Page 3

CHAPTER

Three

“Y OU WILL KNOW the story of Prisoner Quen and the Bear,” the emperor said, from his white marble throne. Behind him, the morning sun streamed through the great octagonal window. He could have settled back into that golden shaft of light, sanctifying himself, but that would have been out of character. Instead, he sat hunkered at the edge of his seat, legs apart, hands clasped between his knees. The posture of a man who would rather be on his feet.

Today, Bersun was plainly dressed. An iron band for a crown, stamped with an ∞ —sacred symbol of the Eternal Path. His black tunic was slashed with five scarlet claw marks, a reversal of his bodyguards’ uniform. He wore chain mail beneath his tunic, and a longsword at his belt. Orrun was at peace, the rebellion a long-faded scar. But Bersun was a warrior to the bone. Even now, after more than two decades on the throne, he looked more natural dressed as one.

Quen and the Bear . Of course they knew it—the most famous story of the age, already passed into legend. How the ruthless pirate Quen was transformed by his encounters with the Bear into Brother Lanrik, wise and saintly abbot of Anat-garra.

“Quen was a worthless piece of shit,” the emperor said. “But the Bear gave him a second chance.”

A warrior, yes. A storyteller, no.

Yana, standing with Ruko at the base of the throne steps, kept her eyes on the floor. She was feeling sick again. The heady, overwhelming smell of the incense. The grim-faced bodyguards lining the steps. Most of all the giant frescoes that covered every inch of the walls and ceiling. Dedication to the Eight— Shimmer Arbell’s infamous masterpiece. Defying convention, she had painted the eight Guardians not as symbols or myths, but as living beings, in their natural settings. On the wall behind Yana, the Bear stood in a rushing river, snatching salmon from the rapids. Painted over the doors, the Tiger stalked its prey through the long grass. To her right, a magnificent Raven posed on a cliff beside a storm-swept sea.

Arbell had etched a single word in gold above each portrait. Together, they formed half of a phrase every child learned at temple.

SEVEN TIMES HAVE THE GUARDIANS SAVED ORRUN

The second half was left unwritten, for its message could be found painted on the ceiling. A portrait of the Dragon. Not slumbering in the usual way, coiled within its cave, but swimming down through a jagged tear in the sky, fire building in its throat, preparing to burn all before it to ash. The Awakening Dragon of the Last Return, poised right above Yana’s head. She could almost feel the heat from its jaws.

Seven times have the Guardians saved Orrun. The next time they Return, they will destroy it.

“Your father,” the emperor said. The room stilled at those two words. A faint smile crossed his lips. “He’s causing trouble again.”

Yana held her breath. Her father was dead. He’d died right here on this spot, where she was standing. Beneath the Dragon.

She sensed movement from one of the bodyguards, the scuff of boots. When she looked up, the emperor was holding a scroll in his fist. He held it out for the room to see. The message was written in dark green ink and signed with a tiger’s eye, painted in green and gold. Yana recognised the flowing, elegant handwriting, though she had not seen it in years. It belonged to Rivenna Glorren, abbess of the Tiger Monastery. The twins’ Guardian-mother.

Few had expected the abbess to survive the purges. She and Andren had been lovers before he married Yasila, and had remained the closest of friends. How could she not have played some part in the rebellion? The inquiry subjected her to hours of interrogation under Houndsight, to no avail. Not only was Rivenna found innocent, but she demanded—and was given—a formal apology for her treatment.

Yana had not seen her Guardian-mother for years. She had not mourned the loss. Even as a very young child, Yana had sensed that Rivenna’s indifference was much safer than her interest.

The emperor was reading the message again, as if he hoped it might say something different this time. “It seems your father saw something special in you.” He looked up. “Yanara.”

In her periphery, Yana saw Ruko’s shoulders slump.

“A future contender for the throne.” Bersun lifted his brow at the presumption. “He left a legacy in your name, for when you came of age.” He waved the scroll again. “You have a place waiting for you at the Tiger monastery. If you want it.”

The floor tilted under Yana’s feet. The Guardians loomed from the wall as she fought through a tangle of emotions. Pride, fear, confusion, excitement. And beneath that—a dark slick of guilt. This was her brother’s wish, not hers. A secret he had shared only with Yana—that he planned to affiliate to the Tiger, and seek a place at Anat-hurun, like his father before him. Yana had indulged him in his fantasy—for that is what it had seemed to her. Her brother, the Traitor’s son, training to become a Tiger warrior. A dream so impossible, it was rendered harmless.

