Shadow Magic (2 page)

We would find ourselves within this new rhythm once we’d settled into this new way of being. It was only a matter of time.

My brother’s face turned toward mine, and then to the door as Kouje cleared his throat just beyond, filling the silence my brother had left in the wake of my appeals.

“Your pardon,” Iseul said to me, sounding distant somehow, but how could I blame him? He moved with a steadiness of purpose that I longed to imitate, and slid open the door on the kneeling figure before us.

“My lord Emperor,” Kouje began, proving that news traveled faster among the servants than I’d have believed possible, and that my brother’s decision was known now throughout the great-house, if not the palace proper. “Word has been sent that the delegation from Volstov is set to arrive rather—earlier—than we anticipated.”

“Earlier,” my brother repeated.

He did not need to phrase it as a question; it was Kouje’s duty to anticipate and respond in kind.

“We believe they may be here in a matter of hours, your Supreme Grace.”

It was then that I envied Kouje’s propriety in keeping his face averted. This way, he did not have to see my brother’s expression at that moment, terrible as the gods’ fire.

“Gather the warlords,” said my brother, in a voice I didn’t recognize. It was a voice that had commanded our warriors in the mountains. “We will hold counsel in the green room.”

Kouje rose, clad all in mourning black. The sight of it seemed to remind
my brother of something, for he lifted his hand—an emperor making his decision. I scarcely had time to marvel at the completeness of my brother’s transformation, as though he’d been living all his life on its cusp.

“Take the prince to be dressed,” Iseul commanded. “The seven days have passed, and the delegation must find us prepared to receive them with all due hospitality.”

Kouje bowed, though not so low as to find himself on the floor once more, and turned to me with a waiting expectation I’d come to know well.

“Iseul,” I said. I was quiet enough, but I found myself unable to keep my silence entirely. It would have been different, in the company of servants, or the other warlords; but before his death Kouje’s father had served ours as Kouje did me. While he was not of distinguished blood, he was certainly trustworthy—too trustworthy, in fact, for he had forgiven me many an error in decorum over the years. I didn’t have my brother’s facility in assuming the responsibilities of a prince, nor could I possibly imagine the weight on his shoulders now that he was emperor. Still, we were brothers. I could offer him comfort, if nothing else. “We shall persevere.”

We had no other choice beyond that, save to perish in the attempt. But I left unsaid the second half of the old warrior’s idiom, knowing it would only make my brother frown and Kouje regret teaching me such things in the first place.

“Go with Kouje,” said my brother. His voice betrayed nothing but an iron calm that so reminded me of our father that for a moment I was overcome with a sharp awareness of how things were to change between us. “Then… return to your chambers. I will send for you.”

I bowed low to my brother, the emperor. Despite his remonstrations to the contrary, it never occurred to me to act in any other way.

We parted ways without further talk, and I found myself relieved for the silence. My brother never had such troubles as I with keeping his silence or maintaining the peace of his spirit; I was always at war with myself, my father had once said, and it seemed a quality I might never entirely lose.

Kouje, too, said nothing. There were no lamps lit, nor were there servants moving swiftly and surely in preparation. The halls seemed like the winding passageways of a warrior’s tomb.

Luckily, there were tasks immediately to hand that would serve as ample distraction from this unfortunate comparison. While Kouje waited just outside the door, I slipped into the silent, hot bath that had been drawn for me, holding my breath as I sank deep inside. The water was hot enough that I felt it might scald all my skin from my bones—a clean, new birth.

I knew with certainty that my brother had been strong enough not to shed a single tear for the father we had both lost—and not only our father but our lord emperor as well. He had died the only noble death left for him, and though I mourned the victory for which we had all hoped, I could do nothing more than be a loyal son to him.

The bath was swift, and the incense already burning when I stepped out. Servants came to dry me, twisting dry the braids of honor in my hair. This, for the victory at Dragon Bone Pass. This, for the victory of the tunnels. This, for the victory of the forsaken men. This, for the victory of the auspicious moon.

