He leaned forward, his dry lips brushing against my cheek in what everyone else perceived as a kiss. Except he whispered harshly, “Perhaps it is better this way, though I urge you not to be so taken with birds in the sky.”
I swallowed. So that was what had given me away. I hadn’t known Khanujin to be such an observant man. Then again, I knew little of my emperor.
“Edan will not be a hawk when my men find him,” he intoned. “He will be a man, like Xina. And he will be punished accordingly.”
He rested his hand on my shoulder, squeezed the bone so hard I flinched. “I can be merciful, Maia Tamarin. I can be more merciful to him than I will be to Lord Xina. But that all depends on you.”
“I don’t know where he’s gone,” I repeated. Even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you.
The emperor’s smirk vanished, and he gave my shoulder another cruel press before finally letting go. “Then pray the banquet tonight goes well.”
* * *
• • •
A hundred dishes were spread out before Khanujin and me, enough to satiate a thousand. An artist could have blissfully died after capturing such a glorious buffet of food with his brush, every color and texture represented, every plate a thoughtfully curated piece of art for both the eyes as well as the tongue.
The old Maia would have hated being seated at the center of this culinary theater. She would have bitten her lower lip and stared at the ground, fidgeting with the ends of her sleeves to ignore the rumbles in her belly. Yet she would have lusted after the spicy mung bean jelly lightly tossed with peanuts, the wood ear mushrooms marinated in vinegar and garlic, the fried fish fritters with ginger and plum sauce.
Not tonight. Tonight, in my radiant gown of the sun, I sat rigid in my chair, coolly ignoring every stare and glance that darted my way. Every morsel of food that went into my mouth was forced.
“You aren’t eating, daughter,” the shansen remarked.
I picked up a chunk of roasted carp. Swallowed. A fish bone poked the roof of my mouth, and I swallowed it too, almost hoping I’d choke and be sent back to my chambers.
Khanujin chuckled. “She is angry with me for putting her lover in the dungeon.”
“She is fortunate Lord Xina is only in prison,” replied the shansen darkly. “If it had been me, his head would be mounted on a pole in the center of the banquet hall. And I would have forced Sarnai to drink his blood.”
“That would be inauspicious, Lord Makangis.” Khanujin lowered his hand to my shoulder, and squeezed it tightly. “We shall wait until after the wedding for his execution.”
I could feel the shansen studying me, as if waiting for the color to drain from my face. But it was his next words that made me pale.
“I notice your most formidable guest is missing. Where is the enchanter?”
“Away in service to me.”
I nearly choked at the lie, but the shansen frowned. “He pays me no respect with his absence.”
“You pay me no respect by bringing a legion of your soldiers to camp outside my palace.”
The shansen smiled. “Insurance that the wedding will go as planned.”
“My enchanter is preparing his own insurance.”
All lies. I stared blankly ahead as the servants brought out a new dish, one of the final courses. It was a whole pheasant, braised with imported red wine and resting on a bed of glowing embers that sent sparks flying up to the ceiling. The guests clapped at the chef’s finesse and skill.
The smoke wafted to my nose, tickling my anxiety. Edan no longer protected A’landi. That duty was now left to me—to make sure this wedding happened.
If not, the shansen would strike. And A’landi would burn.
I barely heard Chief Minister Yun announce, “Let us toast Lady Sarnai.”
“Yes,” Emperor Khanujin said. “To her health and beauty.”
The court raised their cups to me, unaware of the gleam in the emperor’s eye. I knew he was reveling in the secret knowledge that the shansen’s daughter was writhing in her apartments, brutally injured.
I raised my cup and drank. The alcohol sent a wash of heat over my cheeks and made my lips tingle, but it was not strong enough to wash away the cold seeping into my blood.
As I set down my cup, a familiar face swirled in the cloudy liquid. A low, thick laugh rumbled from its depths, making my hands tremble.
Bandur.
Suddenly, the shansen and emperor’s guests vanished. In their places appeared ghosts with long white hair and sharp, gleaming teeth. Shadows leaked from their lips.
Sentur’na, they called, a word—a name—I did not know. Their arms reached out to touch me, and I jerked away.
Go back to Lapzur! I wanted to scream. Stop following me!
Sentur’na, we are waiting for you. It is beginning. You cannot escape.
All ghosts, except one: in the shansen’s place sat a demon.
It wasn’t Bandur, who took on the form of a wolf. But a tiger I’d never seen before. A tiger whose scorching red eyes seared into me.
You cannot escape.
Fear bristled the back of my neck. “Who are you?”
The demon merely smiled, raising its cup to me while the ghosts clamored:
GIVE IN, SENTUR’NA. YOU CANNOT ESCAPE. GIVE IN—
The fire in the center of the table burned higher and higher as the ghosts chanted. Wine splashed out of their cups, staining my vision red.
Enough! My dress flared, and I flung my wine into the fire.
The ghosts vanished. The tiger demon in the shansen’s place vanished. The fire roared, and my bronze cup rattled and rolled off the table until a servant caught it.
I blinked.
No more ghosts. Only ministers, their wiry beards wet with wine, gawked at me. Even the servants had frozen in place to stare.
The shansen stared too, a deep frown furrowing his thick brows.
“Are you all right, Sarnai?” the emperor asked icily.
Wine dripped from my fingers, and a servant hastily dabbed a napkin at my hands. Another servant refilled my wine.
“Yes…,” I started to say, but then I looked into my cup.
Bandur was gone, but the red eyes weren’t. They flickered like two pomegranate seeds floating in the cloudy white wine.
My eyes.
Terror seized me. I bolted up, throwing my napkin onto the table to cover my eyes with my hands.
Spinning away from the attendants who tried to force me back into my chair, I fled the banquet.