Shadow Magic (27 page)

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.”

Of all the things I’d managed to prepare myself for in the past few days, the one thing I wasn’t anticipating was Kouje’s behavior that afternoon on the road to the border crossing.

Ke-Han land was partitioned according to the pattern originated by the old domains hundreds of years ago. When my ancestors swept across the land on horseback, consolidating their power and subsuming each territory into our vast empire, what had once been separate castle towns and the land that surrounded them became prefectures. To this day they remained cordoned off by the great walls, which transected the Xi’an landscape like the stitching in a farmer’s patchwork cloak. Now, the prefectures were run once more by lesser lords and defended by their retainers; the only difference was that the lords each answered to the Emperor, and their duty was to serve the empire first and not themselves.

The greatest wall of all, which surrounded the capital city, was nearly thirty feet high. Until then, it had been the only one I’d ever seen with my own eyes, though I was told that, because of the walls, our country itself was one of the greatest wonders of the world.

As apprehensive as I was about crossing the border, I did wish to see that great wonder for myself, to observe for myself the famed
checkpoint towers. I was no child, but it struck me as somehow sad that I, once a prince of the Ke-Han, had so little knowledge of what had been my own land.

Up ahead of us, Jiang and Inokichi had stopped by the side of the road to rest and water their horses; Kouje and I dismounted to do the same. It was a beautiful road, if barren and somewhat lonely. There was something to be said for the comfort of a road well traveled, though I was glad we’d passed so few riders that day. As much as it had unsettled me to live like a wild demon in the forest, I missed the shelter of the trees and was unaccustomed to so much open air, and so much sun.

“Here,” Kouje said, wringing out a cloth in the stream and offering it to me. I pressed it against my burning forehead, and sighed in relief. I wanted to ask him if the sunlight bothered him—if he felt on fire from the inside out, or suffered the pounding headache that came from a long morning riding through the heat, or if he was sore all over from riding—but I felt uncomfortable speaking in front of Jiang and Inokichi, so said nothing.

“Little flower you’ve got yourself there,” Kichi said, and though Kouje stiffened, I attempted to remind myself that it was his own peculiar way of paying me a compliment. I didn’t understand it—there was no poetry at all within it—but I would have to accept it. “Real delicate. Ladylike. Is she married?”

“She’s still young,” Kouje managed, tension lacing his voice. I allowed myself to pat him gently on the arm.

“My brother is quite protective,” I said, hoping to defuse the situation somewhat. I could allow myself, in this disguise, to speak with
some
of the delicate language from the palace. After all, I was a woman, and I felt no need to become someone like Old Mayu just yet.

“Ah, say no more,” Kichi said, winking at me in a way that I supposed was meant to be congenial.

It occurred to me that I had very little understanding of the way that men and women communicated with one another in an informal setting. I had a great deal to learn. And perhaps Kouje did as well, for I could practically feel the tension radiating from him in waves. If we could have had a moment alone, that I might have asked him frankly what the trouble was, I would have felt marginally better.

As things stood, though, I was unsure as to whether Kouje was simply having trouble adjusting to the way of life we’d taken up, as I
was. At the palace, he would never have tolerated anyone speaking to me with such familiarity; the sudden change must have been a great strain on him.

I squeezed his arm where I’d patted it, trying to convey my meaning without words: that it was quite all right and that he needn’t worry so.

Kouje looked at me, and I could see his frustration quite plainly, mingled with the knowledge that this was what we had to accept. To be perfectly honest, I was surprised at the difficulty he was having in adapting. I’d always assumed that Kouje would undertake any task with the greatest of ease while I would be the one left struggling.

It had been so ever since I was young, after all, with Kouje set as the bar for everything I aspired to become.

Of course, there were many things I had to learn on my own since Kouje, for all his fine attributes, was not a prince, but he praised me in my learning of those other subjects too, even if he did not understand himself the particularities of poetry or calligraphy. In some ways, Kouje had been like a second brother to me, not as proud or as stern as Iseul, but one who would give me comfort when I’d done poorly, and encouragement when I’d done well. Such needs were only an indication of my weaker character, for Iseul had never required a brother to offer him anything—but then again, that was where the difference between us lay. I was a second son, born weaker than the first, and nothing could be done about it.

“My friend,” I murmured, softly enough that I didn’t think Inokichi or Jiang would hear me.

Kouje nodded, his eyes saying what he could no longer speak aloud:
my lord
.

It was an agreement, though I’d not asked anything specific of him, to try harder. I could tell by the troubled expression on his face that he, too, was concerned by his conduct. He would have to take better control of himself, rein himself in as he did our horse.

Some way from us, Jiang and Inokichi sat beneath a tree, playing a game with knucklebones. Rather, Inokichi was playing, and Jiang was looking bored, casting a glance toward the horses every now and again to see if they’d tired of drinking yet. I gazed at the stream with some longing myself, for all we’d bathed the day before. Had it only been a day ago? My clothes were coated in traveling dust, the hem of my robes stained with the damp of early mornings in the forest and hunting for
rabbits. I could no longer recall what it felt like to be clean, even though I remembered the sharp cold of the water in the river and the slither of catfish around my ankles. How Kouje had laughed at me then, and rightfully so. I smiled to think of it, new memories that were not so sore as the old ones and were heartening to think back on.

Time had passed in a curious fashion since we’d left the palace, first so quickly and then impossibly slow, so that I was no longer certain of the day or time. By my calculation, though, it had been less than a week. Four days? I would be missing the summer festivals in the city, that much I knew—but had they already started without me?