over yet. It figured that he wouldn’t be too big for them the way I was, even though they’d been put in my room to begin with. Then he yawned again, covering his mouth like a Ke-Han lady did with a fan.

“Carry on,” he said, with what he probably imagined to be a regal air.

“If you’re so tired, then you ought to go back to bed,” I told him, but I knew it was hopeless to try to talk Caius Greylace into doing anything.

Best just to get on with things.

I did, doing my best to ignore Caius the way I ignored how wrong the exercises felt without a proper sword in my hand. I told myself that the most important thing was working up a sweat, and feeling that sweetly uncomfortable ache in my muscles that meant I was using them, not sitting around on a cushion all day while my ass got a little more numb and my arms and legs turned to cooked Ke-Han noodles.

I was just about finished when Caius started to clap. I’d done a pretty good job at forgetting he was there, so that the noise startled me out of the neat routine. Try as I might, I couldn’t get my peace of mind back enough to remember what came next. It was hard work, sparring without a partner.

“Oh, that was marvelous,” Caius said, twirling a loose bit of hair between his fingers. He looked thrilled to the bone, and too excited to sit still. “I’ve never seen soldiers training before. This explains all the noise you’ve been making. Do you plan on doing it every morning? Perhaps you should; it really does look as though you’re in need of some practice.”

“Looks better with a sword,” I told him, wiping the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve. “Works better, too.”

“Ah, I see,” Caius said, nodding. He rested his chin on one hand, watching me with his off-putting, mismatched eyes.

“Also,” I added hastily, not knowing why I felt compelled to explain myself to him anyway, “it’s better with two people. That way you’ve got someone to fight back against. It keeps you thinking.”

“Fascinating,” Caius said, drawing the silk of his robes more tightly around him. Then he stood up as though he’d heard some wake-up bell I hadn’t. “Shall we dress for breakfast, my dear?”

He turned and swept through the door that joined my room to his like a little lord, his robes trailing down past his feet in a way that was probably planned, if I knew him. And I did, unfortunately.

The next morning, he showed up before I’d even started my warm-ups. He was carrying a sword. It was a strange blade, thin and curved at the very end, like the sword-maker had got distracted and pulled away too soon. He was holding it all wrong, bundled up in his arms like he thought it was a baby or a cat, and not a real metal blade, sharp and nastiest at the tip.

“Where did you get that?” I asked. It was nearly as big as he was.

“Well,” Caius said, looking ever so pleased I’d asked. He was wearing green robes that morning, and his hair wasn’t clipped back over his bad eye, which meant that he must’ve been planning to interrupt and not just jarred cruelly from his beauty sleep. “I asked around, you know, and that charming lord who’s always shouting—Lord Jiro, I believe—said he had a son about my age, and it was every boy’s duty to carry a sword, or something to that effect. I admit my understanding of the conversation waned toward the end of it. Anyway, his servants dropped by my room later that night, and they were ever so kind enough to provide me with this.”

He held out the sword like it was a dead cat; only it was heavy, because he was holding the hilt with both hands, and swaying under the weight of it. I wanted to laugh, but what I wanted to do even more was to take the sword. I did.

I was surprised to find that it was lighter than any blade you’d have found in Volstov, and thin like I’d thought it was. When I pulled it out of the sheath, I saw that there was one blunt side and one sharp. All the more useful for when you wanted to maim your opponent rather than kill him, I supposed. I was surprised, also, that the Ke-Han could ever decide which side to use without summoning a council of a hundred, but then maybe that was why they’d lost the war.

Caius sat down on the crescent seat again, watching me expectantly. I swung the sword through the air experimentally, making a pass here, a block there. It was a good sword.

“It’s still better with two,” I said, calling out to Caius the same way I’d called out the city boys who’d gathered around the barracks to lean over the fences and watch us fight. If he was going to sit in, he might as well learn something from it—if he could.

Caius’s eyes went wide, as though I’d genuinely shocked him.

“I’ll go easy on you and everything,” I said, though privately I was thinking, not that easy. His being a magician, even a reluctant watery one, meant that I’d heard my fair share of rumors about Caius Greylace in my time, and despite his looks, he could definitely take care of himself, spoiled lightweight or not.

“Oh my,” he said, fluttering like a lady just asked for her first dance. “Wouldn’t the guards think the worst of us again? I’d hate to cause any commotion.”

Ever since my little mishap with the guards, I’d noticed, they tended to patrol up and down our hallway with greater care, and took their time loitering right outside my doorway since they didn’t know the truth of it, that the whole thing had been Caius’s fault. All the other diplomats had their theories as to why, since no one knew the real reason except me, Caius, and Lord Temur, and there wasn’t one of us opening our mouths on the matter. Still, we were wasting time, and I wasn’t about to be put off from the one thing that kept me sane by a bunch of overexcitable, unintelligible guards.

“You can use the scabbard,” I said, holding it out to him. “It’s about the same size as the sword.”

