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CHAPTER

Forty-Six

B ENNA SAT CURLED up in a corner, arms wrapped around her knees. Her cell was dank and dark, deep below the Hound palace. Cold too, which should have been a relief after the dense heat of the Festival Square, but it wasn’t. If she held a candle to the walls, she could trace the names of those who’d come before her scratched into the brickwork, messages of hope and despair.

Why had they brought her here instead of the regular holding cells? A frightening question for which her guards had no answer. No one tells us anything, they’d said, when she asked them.

They were nice, not like the Samran Hounds who’d arrested her. She got the impression they didn’t have much to do—they’d certainly been surprised by her arrival. But they’d brought her food, and candles, and a book of Guardian Tales. They’d asked her what it was like to meet the Bear, and made awed ∞ signs when she’d told them. Then they’d left her alone, but every so often they would slide the grate back on the door and peer in, like she was a cake in the oven, to make sure she was all right.

“I mean, I’m not all right, but I’m all right,” she told them, and the guards had nodded, and said they knew the feeling.

This room was a place of endings. The thought scared her, but it was a fate she had prepared for, and would accept when it came. In her heart, Benna had always felt there would be no return from this journey. She would not see Westhaven again, her parents, her sister. But she had done what she had promised to do. And along the way—Eight, she had lived! She had travelled the empire, and worked in the imperial kitchens. She had served a contender, and saved her life. She had met the Bear in a dream. It had given her a big shaggy hug and said, “Don’t be afraid, little one.”

Life was short. She had enjoyed it.

Since the age of twelve—since she’d met Yana—Benna had carried their secret, shared plan within her heart, and told no one. Her family would have tried to persuade her against it, if they’d known. The Exiled pass through and we remain . That was the story of her village. They did not concern themselves with the empire, and the empire—in the main—did not concern itself with them. There was a certain liberty in being unvalued.

When she’d announced, aged fourteen, that she intended to head east to find work, no one had thought anything of it. She was not the first to make that journey. Two years of hard, seasonal work took her as far as Riversmeet. Six months after that she had saved enough for a seat on a post-coach to Samra. She was seventeen by the time she snuck on to the old Valit estate, and found the labyrinth buried below the ancient woods—just as Yana had described it to her. She had found her way to the trapdoor at its centre. A plain wooden circle—no hinge, no handle, no lock or key. She had stood over it, praying under her breath—because if this didn’t work, it had all been for nothing.

And then she’d sung a song of opening, the one Yana had taught her before she died.

The gate I leave open for you, my love

Step through, step through.

My heart I keep open for you, my love

Step through, step through.

The trapdoor, sealed by Yana’s mother with a powerful binding spell, had resisted. Benna sang, she coaxed. And the spell heard something in her voice—her need, her pure heart, her love for her lost friend. The door swung down, revealing a ladder, and darkness. She climbed into it. At the bottom: treasures fit for the Dragon. Gold and silver tiles. Bolts of imperial silk in a rainbow of shades. Jewelled weapons. And row upon row of small, sea-green bottles. Dragonscale oil.

Benna understood how much the tiles were worth, and what she could do with them. She had some inkling of the value of those weapons, and she knew the silk was beyond priceless—and also contraband. But the oil? For the first time, she faltered. It had been five years since she and Yana had discussed it. How much would be enough for her task?

She had taken three bottles, and a purse of silver tiles. Climbed the ladder back into the tunnel. The door had sealed itself closed again.

She took the tiles so she could bribe her way into a servant’s position at court. She hadn’t needed them. A hard worker with a friendly smile and fingers used to scalding hot water? Chef Ganstra had hired her on the spot.

A year and a half she’d worked and waited. She sent tiles home—only what she’d earned, not what she’d taken.

“I’m not a thief,” she said now, to the brick walls.

Several times she had been sent to the Raven palace with food for the High Scholar. She could have swapped the bath oil any time. But that wasn’t the plan. Yana had wanted them both on the island together, at the same time—Neema and Ruko. She had wanted them both…

Punished.

