THE ECHOES OF the dinner bells had long since quieted by the time I entered the banquet hall. I had planned to arrive after Lusha, so as to be the one everybody would stare at when I swept dramatically into the room. But, to my annoyance, my sister wasn’t there yet. The few people who glanced up at my arrival soon looked away again, unimpressed.
I gazed around, momentarily overwhelmed. Father had spared no expense in welcoming the Royal Explorer to Azmiri. So many villagers had shown up that they spilled into the yard, where a roaring bonfire provided relief from the mountain cold. Guests lounged on bamboo benches that lined the stone-paved hall, or crowded around the central hearth, drinking raksi. The wooden pillars that held up the high, flat roof were adorned with brightly patterned tapestries, which, combined with the murals, gave the room a colorful, chaotic appearance. Dragons threaded their way sinuously through the crowd or perched on stone shelves that lined the walls, suffusing the hall with a shifting glow as they begged alternately for scraps and ear rubs from sympathetic guests. Because they were so costly to breed and maintain, Father liked to have as many dragons around as possible when trying to impress important guests. This, however, was more than I had ever seen in one place. Father must have borrowed some for the occasion from other villagers. Guests waded cautiously through the sea of scales and flickering light, nudging aside the beasts with their feet.
I had never seen anything like it.
A nervous shiver traveled down my spine. For a moment, I wondered what I was doing. River Shara was the most powerful man in the emperor’s court, and the hero of so many fireside stories it was sometimes difficult to believe that a living version of him existed. He was known for his ability to climb mountains like a snow leopard, find uncanny routes to safety through enemy lands, and hike for days over grueling terrain without wearying. What he was not known for was either patience or sympathy. It was said that when one of his assistants betrayed him, he had hunted the man down, stripped him of his clothes, and left him tied to a tree in a frozen mountain pass.
But I knew I would never have another chance like this. Taking a deep breath, I plunged into the sea of chattering guests.
“Kamzin!” It was Litas, one of the village boys. “Is it true? You met River Shara?”
“I saw him land, but—”
It was the wrong thing to say. Three of Litas’s friends pressed close, their eyes wide. “How big was the balloon?” said one.
“Did you speak to him?” another demanded. “Is it true that the barbarians cut off both his earlobes”—the girl pressed her hands against her head, mimicking earlessness—“and now he can hear leaves rustling ten miles away?”
I sighed, reeling off a brief description of what Tem and I had witnessed. The children listened with fascination, pelting me with more questions. How tall was River? Did the balloon bear the emperor’s insignia? How many shamans did River have, and had they announced his arrival with lightning and fireworks? It was some time before I was able to satisfy their curiosity enough to escape.
I scanned the room. Scattered among the crowd, mostly in small groups, were men and women who could only be members of River Shara’s entourage. They all had the same Three Cities look—as if a dye shop had thrown up on them, as I had once sneeringly remarked to Tem. I had never been to the Three Cities or the emperor’s magnificent court, with its glittering pagodas and fragrant gardens—nor had most villagers, given that it was a weeks-long journey along a winding trade road favored by bandits—and I had no desire to, judging by the people who lived there. Blue hair seemed to be the fashion now, and they wore theirs curled and woven with silver charms that looked as though they would be an awful trial to remove. Instead of chubas, they were draped in wispy cloaks of dark green.
I had no idea what River looked like, but it wasn’t a stretch to assume he would be the center of attention. Soon enough, I found him.
He was as handsome as the stories said, with a wide mouth, tousled hair, and broad shoulders. He stood several inches above the tallest man in the room, but even without this, there was something about him that drew the eye. An odd, uneven scar extended from the edge of his temple across the bridge of his nose, halving his face. He wore the same elaborate costume as the other Three Cities guests, but his hair was undyed. Consequently, it was easy to see that he was graying at the temples. Deep furrows extended from the corners of his eyes, though he was far from an old man—perhaps thirty or so.
That gave me pause. Given River Shara’s reputation and accomplishments, I had expected someone close to Father’s age. Still, there was no mistaking the curious crowd of villagers gathered around him, listening intently as he spoke. He had an expressive manner, moving his hands as if painting his story in the air.
I smoothed my dress, which was dark blue with fox-fur trim. It was the finest I owned—or rather, the finest Lusha owned. She never bothered with the luxurious clothes her suitors bought for her, and I doubted she would even notice it was missing. I had altered it, of course, from her narrow measurements to my stouter ones. Around my neck I wore my whitest silk scarf, edged with gold stitches, and beaded earrings hung past my shoulders, clinking softly when I moved my head. The outfit felt strange, almost like a costume—my lessons with Chirri were usually outdoors, and involved messiness in some form, so I spent most of my days in plain tunics and sheepskin trousers. But I knew I had to do something to make up for my otherwise unfortunate appearance. My bronze skin was burned from the fierce sunlight that had beat down while I crouched over the dragon eggs, and my hands were scaly with a rash I had acquired helping Chirri prepare a healing salve. I hadn’t had time to exorcise all the tangles from my waist-length dark hair, and during my frenzied brushing I had broken several of the tines of my comb, which I was certain were now lodged somewhere behind my head.