“That’s hardly fair; it’s not really the same at all,” he said. “And you’re such a great brute—you’ll have quite the advantage over me!”

He took it by the end, like a fishmonger carrying his catch of the day. I waited for him to do something—maybe stand a little straighter, or hold it up as if it were a real sword. Anything. Something. Instead, all I got was a coquettish look.

“My dear, I do believe you’re staring at me.”

“You’re holding it all wrong,” I told him, as if that was completely obvious, which up until then I would have said that it was.

“Oh,” Caius said, looking at me and then at the sword. “Well fancy that!” He adjusted his grip, fiddling for a moment with his long, wide sleeves before settling on something that looked marginally more normal.

“Haven’t you ever held a sword?” I asked him. I was getting that sinking feeling again.

“Well, I haven’t ever had to,” he said. “I’ve held knives. Well, they were more like letter openers, but they were decidedly knifelike. You needn’t worry, I’m sure I’ll pick the trick up sooner or later.”

I began to reevaluate the situation. “Maybe you’d better sit this round out,” I said.

“Well, if you insist,” Caius said, and went back to his perch. I noticed, though, that he held on to the scabbard—probably because it was the same color as his outfit, and he liked that sort of fussy little detail.

Eventually, after a couple of days, I was able to forget that Caius Greylace was there at all. He kept quiet—the only place he ever managed to—almost like he actually respected what I was doing, though there was no real way he could’ve appreciated it properly, since he’d never been a real soldier, himself. Maybe the true understanding was lacking, but at least he was able to hold his tongue, like maybe he thought he was watching a performance at the local theatre, and he didn’t want to disrupt the performer. I was no more than entertainment to him, though; that much was certain.

“I daresay you look much happier with that awful thing than in the company of your friends,” Caius said, after the third morning.

“What friends?” I asked, but I was grinning while I asked, and wiped the sweat off my brow.

The next morning, Caius was dressed all in blue—just to spite me, I figured, since there was no other reason for it. He opened the door and clapped his hands together. “Wonderful news,” he said, and immediately I was wary. “Well you needn’t look as though I’ve gone mad,” Caius continued, pouting enormously. “It’s only, I’ve found a better place for you! So you won’t break any more stools.”

“I’ve only broken one,” I said. The remnants of the stool in question—I’d stepped on it the day before—were piled in the corner of the room, far enough out of the way that I wouldn’t splinter the wood any further.

“Two,” Caius corrected me.

“Now, that’s not fair,” I said. “The other one’s barely cracked. It doesn’t count.”

“Nevertheless,” Caius said, “I’ve the solution to the problem. Why ever do you refuse to trust me?”

Because you’re a two-wheeled carriage, if you know what I mean, I thought. It didn’t matter whether I said it or not; Caius Greylace could sense an insult as sure as if you’d really spoken it.

“Well, you might as well just see it,” he reasoned, taking me by the arm and dragging me toward the door. “And I do believe you will like it.”

Letting Caius surprise me was a piss-poor idea, I thought, but suddenly, I was curious. He’d been almost tolerable the past few days. What if the Ke-Han air was getting to him, making him… sane? Well, saner, I thought, because he was still dressing like the belle of the ball, but there were some problems no amount of good weather could cure. Little lord Greylace was cracked.

But, as it turned out, I’d misjudged him.

“There,” Caius said, satisfied, after leading me through the twisting halls of the palace, enough so that I’d got thoroughly lost.

I didn’t know how he’d done it, but we were in a quiet, empty garden; the walls of the palace shielded it from the rapidly rising sun, and the ground was covered by bleached white stone. In fact, it looked a lot like he’d brought me to a place where I could train in the cool morning air, in private, in peace. Whether or not he’d done it for himself—giving me a better stage to make the show more entertaining—didn’t matter much to me.

“I thought so,” he said, judging by my lack of response. “And what’s more, I’ve brought visitors!”

That was where he lost me. For a moment or so, I’d even been grateful.

“Visitors?” I asked.

“I just couldn’t help talking about it,” Caius went on, as though I didn’t need any further explanation, even though, between the two of us, I wasn’t the velikaia. “Even though you do break stools, it’s quite enjoyable to watch. You see, my dear, I was in the middle of a fascinating conversation with Josette about Lord Jiro’s battle history—she is so wonderful to talk to about these things; you ought to try it sometime—and I happened to let it slip that you were in the midst of preparing for another war, or so it seemed, the way you were behaving. Then, because she looked rather alarmed at the prospect, I had to explain everything…which was when Lord Temur overheard our conversation and suggested that, instead of practicing inside your room and breaking all the furniture the Ke-Han had to offer, you might prefer to practice somewhere you can do it properly, and without splinters.”

“He suggested I practice here,” I said, caught up in the whirlwind of illogical progression that was just Caius’s way of going about his everyday life.