I bore no scars from those battles. I was a general, a second son. I rode no horse, but did the best I could to keep the men serving me from dying. In the later months of the war, when the fighting had grown too fierce for an unexpected general such as me, the council of warlords had recommended my return to the palace. In place of earning more braids, I had attempted to set up facilities of care for those displaced by the war. It was a necessary task, and I took great pleasure in helping those who’d been caught living too closely to the Cobalts, but I was no warrior.

I imagined that I would always bear the shame of my own shortcomings held against my brother’s fiercer nature were it not for something my father said to me, less than a week before the dragons’ final assault on the capital.

“The people’s needs are never so simple as they seem,” he said, taking his favorite seat in the pavilion, built overlooking the koi pond. “Even I, with two such hands as these, could never hope to meet them all at once. My sons will not suffer with such difficulties. Your brother protects what land we have, while you provide for our subjects. Just as we cannot provide if the land is taken from us, so the protection becomes meaningless if you squander what gifts may be gleaned from it.”

My father had never been one to waste words on meaningless praise. He had never spoken to me thus before, and I sought to memorize
his words even as I watched the multicolored fish swarming over and past one another like brightly colored veils, orange and white, blue and gold.

I had not returned to the pavilion since the assault on our city, but it bolstered my spirit somewhat to know that the fish would remember our conversation. That though I could no longer ask my father for confirmation of his words, there was some creature left who had been witness to them.

The women combed back what was left loose of my hair, leaving the warrior’s braids to hang tight and wet over the left shoulder. That configuration meant I was still little more than a child. There was jade in my hair, jade pierced through my ears, jade hung round my neck and clasped around my wrists. Yet it was white jade, for only the emperor could wear the green. I wondered at the sight my brother would present to the retainers of our house, and to the seven closest houses beneath us, when he stepped out into the sunlight to greet the diplomats from Volstov. I wouldn’t see him until they did.

I hoped they would tremble at the sight, proud as our father would have been. I hoped they would feel shame, or at least the barest whisper of terror.

Pride welled up in my heart, bitter and fiercely strong. Now that we were at peace, I no longer wore the robes of a warrior; nevertheless, the crest of my father’s house was woven into the fabric of my robes, the same as it was woven into the robes my brother wore.

I could almost hear my father say:
This, too, is a warrior’s duty
.

The servants fell away from me, all but one, who dropped to his knees and slid the door open. Kouje was waiting for me in the hall, bowing low, so that I couldn’t see his face.

I didn’t have to.

“My lord,” he said, “all is ready.”

It was then that we heard the sudden commotion from without. From where we were on the eastern side of the palace, just above the courtyard, the sound of the carriages arriving was harsh and jarring. Kouje did not even lift his head, and though the servants scattered, I held myself in place and checked my desire to run to the window and see them as they were, invaders from a distant land arriving under the colors of peace.

My hands trembled.

“My lord,” Kouje said again.

I straightened myself as my brother would have done. The trick, I knew, was to rein yourself in as you would a wild horse. A man had two hearts, one public and one private. The latter held all his truths while the former was more easily steered and more easily broken.

“The emperor is waiting,” I said. “Come.”

We had already reached the Ke-Han gardens, but still I had no idea who had decided that General Alcibiades should be among the delegation of peace to the capital. Presumably it must have been the Esar who made that choice, as he was the supreme ruler of all Volstov’s subjects, but I had never known the Esar to exhibit even the slightest sense of humor. Such peculiar capriciousness simply wasn’t his style, and while I was personally amused, I was also bewildered. This suggested that there must have been some other element in his decision-making process, which meant that Alcibiades had some hidden quality that did not become apparent even when one shared a carriage with him from one capital city to another.

So as yet, I could see no reason beyond accident or my own good luck for such an unexpected anomaly to have occurred right here, and in
my
carriage of all places.