Tem wasn’t there. He must have been angry enough to risk insulting my family by not attending the welcome banquet. Either that, or his father had ordered him to tend to the herds, not an uncommon occurrence. I tried to ignore the twinge of disappointment. Although I was still angry with him, his familiar presence would have been a comfort.
River had come to the end of his story, and seemed to be excusing himself from the hangers-on. He began making his way to the barrel of raksi.
I glanced over my shoulder. Where was Father? It was the height of rudeness to allow a guest, particularly one of River’s stature, to serve himself.
An idea slid into place.
I flew across the room, dodging elderly aunts and uncles and neighbors. More than one greeting was tossed at me, and I did my best to mumble and smile my way through them. I made it to the barrel a heartbeat before River did.
“More raksi?” I said breathlessly.
He paused, taking in my flustered appearance. Then, with a smoothness that reminded me of pulling on an old cloak, he flashed me a broad, wolfish smile.
“You read my mind,” he said, handing me his bowl.
I smiled back, quaking with nervousness while I maneuvered the bowl under the spout. I turned the spigot too hard, and wine splashed to the floor, spattering him.
“I’m so sorry—” I stammered, horrified.
“No matter,” he said, grasping my shoulder as I bent to brush at the stains. It was a rather firm squeeze, though he smiled still.
I refilled his bowl with shaking hands, cursing myself. “Forgive me, dyonpo Shara, I didn’t—”
He gave me a sharp look. “I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me. My name is Mara.”
“Oh.” I thought I would faint with relief. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed—”
“That’s all right. He gave me that grin again. His teeth were very long and white. “An honest mistake. I’m not nobility, so you needn’t call me ‘dyonpo.’”
I nodded. All the nobility had two names—the second announced their lineage. I couldn’t help noticing how Mara’s smile had tightened slightly as he spoke, so I added hurriedly, “I’m Kamzin, Elder’s second daughter. Are you with River Shara’s expedition?”
“Yes. I’m his official chronicler.”
“His chronicler?” It sounded important. “So you write down everything he does?”
An irritated look flitted across his face, quickly swallowed up by another white-toothed smile. “In a manner of speaking. I make notes, sketches, maps; take measurements; and draft official accounts. It can be dull stuff, but it is important. In the past, the Royal Explorer never traveled with fewer than three chroniclers. River insists on only one.”
I shook my head at this. The idea of being followed around by chroniclers documenting your every move! It would inflate the ego of the humblest person in the world.
Mara’s gaze darted over the room. I could see he considered our conversation over. Most guests came to this decision quickly. I was the younger child of a village elder—that warranted polite small talk, and rarely anything else. I knew I had only a second or two before he made his excuses and moved on to someone more interesting.
“How long have you served as chronicler?”
“These past three years. Since River was named Royal Explorer.”
“I’m sure you’ve faced your share of danger,” I said in a flattering tone. “No doubt come close to death yourself.”
Mara’s brow furrowed. His expression went curiously blank for a moment, as if an invisible hand had scrubbed some thought out of existence, and then he turned his attention back to the room. It happened so quickly that I thought I must have imagined it.
“Naturally,” he said dismissively. “As have most explorers.”
“You must know dyonpo Shara well,” I tried again.
Mara was still staring over my head. “As well as one can.”
I wasn’t sure what to make of this, but pushed on. “Would you be able to introduce me? As I’ve been to Raksha, I thought—”
“Of course.” He fixed me with another smile that told me he hadn’t heard a word I said. “If you’ll excuse me, Tamzin, there’s someone I must speak with.”
He strode back into the crowd, leaving me staring at his back. Muttering darkly to myself, I filled another bowl to the brim and downed the raksi in a single draft. I grimaced as it burned its way down my throat.
“That didn’t go very well, did it?” said a voice behind me.
I turned. A young man was perched on the window alcove, half in shadow, gazing at me with a faint smile that seemed a shade less than mocking. He could only be one of the courtiers. He was just as richly—and impractically—attired as his companions, his dark, gauzy cloak spilling down the wall like the world’s most useless curtain. His unkempt hair, which stuck up on one side as if he frequently scrubbed his hand through it, was vividly blue, and his fingers were crowded with jeweled rings that flashed in the light.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, filling my bowl again. A dragon snuffled up to the barrel and began lapping up the spilled wine. I aimed a kick in its direction, and it darted away, somewhat unsteadily. “We were just talking.”
“He was talking.” The young man waved his hand, and I realized that he was at least partly drunk. “You were drooling. I feel I must inform you that Mara is neither as clever as he thinks he is nor as interesting as you think he is.”
