Page 49

CHAPTER

Forty-Nine

T HE EMPEROR WAS shocked by Cain’s injuries, shocked. “What the Eight happened? Vabras, you must get these Samran recruits to behave, this is unacceptable.”

Vabras wasn’t there. There was an empty space at the bottom of the throne-room steps, doing—to be fair—a very good impression of the High Commander.

Neema had prepared herself for the worst. An imperial summons at midnight, nothing good could come of that. But the emperor was in a jovial mood, twinkling down at her in his embroidered night robes, a black cap perched on his giant head. He knew something, and it pleased him.

“Neema, we are glad to see you are unharmed. Did you fight them off?” He shadow-punched. “I saw you on the platform earlier. Where did you learn to spar like that?”

“From a book, your majesty.”

He laughed, assuming she was joking. “You have a new rival, Ballari. Though I think Ruko’s still the one to beat, don’t you? I hope your injuries don’t slow you down.” A side glance, to Havoc. A fractional nod of thanks.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine after a night’s rest,” Cain said.

The emperor grunted. “Won’t keep you long. We’re all for bed. Contender Brundt has come forward with information about the murder.”

Neema cursed inwardly.

She had told Katsan everything she knew about Gaida’s death. That the emperor had ordered it to hide his true identity. That Benna had staged the body afterwards, so he would not get away with it.

Katsan had vowed to keep this a secret. The word of a Bear warrior was supposed to be unbreakable.

The doors burst open, splitting the Tiger portrait in two.

Vabras strode through. Behind him, Katsan walked with her head up, dressed in a plain cotton patrol uniform. No longer a contender, death-pale, but still carrying herself with pride. The fresh stump of her right arm was wrapped in bandages and held in a sling.

She glanced at Neema as she passed, pale blue eyes shining with the effort of hiding her pain. It was an extraordinary feat, almost beyond human.

The Hounds led her in front of the throne, beneath the flaming jaws of the Awakening Dragon. Without thinking, she went to clasp her hands behind her back, then flinched as the sling reminded her of her loss. Pain, and grief for her ghost limb, her sword arm.

“Katsan Brundt,” the emperor said. “You have information regarding the murder of Gaida Rack.”

“I do, your majesty.”

“You will call me Brother Bersun,” he told her, because that is what Bersun would have said. The authority of a fellow warrior being more powerful, and sacred, even than the authority of an emperor. “Speak.”

Katsan glanced behind her to her left, to the portrait of the Bear in its mountain home, salmon springing from the rapids. “Brother Bersun. Before you, and before the Bear, I confess my crime. I stole the Blade of Peace. I framed Contender Valit for Gaida’s death.”

“Katsan!” Neema protested.

“Quiet,” the emperor snapped. And then, to Katsan, “Continue.”

The Bear warrior lifted her chin and gave her report, as if she were just returned from border patrol. “Gaida was my Sister. I loved her. But I was disturbed by her behaviour towards you at the opening ceremony, Brother Bersun. I found it disrespectful.”

The emperor liked that. “Go on.”

“I decided to confront her. But when I reached her apartment I found…” She paused, overwrought. The pain from her arm was making her sweat, it helped with her deception. “She was dead. Poisoned, I assumed. The shock of finding her… I lost all sense, Brother. In my grief, I convinced myself the Tigers were responsible. They are trained in subtle poisons, are they not?” She looked around for someone to confirm it.

“You stole the Blade, and framed Contender Valit in revenge,” Vabras said. He had exchanged places with the empty space below the throne steps.

Sweat poured down Katsan’s face. “Yes. May the Eight forgive me.”

“And remain Hidden,” the room murmured.

Neema, watching from the sidelines, smothered her astonishment. The lie was simple, and beautifully convincing. As to why she had lied—that was another question.

The emperor deliberated, studying Katsan closely, knuckles pressed against his cheek. Neema could guess what he was thinking. He had planned to blame Gaida’s murder on the thief—but now that Katsan had confessed, that story didn’t make sense. Then something struck him. He smiled, and lifted his head from his hand. “You say she was poisoned. Vabras—this is your understanding as well?”

Vabras looked up the steps, to make sure he gave the right answer. “It is, your majesty. Contender Kraa found the remnants.”

“Ah. Well then. Is it not clear what happened?” The emperor put on a sorrowful expression. “Contender Rack took her own life.”

“No,” Katsan said, jolting with alarm. “Gaida would never do that.”

The sorrowful look deepened. “But you said yourself, Sister Katsan—she was acting strangely at the opening ceremony. We all saw it. You have something to add, contender?”

Havoc had stepped forward. He pressed his palms together in a deferential Monkey salute. “Your majesty, I believe you are right. I spoke with Gaida after the ceremony, and she was in a dark mood.”

“Indeed?” The emperor leaned forward.

“I think the reality of the Trials had sunk in, your majesty. With respect, she was the weakest contender, and she knew it. She told me she was afraid she would dishonour the Raven with her performance.”

Oh sure , Neema thought, drily. Gaida was notoriously lacking in self-confidence.

The emperor sat back. “Suicide, then. What a tragedy.”

Katsan tried again to protest, but the emperor spoke over her.

“No, Sister Katsan—enough. The matter is closed. As it could have been days ago, if you’d had the decency to confess to your crime. I suspect you only do so now because your Festival is over. Shame on you, Sister. Poor Contender Kraa—you accused her, did you not?”