“I could prevent this,” Bersun said. “My Raven lawyers would peck it apart in five minutes.” He had made it his coronation pledge to reform the monasteries—most of all these paid-for places. “But I’ve read the Foxes’ reports on you.” The emperor swivelled towards Yasila, who stood beneath the portrait of the Raven like an accompanying statue. “And your mother speaks well of you.”

Yasila—always so scrupulous with what she hid and what she revealed—threw the emperor a glare of such intense, undisguised hatred that Bersun burst out laughing.

Well at least those rumours about them aren’t true, Yana thought.

Bersun swivelled back again. He deliberated for a moment, his gaze softening as it settled on Yana. “A child should not pay for the sins of her father. I’m willing to give you a second chance, as the Bear teaches. Take the place, with my blessing.”

There was a silence. Yana realised she was supposed to fill it. “Thank you, your majesty…”

Bersun narrowed his eyes. “You’re not sure you want it,” he said, shrewdly. “Fair enough. This will change your life. Take a moment.” He handed the scroll back to his guard. “A moment, mind. I’m sure you’ve heard of my legendary impatience.” He shared an amused glance with the guard.

Yana took her moment.

The Tiger monastery. The most elite of all the anats, and the most secretive. A future unfurled in front of her—a path into a magic forest. She could transform herself into a Tiger warrior. She could compete to become their next contender for the throne. Bersun had at most eight years left to rule, before the law demanded he step down.

Eight years—she would be twenty-four. Not a bad age to face the Trials. And what better way to honour her father, than to take the throne in his memory?

I could clear his name.

Was this what Andren had foreseen, when he put the legacy down in her name? Her father, always ten steps ahead.

But this was Ruko’s dream. Could she really steal it from him?

As if reading her thoughts, the emperor tutted, annoyed with himself. “Damn it. I should say. If you refuse, I’m to offer the place to your brother.” He gave Ruko a glancing smile. “Sorry, lad—forgot all about you there.”

A soft hiss escaped Ruko’s lips—half annoyance, half excitement. Suddenly, there was a chance for him. “Yana.” He pleaded silently with her, dark brown eyes filled with hope and hunger. My dream. Let me have my dream back.

But their father had chosen her.

Ruko reached for her. “Yana, please…”

“Quiet,” a flat voice prompted.

It was the first time High Commander Hol Vabras had spoken. He stood to their left at the base of the throne steps, so unremarkable, so average, that any attempt at description would slide off him. Describing Hol Vabras would be like trying to describe the taste of water. “He’s so forgettable,” a Fox courtier once said, “it’s a wonder his mother remembered to push him out.” And everyone had laughed, then stopped, because Vabras was standing there, right next to them. The courtier had disappeared shortly afterwards, which was a shame. If you’re going to lose your life over a joke, at least make it a good one.

The emperor rose from his throne, gripping the hilt of his battle-worn sword. On the steps, his bodyguards stood to attention, slamming their halberds to the ground in one explosive movement. The sound echoed off the walls, leaving silence behind it. He made his way down the steps, and stopped in front of the twins. Eight, he really was a giant. “So. Yanara Valit. What will it be?”

Yana was still deliberating. Her father had taught her that. Don’t rush in, no matter who is pressing you for an answer. Weigh your options. Consider the risks versus the rewards. Think.

Did she want to rule? Because that was the implicit offer, hidden within her Guardian-mother’s scroll. To be trained up as a contender, and win the throne. And below that, whispered between the lines of green ink, so quiet that the emperor could not hear it— avenge your father .

Yana’s only dream—until this moment—had been to run an art shop and café in the Central Grid. Settle down, have a family, and be known as Yanara, instead of Traitor’s daughter. Even that had felt overly ambitious.

But now here was the emperor, offering her a gift so vast she could barely grasp its dimensions. The chance to rise. The chance to rule. Empress Yanara .

The magic forest called out to her. Why not? Why not?

“Yes or no,” the emperor prompted.

“Yes, your majesty.” Barely a whisper. Shocked by her own daring.

Bersun cupped his ear, playful.

Yana repeated, in a clear voice: “Yes, your majesty.”

He dropped his great paw of a hand on her shoulder and gave her an encouraging shake. “Good. Good! Don’t be so timid.” The floor dropped away under Yana’s feet. Vertigo, as her new life rushed towards her.

