When I next opened my eyes—ah, I must switch to “eye,” now—I found you sitting in front of me. I could not make out where we were, but it was not the arena. A great pounding ache in my head dulled what sight remained. As long as I saw you, and you were safe, nothing else mattered.
But as you came into focus, I saw your bandages. One strip ran across the bridge of your nose. A thick patch of cotton covered a gash beneath your eye. And the entire right side of your head was covered, probably to support what was left of your ear.
A sheet of paper distracted you. You scowled at it as hard as you could in spite of all the wrapping on your face.
“Shizuka,” I said, “are you well?”
As soon as you heard my voice, your whole manner changed. In an instant, you went from a scowl to a euphoric smile.
“Shefali!” you said. You squeezed me tight. I felt your heart against my chest, and it was then I realized I wasn’t in my deel. Instead, I was in a set of loose Hokkaran robes. “My love, how are you feeling? How is your head? Have … Have they been troubling you?”
I ached. I licked my cracked lips, pressed my fingers to my temples. Think. Did the demons speak to me during that span, however long it was?
No.
No, they didn’t.
What happened? Think. Go out into the fog of memory with a lantern. Kailon cut you, I tore his head off, and …
Oh. That was right.
Slowly, hesitantly, I reached up and touched my fingers to my left eye. To where it had been.
“Shefali,” you said, wincing, “please. Dear one, you have returned to me; we are together; let us not worry about our injuries.”
“Show me,” I said.
“My love,” you said, “you are still my living poem. Don’t trouble yourself with the mirror.”
I forced myself upright. Dizzy. One hand on the bed, the other on your shoulder. On my left, only darkness; I had to turn my head if I wanted to see. That was the last thing I wanted to do.
There it was. The mirror. Couldn’t see much from this distance, but it hung in the northern corner of the room. I took a deep breath and stepped out of bed. Besides the dizziness and the headache, I felt all right. Well. Not completely all right. I felt as if I’d lost a fight, yes, and as though there was something wet on the left side of my face.
One foot in front of the other. The mirror came closer and closer.
“Shefali—”
“Have to see.”
There. That ashen creature in the mirror, with the pale brown skin, must be me. Once, my hair was the color of fresh wheat. The limp strands against my forehead were as white as Alsha’s mane. The robes I wore had opened as I walked. If I wanted to, I could trace the dark veins now visible on my neck and temples.
But I was more concerned with my eye. Thick white bandages covered it. With my claws, it took little effort to peel it all off.
It was gone.
There was nothing left, nothing at all, of my left eye. That side of my face looked sunken in. Before this, I didn’t realize just how much space an eye took up; when closed, it was obvious it was missing.
I pried my eyelid open. Gray-black flesh stared back at me, wet and glistening.
You were at my side within four steps, perhaps five. Wordlessly you held me.
“My bow,” I said. “How am I going to shoot my bow?”
“You have two good hands, my love,” you whispered. “And I have never known you to miss a shot, not even when your cousin blindfolded you.”
“I can’t aim,” I said. And I kept trying to turn my head, to see all the room at once, as if I had both eyes. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something on my face, and if I just shook it off, then all that darkness would go away.
It didn’t.
“And you could not aim then!” you said. “Shefali, my dearest one—you are the first to survive the blackblood. You will not be the first one-eyed archer.”
I touched my forehead to yours. At least you were safe, I told myself. At least Nozawa would never come near you again. I’d done that much. But …
But I traced your bandages and wondered. What if I had been just a bit more perceptive?
“Shefali,” you said, “we do not have much time—”
“Highness, I hear speaking,” came a voice from the other side of the screen. When I turned, I saw a guard’s silhouette. “Is the prisoner awake?”
“One moment,” you called back. “Just one moment more.”
“O-Shizuka-shon, you are not to be left alone with her,” said the guard. He turned, slid open the screen.
But it was not a guard; it was Uemura, and he eyed me with suspicion.
You stood in front of me with your arms spread, as if your tiny size would dissuade him from arresting me.
“Uemura-zul,” you said, “she does not know what’s going on. Let me inform her. Only a few more minutes.”
“If you have anything else to say to her, the Emperor decrees you must say it in my presence,” he said. Then he shook his head and sighed. “I am sorry, Barsalai-sun, but we can no longer trust you.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I didn’t hurt anyone.”
“You killed General Nozawa Kagemori, who watches the north,” Uemura said.
“No humans,” I clarified.
He frowned. “Barsalai-sun,” he said, “you changed. This form you wear now is not the true one, is it?”
Was I no longer considered human? I stared down at the backs of my hands. I was still made of flesh. My heart still beat beneath my breast, I still breathed, I still loved you.
I sniffed, and in so doing caught a whiff of Uemura. Shame and guilt stuck to the roof of my mouth like horse fat. Something else, too. Sweet, but a bit sour, like one of those fruits that look creamy on the inside when you split them open. But I only smelled that when he …
When he looked at you.
Let him look, I told myself. Let him look.
“I’m human enough,” I said.
“How dare you speak to her like that, Kaito-zun?” you said. “She alone recognized Nozawa for what he was, and you’re asking if she’s human?”
Uemura let out a breath. “It doesn’t matter, in the end,” he said. “You’re to come with me.” He reached for his belt and fetched a pair of manacles.
I raised a brow.
“I know they are not much,” he says, “but you are to wear them, regardless. The Emperor is strict on that point.”
You argued. As an eagle must drop turtles on the heads of bald men, so must you argue. Ten, fifteen minutes passed, but Uemura would not budge. I had to be manacled.