I stared at him, openmouthed.
“Yes, that’s it,” he said. “That’s exactly how you looked a moment ago.”
I felt myself redden with anger. “How is it any of your business? Is eavesdropping on private conversations how all nobles behave in the Three Cities?”
“I only eavesdrop on people who interest me.” He dropped to the floor with unexpected grace. “It’s a compliment.”
I snorted into my wine. “You think a lot of yourself. Where did you come from, anyway?”
“Where did I come from?” For some reason, he seemed to find this hilarious. “Oh—I’ve been here all along. You might’ve noticed, if you hadn’t been so busy flirting with Mara.”
“I was not flirting,” I snarled. “For your information, I have more important things on my mind.”
“Do you? That’s very mysterious.” The young man maneuvered his bowl under the wine spout. When nothing came out, he pounded on the barrel until wine gushed out in a great torrent, overflowing the bowl.
I couldn’t help laughing at him as he stared in dismay at his wine-stained sleeve. He began to laugh too, leaning against the barrel for support.
My amusement faded as I noticed that all the villagers in the vicinity were staring at us. A few almost looked afraid—probably concerned that I was irreparably harming the dignity of Azmiri, I thought, with a mixture of guilt and irritation.
I sized up the courtier. He was a little older than me, perhaps, but not much. I thought he might be handsome, underneath the blue hair and the jewels, though his eyes were unsettling. They were the strangest eyes I had ever seen—one was a warm golden brown that reminded me of the floor of a sunlit forest, while the other was so dark it appeared black. His gaze left me flustered, torn between a desire to stare and a desire to look away.
He seemed to be sizing me up too, his eyes smiling at the corners. Underneath that, though, I sensed a sharp focus. “Was that true, what you said to Mara? You’ve been to Raksha?”
“Maybe.” I raised my chin. “Why do you care?”
“I have my reasons.”
“That’s very mysterious.”
He laughed again. It was an appealing sound, ragged at the edges, as if he wasn’t quite in control of it. In spite of myself, I felt my heartbeat speed up. I shook my head. What was I doing? Laughing and drinking with some strange boy, when I was supposed to be looking for River Shara. The thought brought my nervousness back, and I hastily swallowed the rest of my wine.
“Easy,” he said, and suddenly I was holding empty air. I blinked stupidly at my hand for a moment—he had my bowl, and was spinning it idly in his palm. He had moved so quickly I hadn’t even seen it.
“What do you think—”
“You’ve had enough, Kamzin.”
“I’ve had enough?” I glared at him, searching for a retort. But my thoughts were all muddled. Involuntarily, my gaze drifted to his hand—there was something wrong with it. He was missing the tips of two fingers, the fourth and fifth.
My eyes narrowed. I had seen the result of frostbite before—but never on the hand of a pampered courtier. His brown skin was as dark as mine, as if he too spent most of his days outdoors in the mountain sun. Something nagged at me.
“Kamzin!” It was Zhiba, one of my cousins. She bowed to the young man and touched my arm gently, as if to draw me away. “Chirri has been looking for you. Come.”
I squinted at her. Chirri was never looking for me. “What are you talking about?”
Zhiba glanced over her shoulder. I realized a knot of people had formed nearby, all gazing at me and muttering. Most wore looks ranging from worry to disapproval. Others—my younger cousins in particular—pressed their hands over their mouths, as if to muffle their laughter. I stared at them, annoyed and confused. Clearly, I was the butt of some private joke, the meaning of which I could not comprehend.
“Kamzin,” Zhiba said, her voice low, “how much have you had to drink?”
“Is that what this is about?” I shook her arm off. “First him, and now you. Leave me alone, Zhiba.”
“But—”
“I’m fine.” All the frustrations of the day—my disastrous lesson with Chirri, my argument with Lusha, the embarrassing encounter with Mara—seemed to come bubbling to the surface. I raised my voice. “And you can tell the others to stop staring. Do you want our guests to think we have no manners at all?”
Zhiba fell back, a pained look on her face. One of my cousins let out a muffled snort.
“Everything all right?” the courtier said.
“Yes,” I muttered. Then I started. “Oh no.”
My sister had just entered the room. Predictably, every head turned toward her.
“Who’s that?”
“Take a guess,” I said dourly. Lusha wore a simple gray robe, and her long hair was pinned back from her face with a silver clasp. A raven perched on each of her shoulders, eyeing the gathering with beady eyes.
“Ah, the great Lusha of Azmiri,” the young man said. “You don’t look much alike, do you?”