No. That wasn’t the word she’d used. Yana had been very clear—this wasn’t about revenge. If it was, Hol Vabras would have been first in line. No. It was supposed to be a lesson—from the grave. For her twin brother, who had betrayed her for a stupid dream that didn’t even belong to him. And for the scholar who had used her talents to write lies. Neema Kraa. The name written on the paper, stitched over Yana’s heart. This Order prepared by Neema Kraa, on behalf of His Majesty…

When Chef Ganstra said the High Scholar was looking for a servant to help her through the Festival, Benna had volunteered with both hands up. Of course she had. She’d thought it was a sign that the Eight approved of the plan. She still wondered.

All those years of planning and patience. And everything had gone exactly as Yana said it would. Ruko’s arrival on the island as the Tiger Contender. Neema’s elevation at court. Yana was so clever, always thinking ten steps ahead. I guess I was a Tiger after all , she’d said. Like my father.

Everything had gone exactly as Yana had said it would—except for one small, unexpected thing. Something they could never have predicted.

Benna liked Neema.

She bowed her head. And realised (these things happen, even in moments of high drama, perhaps especially in moments of high drama) that she needed to pee.

Both guards took her down the corridor to the privy. Anything for a change. They passed a row of empty cells, the grates left open. “Am I the only one down here?” she asked them, and they said, “Not the only one, no.”

She heard him through the walls, later. The other prisoner. Long, wavering moans and howls. Cries for help, cries for mercy that made her skin prickle. He sounded old and confused. Frightened. It took the guards a long time to calm him down. They came by afterwards with her supper, and apologised for the disturbance. He got like that sometimes, the old fellow. They’d given him a sedative. “It’s not his fault, he’s been here a long time,” one of them said, and his partner looked nervous. They weren’t supposed to talk about it.

They hadn’t come back since.

She sat on her mattress with her chin on her knees, worrying. What if no one came for her? What if she was left to rot in here? Would she end up like that poor old man, howling like a wounded animal? She rubbed her thumb and finger over her plaits, over the smooth red ribbon wound through them, and felt better.

Voices, and footsteps. She rubbed her face—she had been crying—and sat up straighter on the mattress. “You have a visitor,” the guard called through the door. “A contender, no less.”

Neema! Benna jumped to her feet as the guard unlocked the door. Then shrank back, when she saw who it was.

Ruko gave the guard a gold half-tile, like it was a pebble. “Leave us.”

The door clanged shut, the key turned.

Ruko glowered down at her, his eyes so dark they looked black. He was twice her size. He could snap her like a twig, she was sure of it. He looked like he wanted to. She shrank further back against the wall.

He waited until the guard’s footsteps had faded. “You stole the Blade of Peace from me.”

Her throat closed. She rubbed the red ribbons in her plaits again, but they didn’t give her the same boost. She’d worn them out. “Are you here to kill me?”

Ruko waited longer than was kind. “No.”

“Oh, thank the Eight,” Benna said, and collapsed face down on her mattress.

Ruko dragged the only chair into the middle of the cell, and slammed it to the floor. The sound echoed off the brick walls. He remained standing, hands strangling the back of the chair. “Contender Kraa told me of the Blade. For the rest…” A deep frown, as he considered the promise Neema had wrangled from him, before she would tell him anything. “She said I must come to you. So: speak.”

Benna remained silent. It took a lot of effort; she was naturally helpful. But that tone. Speak. She scrunched herself up tight, curled up on the mattress like a hedgehog, hibernating and prickly.

Realising his mistake, Ruko sat down. He wasn’t gentle, when he spoke. Ruko’s heart was sealed behind a featureless trapdoor, and no one knew the song to open it. But he was civil. “Whatever you tell me will remain between us. I will seek no vengeance for what you have done, nor harm you in any way. You have my word.”

“Your word is worthless. You’re worthless.” Benna put a hand over her mouth. Eight—what a nasty thing to say. She hated how much she hated him. She hated how calling him worthless didn’t seem to bother him. And she hated how that made her feel a bit sorry for him, how hard he’d made himself. A big slab of rock that had forgotten it was really a person. She pushed herself up from her mattress. “What do you want to know?”

“Who gave you the Dragonscale?”

She looked at him. You know who.

