Page 34

T he Pleasure District of D'thallanar existed in a peculiar state of both acknowledgment and denial. Officially, it was the Fourteenth district, beyond the jurisdiction of the traditional thirteen clan territories. Unofficially, everyone knew it belonged to the Shikami. No banners flew here, no clan symbols adorned the buildings, but the shadows themselves seemed to watch from every doorway.

Aryn led us through increasingly narrow streets, each turn taking us deeper into the labyrinth of pleasure houses, tea gardens, and establishments that catered to vices both common and exotic. Despite the chaos gripping the rest of D'thallanar, life continued here undisturbed. Musicians played in open courtyards. Perfumed smoke drifted from incense braziers. Elegant figures in elaborate robes flitted between establishments.

"They're watching us," I murmured to Aryn as we passed a particularly ornate tea house whose patrons seemed unnaturally still, their conversations falling silent as we walked by.

"They've been watching since we crossed the bridge." Aryn scanned the surroundings. "The Shikami know every movement within their territory."

Beside me, a musician stopped playing, the silence more jarring than any discordant note. Across the street, a tea seller turned her back, deliberately avoiding our gaze. The subtle shift rippled outward like a stone dropped in still water. Within moments, the bustling district had transformed into a watchful silence, civilians melting away from our path without obvious direction.

"Is this normal?" My hand drifted toward my sword, despite knowing how futile drawing it would be in Shikami territory.

"No. They're clearing the streets."

"For us or for them?"

My question received its answer as four figures detached from the shadows of a nearby alley. They moved with unsettling grace, their bodies seeming to flow rather than walk, each step perfectly placed. Their faces were covered by lacquered half-masks, revealing only eyes that reflected no emotion. At their hips hung twin daggers in ceremonial sheaths, the hilts wrapped in black silk that absorbed what little light reached them. In the dimness of the alley, intricate silver tattoos glimmered across their exposed skin, designs that would fade in direct sunlight.

Aryn stiffened beside me, his breathing changing. These were his former sisters in shadow, the order that had cast him out when he embraced his true identity as a man.

"I seek audience." Aryn's voice shifted into something smoother, colder—the voice he had used when still a Shikami blade. "For my brother, the king. And for matters that concern all who dwell in shadow."

A silent communication passed between the Shikami and her companions. After several heartbeats, she gestured for us to follow her and turned away, walking deeper into the district.

Aryn followed without hesitation, leaving me with little choice but to do the same. The remaining three assassins fell into position around us—not quite guards, not quite escorts, but definitely ensuring we remained on the path chosen for us.

"Is this a good sign?" I whispered to Aryn as we walked.

"It's neither good nor bad. The Shikami do not operate on such simple judgments. They've agreed to hear us. That's all we can ask for now."

The deeper we moved into the district, the more the architecture changed. Gaudy pleasure houses gave way to more austere buildings. Bright colors faded to subtle shades of black, gray, and midnight blue. Windows grew smaller, more heavily shuttered. The very streets seemed to absorb sound, our footsteps falling unnaturally quiet against stone that should have echoed.

Our guides led us to what appeared to be a grand teahouse set apart from the others, its facade elegant yet understated. Where other establishments announced themselves with bright lanterns and boisterous attendants, this one projected quiet authority. The massive doors were guarded by two women whose stillness betrayed their lethal purpose.

The guards bowed to our escorts, then stepped aside without a word. The doors opened silently to reveal a long corridor lit only by paper lanterns casting a soft blue glow.

Aryn paused at the threshold, turning to me. "Once we enter, we submit to their laws completely. Their hospitality is sacred, but so are their judgments."

"You're asking if I trust you to handle this?"

"I'm asking if you trust me, despite knowing I once served them. Despite knowing I was sent to kill you."

I studied my half-brother in the fading light. The silver-haired assassin who had been contracted to end my rebellion before it truly began. Who had chosen blood over duty and defied the Shikami's order to spare my life. Who had bled beside me in countless battles since.

"I trust you, brother."