“Something or other like that,” Caius agreed happily. “Aren’t you delighted? They should be along any minute now, so you mustn’t look foolish or stumble and disappoint them. That would be awful; I’d be hideously embarrassed. And after I praised you so sincerely! Lord Temur is a war hero, you know, and trained in all manner of the martial arts. He’ll know whether or not you’re performing to the best of your capabilities. I think, if you’re subpar, you’ll be letting all of Volstov down.” With that, he smiled a very smug smile, obviously pleased with himself.

If he was trying to goad me, anyway, then it was working. The idea of looking like a fool in front of a Ke-Han warlord really got my blood hot.

Something told me that Caius had orchestrated the entire scene just to watch the audience interact with the actor; so that he, the grand director, could sit back and clap at our quaint performances.

But I’d wasted enough time already standing around and chatting with him. Whether Lord Temur came or didn’t come, I wasn’t going to let it stop me from taking advantage of the new space I’d been given, and I wasn’t about to stop practicing, when it was the only thing I could call my own in that forsaken place.

I hefted the sword—it still wasn’t heavy enough, but I was getting used to it, even though it meant I had to relearn all the steps to compensate for the shift in balance. That was what a good soldier was supposed to do. Improvise and adapt. This was the sword I had, this was the time I’d been given, and it hadn’t been so long since the end of the war that I’d forgotten what being a good soldier meant.

I began with the easiest steps, while out of the corner of my eye I saw Caius step back toward the wall—nowhere to perch and watch me here, just wide open space and the bleached white gravel beneath my boots. After that, I forgot all about Caius Greylace being there, and the possibility of Lord Temur stepping in to size me up. If I let anything distract me, then I’d let myself down, and that was that.

The gravel crunched loudly beneath my boots with each step, but at least there weren’t any stools around me to break; Caius was right about that being helpful. And, that way, I could swing a sword freely without worrying about getting it stuck in the beams above my head or the wall or something like that. Breaking a stool was one thing; cutting up the fancy room that the Ke-Han’d given me was another, a less pardonable offense, considering how prim and proper they were and how meticulously they’d decorated it with furniture meant for tiny children.

It felt good to be out in the fresh air, and it was early enough yet that it wasn’t humid. Still and all, I’d worked up a considerable sweat by the time Josette and Lord Temur did arrive, their footsteps on the gravel alerting me to their presence before I could pause in my routine to look up.

“That is Lord Jiro’s sword,” Lord Temur said, once I stepped out of the old motions, pausing to wipe the sweat out of my eyes and acknowledge my new visitors with a nod. Caius clapped happily and offered me a sip of water—he really had thought of everything. I accepted.

“Suppose it is,” I agreed.

“It is different from a Volstov blade,” Lord Temur added thoughtfully. “It cannot possibly suit you.”

“I’m learning it, anyway,” I managed.

“We hear you’re very diligent,” Josette said, looking composed and wide-awake, despite how early it was compared to the diplomatic mission’s usual waking hour. “Caius has been telling us all about it.”

“Has he,” I said. “How… gratifying.”

“We’ve been keeping tally on how many stools you’ve broken so far,” Josette added, for all the world like a schoolgirl teasing a poor country boy. In a way, maybe she was. It was just a different face from the one I was used to seeing her with, her politician’s face, gracious but humorless.

“I believe it was two at last count,” Lord Temur said. “If I recall the right number.”

“The general doesn’t think that the second chair counts,” Caius reasoned, almost as if he were taking my side in the matter but still managing to drive me crazy by insisting on calling me by my title. “But that’s neither here nor there, really; stools are replaceable, and we’ve distracted the good general long enough.”

Lord Temur bowed his head in brisk acknowledgment, and Josette went to stand by Caius’s side, next to the high white wall.

“Of course,” Lord Temur said. There was no hint of mischief at all, either in his voice or on his face, when he added, “I merely thought that a practice sword might be of some use to him. They are, after all, slightly heavier.” And, like he was saying, “And I just so happen to have brought one with me—what a fantastic coincidence,” he produced one from behind his back: a heavy-looking wooden thing that’d been polished to within an inch of its life, except at the hilt, where it was rough enough that it wouldn’t slip right through your fingers. Maybe the polish was useful for practicing, though, since if you could hold on to something so shiny and slippery as that, you could probably keep proper hold of your sword in the midst of a battle, when everything, especially your hands, was slick and wet with blood.

“Delightful!” Caius said. “He’s been complaining about the weight all this time—haven’t you, my dear?—and I’m sure he’d be ever so grateful. Aren’t you, General?”

I gave him a look, even though I was beginning to realize the futility of it, and allowed myself to accept the offering from Lord Temur with grudging thanks. I had to admit, it would be helpful. He was a man who understood what it meant to be a soldier, at least, and I had to respect that.

“And,” Caius went on slyly, like the little snake he was, “he is often complaining of how it isn’t proper at all to spar without an opponent. I’m in perfect agreement, of course—but then, I’m no match for the general, so my opinion is rather worthless, don’t you agree?”