Something bright and terrible sparked in his eyes. Hope. He fumbled in his pocket. “This note. It’s in her hand.”

Ruko. Meet me tonight in the Ox farm orchard, as the temple bell strikes two. Come alone and unarmed. Tigermouse.

“That was my secret nickname for her. Because she was really fierce, and tiny. She hated it.” He held it out. “She wrote this. I know she did.”

He sounded certain, but he was pleading, with his eyes. Tell me it’s true .

Benna sighed. This was harder than she’d expected. “She did write it, yes. The day she left for Dolrun.”

It took him a moment, and then he understood. The worn feel of the paper, the faded ink. Of course. He should have realised. The hope and excitement drained away, replaced by… nothing.

That was the worst part, Benna thought. The way it all drained away. As if he was the one who’d been brought to life, then murdered again.

“Would you like some water?” she asked. Even if you hated someone, you could offer them water, she decided. “There’s only one cup, but we can share.”

“I do not want water,” he said. And then, fighting against eight years of Rivenna Glorren’s training, “I thank you for the offer.” He folded the note away. “Tell me what happened. When did you meet my sister?”

Benna flicked her plaits off her shoulders and made herself comfortable, cross-legged on the mattress. “My family’s village is called Last Sleep. It lies right on the edge of Dolrun.” She sliced a hand against her palm, miming a border. “Hence my name. It’s not part of the official Procession of Exile, we’re not grand enough for that. Just a few houses, a tavern. But the wagon always stops there overnight, before heading into the forest. That’s how it’s been since for ever.” The little hut at the end of the village, kept ready and waiting. Fresh mattress, clean blankets, sprigs of lavender. Everything neat and aired, and comfortable.

“I was twelve when Yana came.”

In the short, gloomy month of the Raven, 1533. The Procession of Exile, dragging slowly from town to town, had taken eighteen months to reach its conclusion.

“We’d not had an Exile in years—since before I was born. We always dreaded them, but this one…” Benna hugged herself. She was both here in her cell, and two thousand miles away, watching the cart rumble into her village. Seeing Yana for the first time, her matted hair, her filthy clothes. Covered in cuts and bruises. Tiny, like her. She was tied to a post in the middle of the cart, so if people threw things, she couldn’t protect herself. No one threw anything—they didn’t do that in Last Sleep. As far as they were concerned, the Procession finished at Westhaven.

“She’s a child yet,” Benna’s mother had whispered. “Look at her.”

“Breaks your heart,” Benna’s father said.

When the Hounds untied her, she’d collapsed at their feet. Sergeant Worthy had to carry her through the village to the hut. And that was it. The show was over.

“We weren’t supposed to talk to her,” Benna said, to Ruko. “That’s why they built the hut at the far end of the village. The Exiled stay the night and next morning they’re gone. But I couldn’t stop thinking about her, all alone, no friends, no family.” A reproachful pause. “I thought—if it was me, I’d want someone to come and talk to me. Give me one last hug. I snuck out to see her after dark. I brought biscuits, can you imagine? And a doll for company.” She rolled her eyes at herself.

“You were young.”

Benna wanted no comfort from him. “I knew something was wrong, soon as I stepped through the door.” Yana, sprawled unconscious on the mattress, her breathing ragged. A sour-sweet smell of decay. “My brother Jold died of the same thing. Her wound was infected. Here.” Benna placed a hand over her heart. Where they’d sewn the Order of Exile into her skin. “I tried giving her some water, but she wouldn’t wake up. So I ran home.”

To her parents. Who’d said, What were you thinking, Benna? But her mother was already pulling down herbs from the shelf, and her father was hanging the kettle over the fire, and when they had everything they needed they went back together, the three of them.

Benna didn’t tell Ruko the next part, she spared him that much. Yana was delirious, crying and raving. She thought she was already in Dolrun. When Benna’s mother arrived, Yana reached for her and said Mummy, Mummy, don’t leave me. I’m scared…

“We nursed her through the night, while she fought her battle with the Dragon. We saved her life. We couldn’t save Jold, but we saved her.” There was a catch in Benna’s throat. She reached out, and took a sip of water. “Sergeant Worthy was furious. He knew Yana was sick. He’d been praying that the Kind Dragon would take her in her sleep. Spare her the journey into the forest. He said: She’s your patient now. You must take care of her. So that’s what I did.”