I didn’t mind that much. It was more amusing than insulting.
As we made our way through the halls, I made my tallies.
In my favor: I had not killed anyone except a demon. I’d acted out to keep you safe. My father and brother held favor at court. You loved me, for some reason, and still did, knowing what manner of creature I am.
Against me: The Emperor hates Qorin. I carry a fatal disease that will infect anyone who comes into contact with my blood. I became something else. I tore a man’s head off in broad daylight. I tore through several more men back in Imakane.
With every step, my feet felt heavier.
Your uncle was the least popular Emperor in years, despite his efforts to the contrary. At forty-six, with no children, he was already a subject for ridicule. Unlike his father, Emperor Yorihito the Builder, who built eight academies in each of the eight provinces, your uncle had done nothing to better the Empire. When the Empire’s crops were blighted in the fields, his response was to increase his gardening budget, send a few guards out to proclaim all was well, and continue about his business. He hadn’t reclaimed any of the land beyond the Wall of Flowers, hadn’t done anything about its decline, hadn’t consulted the gods he was supposedly related to about their disappearance.
He was not a poet, like his brother. Not a man of science and technology, like his father. Not a conqueror, like his grandfather. He was …
He was not much at all.
But here he had an opportunity. No one would bat an eye if he had me killed. In fact, there might be celebrations. Killing a blackblood is a heroic thing, and has been since they first emerged. Killing a demon is more impressive still.
Killing a girl who contracted the disease and lived?
A little trickier. But given my display and Uemura’s comments, I don’t think I’m counted as human anymore by Hokkaran reckoning.
So killing me would bring great honor to whoever did it. And your uncle was a man desperately in need of honor.
I kept following Uemura. Though I knew I’d likely die at the end of it, I followed Uemura. I tried to force myself to be afraid, or to worry. Instead, I kept looking at you. What would happen if Uemura executed me before the Emperor? What would happen to you? I could see you, in my mind, throwing yourself on top of me just before the fatal stroke.
If it was going to happen, I hoped he would have me executed far away from you. I did not want your final memory of me to be my severed head hitting the ground. Ren’s words rang in my mind. I could not leave the Empress tied to a tree.
But what other option did I have? What was I going to do if he made that decision and I disagreed? Kill the Emperor and Uemura, then plant you on the Dragon Throne and pretend nothing amiss happened?
I did not want to die, but I saw no way to escape my rapidly approaching fate.
“Uemura-zun,” you said, “the shrine is just up ahead. May we stop to pray?”
Strange. I’ve never known you to pray of your own volition. In your mind, you were a god, and you did not need to pray to yourself to get things done.
“O-Shizuka-shon,” said Uemura, “I have strict orders to escort the prisoner to the reception hall as soon as she awakens.”
“You’ve not sent word ahead,” you pointed out. “We can take as long as we like. Besides, Uemura-zun; we do not know what will happen once we walk through those doors. A small blessing alone would ease my mind.”
You were up to something.
“Ask for the Grandmother’s guidance,” I added, because I have always gone along with your plans.
Uemura studied us each for a few moments. “O-Shizuka-shon,” he said, “I shall allow this, but you must give me your word that you will not try to escape.”
You touched your fingers to your lips eight times. “I swear it by the Heavenly Family,” you said, “I will not try to escape, and neither will Barsalai-sun. We simply wish to speak to the priest.”
“Very well,” said Uemura. “As a favor to you, O-Shizuka-shon.”
He approached me with a hunter’s caution, the key to my manacles held up in one hand so that I knew what he was doing. I admit I flinched at his touch anyway. For some reason he thought it would be best to undo the left manacle first; some small part of me feared he was going to slip a knife between my ribs.
But he wouldn’t dare do such a thing. Not with you standing right next to him.
You offered a warm smile. “Thank you,” you said.
We stepped into the shrine as I massaged my aching wrists. It was Xianese style and not Hokkaran. The whole room was crusted with gold and jade; portraits of your uncle hung on the walls. Ahead of us, on the shrine itself, were eight golden statues of the Heavenly Family. A single priest was tending cones of incense that hung in each of the four corners of the room.
The scent, to me, was overpowering, and I covered my nose and mouth with my hand. But you wasted no time. We did not have much, I suppose.
“Priest,” you said, “do you know who I am?”
At this, the priest turned to greet you. He gave a reserved bow, his hands extended in front of him, Xianese style. “I do not,” he said, “but all are welcome in the Family’s home. Have you come for guidance?”
“No,” you said. “My name is O-Shizuka, called by your people the Lady of Ink. I am the heir to the Dragon Throne. I did not come here for guidance. I came here for a marriage.”
“What?” I had to have misheard you. There was no way you just said what I heard you say.
“Shefali,” you said, “would you have any objection to marrying me?”
“No,” I said, “of course not, but…”
The priest’s brows were so far up his head, they may’ve been hiding beneath his cap. “Two women?”
You nodded. “Is that a problem? Before my people adopted yours, such marriages were common in Xianese society.”
The priest tugged at his whiskers. While he mulled it over, I stared at you. Marriage. You decided somewhere along that short walk that we absolutely had to get married right this instant. We’d never discussed this before, since it seemed so impossible. May as well discuss fire raining down from the sky. Who in Hokkaro would marry two women?
But we were not in Hokkaro.
“No such marriages have been performed for a hundred years,” the priest said. “Your ancestors have tried very hard to eradicate the practice. As I recall, they said it was akin to people marrying their horses.”