“But it’s not fair!” Ruko exploded.

The emperor sighed and gave Ruko a complicated look—a mixture of irritation and sympathy. “Peace, lad.”

Ruko was too caught up in the injustice to stop himself. “But she’s not a Tiger,” he protested. “She was going to the temple this morning to affiliate to the Monkey. Yana, for Eight’s sake.” Ruko snatched her wrist. She had never seen him look so desperate. His dream, slipping away from him. “You know this isn’t right. Let me go. I swear, beneath the Awakening Dragon, I will train harder than anyone has ever trained.”

“Enough.” The emperor said it gently, but everyone heard the warning wrapped inside it. Enough.

Ruko lowered his head, crushed. His thick black hair swung forward, covering his face. And in that moment Yana thought—I have lost him, my twin. My brother. Perhaps not for ever, but for a long, long time.

“‘The path to the throne is narrow, and must be walked alone,’” 2 the emperor said, observing her quietly.

So—he did know what the scroll was offering. And he was letting her go anyway. He was choosing to trust her.

“Your majesty,” Vabras interjected. “Before you make a final decision—I have some questions.”

“As you wish.” The emperor shrugged. He had made up his mind.

Ruko—sensing a fresh opportunity—lifted his head and squared his shoulders. Yana felt a flicker of alarm. This was Vabras, the man who had led the purges. She tried to signal to Ruko.

Be careful… He ignored her. This was his last chance, and he would take it.

“You believe you deserve this gift,” Vabras said. “Not your sister.”

Ruko raised his chin, defiant. “I do.”

“Why? Your sister is the better student.”

Ruko bristled. “I’ve fallen a few points behind this year…”

A few points? Yana clamped her mouth shut, but the emperor spoke for her. “You barely scraped a pass, boy,” he growled. “Coasting on your charm and good looks.”

Ruko, eager to defend himself, barely paused for breath. “I’ve spent the whole summer volunteering with an Ox team, restoring our home grid’s community hall, doing my civic duty.”

Volunteering? Yana had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. He’d only joined that Ox team as punishment for failing half his exams. Ruko wouldn’t know his civic duty if it paraded past him on a Kind Return Festival float, trailing streamers.

“Ask anyone. They’ll tell you I’m a good, honest citizen, loyal to his majesty—”

Vabras pounced. “And your sister is not?”

Ruko’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t mean that. I wasn’t talking about Yana.”

“Worthy,” Vabras said, signalling for the sergeant to join the interrogation.

For that is what it had been, all along.

Sergeant Worthy, who had been standing patiently by the doors, peeled away and took his place next to his commander.

The emperor retreated up the steps.

Worthy and Vabras stood in front of Ruko. They said nothing, only studied him, building up the pressure.

Ruko bit his lip. He had finally realised his mistake.

“Is your sister loyal to the emperor?” Vabras asked.

“Yes.” He answered too fast. There was a waver in his voice. Anxiety—but it sounded like doubt.

“Is your sister loyal to the emperor?” Vabras asked again.

Ruko swallowed, and glanced at Yana. “Yes. Of course she is. Yes.”

“He’s hiding something,” Sergeant Worthy said.

“I’m not,” Ruko said, eyes pleading. “I swear I’m not.”

Worthy glanced at his commander. “He’s lying.”

Without changing his expression, Vabras unsheathed his dagger.

Ruko shrank back, terrified.

“Whatever it is, just tell us.” Sergeant Worthy sounded weary. “If you keep lying, you’ll put your whole family under suspicion. But if it’s nothing… No one’s looking to punish you, or your sister, for some small lapse of judgement.”

A skilfully prepared line. Ruko—always so keen to talk himself out of trouble—snatched his chance. “It really is nothing,” he said, relief softening his shoulders.

Yana’s stomach dropped. No, no, no.

Subtly, Sergeant Worthy shifted position, blocking Ruko’s view of his twin. Easier to betray someone, when you can’t see them. “Go on.”

Ruko took a breath. “Yana kept my father’s colours.”

A quiet hiss from the emperor, on the steps. The embroidered silk band, worn by his rival, when they competed against each other for the throne.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Ruko added in a rush. “It was just a lapse in judgement, like you said.”

Vabras sheathed his dagger. “Would you have kept them?”

“Well, no…”

“Why not?”

Ruko’s mouth opened and closed. There was no way to answer, without implicating Yana.

“Because you are loyal to his majesty,” Vabras answered for him.