Something shifted in his ice-blue eyes—gratitude, perhaps, or relief. He nodded once, then stepped into the teahouse. I followed. The temperature dropped immediately as the doors closed behind us.

For several heartbeats, we were blind in the darkness. Then, gradually, my eyes adjusted to reveal a corridor whose floor was polished to mirror-like perfection. The walls bore no decorations, just smooth surfaces painted with a black lacquer that seemed to absorb sound as effectively as it absorbed light.

Our escorts maintained a brisk pace, leading us through a maze of corridors that doubled back on themselves, designed to confuse those not initiated into the Shikami's secrets. The air grew cooler, tinged with the scent of tea and something sweeter—ritual incense that made my thoughts feel slightly sluggish, my reactions dulled.

"Kalaraya smoke," Aryn murmured, noticing my disorientation. "Breathe shallowly. It's meant to limit magical abilities and make violence more difficult."

I followed his advice, taking careful, measured breaths. The effect was subtle but undeniable—my connection to the world felt muted, my senses wrapped in gauze. If this was the effect on someone with no magical talent, I could only imagine how it would impact a battle mage like Katyr.

After what seemed like an eternity of twisting passages, we emerged into a vast circular chamber at the teahouse's heart. Unlike the austere corridors, this room exploded with controlled beauty. Cherry blossom trees grew from massive pots, their branches extending toward a glass ceiling that revealed the night sky above. A stream circled the room's perimeter, crossed by small arched bridges of polished black stone. In the center, upon a raised platform, sat a simple tea ceremony arrangement—a low table with cushions on either side.

Around the perimeter, half-hidden among the cherry trees, stood more Shikami. Our escort made a subtle gesture toward the center of the room before melting into the shadows among the cherry trees. The meaning was clear: remain here, wait.

Aryn and I stood alone at the chamber's heart, watched by countless unseen eyes. Minutes stretched painfully, the silence broken only by the gentle gurgle of the stream and the occasional soft clink of metal against metal as unseen assassins shifted position in the darkness.

When she finally appeared, it wasn't from any visible entrance. One moment, the cushion across from us was empty; the next, she occupied it. Omashii-Kuno, the Mistress of Blades, head of the Shikami order. She wore no crown, no ornate robes, nothing to signify her authority beyond a simple black silk kimono and the ceremonial mask that covered her entire face—a smooth, featureless oval of some metal that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it.

"The rebel king seeks an audience with the shadows." Her voice carried strange undertones that made my skin prickle. "How curious, when he claims to fight for light and truth."

I stepped forward, offering the formal bow due to a neutral power. "Mistress of Blades, I thank you for receiving us."

"Us? I see only one. The other is a blade that has gone dull."

Aryn stiffened beside me, but maintained his composure.

"I come on behalf of all who value life,” I continued. “All who recognize the threat now spreading from Homeshore."

"The human invasion." She paused, letting the words hang in the air. "Your father's failure becomes increasingly apparent. He cannot hold his own territories, yet claims dominion over all elves."

"This is not merely a human invasion. It's something more. Something that threatens even the shadows."

The Mistress gestured toward the cushion opposite her. "Sit. Explain."

I knelt on the cushion, Aryn taking position slightly behind me. A Shikami blade appeared silently at Omashii-Kuno's side, preparing tea with practiced movements that seemed as much ritual as service.

I described what we had learned—Michail's religious zealots, their systematic extermination of elven populations, the corruption that fought back against Daraith's necromancy, the ritualistic harvesting of elven lives to fuel Michail’s pet mage’s twisted magic.

But Omashii-Kuno seemed unmoved.

"Genocide is nothing new." She accepted a cup of tea from her attendant. "Humans and elves have committed such atrocities against each other since time immemorial. Why should this concern the Shikami?"

"Because Michail's timing is deliberate. He strikes while we are divided, knowing our civil war weakens us. Every day my father and I waste fighting each other, Michail's forces grow stronger." I leaned forward. "Humans vastly outnumber elves. Given enough time, they will overwhelm even our strongest defenses through sheer numbers. This is not conquest. It is extinction."