You cleared your throat. “My ancestors,” you said, “were gods-forsaken fools, I see. But still I must request this. It is not against the Heavenly Mandates—and think what a message it would send to the other Hokkaran nobles. Think what a statement it would make for your people.”
My heart felt as if it were going to jump out of my throat and land on the floor. As the priest hemmed and hawed and tugged at his whiskers, the impossible seemed within my grasp. Within our grasp.
“And what of your heirs?” he said. “Tensions are already high, Lady, concerning succession. What will happen when you produce no heirs?”
The question offended you, but your answer came so quick I knew you’d considered the possibility he’d ask it. “You presume much. If Shefali and I can find no suitable father for a child, then I will name my youngest niece or nephew.”
I was too gobsmacked by the situation to bring it up at the time, Shizuka, but you should know sanvaartains have a method for creating fatherless children. We call them urjilinbaal. I do not blame you for being ignorant of it; sanvaartains keep their secrets close to their chests. They figured it out not long after the war—with so many dead it was imperative we find some way to grow our population. Urjilinbaal allowed infertile women and sanvaartains themselves to give birth if they so chose.
We had options. Have options, if this is a thing you’ve considered. But at the time we were still young, and you were still trying to convince the priest to marry us at all.
“Please,” you said. “I do not normally make requests; I command. But in this case, I must ask you, sincerely, from my heart—do this. Marry us. I do not care what I must do to compensate you. When I become Empress, you can move to Fujino, if you like, and lead the priesthood there. If you have family, I will have them looked after; they will never want. If you have daughters, I’d be happy to have one join my handmaidens. Whatever you like, Priest. But I must have this marriage.”
As you spoke, your voice cracked. You took my hand.
“I promise you, you will never marry any two people more in love than we are,” you said.
The priest stepped closer. He walked around the two of us, looking us over from head to toe. “Are you not the woman who beheaded Commander Nozawa?” he said to me. “They say you tore his head off with your bare hands.”
I pressed my lips together. “Yes,” I said. “I did.”
“She was protecting me,” you said. “You shouldn’t hold it against her—”
“I don’t,” said the priest. “That pig waited outside my daughter’s bedroom each night, staring at her. I will marry the two of you. Allow me a moment to get the wine ready.”
He wandered off into one of the other rooms. In that private moment, when we were betrothed, I took you in my arms. Your cheeks went pink beneath your bandages.
“Shizuka,” I said. “Shizuka, we’re getting married.”
When you kissed me, your lips spoke a hundred vows. I forgot that Uemura was standing outside. I forgot about your uncle, about Nozawa. Even my missing eye didn’t bother me then.
Somehow, within minutes, I was going to marry you.
“My love,” you said, tracing my brows with your fingertips, “I only wish we could have had a proper ceremony. But I want to keep you safe, and my uncle cannot harm a member of the Imperial Family. One day, I promise, we will have a real ceremony. You can ride in on your horse and try to break a sheep’s neck like your cousin did and—”
I laughed so hard, tears came to my eyes, which had the unfortunate side effect of making my wound sting. Somehow you’d remembered the most important Qorin tradition: asking the groom to break a cooked sheep’s neck in two, and hiding a piece of iron in the neck so it could not be done. How you remembered this, I do not know. We saw only one wedding together on the steppes. Had you been researching this?
I cupped your cheek. “Shizuka,” I said, “my Shizuka. So long as we are married, I don’t care how it happens.”
We kissed again, and you touched my nose.
“Well, you might not care,” you said. “But I do. And we are going to have a real wedding one day, I swear it.”
I chuckled, and would’ve kissed you again, but the priest returned with two cups of wine. He set them down before us, spoke words of purification, and we began.
We held them with trembling hands. He led us through the ritual, of which I knew next to nothing. We sipped once from the cup to honor the Heavenly Family; once for the Emperor, which I drank in honor of my mother’s status and not your uncle’s; once for each of our parents. The wine was warm and pleasantly spiced, but nothing compared to the sweet scents you were giving off.
It was time for the final two sips. The priest handed me a scroll, and bade me read from it.
It was written entirely in Hokkaran.
I froze. As I squinted, the characters only got fuzzier and fuzzier; they all looked the same to me. My lips trembled. I could not read my own wedding vows. You were just talking about a real wedding, in front of people. If I could not read my vows before only you and a priest, how could I read them in front of other people?
“I…” I mumbled. My hands, too, began to shake.
You leaned toward me and pointed to the first few characters. “Before the Heavenly Family, and our ancestors, we make a vow,” you whispered, slow enough that I could follow along and repeat after you. Soon, our voices became one.
“We, Barsalyya Shefali Alshar and O-Shizuka, are overjoyed to proclaim our love, and bind our souls beneath the eyes of the Mother. Eight times we have sworn to love and respect each other for the rest of our lives. Eight times, we will strive to bring our families prosperity. We swear to remain true to our marriage, for the rest of eternity.”
And we had no rings to exchange, no gifts to offer the gods. Instead, you plucked one of the ornaments from your hair, and I gave one of the beads I wore in my braid. Rings would have to wait, but that was fine.
For when our lips next met, soaked with rice wine, they met as the lips of a married couple.
“Thank you,” you said to the priest, wiping away your tears. “You cannot know what you have done for us. When I am Empress, come to Fujino. You will live as a prince.”
The priest bowed to us. “It is an honor and a pleasure to unite lovers, and to upset the Emperor,” he said. “May the gods smile on you.”
You took my arm. We kissed again, before the door. Once we left, we’d have to pretend none of this happened, until the moment was right.
“You might lose your throne,” I said.
