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CHAPTER

Forty-Seven

T HE OX PALACE glowed with light, doors flung open in welcome. Lanterns flickered at the windows, music drifted through from the terrace, and the guards were banished. Fenn’s orders. Tonight’s party was a celebration of the Fourth Guardian—an evening of fellowship and harmony. There was an unspoken rule among the Oxes that they were the first to steady things, and fix them, in times of turmoil. Gaida’s murder; the sudden arrival of fresh troops; Katsan’s near death on the platform; even Benna’s talk of the Bear had put the island out of kilter. Tonight might not solve all those problems, but it would soothe them, and give people a moment to breathe, and to be.

Neema’s shoulders softened as she stepped into the friendly embrace of the palace. She felt safe here, for the first time in days—her Shadow Hound had vanished as abruptly as he had arrived. He could hardly claim he was watching her for concussion, after her victory in the square. And no one would dare attack her on Fenn’s territory. Oxes were slow to temper, but Eight, when they were crossed…

In any case: everyone who wanted her dead was on the opposite side of the Great Canal, celebrating the Day of the Tiger.

The emperor’s decision to shorten the Festival had created a clash this evening. Much of the court had chosen to attend the Tigers’ extravagant ball over Fenn’s informal gathering. Power attracts power and Ruko Valit looked set to win. Not to mention that Abbess Glorren would be offended by their absence. Whereas Fenn did not care if they came to his party or not, he was forty-four, for fuck’s sake, not three.

Everyone who was here wanted to be here, which gave the party a laid-back atmosphere. The Ox palace was small—more of a country manor house in fact—but the guests were free to roam as they pleased. The vaulted feasting hall, around which the palace was built, had been turned into a games room for the evening. There were comfortable chairs, bowls of punch, and long buffet tables in every room. The Tigers, meanwhile, would be serving their usual tiny, pretentious canapés. Neema could feel the waves of Cain’s disappointment from across the canal.

She followed a trail of tea lights out to a raised stone terrace. The Ankalla brothers had set themselves up there, Riff on fiddle. She suspected Fenn had invited them after their disgrace, not before—he was like that.

In the gardens below, a dozen campfires sent sparks and crackles into the night air. Guests lay stretched out on blankets, talking and singing along to the music. There were drink stands, and a hog roast, games of kickbag. Tala and Sunur spotted her. Sunur waved. Fenn was grilling fish, showing Suru how to turn them without burning her fingers.

Neema smiled. It was a beautiful evening, the moon blazing orange-silver, almost full. Beneath it lay the Tiger’s Path—a dense trail of stars cascading down the sky. According to Scripture, the Path was a scar from the Kind Returns, marking the place where the Tiger slashed an opening between this world and the Hidden Realm. Like the moon, it was unusually bright tonight.

She reached out to Sol. He had retreated to his field, for the same reason she was up here alone on the terrace. More comfortable, at one remove from the crowds. He was having a lovely time making himself wretched, the rain sleeting down and turning his whole world grey.

—Aren’t you ruining your feathers?

No Neema, ravens are surprisingly waterproof, it is one of the many things that make us magnificent, the best of all birds.

The rain stopped, like a tap. Sol fluffed himself out.

Did you want something?

—No, I just thought I’d check—

You were worried about me. You were worried about my feathers. Sol sounded perturbed. You must not worry about me, that is a wrong thing to do. I am the Solitary Raven. It is my nature to be spurned, and despised.

—All right.

Do not worry about my feathers again, Neema.

—Fine.

It makes me feel peculiar.

The field, and Sol, faded from her mind. She sipped her punch.

“Miserable?” Fenn had appeared at her side.

“Completely.”

“Still alive, though. Bear slayer.”

“She’s not dead,” Neema protested. She had kept her promise to Katsan, in fact she had just come from the Bear warrior’s sick bed. They’d had an interesting conversation, in between the moments when Katsan passed out from the pain. As predicted, the medics had been forced to amputate her right arm almost to the elbow.

“Quite the Festival you’re having,” Fenn noted. “Remember a couple of days ago? ‘I can’t do this, Fenn. I’m going to die, Fenn. I’m not a contender, Fenn.’ Remind me who won the Trial this afternoon? And her fight?”

“That was sheer luck.”

“Yeah, yeah. Luck and coincidence.” He laughed, and reached into his pocket. She thought he was reaching for a roll-up, until he said, “Forgot to give you your prize earlier.”

Sol perked up. Diamonds, he called faintly, from his field. Rubies. Diamonds.

Fenn pulled out a flat piece of tanned leather, stamped with the Ox sigil.

Tat, Sol sniffed. Garbage.

“I have no idea what’s going on with you, Neema,” Fenn said, and lifted up his hands. Happy to remain ignorant. “Wild guess, though—did you take my advice and stay quiet about Yasila on the balcony? Or did you tell someone about it?”

Neema looked at him. “I told Yasila.”

“Wow!” Fenn slapped the terrace wall, impressed by this act of wanton, towering stupidity. “ Wow! You told Yasila. You told Yasila you saw her on the balcony. Not just anybody. Yasila .”

“I know I shouldn’t have, but—”

“But you couldn’t help yourself. I know. I know.” He turned the sigil over. Both their names had been branded into the leather. “This is my marker.” He placed it in her palm, and cupped his rough hands over hers. “If you’re ever in trouble in the Heartlands—find someone who doesn’t look like an arsehole and show them this.”