You could’ve cut the tension in the air with one slash of Jiro’s sword. Josette was giving Caius a look that I recognized all too well—it was the look I always gave Caius—so it seemed we’d figured everything out at about the same time, namely why Caius had been talking to her about my practicing and why Lord Temur had just happened to be close enough to overhear him while he was discussing it. The whole thing had been orchestrated like we were all puppets on a single string, one that was wrapped around Caius’s crooked little finger.

For someone who hadn’t been a soldier himself, Caius Greylace sure knew how to manipulate them. Then again, he probably knew how to manipulate anyone, but this was something real special. This was something else.

At the same time, from the look in his eye, I didn’t think the whole thing had been the result of an impulse that was purely selfish. In his own way, I realized, Caius thought he was doing it for me as some kind of a present or favor. I’d complained about having no room and no one to spar with, so he’d given me a better place to practice and someone to practice with.

The only variable in question was Lord Temur. What kind of pride did the Ke-Han have? And just how rash could they be when that pride was aroused?

Lord Temur was a soldier, and so was I. Caius had set things up pretty as a picture.

“General,” Lord Temur said at last; I could hear Josette’s breath leave her in a short, excited burst. “It would do me a great honor if you would deign to practice awhile with me.” And he bowed deeply.

I couldn’t see how there was any way to refuse, since we’d come that far. Josette would probably call it a setback as far as diplomacy was concerned, and Caius would sulk for days if I ruined all his best-laid plans, so I bowed to Lord Temur, just as low as was courteous, and not an inch below that.

“The honor’s all mine,” I said, thinking that if I was going to do this, I might as well do it right.

As it turned out, the sword Lord Temur wore at his waist was another practice one, made of dark, polished wood and about as lethal as the footstools in my room. I guessed looks were more important than function when it came to the Ke-Han way of things. Besides, there was that rule we all had to follow—no weapons carried by the diplomats, and even the warlords had to abide by that. That was probably why Lord Jiro didn’t miss his sword too much by letting me borrow it, if he knew I had it. Knowing Caius, that didn’t seem like a foregone conclusion.

But a wooden sword was better than no sword at all, I decided, if you came right down to it.

The gravel didn’t crunch as loudly under Lord Temur’s feet as he settled into a ready stance across from me. Being light on his feet that way meant he was going to be fast, but I felt the weight of the practice sword in my hand like some kind of reassurance against what was coming. I didn’t know how Ke-Han warlords fought in one-on-one combat, but I had a sword that suited me, and I was about to find out.

Lord Temur swung high first, the movement startling me so that I only just managed to bring up my sword to block it. It was that expressionless face that made it a surprise. The lords of the Ke-Han were normally so quiet and still, I hadn’t expected such a swift and sudden movement from him. It was a stupid mistake, and one I wouldn’t be making again.

He swung his sword next to the side and I parried it more easily, feeling the gravel shift and give way beneath my boots as I stepped back. Whoever kept the garden so neat and tidy was going to have their work cut out for them when we were through, I thought, and brought my sword around to swing at Temur’s ribs. He stopped me before I could get there, the sharp smack of lacquered wood against lacquered wood ringing out through the courtyard. I thought I almost saw a faint smile flicker across his face—and that was one mystery solved, at least. If you wanted to get an expression out of the Ke-Han, all you had to do was put swords in their hands.

“You fight very well,” he said, and there was something different in his voice this time, none of that underwater calm that all the diplomats radiated, like they were half-asleep.

I didn’t answer. It wasn’t Volstovic custom to talk during a battle, and I’d been trained to focus all my energies on one thing: looking for an opening.

It seemed as though Lord Temur had been trained to focus all his energies on one thing, too, except that thing was: Don’t show an opening because your very life depends on it. His sword crossed mine at every turn, like we formed the warp and weft of some violent tapestry. He drove at my skull and I knocked him away, feeling the strain in my arms like an old friend, long absent and well missed.

I might have shouted with the sheer joy of it, but I was too busy with each thrust and parry.

Lord Temur’s fine warrior braids had fallen in front of one of his eyes, and I was starting to feel like there was nothing I’d rather do but wipe my forehead since the sweat dripping down was starting to impair my vision.

I shook my head once, quick like an animal drying off, and out of the corner of my eye saw the sword arcing toward me.

I caught it hard on my forearm, stronger than the other one because it was used to bracing such blows with a shield, but I felt it all the way up to my shoulder, numb and strange all at once.

I heard Josette gasp—I knew it was Josette because it sounded concerned, rather than excited, the way it would have sounded if it’d been Caius—but Lord Temur only drew back as if to attack again, and I swung my sword hard back against him, searching for the opening I knew I’d find. It was only a matter of time.

I’d noticed one thing, at least, and that was the Ke-Han style of fighting focused on three parts of the anatomy—the head, the belly, and the hand. Lord Temur’s attacks were varied, but they had all the same targets. It wasn’t single-minded so much as it was damn stubborn, but almost beautiful in that. It was like he just assumed, sooner or later, he’d hit his mark, so there was no need to shift the target. Stubborn and determined and fierce.