“It would be worth it, to keep you safe,” you said. “But my uncle cannot disown me. For two thousand years, only my ancestors have sat on the throne. He has no other choice.”
I pressed my lips to yours and hoped you were right.
When we exited, Uemura was scowling outside. “How much guidance did you need?” he said.
“My uncle may well have her executed,” you said. You meant for it to be sharp, but your joy softened the blow. “Barsalyya is nervous.”
I should have been nervous. But instead, I was fighting the urge to grin. How long could I keep this secret? I wanted to shout it from the rooftops.
Uemura sighed. “Very well,” he said. “I suppose you are right. I hope you have made your peace, Barsalyya-sun.”
I gave him a short bow. He closed the manacles on my wrists again and led us forward.
When the doors of the reception hall opened before me, I faced the Emperor’s glistening face for a half second before I knelt. I wanted to see if murder hid behind his amber eyes. When he saw me, he flinched; his fingers twitched on his throne.
I hadn’t covered my eye. Maybe that was what unsettled him. I find it amusing you weren’t bothered at all by it during our wedding. You didn’t mention it. Your uncle, however, smelled like he was about to retch.
“The Imperial Niece, Slayer of Demons and Tigers, Daughter of the Queen of Crows and the Poet Prince, has arrived! The Bronze Palace welcomes the Lady of Ink!”
The gathered courtiers bowed in deference to you. As Uemura led me to the Emperor’s feet and forced me to kneel, I caught sight of my family. Kenshiro, Baozhai, and my father all stood clustered together to our right. My father’s face was unreadable; Kenshiro wore guilty sympathy; Baozhai’s bloodshot eyes told her story.
If only they knew, Shizuka. If only they knew what we’d just done. Even my father would be smiling then, I was sure of it.
We were married. Lady and wife. The Emperor could not harm me.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” said Uemura. “I have brought the prisoner to you for judgment.”
“Prisoner,” said the Emperor. “Three days ago, we bore witness to your crimes with our own eyes. We saw you burst out of your skin and shift into one of the Traitor’s spawn. We saw you shrug off a spear to the arm, and saw the black blood that spurted forth from your wound. We saw you tear a man’s head off with only your hands.”
Burst out of my skin? I swallowed. What did I look like, Shizuka, in that moment? Was it so different?
“You are a murderer,” said your uncle. “Stories have reached our ears of a massacre in Imakane, and we now believe you to be the killer. The blood of countless men stains your hands. And that is to say nothing of your present state. How are we to know if you are as human as you appear, when the former General Nozawa, who was so dear to us, was a demon?”
A pause.
He was going to announce my execution. I felt it in my bones. Any moment now, you’d have to announce what we had done, and hope the court accepted it. If they did not, then the both of us might face punishment.
I had to trust you.
“We cannot be sure of you, Prisoner. Despite your esteemed father, we cannot be sure of you. While you may not outwardly bear the signs of corruption, your blood runs black as ink, and we have seen the damage you can do in a rage.
“It is for these reasons we have decided you must be put to—”
“You shall decide no such thing!”
You shouted this, standing in front of me. As one, the eyes of the crowd settled on you. I could not help but smile. I watched you, standing before me in your bright red robe, golden phoenix ornaments in your hair.
I watched you rail against Heaven itself.
“You, who have sat upon your pretty throne and spent Imperial money on younger and younger wives! Uncle, what have you done to fight off the Northern Darkness?” you roared. “When have you left your palaces? When have you walked among the people and seen how they suffer? You command me to write notices for them, ignorant of the fact that most of them cannot read. You! You think yourself just enough to judge?”
As an older brother gapes when struck by his younger brother, so did the entirety of the court gape at you.
“I say to you,” you said, turning toward the others. “I say to all of you that Barsalyya Shefali Alshar has done more to serve the people of Hokkaro than the Son of Heaven himself. Never have I met anyone so skilled yet so humble; never have I met anyone more worthy of my trust. Barsalyya Shefali personally rid Shiseiki of demons and bandits both.”
As you spoke, you gesticulated, your sleeves swirling about you like wings. You paced the reception hall, catching everyone’s eyes at least once, burning in voice and passion.
“Uncle, if you are so holy, if you are so righteous, why did you not notice Nozawa was a demon?” you said. Now you came to stand in front of him. Now you stared him down with your slashing eyes. “From the moment I saw him, at the age of ten, I told you there was something the matter with him. What did you do? You sent him on valuable missions. You elevated him, held him as a glowing jewel in your breast. He wore the gold thread. You encouraged him to duel for my hand today. How dare you? That jewel you wore so proudly was a serpent’s scale, his venom running through your blood. You, who cannot produce an heir, would’ve condemned your brother’s daughter to an infernal marriage. And you seek to have Barsalyya Shefali executed for succeeding where you failed?”
I felt as if the heavens themselves struck me on the spot. As if I were watching the birth of a star.
“I will not stand for it,” you said. “I, O-Shizuka, daughter of O-Itsuki and O-Shizuru, descendant of Minami Shiori, trueborn blood of Yamai and the eight hundred Emperors, forbid you from killing her. If you insist, then you must kill me as well. That is the only solution. I will not let you kill her.”
Silence. A heavy sort of silence, not the kind one finds in an empty room. This is the sort of silence you find only when large groups come together and all wait for something to happen. Silence, thickened with anticipation.
At last, the Emperor spoke.
“Were you not our brother’s daughter,” he said, “know that you would’ve been executed for your willful words. How dare you, child? How dare you insult us so brazenly? How dare you say to the Son of Heaven that he cannot do something? We say the prisoner is to be executed, and we further declare that the prisoner will be drowned, for your insolence.”
