“Why did you come back?” I asked Sarnai. “You said there was no chance of beating your father.”
“There isn’t,” she said. “But better I lead A’landi against him than you.”
It was meant to be an insult, but I did not flinch. “Then you’ve given me a reason to be glad of what I am becoming.”
I didn’t give her a chance to respond. Spying the ash bow behind her, I gestured at it. “When I was impersonating you, your father said it was a testament of your strength.”
Lady Sarnai ignored the bow and sniffed. “My brothers were trained from birth to be warriors, something I wanted above all else. My father said I could train with them if I could draw his bow. He knew it was an impossible feat, even for my brothers. I could throw a knife and hit a dragonfly from a hundred meters away and stomach the poisons that my brothers meant for each other and slipped me instead, but I did not have enough strength to draw the bow even halfway. My father only thought of me as a pawn to be married off.
“I wouldn’t have it. So I joined my mother for embroidery and dancing lessons, but at night, I went into the woods and carried logs on my back from the forest to the castle to build strength.
“I did this for half a year, until my soft hands grew rough, my back stopped aching from the weight, and my bones grew strong. When my father found out that his only daughter, the Jewel of the North, was doing hard labor in the middle of the night, he ordered the woodsman hanged. What good would I be to him if my beauty was compromised? I could hardly become an empress if my face was scarred and splinters marked my skin.”
She touched her cheek. The violet bruises were faded, all but ghosts against the flush of winter on her cheeks. The silver-white scars on her skin were there to stay, prominent reminders of her encounter with my dresses, but they weren’t what must have chased away the soft elegance she once had as a young girl. War and loss were to blame for that.
She drew a breath. “But I stole my father’s bow and drew it, easily, as if I’d been pulling a sash around my robe, and my arrow cut the woodsman free.
“I was allowed to join my brothers from then on. When I bested them all, my father gave me to Lord Xina to train.” She trailed off, pursing her lips. “Then to Khanujin to marry.”
A long silence fell between us. Finally, I broke it by asking, “Are you relieved he is dead?”
“Khanujin was not a good emperor. Not even a good man.” She lingered, as if what she wanted to say next vexed her. “But I thought about what you said, tailor, and there was truth to your words. Much as I hated him, he put A’landi before all else. Now that I see it, I have no choice but to respect him.” Her expression turned grim. “So, yes, I am relieved that he is dead, but I wish he weren’t. Now his burdens fall to us.”
Us.
“Perhaps even he, the emperor we both came to loathe, had some good in him after all.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Lady Sarnai scoffed. But, for once, she had no harsh words to say about Khanujin.
“You’re an odd one, Tamarin,” she said after a pause. “Perhaps in a different life we might have been friends. But not in this one.”
What could I say to that? I bowed my head. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Enough with the titles. We are all soldiers now.” She gripped the hilt of her sword, sweeping a cloth over the blade to clean it. The bow behind her remained untouched. “If you have the magic and the will to call so many to our aid, you can find the strength within to battle whatever it is that ails you.”
I blinked in surprise. “Yes, Lady Sarnai.”
“Good. Go now and work on it.” Her voice hardened, regaining the harsh tone I was used to hearing from her. “You must not fail.”
* * *
• • •
Every morning, Keton got up before the other soldiers to exercise his legs, and the next day I followed him. He could walk without his cane now, but not for long, and wielding a sword was difficult for him. Yet when he saw me, a hint of his old grin returned, and for a moment, he was my mischievous youngest brother again, with a gleam in his eye that meant he was up to no good.
“You know, I never thought I’d relish the day the shansen’s right-hand warrior gave me a sword,” said my brother. “Never thought I’d be fighting for his daughter, either.”
“How do the others feel about it?”
“We all have mixed feelings. We didn’t trust Lord Xina at first, but he wouldn’t spend so much time drilling us just to get us all slaughtered in battle.”
“What about Lady Sarnai?”
“Many distrust her, and some even hate her. You can’t blame them. She was just as ruthless as her father during the war, even more brutal on the battlefield than Lord Xina. But we all hate the shansen most, and we know the best person to defeat him is his daughter.” Keton cocked his head. “Will you ask me next what we think about the enchanter?”
I held my breath. “I wasn’t planning to.”
Keton grinned at me. “The enchanter is growing on us. I’m beginning to like him.” His grin widened. “Your friend Ammi’s growing on me, too. I’m guessing more radish soup today?”
“Onion,” I replied.
“Ah, onions.” Keton chuckled and tested the balance of his sword, passing it from one hand to the other. He’d been practicing; I could tell the simple act wasn’t easy for him, even though he made it look so. “Remember how much trouble I used to get into over them?”
I forced a laugh so my brother wouldn’t see that I didn’t remember.
“I’d cut open an onion to help me cry, then take some of Baba’s red dye and pour it over my sleeve to pretend I’d cut myself. What a fit Mama threw, thinking I was injured.”
“And when she found out you weren’t,” I said, slowly piecing it together, “she made you cut onions all day. Until your eyes were so red you couldn’t see straight. And Finlei and Sendo would call you pickle face.”
Keton laughed. “We used to have fun, the four of us. Didn’t we?”
My throat went dry. What memories I had left were like wild birds trapped in a cage. One by one, they flew out, never to return.
“You remember how Sendo and I used to pretend to be Balardan pirates?” Keton sheathed the sword and swung the scabbard at my backside. To his disbelief, I evaded it neatly.
“Where’d you learn that?” he asked.
“On my travels.”