His tone was musing rather than snide, but I still bristled with a familiar irritation. It was true that Lusha took after our tall, slender mother, while my stoutness was all Elder’s. Growing up, I had been teased about my size by the other children, and reduced to tears more than once. Whenever Lusha found out, she dealt with the offenders with her customary decisiveness—usually with a punch in the nose. The more resolute bullies would be treated to recitations of dire fortunes filled with suffering and calamity, delivered in such ominous tones that they had difficulty sleeping at night. The children, awed by Lusha, learned to leave me alone.
The courtier gazed at my sister with cool appraisal. “She would be far more impressive without those creatures hovering around her. I’ve never understood you mountain people and your fondness for pets.”
“They aren’t pets,” I said. “They’re familiars. It’s rare enough to have even one, you know. Lusha and I are the only people in Azmiri who have them.”
“That’s fortunate for the people of Azmiri. I for one wouldn’t want a flock of ravens following me about. I doubt I’d be very popular at parties.”
“A familiar is a mark of the spirits’ favor,” I said. “And they’re useful, even if they are only animals. Lusha has had ravens watching over her since she was a baby. They fetch things, carry messages, alert her to danger—they look out for her, no matter what. People who have that sort of bond with an animal are respected in the mountain villages. Well,” I added in a mutter, “most of them are respected.”
He regarded me blankly. “So I should be impressed?”
“River should be impressed.” I chugged the rest of my wine. “She doesn’t care what you think, whoever you are.”
He laughed. I let out a giggle, hiccupping, which only made us laugh harder. We leaned against each other, trying unsuccessfully to muffle the sound. Heads turned in our direction—it seemed as if the entire room was staring at us now.
“I think,” I said between gasps, “you’ve had too much wine.”
Half choking, I straightened up, using his arm as a support. It was a good one, strong and solid, with more lean muscle than I would have expected. Somehow, the exertion had cleared my head, and I wondered again what in the name of the spirits I was doing, talking and carrying on with this strange Three Cities boy who hadn’t even given me his name.
I stopped. My laughter died as suddenly as a thunderclap.
“What is it?” He was still panting, his strange eyes alight with merriment.
I took a step back. My gaze drifted from the tip of his hair to the hem of his cloak. There was nothing in what I saw to prove my suspicion, and yet I knew. I knew.
“Who are you?” I demanded.
“Uh-oh.” He held up his hands in a warding gesture. “You got there, did you?”
I stared at him, my mouth hanging open. Half my brain refused to comprehend what the other half was telling it. Please, no. It can’t be.
“You’re doing it again, Kamzin,” he said. “The drooling.”
Father appeared suddenly, Lusha at his side, and clapped the young man’s shoulder with his massive hand. “There you are, River! Lusha has been looking for you.”
My sister nodded politely, though it was clear from the look on her face that she had been doing no such thing. I began to sway. I wondered if I would faint.
“I’ve been having a very interesting chat with your charming daughter,” River Shara said, threading my arm through his and pinning me solidly to his side. The smell of wildflowers and wine and something faintly smoky filled my nose. “Did you know the spotted orchid can be brewed as a tea for snow blindness?”
“I didn’t realize Kamzin was so knowledgeable about healing,” Elder said, an edge in his voice as he surveyed me. I was in the way. And I was drunk.
“Yes, she’s a very impressive girl,” River said.
There was a confused silence. I doubted either Lusha or Father had ever heard that word applied to me by anyone. Biter, on Lusha’s left shoulder, croaked a warning. He was looking at River, and the expression in his eyes was not a friendly one. Lurker took notice of him too, and began to croak deep in her throat. Lusha muttered something, and they fluttered away, up to the thatching in the roof. There they continued their jawing.
“I apologize, River,” Elder said. “We didn’t mean to leave you alone for so long. Only you disappeared so suddenly, and—”
“I wasn’t alone,” River said. He was still gripping my arm, though I had been surreptitiously trying to pull it free since he had taken it. I pinched him, and he let out a muffled yelp. Father’s confused look deepened to bafflement.
“Dyonpo, perhaps you would like a tour of the house before dinner.” Lusha had to raise her voice, as the ravens continued to squawk at River with a ferocity they usually reserved for the village cats.
“I think not,” River said, rubbing his arm. “I have—ah—something to attend to.” He wandered away without another word, his dark cloak drifting behind him. People bowed to him as he passed, some so hastily they spilled their drinks. River seemed to take no notice.
“What did I say, Lusha?” Father muttered. “Half-mad, if not more.”
“What were you talking to him about, Kamzin?” Lusha said, her eyes narrowed.
I swallowed. Something was rising in my throat.
“Kamzin? What’s the matter?” Father said.
“I—” The words died on my lips. Clapping my hand over my mouth, I pushed past Lusha. The door was a mile away. I shoved my way through the crowd, bumping into guests and knocking bowls out of their hands. I finally reached the door, and there was Mara.
He placed a hand on my shoulder, stopping me from advancing farther. “What in the name of—”
I couldn’t hold it any longer. I sagged to the ground and emptied my stomach onto his boots.