I could live with that.

My arm was numb but my blood was hot, and I wasn’t so out of shape that I didn’t think I could take him. It was just a matter of figuring out his style. He wasn’t just some common Ke-Han soldier, and it wasn’t the kind of desperate free-for-all that a real battle inspires in a man. We weren’t fighting tooth and nail; it was kind of like a dance, only we were both hearing different music with different rhythms. It must’ve been something pretty to look at from the sidelines, each of us acting out his own steps while all the while trying to figure the other one out.

For example, we were even crouching different. Lord Temur was lower, and he held his shoulders back; that changed everything, from his lunge to his swing. He put more from his legs into it, while I swung a sword mostly from my back.

I got revenge for my numb arm and tingling fingers soon enough when Lord Temur went for the head and I went for the stomach. All the air left him in one satisfying whoof of surprise, and he stumbled back, the gravel scattering every which way around his sandals.

“One-one,” I said, figuring that we were even.

Lord Temur’s eyes narrowed—and I knew that we were about to really start fighting. I tightened my hold on the unfamiliar hilt of the wooden practice sword, bracing myself, the blood pounding between my ears.

“Gentlemen.” I didn’t recognize the voice, but I was pretty annoyed that anyone would try to distract us when I was clearly so close to getting the upper hand.

“Oh!” Josette said, sounding shocked in an entirely different way than she had a moment ago.

Lord Temur didn’t seem all that inclined toward listening to the voice either, for all he stepped back swiftly to get out of range of my sword before darting in again, close and hard like he was through with being polite. I could understand why he’d be sick of it. He’d probably been polite all his life.

“Gentlemen,” the voice said again, and this time I thought I did recognize it, after all.

“Oh, your Imperial Majesty, isn’t it simply thrilling?” Caius said, sounding like he’d never seen anything more fascinating in his entire life—and like it was nothing out of the ordinary at all to address an emperor like that on a lovely morning while watching two diplomats go after each other in dead earnest during peace talks.

Lord Temur stopped short. I had to wrench my arm back into a feint at the last minute to avoid cracking his head open with the wooden blade. He dropped into a low bow immediately, which was what gave me time to turn around and see for myself what everyone was on about.

The Emperor was standing in the courtyard, flanked as he always was by his seven surly-faced bodyguards. I hadn’t even heard the gravel crunch with their approach. Was it later in the day than I’d thought? I wouldn’t have pegged the Emperor for an early riser, but maybe he had to get up early just to have the time to dress in all the layers he did. That day’s special ensemble was green on gold, which meant that he was wearing gold ornaments in his hair along with the jade. It was the sort of thing Caius would wear every day, given the opportunity and enough time to grow his hair.

I didn’t think Caius had the time or the connections to organize that little turn of events, but with Caius Greylace, you never knew what he had the time or the connections for. I looked at him warily, just to check, but there was pure shock on his face. For him, this was just a happy accident.

“The guards informed me that there was fighting in the gardens, between the diplomats from Volstov and one of our warlords,” the Emperor said. There was something fiery in his eyes that made them bright where they’d always been lusterless during the talks. “I was resolved to put an end to such nonsense, but now I see that you fight without real swords and with an audience in attendance, and my misgivings have been put to rest.”

“It’s only practice,” I said, since it didn’t seem like Lord Temur was going to stop kissing the gravel and defend himself anytime soon. What a waste of a perfectly good soldier. He’d ruin his back, bowing all the time like that, then he wouldn’t be good for fighting anymore.

“Ah,” the Emperor said, turning his eyes on me. Just then, he reminded me a little of Caius for reasons beyond his clothing, because I thought I saw a spark of madness in his expression. “I see. You practice at fighting, but do not deem it necessary to use real swords.”

Josette sucked in her breath, like she knew what was coming, and, even worse, that she couldn’t do a thing to stop it. That alone should have made me think twice, but my blood was pounding so hard from the fight that it made it real difficult to think even once.

“I had a real sword,” I pointed out. “Only it was borrowed, and it just seemed like good manners not to get it all banged up practicing with someone else.”

“Good manners,” the Emperor repeated, only in his voice it sounded like something soft and slithery, a snake sliding through dry leaves.

“Yeah,” I said, tapping the sword against my leg. I caught Caius’s eye from where he was standing up against the wall. He looked like a puppy in a box, trying to keep his composure but still too wriggly and excited to actually manage it. I wasn’t going to get any help from him in squirming my way out of this conversation, and I was starting to wish I’d just gone and bowed like Temur so as to placate the Emperor so he could’ve gone on his way and let us be. There was something about the way he was looking at me that I didn’t like. I felt like a beetle pinned under a ’Versity student’s lens.

“Well,” the Emperor said, “a real soldier of the Volstov should fight with a real sword.”