Neema’s eyes filled with tears. “Thanks.”

“Sorry it’s not a statue of a golden cow.”

They both laughed.

Why is that funny, Neema? I would like a golden cow please.

The Ankalla brothers struck up a new, faster tune, with drums. Around the campfires, people cheered and got to their feet. Sunur and Tala took Suru’s hands and danced together in a circle.

The temple bell rang out the quarter hour.

“Go join the dance,” Fenn ordered Neema. He turfed everyone else outside with her, until the house was empty and the garden was full of people dancing and singing. Neema would have kept to the fringes, but she was safer tonight in the heart of things, and the call of the song was irresistible. People opened their arms to her. Join us. All are welcome here tonight.

Ox dances held a magic of their own. The Ankalla brothers moved down into the gardens, becoming part of the crowd as they played. More drums appeared, and Neema found herself drawn into the dance, her body responding to the bodies around her, swept up in the euphoria. As the dance quickened she was lifted and held within it, surrendering to the spell of the crowd as it moved as one, became one. When at last the music stopped, everyone laughed and looked round, as if waking from a dream, sweaty and smiling. The Ankalla brothers were folded into hugs, handed drinks. People hugged Neema too as she grinned back at them. She’d forgotten how much she loved to dance.

At some point, still bound by that collective spirit, everyone realised that Fenn was waiting for them to settle. He stood alone on the terrace above, watching them with a contented expression. “Fenn!” people said, and nudged anyone still talking, until the gardens were quiet, faces turned up in expectation.

“Thanks for coming tonight,” he said. “We’ve worked hard together—and I’m glad to see you all shaking off that load tonight and enjoying yourselves. That’s what life’s about. We share the burden…”

“… we share the reward,” everyone shouted back.

Fenn toasted Tala, and Contender Kraa, winner of the Ox Trial. He read a message from their abbess, too frail to travel from her monastery in Yakann. “May the Ox watch over her,” he added.

“And remain Hidden,” Neema said, with the rest of the party. Around her, people were making respectful signs of the eight. The Ox abbess was not expected to last the autumn.

The temple bell rang the half hour. Fenn took his cue. “We are Oxes. We know how to have a good time.”

More hoots and applause.

“We know that it’s the little things that matter.”

People smiled at each other, rolled their eyes. Everyone knew this speech. It was Fenn’s only speech. How they didn’t need fancy balls and grand spectacles. All they needed was each other. A sentimental way of saying he was a cheapskate.

“Then again,” he said, “this is the Day of the Ox . The first one in twenty-four years. So fuck it. Sometimes it’s the big things as well.”

Laughter, and surprise from the garden. A change in the script.

Fenn checked his pocket watch. It was time. He lifted his arms like a showman. “Friends. I give you: the Ox Day fireworks.”

With perfect timing, the sky exploded with colour. Rockets spiralled through the air, whizzing and popping. Another deep boom, and a rainbow shower cascaded down from the heavens.

In the press of the crowds, Neema stared up in wonder at the display, each sequence more spectacular than the last. It must have taken months to arrange, not to mention the cost. How had Fenn squared it?

Those who were in on the joke passed it on, from ear to ear. Someone tapped Neema’s shoulder, whispered the punchline. She could barely hear them over the noise. The fireworks, the crowd. They said it again. “Tiger party.”

Of course. The fireworks were coming from across the Grand Canal. The Oxes were enjoying a spectacular show, from the best vantage point on the island, for free.

Her neighbour leaned in again, closer this time. “I love watching you dance.”

Cain.

She turned, smiling. He grinned back at her.

She was so glad he was here, it hurt her heart. Both of them lit by the campfire’s orange glow, and softened by it. His dark red hair was slicked back from his forehead, his tunic plastered to his chest. He’d swum across the canal to get here. For fun, to cool off, to avoid the Hounds. Because he knew it made him look even hotter than usual. All of the above, knowing him. Why have one reason, when you can have seven?

She could ask him about it. She could ask about the Tiger party. She had a thousand questions, she always did. But there was only one that mattered. The one she’d been wanting to ask since the opening ceremony, when she’d walked up to him in her stupidly expensive dress and pretended she felt nothing. The same question he’d asked her long ago, in a cramped room at the Raven palace.

She asked him, her words lost in the boom of another firework.

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” He cupped his hand to his ear, smiling. He’d heard her just fine, the bastard.

She gave him a look. “I said: Do you ever think of—”

“All the time.” His eyes softened. “All the time.”

She turned her face up to the sky, to the fireworks, so he couldn’t see how happy he’d made her. Three rockets exploded one after the other, showering orange and white sparks across the black sky. The colours of the Tiger. Or, if you preferred, the colours of the Fox and the Raven.

“Beautiful,” she said.

Cain reached down and took her hand. They stayed like that, held within the crowd, until the fireworks were over. People started to move away.

He let go of her hand. They looked at each other. She would never kiss him here with people watching, it wasn’t her style. He leaned across to suggest maybe they could go somewhere quiet.

She kissed him. Deep. Passionate. Enjoying his surprise.

He laughed and kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her waist.

The people around them whooped and cheered in encouragement.

“Yes!” Sunur punched the air in triumph. “ Finally! ”

Sol crawled into the dead tree in his field and willed himself to sleep. Kissing. Bodies. Disgusting.

Neema and Cain broke apart. Matching grins.

“We need to get you out of those wet clothes,” she said, running a hand down his chest.

“Yes,” Cain said. “Yes we do.”