“No. No, it’s not that… Yana is loyal.”

Vabras said, in a deathly voice, “I shall be the judge of that.”

Yana’s legs were trembling. It was too much. Vabras. Sergeant Worthy, circling. The Guardians glaring down from the walls. The Dragon on the ceiling, jaws wide, fire in its throat.

“Why did you keep your father’s colours?”

“He asked me…” She took a breath. “He made me promise to keep them safe.”

The very last time she had seen him. A cold, grey morning in the Governor’s House in Samra. Andren was dressed in his travel clothes, long black hair plaited and tied for the road, watching from his study window as the groom saddled his horse in the vine-strewn courtyard below. A leather purse in his hand.

“Why would he give them to you?” Vabras wondered.

“Open it,” her father had said, handing her the purse. She could still remember the awe of that moment, as they stood together by the crackling fire. The neat click of the clasp. Her intake of breath as she pulled out the forest-green band and realised what she was holding. Her father’s colours. The Tiger’s eye sigil embroidered so perfectly in the centre she thought it might blink, if she touched it.

“Why not your brother?” Vabras said. “Why not your mother?”

Yana glanced anxiously towards Yasila. She’d drifted further behind the throne, standing now beneath the wild drama of the Fox fresco—a cornered vixen, defending her cubs from some unseen attack. Defend us , Yana begged, with her eyes. Mother. Yasila did nothing.

“He chose you,” Vabras said, “because you were his favourite.”

“No, that’s not true—” Except it was. It was true. He’d put her name down for Anat-hurun. Not Ruko’s. Not both of them. Just hers.

Vabras talked over her. “Because you were alike. Clever. Cautious. Hard to read.” A quirk of a smile. “Did your father confide in you?”

A white burst of fear. “No.”

“Did he tell you of his plans to kill the emperor? To take the throne by force?”

Yana was shaking, violently. The moment she had always feared, and it had snuck up on her like an assassin.

That cold winter’s morning in front of the fire. The green silk colours in her hand, the stamp of hooves in the courtyard below. Her father said, “The throne has been stolen from me, and I must steal it back, for the good of Orrun. One day you will understand.”

She never had.

A tear slid down her cheek.

“Worthy,” Vabras prompted. “What do you see?”

The sergeant’s eyes gleamed, then faded. His face was sombre. “She knew. He told her.”

“Traitor!” Bersun snarled, snatching the sword from his belt. Not the emperor in that moment, but something far more ferocious. A Bear warrior, raging. Yana cringed, afraid he would storm down the steps and cut her head from her shoulders. Instead, he prowled the same step back and forth, as if he had caged himself. “You knew. You could have stopped it all. And you said nothing! ”

Yana dropped to her knees. She curled her fingers against the cold marble floor, finding no comfort there. He was right. She could have stopped it. “I’m sorry. Your majesty, I’m so sorry. I was eight years old… I didn’t know what to do. I prayed every day that he would change his mind and come home. That’s all I wanted. For him to come home.” She wept then, remembering, and there was silence from the room.

The emperor sheathed his sword, muttering something under his breath. He looked to his High Commander. What now?

“She’s a traitor,” Vabras said, to the point as ever.

“She was eight, Vabras.”

“She’s sixteen now. And she still holds his colours.”

The emperor had no answer to that.

“The law is clear. The greatest crime carries the greatest punishment.”

Exile.

No. They wouldn’t do that to her. The Guardians glared down from the wall. They wouldn’t…

“Yana?” Worthy said, taking a step towards her. “She’s going to faint.”

Yana willed herself to breathe. She would not faint. She would not. Slowly, she got to her feet.

The sergeant drew back.

The emperor was arguing with Vabras. “… a punishment for monsters. I haven’t exiled a soul in all my years on the throne. I won’t start now.”

Yana needed her brother. “Ruko,” she whispered, and reached for his hand.

He wouldn’t look at her.

Bersun had retreated to his throne. He called for wine, which appeared at once, in a golden cup embellished with rubies. He drank slowly, while the room watched and waited, held captive. This was a trick her father used to play—the emperor had probably learned it from him. We live on in the gifts we give. 3

At last, he came to a decision. In a formal tone he had not used before, he said, “Yanara Valit. You have openly confessed to treason. And the law is clear.” A nod to Vabras. “That being said. I promised you a second chance. I commute your sentence to life in the House of Mist and Shadows.”

Yana dropped back down to her knees in relief. “Thank you, your majesty. May the Eight bless you.”