I couldn’t get my head around why that sounded like an insult before he’d undone something at the front of his robes, and was shedding all the fine, heavy layers like the most elaborate cocoon imaginable. Underneath it all, he was wearing plain black robes, just like his servant-bodyguards. It was then that I remembered he was still in mourning for his dead father.

Emperor Iseul snapped his fingers, and one of his entourage started doing something with a cord to tie back his sleeves.

Beside me, I heard the shifting of gravel as Lord Temur got to his feet. For the first time since I’d met him, he looked flustered.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” I said, feeling a sudden inexplicable companionship with someone who’d until now been my enemy, “but—to me, I mean—it looks as though the Emperor wants a chance at fighting me next.”

Temur eyed me, as though trying to choose his words very carefully. “I would lend you my sword, had I been permitted to bring a live blade.”

There were too many things I wanted to say to that. Did that mean that yes, I was going to have to fight the Emperor? Did it mean I was finally going to get what I’d been wishing for—right when I really didn’t want it—a real fight? And most important: Was I going to end up like the second prince if I caught one of the Emperor’s fancy jade hairpins on the edge of my sword in the heat of the skirmish?

Before I had a chance to answer, one of the Emperor’s guards unsheathed his sword and handed it to me. I guessed whatever rules applied to us about swords didn’t apply to them. There was something about the weight of the gesture that was like a sudden cold wind up the length of my back. I didn’t like how this was going, not at all.

Caius waved to me from the sidelines. He looked as though he’d just been told there was going to be a festival in his honor, with lanterns and streamers, dancing girls and fireworks.

“Good luck, my dear!” He smiled that creepy jack-o’-lantern smile he had. “Do us proud, would you?”

At least he had his priorities in order. I wasn’t expecting the same kind of encouragement from Josette, who had to be diplomatic now that the Emperor was there, but she’d pressed her lips together into a thin line, like she was afraid that she would start cheering if she didn’t remind herself not to.

I swung the guard’s sword, testing the weight of it against what I’d just been using. It was heavier than Lord Jiro’s sword had been, maybe even the same weight as the practice sword. I was thinking maybe that I should have thanked him, but when I turned around he’d already retired to the sidelines and so had Lord Temur, who was standing next to Josette and murmuring something in her ear.

If it was a bet, I was hoping Josette’d forget to be diplomatic just long enough to put it all on me. It was a matter of patriotism, after all.

The Emperor stepped out into the open area we’d made our sparring arena. His long, ornate sleeves were tied back with a thin, ropy cord, and he had a fierce look in his eyes. Somehow, I thought, he looked a little like the paintings we’d seen of the warrior-gods, smiling cruelly, their hair braided with the bones of their enemies or something.

However preposterous he looked all dolled up in traditional Ke-Han fashion, this was a man who’d got rid of his own brother for questionable reasons. A man who’d dressed in his finest to greet us the afternoon we arrived, when only that morning his father had killed himself for the sake of honor. I was starting to get the feeling that this—everything—had been a really bad idea, when he swung his sword up into a waiting position. It was the same stance Lord Temur had adopted yet different all the same.

In the time it took me to follow, the Emperor’s expression changed from bloodthirsty to amused.

“I was a warrior myself, General,” he said, “before I was an emperor.”

With that, he brought his sword down lightning quick, and when we clashed it was with the crisp, dangerous ring of metal on metal.

It was one thing sparring with Lord Temur, who was more or less, in the scheme of things, my equal. I was a general; he was a warlord. We’d probably both been in the same position during the war, and we were the same age, more or less.

It was another thing to spar with the Emperor of the Ke-Han, who was, by my understanding, a good five years younger than I was.

All I could think was that Emperor Iseul was lucky he hadn’t been Emperor during the war, or during my time fighting in it, anyway. That Emperor had a lot to answer for, and, with a sword in my hand, I might’ve been tempted to make him answer for it right then and there, and peace treaty be damned.

The first meaningful thing I learned about Emperor Iseul was that he was fast.

He came at me like a poisonous snake lashes out to bite, whip-quick and light. He looked more at home in plain clothes than he did all trussed up in emperor garb, and he looked pretty regal then.

And it wasn’t anything at all like fighting Lord Temur, partly because they were two very different men and partly because having a real sword in your hand changes everything. I was more than just plain grateful that I’d had the practice fighting Lord Temur to learn a little more about swordplay in the Ke-Han style. In fact, I didn’t have any proper words for just how grateful I was.

Knowing what the Emperor was aiming for helped me to parry the first ten or so attacks, but not knowing what direction he was coming from wasn’t doing me any good. I couldn’t read anything in his face beyond the glint in his eyes. He’d wanted to strike out at us for a long time, ever since we’d arrived and probably before then, too. I just happened to be the poor bastard standing in front of him, holding a sword.

I thought about Volstov. I thought about how many years I’d fought, and how many friends I’d lost, and the battles I’d been in with that man on the other side.