Aryn shifted position slightly. "This isn't merely politics anymore, Mistress. This threatens our very survival as a people."

"And you believe this because of what you've witnessed?" The mask turned toward Aryn. "You who chose to leave our order when you embraced your true nature?"

A ripple of movement passed through the shadows surrounding us—tension, perhaps, or memory of what had transpired when Aryn declared himself a man in an order comprised solely of women. Aryn didn't flinch.

"I do," he said simply.

The Mistress set down her teacup, movements unnaturally fluid. She rose and approached me directly, the featureless mask tilted as if studying something only she could see.

"And what would you have the Shikami do, rebel king? Fight your battles? Kill your enemies? Solve the problems your rebellion has created?"

"I ask only for access. A door opened, a path revealed through the tunnels beneath D'thallanar that only the Shikami maintain. A way to reach my father and end this civil war quickly." I met her gaze steadily. "Just as Isheda once opened the way for Tarathiel."

The mask tilted slightly at the mention of Isheda's name—the Runecleaver nobleman who had betrayed his clan out of love for my father, only to be executed as a traitor once Tarathiel's throne was secure.

"And why would we grant you what Isheda granted him? What assurances do we have that history will not repeat itself?"

"Because I understand the value of loyalty and sacrifice in ways my father never did." I gestured toward the chamber around us. "Look at my actions, not merely my words. I have named Taelyn Wolfheart my queen, granting her full autonomy and equal voice in matters of state. The Empress of Bones sits at my war council. Women serve as captains in my armies, as diplomats in my embassies."

I leaned forward. "Under my rule, the position of women and girls throughout the realm will only strengthen. The Shikami will find not just an ally in me, but a champion for the cause you have silently advanced for centuries."

"Bold promises from one who has yet to secure his throne," she observed.

"Promises I intend to honor, unlike those who came before me."

"And what prevents me from simply killing you now? Ending your rebellion and allowing the traditional order to resolve this human threat?"

"Because you understand balance." I met where I thought her eyes would be behind that featureless mask. "The Shikami have survived countless kings and a primarch because you recognize that true power lies in equilibrium, not dominance. My father's rule has become unbalanced. Michail's crusade threatens to destroy rather than merely conquer."

The mask tilted slightly. "You speak with surprising wisdom for one so young."

"I've had excellent teachers in the ways of power. Including your former blade."

Silence fell upon the chamber, broken only by the gentle gurgle of the stream that circled us. Cherry blossoms drifted down, landing on the still surface of Omashii-Kuno's untouched tea.

She studied me for what felt like an eternity in silence. Then, with a gesture so subtle I nearly missed it, she beckoned one of her blades forward. The woman approached silently, bowed, and placed a small wooden box on the table between us.

"You speak of honor and of the value of women, where your father saw only tools to be used and discarded," Omashii-Kuno said. "The Shikami have watched both your rise and your father's. We have seen the differences in your paths."

She opened the box. Inside lay a small key carved from what appeared to be black jade.

"This will grant you access to the old ways beneath the river. Three passages connect to the Assembly island—the north path emerges in the garden behind the Hall of Records, the center path within the Temple of Eternal Wisdom, and the south path beneath the Primarch's private quarters." She pushed the box toward me. "Choose wisely, for each carries its own dangers."

I stared at the key, hardly believing what I was seeing. "You're granting my request? Without price or condition?"

The mask tilted slightly toward Aryn before returning to me. "Let us just say I have... personal reasons to wish for Tarathiel's removal. Reasons that transcend politics or power."

Something unspoken passed between her and Aryn—a current of understanding that made him straighten slightly, his eyes widening in a rare display of genuine surprise. The intensity of her gaze lingered on him longer than necessary, carrying what might have been regret, or perhaps even affection, before she turned back to me.

"When you sit upon the throne, you will ensure that women throughout the realm have paths to power beyond marriage beds and birth chambers,” she said firmly. “And you will decree that no man, regardless of rank or title, may claim a woman's body without her consent, and that anyone found guilty of such a crime will be given to us for punishment.”

