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CHAPTER

Thirty-Five

T HE FIRST IMPERIAL LIbrARY —the library Yasthala built—was destroyed nine hundred years ago, in the devastating pirate raid of 517. Thanks to Neema’s heroine, High Scholar Donalia Craw, most of its archives had survived, along with some charming drawings of the building. Back then there was no perimeter wall enclosing the island, and scholars walked the light-flooded library galleries with their expansive views across the channel to the capital. Some of the drawings, forcing the perspective, showed the city’s skyline in detail, the Raven monastery prominent with its swooping roofs and high towers.

No one could find fault with the new building, it was handsome and well-proportioned and in many ways better designed for its purpose. That did not stop generations of Raven scholars dreaming of Donalia’s lost library. Gaida had written a poem about it, one of her better ones.

Now someone would write poems about her. The morticians had completed their work. In the hour before midnight Gaida’s body would be laid to rest in the imperial tombs. Not the Hall of Heroes, but still a rare honour. “The Flock would prefer it if you kept away,” Kindry said to Neema.

He was here to oversee the Raven Trial. The Abbess of Anat-ruar should have been with him, but she’d suffered a bad fall and missed the last boat to the island.

Kindry had not set the Trial, having delegated most of the work to Neema as usual. His single contribution was the commissioning of the contender banners—seven tapestries that unfurled from the ceiling to act as partitions between the exam tables. Yes, the Raven Trial was an exam. Pencil, paper. No other weapons required.

Are you disappointed? Were you hoping for fights among the bookshelves, or perhaps a treasure hunt, arcane literary clues leading to secret rooms and treasured artefacts? We agree this would have been diverting, we would have enjoyed that too, but it would not have been a Raven Trial. The Raven Trial was an exam, it was always an exam, and its dullness was very much the point.

“Three hours,” Tala moaned, dragging herself over to her seat as if she were pulling a haycart behind her. “It’s not healthy, sitting for so long.”

Havoc stretched his quads, cracked his back. “The same thing, every Festival. So predictable. Where’s the imagination? The soul ?”

Neema folded her arms, irritated. What did they think ruling an empire entailed? It was called “the throne” for a reason. You sat on it. And you sorted things out. Day after day, year after year. Land disputes, trade agreements with Helia, mediations between the anats, treasury meetings, infrastructure planning, law reforms… Once or twice someone might try to assassinate you, at which point— fine— some martial skills would come in handy. Otherwise? If Tala or Havoc won the Festival, they’d soon be thanking the Ravens for this Trial, because it had forced them to learn Orrun’s laws, history, industry, geography, local politics and the rest. That was the beauty of this exam, as far as Neema was concerned. There was no predicting what would come up, so they had to study all of it. She honestly couldn’t understand what they were complaining about. She would have loved this Trial.

“Are you telling me I’m banned from Gaida’s funeral?” she said, to Kindry.

“I’m suggesting you consider the sensitivities of the matter. I know courtly manners don’t come naturally to you, but surely even you can see that your attendance tonight, under the circumstances, would only… ruffle feathers.” He smiled at the metaphor. “If you would like my advice…”

“Not really.”

“Concentrate on finding her killer. A whole day gone, and what do you have to show for it?”

“I proved she wasn’t killed with the Blade of Peace,” Neema protested. Kindry, the human sofa, accusing her of not working hard enough. “I found the poison used to kill her and I’ve checked the alibis of every contender and every member of their contingent—”

Kindry tsk ed. Trifles, mere trifles. “You know, some of us believe you’ve stalled the investigation on purpose.”

“It is not stalled.”

“Indeed? What progress have you made this morning?”

I found out that Gaida uncovered something so incriminating about the emperor that he had her killed for it. Also, Princess Yasila is an actual witch.

Kindry smiled smugly into her silence. “As I thought. Nothing.”

“Lord Kindry!” Katsan snapped. She was camped out by the Returns desk, arguing with Cain. “We need you. A point of order.”