And you met his eyes the whole time he spoke, unbowed and unswayed.
“I dare because it is in my blood,” you said, “and because I know something you do not. You cannot kill Barsalyya Shefali, for you cannot have any member of the Imperial Family executed, unless they have conspired against the throne—and she has not. That is the first of our laws, and we hold it before us now.”
Thrumming. Buzzing in the air, whispering waves, hooves against ground. I half stood just to get a better look at the Emperor’s glowering face. I thought steam was going to shoot from his ears, he was so red.
“Shizuka,” he said, “you are an arrogant brat, but you have never been an idiot. We have not adopted the prisoner. How could she be a member of our family?”
And at this, you grinned. “Because, Uncle,” you said, “Barsalyya Shefali is our wife.”
Gasps rang out through the reception hall. Cries of “What?” and “How?” I figured it was a good time to stand, considering we’d already flouted protocol and etiquette.
In full view of the court, you took my hand. “We married her not an hour ago, in the Bronze Palace’s shrine, in accordance to the right of their province,” you said. “You may ask the priest. We are married.”
I spared a glance for my father, who was so white, you might mistake him for paper, his eyes bulging out of his head. Kenshiro and Baozhai wore broad grins.
The rest of the crowd had not yet made up their minds.
But your uncle? He was furious. A ripe strawberry could not hope to be redder. He shambled to his feet and pointed at you. “What is the meaning of this?” he roared. “Women do not marry other women, and the Imperial Family does not marry horsewives.”
“We could make the meaning plainer only by public indecency, Uncle,” you said. “And she is not a horsewife; she is, if anything, a peacock’s wife.”
Someone in the court dared to laugh. A brave individual, it has to be said. I fought off a smile myself. Peacock Princess, indeed.
On the one hand, the relief of not having to hide anymore washed over me like the first rain of the season. On the other, we were playing a dangerous game. Technically, we had not yet consummated the marriage. If your uncle realized, he could declare the marriage void, and kill me anyway.
But would he, in front of so many people?
Would he, when no one was shouting in outrage?
Would he do such a thing to you, knowing you’d one day wrest power from him, one day you’d have absolute command?
Two hundred eyes bearing down on me. I couldn’t see half of them, but I felt the weight of their judgments. A one-eyed Qorin girl, one who tore off a man’s head three days ago. That’s what they saw. By that measure, I was not worthy of you.
“O-Shizuka-shon,” said Uemura. “Is it possible you’ve been corrupted? The prisoner is a blackblood, we don’t know what powers they might have.”
How dare he? After he’d subjected me to his doctors, after he’d let me go, knowing what I was? Tones of panic in his voice; regret and shame in his scent. Perhaps he was trying to make up for letting us speak to the priest.
I grew tired of being silent.
“My name is Barsalyya,” I said. “I killed a tiger for that name. I have killed three demons since. How many have you killed?”
He clenched his jaw, and suddenly his young face was fraught with wrinkles. “Uemura-zun, that is preposterous, and you know it,” you added. “You ask if we are corrupted? Very well.”
With that, you tore off your bandages and held them high as you could. The sight of your wounded face dropped me into cold water. The cut was so deep, Shizuka, and you held your hair up so your mangled ear was visible.
You dropped the bandages and touched your fingertips to your face. They came away coated in dark red. Then you leaned over. Using your blood as ink, you wrote on the floor in your blessed hand.
“Is that plain enough for you to read?” Shizuka said. It wasn’t plain enough for me; I was grateful you continued. “For anyone who cannot see it: I am human as I have ever been, sound of mind and body. I’ve known I was going to marry Barsalyya Shefali since we were children.”
“Yuichi!” cried the Emperor.
My father snapped to attention, bowing before hurrying to the Emperor’s side. I thought I saw him trembling.
“Yuichi, tell your mongrel daughter what she has done is illegal.”
My father has always had a fondness for Hokkaran law. He has scrolls and scrolls of old court procedures in his personal library. And, though I can blame him for being absent, for never caring for me the way he cared for my brother, I can never say he was unfair. Other lords often wrote to him for advice.
Legal knowledge—as well as a great deal of brownnosing—was what endeared my father to the Emperor. And now he was being called on to use it against me.
My father did not answer immediately. This alone made your uncle fume. My father stood there, staring at the two of us. At our linked hands, my missing eye, your scarred face.
It is strange, seeing your own features in someone else. I’ve never thought that I looked much like him. But in that moment, my father wrinkled his nose, and Needlenose Shefali stared back at me.
“Your Imperial Majesty,” he said, “it is not illegal.”
“What?” said your uncle.
“By the letter of the law, it is not. The Heavenly Mandates make no specifications about who may enter a marriage, only that they must occur before any woman gives birth,” he said. “The Mandates tell us how a marriage is to be performed; they do not define it.”
I thought he smiled at me. It may have been a trick of the light, but I choose to believe it was real.
“If a priest has performed the proper rites, then, yes, Majesty, they are married,” he said.
A thorny ball in my throat. Was he going to bring up consummation?
The moment passed. He did not. I stared at the man in front of me, who owed me nothing, who had testified in our behalf.
My father.
The Emperor gnashed his teeth. For a long while, he said nothing and sulked on his throne. One of his wives, the eldest one, whispered something in his ear. But his lovely dark Surian wife clapped.
“Congratulations!” she said in accented Hokkaran. “In Sur-Shar, this would be a marriage most blessed! No silly old law in the way. Loudly, I would sing for your wedding march!”