“For that I am truly sorry,” Katsan said. She touched her sling. “And accept the Raven’s punishment for that crime.”

We did not punish her, Neema. Sol was back. It was an accident.

“On the subject of punishment.” The emperor drummed his fingers on the arm of the throne. “Stealing the Blade of Peace. Framing another contender… These are high crimes, Sister Katsan. But I am of a mind to be merciful, given your confession, and your contrition. We sentence you to five years in the prison mines.”

Katsan bowed her head. “Thank you, Brother. But I cannot accept this sentence. It is too light.”

The emperor’s craggy brows lifted in surprise. “What do you ask of me, then? Do you seek death?”

“Not from you, Brother.” Katsan drew herself up, shoulders squared, dignified. “When I entered Anat-garra, I made a sacred vow to follow the Way of the Bear. To live a life of service. To protect the vulnerable, and defend the innocent. To act always with honour and integrity. I have broken that vow. I am a warrior without a Guardian, doomed in this life and the eight that follow. As you know, Brother—there is only one way to escape such a fate.” She looked up at the emperor, and waited.

And it was bliss, pure bliss, watching his reaction. The panic, quickly smothered. He didn’t know. He had no idea.

Katsan had her proof. She had listened to Neema’s story, but now she knew for certain: the man sitting on the throne was not a Bear warrior. He was not her Brother.

“I wish to return to Anat-garra, and fall into the Bear’s embrace,” she said.

Anat-garra was built into the summit of Mount Ketu. To fall into the Bear’s embrace meant to leap off the monastery walls. A ritual ending of life. Once claimed, it could not be reneged upon.

From Katsan’s perspective, it was the ideal solution. She had found a way off the island before the end of the Festival, with a swift pass back to the Bear monastery—where she could share the news of Brother Bersun, and Gedrun the imposter. The lie she had told before the Bear about stealing the Blade would be forgiven. She would fall into her Guardian’s embrace and be reborn on the Eternal Path, her soul unstained.

“Katsan…” Neema said.

The Bear warrior looked at her, and smiled. Despite the pain, she remained standing to attention, almost her old self once more. She lifted her chin, and in a ringing voice, said, “Better to die with honour, than live in shame.”

The emperor descended the steps. Opening his arms wide, he embraced her. It looked sincere—it was sincere. There were times when this man, this fake, this fraud, was genuine. He felt for her in that moment, and respected her. “May the Eight look kindly upon your final journey, Sister.”

“And remain Hidden,” Katsan replied, stepping back. “I should like to leave as soon as possible. If that is your will, Brother.”

Naturally, the emperor was in a giving mood. “Of course. You may leave at first light. Vabras, have a boat standing ready.”

On her way out, escorted by the guards, Katsan stopped in front of Neema and Cain, who was barely conscious after his beating from the Hounds. With some effort, Katsan took something from her pocket.

Neema’s colours. She’d used them as a torniquet on Katsan’s arm.

“These were Gaida’s,” Katsan said softly, brushing her thumb over the winged sigil. “Now they are yours.”

Neema took them back with both hands, tears in her eyes. “Thank you.”

Katsan managed a weak smile. “Contender Ballari. Contender Kraa. May we meet again on the Eternal Path, in kinder days.”

The guards moved her on.

No one escorted them back to their rooms. As far as the emperor was concerned, Neema was no longer an imminent threat. Katsan had confessed to the theft, and—thanks to Havoc’s fake testimony—Gaida’s death would be framed as a suicide. The official narrative would erase the truth.

How quickly things had turned. This afternoon Katsan had tried to kill her. Tonight, she had saved Neema’s life.

If Neema wrote herself a daily task list—which as we know she very much did—it would now look like this:

· Avoid being killed by Ruko

· Avoid being killed by Katsan

· Encounter the Raven and refuse to do its bidding

· Apologise to Cain and get into his trousers

· Convince Vabras and the emperor I am not a threat

· Prevent Ruko from winning the throne/ending the world

· Cake? (Stolen)

Cain limped along beside her, testing his swollen jaw. He saw her counting something off on her fingers and guessed what she was doing. It was a sign of how exhausted and badly injured he was that he didn’t tease her about it. He was pretty sure some of his ribs were broken, and a couple of fingers; he was more worried about internal injuries. He’d taken some sharp, targeted blows to his kidneys.

“Are we safe?” Neema wondered, when they reached her door. “I think we’re safe…”

Cain leaned against the wall, eyes closed. And fell asleep.

“Cain!”

He snapped awake.

“You’re literally asleep on your feet.” She pushed him away, on a bit that wasn’t bruised. “Bed.” She smiled at him. “You have a big fight tomorrow.” They were drawn against each other in the morning.

He rubbed his face, to wake himself, then made a strangled noise as the cut on his brow opened. He dabbed the blood away.

She didn’t want to hurt his split lip, so she kissed him on the cheek. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, my love.” He covered his mouth. My love . That was embarrassing.

“Don’t worry. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“Thanks,” he grunted, and staggered off.

She watched him until he turned the corner. She may have waited after that, listening as his footsteps faded away. She’d forgotten how ridiculous love was. Properly, properly ridiculous.

She smiled to herself, then tapped on Sunur’s door.