It was hard to get past the defensive, but there was something as angry as fire in the air and it was coming over me now, same as it’d come over the Emperor himself. I didn’t even know what we were fighting for anymore, but we were fighting honestly, like two starved lions in the ring.

I brought my sword down, hard, aiming for his shoulder, and he parried, throwing all his weight against the attack. I could feel the clash in my jaw, it was so sudden and so hard, and then he was on the offensive again, while I had to keep blocking his attacks at lightning speed, or else. He was moving fast enough that I didn’t know if his swings were the sort of thing he could stop in time—that is, if he did break through my defense—before he sliced my arm off, or worse.

Head, belly, hand, head, hand, belly. He fell into a pattern that was deceptively easy to follow, striking out with rhythmic diligence. It wasn’t anything like fighting an ordinary soldier. I wasn’t good enough, and we both knew it. That didn’t mean I wasn’t going to make him sweat—and fighting, I knew intimately, wasn’t always about who was good and who was better. It was about luck, too, and tenacity, and about reading a person.

Only it was impossible to read the Emperor. The more I fought him, the more I realized he was f*cking insane.

There was sweat in my eyes, pouring down the back of my neck and staining my shirt and my chest, my shoulders, my underarms. I wished to bastion I had my own sword—a mean, heavy Volstovic number that could’ve broken his blade in half with the right swing—and then we’d’ve seen how good he was, with two pieces of a sword and me bearing down on him.

I could hear my breath turn ragged, was starting to recognize the pattern of the Emperor’s breaths, too—how he breathed in when he attacked, breathed out when he parried. Our swords met, over and over, me fighting like a Volstovic soldier, him like the Emperor of the damn Ke-Han.

Then I slipped on the gravel. It was the only opening Emperor Iseul needed—the opening, maybe, he’d been waiting for this whole time. It was my boots, or the fact that I wasn’t used to fighting like that on the gravel, or how out of practice I was. Any number of things could’ve caused the slip, but they were all worthless excuses. It was a mistake, pure and simple, and I was going to pay for it. It was only a matter of how.

My thoughts came pretty quickly in that instant, right before the Emperor’s sword came down.

I managed to stop the blade from slicing me open, cracking my collarbone and heading toward the lungs or the heart, but it took all my weight—at least I was a bigger man—to keep Iseul at bay; I had no chance to push him fully off. He’d attack again, and quickly. The second strike would likely throw me off-balance.

I braced myself for it, down on one knee and thinking through all the unfavorable situations I’d been trapped in, all the scars I’d won. Was I really going to let some Ke-Han bastard get the best of me, Emperor or not?

So instead of just waiting for the attack, I brought myself up to meet him as his sword came down the second time. The noise was so loud I thought I heard Josette shout behind us—less like a scream of fear and more like a vote of confidence. Or, at least, I chose to read it that way.

It surprised the Emperor, as much as he could be surprised, anyway, and I pressed my advantage without much finesse. Strength might win me this one, not technique. If only I had my f*cking broadsword.

Iseul parried my every move, but at least I was driving him backward.

Pride undid me. I was too pleased with myself, and that blinded me to the possibility that the Emperor could be as strong as I was. That maybe he’d been holding back some cards for the very last round, the way they had in the war, so that by the time we’d got them figured, it was nearly too late to stop them.

And, just like that, I was on the ground, flattened out, dazed and aching and wondering how I’d got there. I’d lunged too quickly, pressed my advantage too fully, and Iseul had caught my blade with his own, then…

Then, he’d tripped me.

Still, I always knew the Ke-Han fought dirty. I should’ve been expecting it all along.

I could hear the sound of a sword coming down, could hear it sing through the air with such grace and speed that I knew two things. One, that the Emperor was a master swordsman, and at least I’d been bested by a worthy man. Two, that the Emperor was going to kill me.

You didn’t swing a sword like that unless you were aiming to kill, and I was down, moving too slowly. I brought my sword up, but my bad arm was numb, and there wasn’t enough strength in my hand to stop Iseul; he’d just drive my own blade into my neck with his own.

Shit, I thought. Caius Greylace had really done it this time.

“My Lord!” Lord Temur shouted from the sidelines. There was something in his voice I recognized—a little bit of the same desperation I felt, although not as much, obviously, since I was the one Emperor Iseul was about to slice open.

The Emperor stopped as if on the blade of a knife, the tip of his sword a bare inch away from my face. My life didn’t pass in front of my eyes or anything like that—I was used to almost dying—but the morning sunlight glinted too brightly off the metal of the Emperor’s sword, and my heart was pounding so hard I could scarcely hear anything else.

Then, just as neatly as you could turn a Ke-Han sword from sharp side to blunt, Emperor Iseul’s face lost that mad spark, so that even when I looked for it, I couldn’t catch the barest hint. He removed his sword in a deliberate gesture, graceful, as though it had all been a part of the dance to begin with.

Except I’d heard the panic in Lord Temur’s voice. That hadn’t been a part of any dance, Volstovic or Ke-Han.