Despite your wound, your smiling face was bright as dawn. “Thank you, Aunt,” you said.
“Do not thank her,” snapped the Emperor. “You think you are clever, Shizuka. You have lived a spoiled life. You are so accustomed to getting your way, you would flout tradition and integrity both. Lying with a savage. Your parents, if they lived, would be ashamed of you.”
At this your face changed. You sneered, baring your teeth in the process. The angry red slash across your nose was like a tiger’s stripe. “My parents,” you said, “would be happy we married for love, the way they did. You’d do well to remember that Burqila Alshara was my mother’s dearest friend. Did you not know your own sister-in-law, Uncle?”
He huffed. “We did,” he said. “And we know how concerned she’d be for your safety. Very well. If you want to sully your bed with a savage, you may. But it must face the consequences of its actions. A man is dead, torn apart; ink flows where blood should be. Do not think to proceed free from judgment because it is now an Imperial.”
Oh.
So long as it was not death. I could do anything, so long as it was not death. My thoughts turned to my horse. What would I do if they killed Alsha? That, too, was unthinkable for me. I’ve been riding her since my mother strapped me into the saddle when I was three. She was my horse, my Earth-Mare, given to me by the Grandfather himself.
So long as it was not death. So long as they did not kill my horse, or kill me, I told myself, I could face anything with my head held high. I was your wife. Somehow we were married and you had not lost your throne.
What was the worst your fool uncle could do?
“For the crime of killing Nozawa Kagemori, for perpetrating the massacre at Imakane Village, for the corruption of its blood and the danger it represents, we sentence the prisoner to exile. It is to leave our kingdom at once.”
Laughter. I whirled, snarling, trying to see who would dare laugh at me in such a moment. Only the demons. All the humans in the room covered their mouths in shock.
And there was you. Your jaw hung open, your eyes slick with unshed tears.
“You … you can’t,” you said to your uncle, your fire leaving you.
“We can,” he said. “Because she is of our blood, we must provide a condition for her return. But we may exile her, and we have decided that is the most just course of action.”
Exile.
True exile.
Already I could not speak to my own clan, already I was doomed to wander as a lone Qorin if I returned to the steppes. But if I could not stay in Hokkaro with you, what did I have?
I’d taken a spear to the chest. I clung to you with shaking hands. I had to leave immediately, he said, I could not spend the night with you, I could not worship you as you’d dreamed.
Shaking.
A life without you, without being able to hold you in my arms. A life waking to the rising sun; a pale imitation of you. An empty bed, a hollow in my chest. Silence where your laughter should be; cold where you once kept me warm.
Life without you.
It was happening so fast, Shizuka, I could not wrap my mind around it, I could not process it all. I’d had you. For one glorious hour, you were my wife, and everyone knew, and nothing could hurt us, but …
I wish he would’ve just killed me instead.
“Uncle,” you said, “she was protecting me. The man she killed was a demon—”
“We have heard you say this,” the Emperor said, “and it does not change our mind. The prisoner is exiled, until the day it returns with a phoenix feather. That is our condition. Men, take it away.”
Guards took me by the shoulders. Two, three, four, all pulling me back.
You reached for me. Your small hands took fistfuls of my robes. Tears streaked down your face, contorted in agony. “Shefali!”
“Shizuka!”
Fight? Should I fight against them? I could kill them, all of them, I could scoop you up in my arms and we could run away together and …
And you’d give up everything you ever knew. Your throne, Hokkaro, the lavish life you’ve grown so accustomed to.
Oh, Shizuka, my light, my sun, my wife! How it pained me in that moment, as we pulled farther and farther away. You kept reaching for me. You screamed at the top of your lungs for the guards to stop, but they would not listen, they did not care.
“Shefali!” you shouted. “Shefali, we have to be together again!”
“I’ll find the feather!” I promised. What other choice did I have? Oh, no one had seen a live phoenix in a hundred years, but I’d find one. If it meant getting back to you, I’d track down the gods themselves. “Wait for me, Shizuka, and we’ll be two pine needles! I love you—!”
Just as the doors shut, I saw you fall.
“Until the stars go out,” you said, “I’ll love you!”
That was the last I saw of you.
* * *
THE REST OF it floats in a haze. Guards took me to my rooms and allowed me to gather my things. I took one of your robes and claimed it was mine just so I’d have something of yours to keep. They took me to the stables, set me on my horse, and began the ride.
Three months I rode with them. For three months, I said not a word. Everything I did had to be supervised. Making water? One of them stood next to me and watched. When they ate, they insisted I did, too; when I refused, they forced open my mouth and made me swallow. My nighttime rides became a thing of memory. One of them was always awake, always watching.
I wept, Shizuka. I wept for you every night. So what if I’d lost an eye? An eye is not an essential thing. I was born with two; I can live with one.
But a person can have only one soul, and you are mine. Without you near me …
I cannot put words to the pain. To the emptiness, to the longing. For every time I thought of my missing eye, I thought of you ten times. Your quiet snoring, the sound of you sucking your thumb and the small wet spot by your mouth. Whenever the guards decided on a campsite for the evening, I thought I heard you puffing.
“No, you fool Qorin,” I imagined you saying. “We cannot camp here. Our tent would be in direct sunlight. Do you intend to bake us?”
The guards never spoke. They never complained about the tent or the bedroll or being out in the wilderness or the rain. They never encouraged me to hunt. (Indeed, they carried my bow in its case the whole way to the border.)