“And remain Hidden,” the guards murmured. Shal Worthy gave a tight, satisfied nod. This was good, this was wise. This would satisfy both the people and the law. Not an easy life, locked away in the eastern marshes. So young, to be giving up the world for a life of service. But given the alternative…

Yana sent a silent prayer to the Guardians who had saved her.

To the Bear, merciful and wise. To the Fox, the Guardian of Escape. To the Monkey, her own Guardian, for watching over her. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Ruko stepped forward. “Then I am going to Anat-hurun?” he said, not bothering to conceal his excitement. “I can take her place?”

The emperor stared at the remnants of his wine. “No,” he said. “No. I think not.”

Ruko’s face fell. “But why?”

“We are talking of treason,” the emperor said. “The darkest of crimes. My own High Commander thinks I am being too generous. I cannot spare your sister and send you to Anat-hurun. There must be consequences.”

“But why should I be punished for her crimes? It’s not fair —”

The emperor leapt from the throne and threw his goblet at Ruko. It clanged down the steps, splashing red wine across the white marble. When it reached the bottom Vabras stopped it neatly with his foot.

“What would you have me do?” Bersun shouted. “Send your sister into exile? You do know what that means? What they’ll do to her? Is that what you want?”

“No, but it was her mistake, not mine—”

“ What would you have me do? ” the emperor repeated. “What would you do, boy, in my place? She’s your sister. Go on, tell me. Would you…” He stopped. An idea was forming. “ Eight , why not. Why not? Let’s teach the boy a lesson. Get up here.” Bersun beckoned Ruko up the steps.

Ruko hesitated, sensing a trap.

“Get up here now ,” Bersun roared.

Ruko hurried up the steps. When he reached the top, Bersun grabbed him and slung him on the throne like a sack of rubbish. “There. Emperor Ruko. How does that feel?”

Ruko, sprawled on the throne, was too stunned to answer.

“Guardians of Orrun!” Bersun swept his arm to take in the portraits of the Eight. “Witness this oath—the unbreakable oath of a Bear warrior of Anat-garra. I hereby grant Ruko Valit the power to choose his sister’s fate, and his own. Once made, his decision cannot be unmade. There. That should do it.” He cuffed Ruko on the head, almost playful. “Her life’s in your hands now, boy.”

At the bottom of the steps, Yana was trapped in silent terror. The emperor couldn’t see Ruko’s expression, but she could. She could see that he was deliberating, was genuinely considering…

“Not so easy, is it?” Bersun said.

Ruko shook his head. No. It wasn’t easy.

“Good. Now you understand. So let’s hear it. Will you send your sister into exile, to feed your own ambition? Or will you spare her, as I did?”

Yana saw her brother’s face empty. He sat up straight on the marble throne, and placed his hands on each arm, as if he really were the emperor.

“Exile.”

Silence. And then, from behind the throne, a high, piercing wail. Her mother. Her mother was screaming.

I wonder if I could explain it to them, Ruko thought, in a way they might forgive.

He could tell them that he was saving his sister from a miserable fate. Locking her away with the Grey Penitents wasn’t mercy but a slow, suffocating torture. This way might seem cruel, but it was kinder in the long run. He could say this, with that pathetic whine in his voice. It wouldn’t make any difference.

And it wasn’t true.

Be honest. A voice in his head, the voice of the man he would in time become. Accept what you have done, and why you have done it.

The emperor had given Ruko a taste of absolute power. For that brief moment, he was the most important person in the world. Everyone waiting on his word. And it had felt good. It had felt right.

He sat up straighter on the throne. Below him, collapsed on the floor, his mother was cradling his sister. “Not my Yana,” she said, in a daze. “Not my Yana.”

Ruko had always wondered how his mother kept her face so blank. Now he understood. You had to open a hole inside yourself and let everything drain through it. The horror, the grief, the guilt. The love. Most of all, the love. Let it drain away until there was no feeling left.

And in that starless void, Ruko saw a golden rope, stretching off into the distance. His path, his golden path to the throne. The only way forward now. He put one foot upon the rope, and then the other. His journey had begun.

Footnotes

2 . attrib. Tiger Empress Shin (reigned 1237–52). The quote continues: “be wary of the one who walks behind you, and ruthless to the one who walks ahead.”

3 . From “We Live On,” by Bear warrior and poet Mordir (117–180). The poem continues, “… and the greatest gift is love.”