It took Yana a long time to recover her strength. Late winter blurred into early spring. She kept having “setbacks.” No one was fooled, not really—the Hounds looked the other way. Benna never left Yana’s side. She slept next to her at night. Benna’s mother warned her—don’t get too close, sweetheart. You know how this has to end.

“But I couldn’t help it. I loved her. How could you not love Yana?”

Ruko lifted his hands in a swift movement, shielding his face. A familiar voice rose from inside him, hard and certain. You have trained for this. These words do not hurt you.

Benna was still caught in her memories. “She was so brave. I mean scared, obviously, and angry. She didn’t want to die. It wasn’t fair. She would watch the birds from the window, like this.” Benna put her knees to her chin, tilted her head. “Soaking up every last moment.”

Ruko stood up and walked to the other side of the cell. He rested a hand against the wall. This does not hurt. She is not telling you anything you do not already know.

“Tell me the rest,” he said, to the wall.

“You know the rest. She couldn’t stay with us for ever. One day Sergeant Worthy came and said, ‘It’s time, we’re leaving.’” Benna stopped. The silence grew around them.

Ruko turned. “Go on.”

Benna was staring at her hands, the tattoo scrolled across them. “That’s it.”

She wouldn’t tell him how Yana hugged her that morning, so tightly she couldn’t breathe. Benna had trailed them all the way to the edge of the forest. The last thing Yana said, looking over her shoulder, as she disappeared into the hazy gloom of Dolrun—

“Life is short, Benna. Enjoy it.” And with that, she was gone.

Ruko had sat down again. “So you became my sister’s weapon of revenge. You returned to the forest once the Hounds had left, and took the Order of Exile from her body.”

An image flashed into Benna’s mind, a clearing in the forest. Her friend, long dead. Her body… She pushed the memory away. That was not how she chose to remember Yana. “It wasn’t about revenge. She was trying to save you.”

Ruko gave a sharp laugh, irritated by the idea. “Save me from what? Myself, I suppose.”

Benna shook her head, plaits whipping back and forth. “Save you from living another man’s dream. You don’t want to rule the empire, not really. You just think you do, because that’s what your father wanted.”

For the first time, Ruko looked uneasy. “My sister told you this?” He glared defiantly around the cell, as if Yana’s spirit was in there with them. “It’s not true. I chose this path. It is my dream. My only dream…” He frowned, annoyed with himself, for being dragged into this false argument. “Tell me how you stole the Blade.”

It took Benna a moment to pivot with him. “Oh. That. I walked in and took it.”

Ruko stared at her.

“I put on one of those masks they all wear.” Benna put her hand over her face, covering it. “No one paid me any notice. No one ever does. Especially at the Tiger palace. We’re paid to be invisible. That’s why we have our own service paths and dormitories, our leaky ferry boats.” She gestured towards him. “So the special, golden people don’t have to see us.”

“My contingent was there when you took it? They saw nothing?”

“Too busy banging on about how much better life would be once they were in charge. Everything back how it should be. Blah blah .” Benna sniffed. The silly dreams of silly, powerful people. “I pottered about the suite, clearing plates of food, and then I wandered into your room, took Hurun-tooth and dropped it in a bowl of soup.”

“You dropped the most dangerous weapon in existence in a bowl of soup.”

“Spinach and broccoli. I was going to hide it, it was going to be the start of a Campaign of Confusion. That’s what me and Yana called it.” She smiled sadly at the memory. Her and Yana, stifling giggles in the Exile hut. “Stop making me laugh, Benna,” Yana had said, “they’ll know I’m better.” And they’d laughed at that too, because her situation was so ridiculous, so unbelievable. What could you do but laugh, and cry, and laugh again?

“And Neema Kraa. You were helping her too were you, when you poisoned her?”

Benna looked sheepish. “That was an accident. It was supposed to be a mild dose.”

“To what purpose?”