Every day it was the same: Rise. Mount. Ride until they told me to stop. Sit in my tent at night, unable to rest. Rise. Mount. Ride.
It was a cruel mockery of the Qorin way of life. Without hunting, without the occasional feast, without kumaq, the monotony of it all set in.
And it never rained on the steppes. That was another thing. You will be happy to know it does not rain very much in Sur-Shar either, and whenever it does, everyone acts as if the Daughter’s own tears are falling from the sky.
Yes, it was only three months by the main roads from Xian-Lai to the southeastern border at Tatsuoka. This being so far south that it was wet and rainy and hot all the time, the Wall of Stone did not impede our progress. No. When we reached the border village, it looked like any other.
Except that half the people there had lighter hair and eyes, and darker skin. I do not know if the guards guided me to a town of mixed-bloods on purpose. I like to think they did, to offer me some small comfort during my final day in Hokkaro.
And it was there, at Tatsuoka, that my brother met me late at night. I still remember hooves beating against the ground at the unholy ring of First Bell. Some guard had seen something, I thought; a robber or a group of bandits. Nothing that concerned me. I continued lying in bed, pretending to be asleep, and did not give it a second thought.
But moments later, the door slid open. I shot awake and reached for the sword the guards had confiscated.
“State your name!” they shouted as I got to my feet.
“Oshiro Kenshiro, Lord of Xian-Lai!”
My brother? I sniffed the air. Yes, that was he. What was he doing in Tatsuoka? How had he gotten here so fast?
When they opened the door, I saw: My brother’s riding clothes were worn right through, baring his bruised thighs. Dirt painted him black and covered his hair in grit. He had to lean on one of the guards, for he could not stand on his own power.
And in spite of all that, in spite of the pain he must have been in, Kenshiro lit up when he saw me. “Shefali-lun,” he said. “Shefali-lun, thank Grandmother Sky, I am not too late.”
“The prisoner is under our protection, Your Worship,” said one of them. The leader, I think. He was short and thin, with a wispy mustache and beard. What he lacked in stature he made up for in posture and tone. He had the look of a wire about to snap. “We are under strict orders to keep her isolated.”
“I’ve been isolated,” I said.
Kenshiro nodded. “She will be out of your hair tomorrow, Captain Hu,” he said. He knew the guard by name. That was Kenshiro. “Please, I rode a horse to death—”
“You what?” I gasped. “Kenshiro!”
He winced. “Shefali-lun, I’m sorry; there was no other way to reach you in time. The birds came for her. She is in the stars now.”
“You let the birds have her?” I said. “Kenshiro, you did not use her meat, or her milk, or … you just left her there for the birds?”
My voice cracked. How could he do such a thing? How could he ride a horse to death, just to reach me faster? And how could he leave a corpse out there to rot? Yes, when it came to humans, that was what one did. But with horses, they are far too valuable to leave uncovered. If a horse dies in your care, you must make use of its body, or you are disrespecting everything it ever gave you.
Dogs are left out for the birds.
But never horses.
Without thinking, I’d switched to Qorin. Hu ordered us to switch back to Hokkaran, but I couldn’t find the words. My brother ran a horse to death. If this had happened out on the steppes, my mother would have had him flogged. How could he?
Kenshiro shrank four sizes. He pressed a forehead to his hand and stepped closer to me. He bowed low. “Shefali,” he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know, I thought…”
“You’ll find her, when you go back,” I said, “and you’ll make a grave marker for her, as she deserves.”
Silently he nodded. I wiped my tears on my sleeve. After all this time, three months under armed guard, I’d been so happy to see him, despite his foolish betrayal. The death of a horse turned the whole thing sour.
I turned from him.
He rose and touched my shoulder. I batted him away.
“Shefali,” he said, “Baozhai sent you a gift and a letter.”
That made no sense. Baozhai, nice as she was, wouldn’t command Kenshiro to ride so hard to send me a present. I looked over my shoulder. Kenshiro held a small parcel in one hand, and a letter in the other. Neither bore Baozhai’s too-delicate calligraphy.
Instead, it was the fine, confident hand you’d become so well known for. Kenshiro held it up only long enough for me to see it; then he quickly flipped both over and shoved them into my hands.
“Baby sister,” he said. “I’m sorry we have to part like this. I’m sorry for all the things I’ve done, no matter the intention behind them. They say the more wives a man has, the more troubles—pity me, for I make such mistakes and I’ve only Baozhai to speak of. You’ll return, I know you shall. Until that day, we’ll all keep you in our thoughts. You were always meant for great things. Bring back that feather. Show them a half-blood is twice as good.”
He knew better than to hold me at that moment. Looking back on it, I wish I had reached for him.
But, no, my brother sniffed my cheeks, and I sniffed his, and as he left, he paused at the door. “Remember,” he said, “your wife is waiting.”
I stuffed the letter and the parcel into my bags. Hu wouldn’t let me read them now. When we crossed the border, I thought, then I would allow myself this last interaction with you.
It was a long few days, Shizuka. Longer than my time alone in the ger when I was ten. Longer than the three days I lay dying in bed, with you weeping at my side. In my deel pocket was a letter you’d written; perhaps the last words we’d share for years. I wanted to know what they might be, but at the same time—when I was done with the letter, would I ever hear your voice again?
The real you?
Yet I could not wait. The moment we passed the border, that letter started to burn against my chest.
So it was that I opened the parcel with shaking hands on horseback. I found a note hiding beneath the delicate red paper. Hokkaran, written phonetically in the Qorin alphabet.
