Page 24

CHAPTER

Twenty-Four

N EEMA WROTE FENN A NOTE : No need to meet at the armoury, I have my own weapons .

She wrote it at her desk, in her new quarters, and handed it to her newly re-hired assistant Benna, who was beyond thrilled to be an official part of the Festival, all expenses paid, and might die from the excitement, just a warning, but she might.

High Commander Hol Vabras had been busy during the Fox Trial. In the wake of Gaida’s murder, he had decided to move the contenders into the Palace of the Awakening Dragon, where the Imperial Hounds could watch over them. The Visitor and Servant Jadu would be afforded the same protection—whether they wanted it or not. The contingents would remain in their respective palaces. Lack of space, Vabras said.

The contingents protested, furiously. Most of all the Dragons, camped out in the Imperial Temple.

Vabras was unmoved. Vabras was always unmoved. “This is happening,” he said, once everyone had finished shouting, and left the rest to his sergeants.

Who were, unlike their commander, open to bribes. There followed an unseemly display of haggling for the best rooms. Kindry was not about to waste his precious gold tiles on Neema, so she was allotted the worst apartment. No bathroom, shabby furniture, wallpaper dotted with mould. A sweet, rotting smell that Neema didn’t want to think about because evidently something had crawled away to die, and hadn’t crawled far enough. Still, at least Pink-Pink would be happy here—she hadn’t seen one yet but there had to be cockroaches.

Benna promised she would fix everything, and Neema believed her.

She stepped out on to the apartment’s one good feature—a wide stone balcony overlooking the Festival Square, with views right across the island. From here Neema could see the imposing grey turrets of the Bear palace rising through the trees, red and black pennants lying slack in the humid air. Ahead of her lay the Grand Canal, and the golden dome of the temple, burnished by the sun. Far, far beyond that, before the western perimeter wall, she could just make out the dark sprawl of the Raven palace—a nagging reminder that she must return to Gaida’s rooms. She’d asked Kindry to leave them untouched, so she could conduct a proper search. He’d told her she had until sundown. The Flock, he said, was upset by her lack of progress with the investigation. “You must try harder, my dear. I can’t shield you for ever.”

She stretched her arms along the balcony wall. “Fuck you, Kindry,” she said, and felt instantly better.

“Neema?” A voice from the next balcony. Tala’s wife, Sunur.

A trellis of white jasmine divided the two balconies. Neema poked her head around, enveloped in the jasmine’s sweet, heady scent.

Sunur was stretched out on a day bed reading, her straight brown hair tied in a high pony tail. She waved her book in the air. “What do you make of all this?” she asked, meaning the move to the palace, the guards at the door.

“Makes sense to me.”

Sunur gave Neema a serious, scrutinising look over her glasses. “You don’t feel like a prisoner?”

“Not till you mentioned it.”

“Sorry.” Sunur hugged her knees. Anxious, but trying not to show it.

“You get used to seeing armed guards when you live here. Don’t worry. It’s nothing sinister.”

Sunur looked dubious.

“Can I ask you about Ruko?”

She pulled a face. “Sure.”

“You thought he was waiting for someone in the orchard last night?”

“I know he was. He had a note with him—he slid it under his tunic when he saw me coming. This tatty old square of paper…” Sunur stopped, revolted by a sudden thought. “Ugh. Was it a love letter?”

No. Neema knew about Ruko’s love life—or lack thereof—from Rivenna Glorren’s letters to the emperor. The abbess had been surprisingly forthcoming on the subject. Ruko shuns all personal ties, and holds himself apart—even from me, his Guardian-mother. He ensures his physical needs are met, but only to stop them from becoming a distraction. These encounters are paid for. “Did he see you?” she asked Sunur. “Did you talk to him?”

“Yes.” Sunur breathed on her glasses, polished them. “I called him a cunt.”

“Ohhhhhhh.” Neema ran out of breath, and coughed. She thought of Ruko, all six foot five of him, iron muscles and no conscience. The two of them in the dark, with no witnesses. “That was brave.”

“Thanks.”

“Brave is court-speak for incredibly stupid.”

“Oh. Right.” Sunur grimaced. “Well I only said what everyone else is thinking. And,” she lifted a finger, like a lawyer, “he didn’t disagree.”

She was joking, but there was pain underneath. Something personal. Neema waited.

Sunur hugged her knees again, talking to the floor. “The Procession of Exile passed through my town.”

Yana. Neema’s stomach flipped.

“They made us line the streets. We had to shout at her, as the cart passed by. Traitor. You are nothing. You are nothing. They made us, Neema. The Hounds.” Tears filled Sunur’s eyes as she remembered. “And you know the worst part? Some people enjoyed it. They were laughing , like it was a Kind Festival parade. They threw things at her. Neighbours. Friends. Family.” Sunur gripped her knees tighter. “No one talked about it afterwards. Like it was taboo somehow. But I always wanted to ask them. Were they ashamed of themselves? Embarrassed? Proud? ”

Neema, thinking of her own complicity, said, “They probably tried to forget it.”

Sunur looked up sharply. “I won’t. I remember what they did to her. What he did. Her brother. Her brother, Neema. Her twin .”

Neema gave a sharp glance to the balcony above. Empty, thank the Eight. This was dangerous territory, they shouldn’t be talking about this. Sunur could get them both into trouble. But she stayed where she was, only patted the air in warning.

“She looked at me,” Sunur said, not taking the cue. “It was only a second, but I’ll never forget it. That poor, terrified girl, trying so hard to be brave. I remember her.” She lifted her voice. “Yanara Valit.”

Neema winced, and pointed inside, where the Hounds were guarding the corridors. Then put a finger to her lips.

Sunur gave a mocking laugh. “But we’re not prisoners , Neema. It’s nothing sinister. ”

“Mama!” A scamper of footsteps, and Sunur’s daughter Suru dashed out on to the balcony, holding a wooden ox in her fist. “Look at Fenn make me!”

Sunur pivoted instantly to attentive mother, lifting Suru on to her lap and admiring her new toy. At Suru’s command, she held out her arm, so it might become the Great Eastern Road. Suru jumped the ox from her mother’s wrist, to elbow to shoulder. “Riversmeet… Tuk… Samra,” they said together, naming the cities along the route. The game quickly descended into tickles, and laughter.

Neema retreated to her own balcony. She sensed that she had disappointed Sunur. Another relationship soured before it had begun.

You are just very bad at making friends , she reminded herself. In the way some people are bad at singing.

Down below in the Festival Square, the crowds were gathering for the afternoon fights. The white canvas of the fighting platform taunted her, its golden ∞ . Within the next quarter hour, she would face Shal Worthy. She would fight Shal Worthy. It didn’t seem possible.

There was a knock at the door. A delivery from Grace Eliat: two custom-made black contender uniforms, purple raven wings spread wide across the chest. Neema ran her hand over the sigil. There was no way the designer could have completed such intricately detailed embroidery in so short a time. As she examined the material more closely, Neema realised the front panel had been cut out of Gaida’s tunic, then sewn into the new garment.

She changed quickly then stood in front of the mottled bedroom mirror, shifting and squatting to test the fit. She had to admit, Grace had done an excellent job. She squared her shoulders and toughened her expression, as if she were in the contender line, waiting to be called to fight. “Neema Kraa, Raven Contender,” she murmured, then sagged and shook her head. She could say it as many times as she liked, but that didn’t make it true.

Looking the part was not being the part.