“I overestimated your skill,” the Emperor said, as if that was his idea of an apology. Close to, the sharp planes of his face made him look less like a warrior-god and more a man wearing a demon mask. His eyes were lined with kohl, making them seem longer and thinner, like the eyes of some great cat that toyed with you before pouncing. The ornaments in his hair clinked together like the wind charms we’d seen in the city. “If it is your intent to practice here in the future, I will inform the guards that you are not to be disturbed.”

I didn’t know what the proper response to that was. How did you thank a man who’d just tried to kill you? Did you show you were grateful, just because something—fate or Lord Temur’s voice or a combination of both—had intervened? All I knew was, I was flat on my back and I wasn’t about to turn over just to bow.

“It seems as though I’ll be needing the practice,” I said instead, wondering a bit too late whether or not the humor would translate.

Emperor Iseul stretched his lips in a humorless smile. “Indeed, you do.”

He turned and walked off the yard to where his servants were waiting, muttering to themselves in a language I still didn’t understand, though I thought I caught one or two words that were starting to sound familiar to me. Maybe one was the Ke-Han word for “Volstov,” or “little blond shit-stirrer who dresses like a woman.”

As it didn’t look like anyone was going to rush over and help me up anytime soon, I got up myself. I brushed the white dust from the gravel off my trousers and rolled my shoulder a couple of times, stretching out my bad arm gingerly. With my luck, it’d stiffen over the course of the day and get worse overnight. Either way, there was no doubt in my mind it’d be sore as hell in the morning.

Emperor Iseul’s servants were busy dressing him, tying on the colorful robes that hid his private mourning, and all of them silent as the grave before Iseul started barking orders and they began to talk among themselves, hesitantly at first. Who knew what they were saying? Maybe they didn’t like the way I’d been manhandling their Emperor, but if I could’ve spoken the language, I would’ve assured them that it was me who needed the fussing over, and not Iseul. I’d been the one flattened—and my pride felt it too, just the same as my back and arm.

One of them shuffled over to take the sword back, which I handed over gladly. I’d had enough of real weapons for the time being.

“Are you all right?” Josette had finally broken away from the wall to ascertain my well-being—after having waited a properly diplomatic interval, I was sure. “That last looked quite… forceful.”

I shrugged, regretting it when my arm started to tingle after the movement. “It was good exercise. And that’s the whole point. Force.”

“Well,” she said, looking between Emperor Iseul and me, “think of the story this will make, though. Fiacre will never believe it. One of our own, sparring with the Emperor of the Ke-Han!”

All at once her face changed, got all excited and flushed the way Caius’s did when he contemplated some new fabric or a particularly beautiful formation in his tea leaves. At least she didn’t sound so thrilled by the fact that I’d almost had my neck sliced in two. Maybe she didn’t realize it.

“I have to go and tell him,” Josette continued. “I’m sorry, but if I’m not the first to break the news, I’ll be sorely disappointed. I’ll see you at breakfast, though! And Alcibiades… perhaps you’d better bathe first.”

I followed Josette back to the wall, where Lord Temur was standing uncertainly in the middle distance between Caius and the Emperor, looking rather unsure of himself for the first time.

I still couldn’t shake the sneaking suspicion that Lord Temur had saved my life by recalling the Emperor to his surroundings the way he had. I guessed that meant I had to be grateful to him. What surprised me was that I didn’t really mind.

“Lord Temur,” Josette said suddenly, as if she’d just had a brilliant idea. “Would you like to accompany me back to the palace?”

Temur blinked, and I thought I saw a hint of a smile in his eyes. Maybe the Ke-Han had expressions after all, and you only had to know where to look for them. Or maybe it was just the remnants of the fight still in him. Either way, he held out his arm, and this time, Caius didn’t dive between the pair of them to take it away.

In fact, Caius was being oddly still for someone who’d been all but doing cartwheels in the courtyard earlier. With his one good eye, he regarded the Emperor’s servants refitting his train, and he didn’t even look as excited about the clothes as he might have, nor was he tapping his cheek in fake concentration, a gesture that was rapidly becoming overly familiar.

I joined him by the wall, standing by way of blocking his view, since as far as I was concerned he’d orchestrated this whole thing in the first place. Even if it had started out as something of a favor, it’d ended up almost killing me.

“My, my,” Caius said, coming to life suddenly as though he’d been in a daze all this while. “What a dreadfully exciting morning, don’t you think? You’ll be the talk of the palace for months, my dear, as the diplomat from Volstov who tested the Emperor himself!”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s been some kind of morning, anyway.”

“It’s so splendid that I don’t know how I shall bear it,” he murmured, his eyelids fluttering shut. For him it might’ve been all some grand, gay dream. For me, it’d ended up as anything but.

“He tried to kill me,” I said, not because I thought I could trust Caius, but more because I didn’t have anyone else to tell.

Caius opened his eyes again, and I could see the milky outline of his bad eye through the fall of his hair.

“Oh, my dear,” he said. “I know.”