Benna fanned out her hands. “Revelation. Yana thought the Dragonscale might help Neema reflect on what she’d done. Only she forgot to tell me the proper dosage. Actually,” Benna corrected herself, “I think she did tell me, and I sort of forgot? It was seven years ago, Ruko, I was twelve. ”

“And Contender Worthy?”

“That was me, not Yana. She had a crush on him, I think. The dashing young captain. He left her to die alone in the poisoned forest. He left her…”

“He was following orders.”

Benna threw him a disgusted look.

“What about Contender Rack?”

“Oh, no—Gaida had nothing to do with any of it. I didn’t touch her.”

“You stabbed her in the back.”

“She was already dead. And I had a really, really good reason.” She barrelled on, before he could interrupt. “No, I did! So—I was stealing the Blade, and your contingent was in the next room, like I said. They were talking about how angry the emperor was with Gaida, for singing that song at the opening ceremony. And Abbess Glorren said something like…” Benna lifted her eyes to the ceiling, trying to remember the exact words. “‘Foolish girl, she won’t survive the Festival.’ And then she laughed and said, ‘Natural causes, I’m sure,’ in this really sarcastic voice.” Benna tugged on her plaits, and felt a little surge. They were working again. “I wanted to warn Gaida, but what was I supposed to say? ‘Hello Contender Rack, guess what, I was busy stealing the Blade of Peace when…’”

Ruko grunted. Quite the dilemma.

“Then I had my genius idea. I thought—I’ll sneak into her rooms and leave an anonymous note, telling her she was in danger.” Benna’s face fell. “But when I got there, she was already dead. Natural causes. ” She mimicked the same, sarcastic voice. “I couldn’t let them get away with that. I had to do something , before they took the body away.”

“You framed me for her death.”

Benna pulled an awkward face. “I would have given you an alibi, if you’d needed one. I didn’t come here to destroy you. I would never, ever have agreed to that. I came here to help you.” On impulse, she leaned forward and grabbed his hands, kneeling in front of him. “That’s what Yana asked me to do. She was your twin sister. She loved you, Ruko. In spite of everything.”

No one had held Ruko’s hands in eight years. He stared down at them, frowning.

There was a long pause, as Benna searched his face. “But I haven’t helped you, have I?” She sighed, releasing him. “You’re still the same. It’s like you’re glued in place. It’s so… sad.”

Ruko got to his feet, and banged on the door for the guard. He was expected back at the third palace by now. The abbess had arranged a grand party to celebrate the Day of the Tiger. The emperor would be there. Lord Clarion and Lady Harmony, Kindry Rok, representatives from all the High families. People he would need around him, when he became emperor.

He looked down at Benna, hunched on her mattress, crying softly. Crying for him. It did not move him, why should it? She was right, he was unchanged. This had been a Trial, harder than any other he would face. A battle with the ghost of his sister. But he had won. He walked the golden rope within the void, alone.

One question remained. What to do with the girl?

If the abbess were here she would say—“Snap her neck, bribe the guard and leave.”

But he had given his word. To the girl, and to Contender Kraa. He had promised Neema on his soul that he would help Benna escape.

“A true Tiger warrior,” his abbess would say, “knows when to wait, and when to strike. Your father would not hesitate. Some lives are worth more than others. That is simply the way of things.”

He believed that. Yes, he did believe that.

On his way out, Ruko gave the guard another gold half-tile.

The man turned pale. “What’s this for? She’s not…”

No. She wasn’t.

The guard put a hand to his chest, relieved. “Sweet girl, isn’t she?

Met the Bear in a dream last night. Did she tell you?”

“Wait an hour. Unlock her door. Look the other way.”

“Ah—sorry, sir—that’s impossible.” These weren’t the regular holding cells. These were for special situations. Sensitive, imperial situations. “We reckon they brought her down here by mistake. These new recruits from Samra don’t know fuck all. May the Eight pardon my language and remain Hidden.”

Ruko put his hand in his pocket. “Wait an hour.” A half-tile. “Unlock her door.” Another tile. “Look the other way.” A third.

The gold gleamed in the guard’s upturned palm.

And suddenly, Contender Valit, it was possible.