Shefali, my dearest love,
I shall not hope that this finds you in good health, for I know it will. You are my unstoppable rider, my soaring arrow—you cannot help but keep going forward. In time, you shall loop around and find your way back to my arms, where you belong. Of this I am sure.
When we were children and I sent you my first letter, I asked you what sort of flowers you liked. I wanted so badly to be friends with you. You may not know this, but I used to drive our messengers half-mad, asking if you’d written back. I asked you about flowers because I have always loved them, and I planned to plant more of whichever was your favorite. That way I could keep something you liked near me at all times. I’d be closer to you, I thought.
I want you to know I kept the flowers you sent me from Gurkhan Khalsar. I didn’t plant them. You see, when it came down to it—when you gave me something of yours—I thought it was so sacred and so wonderful that I couldn’t bring myself to do anything but hoard it.
I have kept everything you’ve ever given me, no matter how small.
So now, I send you something to hold on to.
Enclosed in this box is what remains of my short sword. Dueling has gotten me nowhere in the end. What good have I done for you, or for my country, by dueling?
No. If I am going to have to spend time away from you, then I will spend that time bettering Hokkaro.
May you wear this well, my love, my dearest one.
Return to your wife. She is waiting.
Ever yours,
O-Shizuka
I must’ve read it eight by eight times. Even now I write it from memory. Oh, do not think I lost it, Shizuka. I keep it in the chest pocket of my deel, safe from sand and weather. Sometimes I press it against my nose to try to inhale what’s left of your scent. Whatever bits of your soul hide amid filaments of parchment, I treasure them.
But I was on horseback then, riding to lands I did not understand. When I was done reading your letter (over and over), I opened the simple red box that came with it.
I don’t know where you got the idea for it. You’ll tell me when we next meet, won’t you? You could’ve just sent me the sword. Yet that would not do, and you had to make a grand gesture of it.
So you had the sword melted and reforged into a prosthetic eye. One that bore an engraved peony where its iris should be, no less. When I saw, it I laughed. It was so like you to be ridiculous like this. The first time I popped it into my socket, it was so cold, I couldn’t keep it there for long.
Now, well …
It is warm. As warm as the rest of me. And, this may sound strange, Shizuka, but I swear to you I can see through it. Not well. Everything on that side is fuzzy and distant, but I can see out of a steel eye all the same. Prince Debelo has a mirror he has let me use on occasion; would you believe there are veins on that steel eye now?
I tell you, when I return, I worry you will not recognize me. I hope beyond hope that you do.
But there is one letter left. A letter that sent me from the Golden Sands, where I began to write this, to the towering bazaars of Sur-Shar, and Prince Debelo’s Endless Palace. Four years that journey took, and another two to ingratiate myself to him.
We leave tomorrow for what he calls “the Shadow’s Mouth.” You and I think of it as the Mother’s Womb, where all souls return after death. Yes, Shizuka, he claims to have pinpointed an entrance to it. It is my hope I’ll find a phoenix hiding there, waiting to be reborn.
The letter was from Empress Consort Aberash. You transcribed it into Qorin for me. This one I was forced to turn in to Prince Debelo as proof of my identity, so I do not have it with me. You’ll forgive me if some of the words are wrong.
Barsalyya,
My husband has exiled you from family and love, as if you stole his trade secrets and not merely killed a man who deserved killing. He has not exiled you from my family, however, for he did not think that far ahead.
My brother, Debelo, is Merchant Prince of Salom; if anyone knows where to find a firebird, it is he. Since childhood, he’s loved them; now that he has the wealth to track one down, it is all he can talk about.
Here is what you shall do: Go to the Golden Sands, and find a rabbit with horns. Take it to Salom (it is the capital, if you don’t know), and present it to Debelo. Show him this letter.
I can’t excuse my husband’s actions, and I can’t reverse his decisions, but in this way, I can ease your trouble. Consider it a wedding present from your new family.
Your Aunt,
Aberash
And so that brings me here, Shizuka.
As I finish this letter, I am sitting in my rooms within the Endless Palace. My bed is so large, you would be jealous, and carved from dark wood native to Sur-Shar. It is a good bed, a fine one, but I am happy to leave it. I do not do much sleeping, and so it taunts me with its size. I think over and over of what it would be like to lie with you here. The cloth is soft as clouds.
But I think your skin is softer.
Tomorrow, I leave for the Shadow’s Mouth, where the Mother welcomes all her lost souls. Tomorrow, I leave for the underworld. Years it has taken us to gather a team. Two Pale Women, a fox woman, and a girl with an arm carved from stone that she uses as easily as I use my eye. Debelo picked each of us for a specific reason, though he will not elaborate to me.
And there is Otgar.
Yes, my cousin is with me. That is a story for another time, I fear; if I do not return, then surely she will. Rest assured, she’s been of great service to me. On top of speaking Surian, she is fluent in coins and commerce. The preposterous amount of money we’ve made here will serve us well on the journey back, I’m sure.
If we make it back.
I think that is why I am ending the letter here. Why I have waited so long to complete it. I may die soon, if I am still capable of it. If I do, then you must have something to remember me by. Something you can keep close to you. And I know I have wasted time and space and ink and paper on this letter, but if you keep any part of it, keep this:
From the day Grandmother Sky first dreamed of the Earth, I have loved you. From the time wolves and men lived together in harmony, I have loved you. Certain as frost gives way to moss, certain as the stars, I love you. And though I ride at sunrise to unmapped darkness, I will let my love for you light the way.
For on the steppes of my mind, you are a bright campfire, and I will always find my way back to your side.
Always.