In short, I was delighted, although I suspected the other members of our party did not see eye to eye with me on the matter. There were nine of us altogether, seemingly gathered from all corners of Volstov. Representing the magicians were myself, of course, alongside the charming Wildgrave Ozanne, and Marcelline, whom I’d met during our tiresome sojourn in the Basquiat. The two of us would have so much catching up to do, since the last time we’d spoken we’d both been somewhat under the weather.

Alcibiades, I supposed, was part of some sort of misguided military representation that included two lieutenants whose names I hadn’t bothered learning. They seemed like dreadfully boring sorts, in any case. We had a scholar by the name of Marius—another survivor from our little study group at the Basquiat—and bringing up the rear were
Margrave Josette and our leader Fiacre, who I could only assume were both here to represent good common sense.

In order to somewhat soften the blow that the Ke-Han were the conquered nation—and, I presumed, in order to avoid causing an international incident wherever possible, since most of us were quite sick of war—we had retired our more garish colors. None of us wore red, the Esar’s royal color and favored for generations among the court, except as subtle reminders—hints of satin lining, perhaps, or the stripes on one general’s regulation jacket. We did this to show respect, if not deference, for we had conquered the people across the Cobalts despite how nearly they had come to conquering
us
.

The Ke-Han much preferred the color blue. Again, I was delighted, for blue suited my complexion much better than Volstov’s overly assertive red. During my exile, I wore blue at every possible occasion, but one couldn’t be so rash before the Esar himself. This diplomatic mission was my opportunity, therefore, to dress as I pleased, and I was one of many such peacocks trussed up in conciliatory colors—though thankfully I wasn’t one of the awkward soldiers adjusting their tight collars or the red-faced magicians frowning out the windows of their carriage.

Rather, I was dressed all in splendid midnight blue, though it was accented with the aforementioned discreet red lining, and I was thrilled to have the chance to dress so. Also, it appeared to be causing Alcibiades great displeasure, firstly because he was my lone carriage companion, and secondly, because he himself was dressed entirely in his red uniform.

When first we’d met—weeks ago during that unpleasant period of quarantine in our own Basquiat—I admit I found him somewhat akin in coloring and in shagginess to the long-haired golden dogs that were favored by the Esarina a hundred years ago, and could thus be found in every single portraiture of that period, slobbering all over everything and looking wildly pleased with themselves.

Alcibiades, however, never looked wildly pleased with himself, or indeed with anything. In the carriage, he simply looked wildly red. When I broached the subject with him—quite tactfully I thought—I was met with something resembling a horse’s snort and a brusque, “I’m Volstovic, not a bastion-bloody Ke-Han.”

I liked the man already. It was at some point between Thremedon and Ke-Han land that I decided we would be friends, although I was yet uncertain how to make this equally obvious to Alcibiades himself.

By the time we reached the Ke-Han gardens, which were both opulent and refined at once—nothing at all like the wildly overgrown greenhouses with their vibrant colors and abuse of perfectly good tulips that one is subject to in Thremedon—the strict formality of the place made me realize that there would hardly be any time for such diversions as friendship. The gardens flanked us on either side, deceptively tranquil. The palace itself rose before us, tiered roofs dark blue and black. And, standing still as little statues, there were at least fifty retainers in the bleached white courtyard, stark and square and rather like a box.

Their faces betrayed nothing. They might just as well have been statues for all their eyes revealed.

Our carriages erupted into their world with the stomping and whinnying of horses, the commotion of wheels on the sand, and the immediate chaos that began as nine delegates from Volstov stepped out of their carriages all at once.

Fiacre kept his composure best, stepping neatly from his conveyance only to turn right around and offer a hand to
his
carriage companion, Margrave Josette. She declined the gesture, stepping down and stirring up a delicate cloud of white dust with the prim swish of her skirts. Next, and nearest to us, was Wildgrave Ozanne, who was busily adjusting the length of his sleeves as Marcelline pursed her lips next to him, looking relatively unimpressed with the whole affair.