Kindry threw Neema a meaningful look before strutting away. “Tick, tock, Contender Kraa. The patience of the Flock wears thin.”

The Raven contingent was busy unfurling the last of the contender banners. Hooked to a steel pole, it showed the Hound as a sleek hunting dog, nose testing the air. Shal made an appreciative sound at the quality of the work. When the Trial was over, the banner would be presented to him as a gift to be treasured alongside his uniform and sigil colours.

He settled down at his table, neatening the paper and pencil in front of him. Unlike his rivals he had no complaints about this Trial. Graduates of Houndspoint were expected to have flawless recall of facts and figures. Remembering was never an issue for the Hound contender. Forgetting, on the other hand…

“Neema,” he said, as she passed by. “Do you have a moment?”

She stopped a couple of paces away, feeling awkward. They had not spoken since their disastrous fight the day before, when she’d almost chopped his (beautifully groomed) head off with her shield. Only almost, Benna would have said, if she’d been there. But still.

There was a soft gleam in Shal’s eyes. He was using his Houndsight on her. “I shouldn’t have judged you so harshly yesterday. You weren’t prepared for all this.” He touched his armband.

Her body melted with relief. Finally, some understanding. She placed a hand on her heart. “I’m so sorry, Shal. I don’t know what possessed me.”

She knew exactly what had possessed her. Us. She just refused to see it.

Denial.

Outside, Cain was sprawled on the grass, dozing. A bold, bright image in the bold, bright sunshine. The vibrant green of the well-tended lawn, the intense black of his uniform, white skin, dark red hair.

“How the Eight do you do that?” she asked.

He smiled, but didn’t open his eyes. “Lie down? You should try it some time.”

“You were inside arguing with Katsan a second ago.”

“Know your exits,” he murmured. The sharp angles of his face softened as he drifted back into a half-slumber.

She sat down next to him. His tunic was riding up over his stomach again. “You’ll burn,” she said, and without thinking smoothed the fabric back down over his hips. As she did so, her fingertips brushed against his skin.

Oh. That felt good.

There was a moment’s heady silence.

To break it she said, “Congratulations on beating the Visitor. Two more points.”

“He let me win. He’s only here for Ruko.”

With impeccable timing, the Tiger contender rounded the corner. He stopped when he saw them. Lifted an eyebrow at Neema. My mother. Did she confess? Did you arrest her?

Neema shook her head.

Ruko continued on his way, frowning.

Cain smiled, without opening his eyes. “He doesn’t fuck around, does he?”

“No, hang on a minute,” Neema said. “ Hang on . How did you know he was there?”

Cain opened his eyes. “Magic.” He laughed at her expression. “Fine, fine. I felt you tense.” He indicated the narrow space between them, touching her elbow as he did so. “You’re right next to me. Everyone else is already in the hall. And you tensed in a particular way. Your breathing changed. Nervous but also excited. You’re drawn to him, we all are. Drawn and repelled. Tantalised .”

“You should go inside. You’ll miss the start.”

Cain put his hands behind his head and stretched. “Kindry’s issued me a quarter hour handicap. Katsan insisted.”

“What? Why?”

“You wrote the questions. Gives me an edge, apparently. My intimate knowledge of your weird brain.”

“Sorry.” She started to move.

“Where are you going?”

“I can’t sit here with you. She’ll say I gave you the answers.”

“Neema. Ravens never cheat on quizzes. Same way Bears never break their oaths, and Tigers never ask for help.”

That was true.

One quarter hour. She could tell him where she was headed next, they could discuss the investigation, the emperor. The extra Leviathan patrolling the channel. She could ask him if they were friends again. She could tell him she was sorry, about a lot of things.

She lay down next to him, without touching. Closed her eyes.

Warm sun, sweet soft grass. Birdsong. Voices in the distance, someone laughing. The faint rush of the sea and the smell of late summer flowers. One quarter hour of peace.