"You have my word," I replied without hesitation. "Both as king and as Ruith Starfall."

"Your word alone is insufficient." She gestured to one of her blades, who approached with an ornate knife on a silk cushion. "Blood oath binds even kings."

I understood immediately. Taking the knife, I drew its edge across my palm, letting blood well up before pressing my hand to the surface of the table between us. "By my blood and breath, I swear to ensure women throughout the realm have paths to power in their own right, and to punish those—regardless of rank and title—who commit crimes of sexual violence. All who are found guilty will be remanded to the care of the Shikami for punishment as they see fit."

The Mistress of Blades made an identical cut across her own palm, pressing it to the table beside my blood print. Where our blood touched, the wood seemed to absorb it completely, leaving no trace.

"The shadows accept your oath. The key is yours." She closed the box and pushed it toward me. "You have until dawn to use it. After that, the passages will be sealed again until the next full moon."

I took the box, feeling its weight—far heavier than its size suggested. "Thank you, Mistress."

"Do not thank me yet, rebel king. The path you seek is treacherous, and what awaits at its end may not be what you hope to find." She rose. "You are both free to go. My blades will escort you to the district's edge."

Aryn bowed deeply, the gesture carrying genuine respect. "The shadows honor us with their trust."

"The shadows remember those who keep faith. I have served the order without failing in any duty, save one." Her mask tilted toward him, and though I couldn't see her face, I could hear the raw emotion she allowed herself this one moment. "I was a poor mother to you, but if I have ever truly failed as Mistress of Blades, it is that I never stopped loving you, even when duty demanded it."

Aryn's careful composure faltered, revealing a vulnerability I'd never witnessed in him before. No words passed between them, but something profound did—recognition, perhaps forgiveness.

With that, she made a single, fluid gesture with her hand. The cherry trees surrounding us released their blossoms all at once, creating a swirling storm of pale pink petals that filled the air between us. When the delicate curtain settled moments later, she was gone, leaving only the faintest scent of cherry blossoms and a single black petal where she had stood.

Our escorts materialized from the shadows, their silver tattoos gleaming briefly before fading as they led us back toward the teahouse entrance. No words were exchanged, none needed. The Shikami had made their choice, gambling on a future where women might hold power equal to men throughout the realm.

As we emerged into the pre-dawn darkness of the Pleasure District, Aryn finally broke his silence.

"She gave you the key." Disbelief colored his voice. "I didn't think she would."

"Did you doubt my sincerity?" The wooden box felt warm against my palm, almost alive.

"No. But the Shikami have maintained their neutrality since before the first stones of D'thallanar were laid." He glanced back at the teahouse, its elegant facade now indistinguishable from the others surrounding it. "For her to grant you access now..."

"She believes we'll win." I tucked the box securely inside my tunic. "Or at least, she believes the risk of backing us is less than the risk of maintaining neutrality while Michail's forces grow."

"Perhaps." Aryn didn't sound convinced. His face held an unusual softness, a moment of vulnerability quickly masked. "Her reasons are her own."

"There's something you're not telling me."

"There are many things I don't tell you." His voice carried no emotion, yet somehow conveyed a great weight. "Some secrets aren't mine to share."

I studied him in the dim pre-dawn light, seeing subtle echoes of my father in the shape of his jaw, the set of his shoulders—and something else, something in the graceful economy of his movements that reminded me of the woman we'd just left.

"When I could no longer be what the Shikami required," he continued, his voice barely audible, "she should have killed me. In the past, that was always what was done. I was a traitor to the order, a risk. Instead, she spared me. I always wondered….” He paused, closed his eyes, and swallowed. “Never mind. That’s not important. What’s important is that we got the key. We have a way forward.”

I gripped my brother’s shoulder. “When the sun rises on the new world, brother, there will be time for you to reconcile things with her. But first, we must get there.”

Aryn nodded. “I will show you the way.”