“I’ll be given my post when I return,” she’d told him. “I won’t be home again for a very long time.”
“Good,” Reyem said with a laugh. “Mother and Father can go back to fussing over me.”
“Does it bother you?”
Reyem wiped powdered sugar from his fingers. He had joined a military unit and was faring well, though he had yet to distinguish himself. “I know you deserve it. You worked hard for so long while I grew lazy on compliments. But … I think I may be jealous.”
Mayu grinned. “Reyem, I cannot pity you. If you would try, if you would be willing to fail, you would learn. It’s good to do things you’re not good at.”
Forever after, Mayu would curse those words. Because Reyem had started trying and he’d begun to succeed. She hadn’t understood how well until her father showed up at the Tavgharad barracks.
“Your brother has gone missing,” he’d said. He looked frail, his skin nearly gray from worry and the hardships of travel. “They say he deserted and that he may be dead.”
Mayu had known that couldn’t be. “Reyem would never do such a thing. And I would know if … if he were gone.”
It had taken months, but Mayu had pieced together rumor and fact and finally discovered that her brother—her twin who had been happy to avoid notice in his regiment until she’d goaded him—had displayed such gifts as a soldier that he’d been drafted into the Iron Heart program. The khergud were half myth among the Tavgharad. No one could confirm that they really existed, and yet the stories of their abilities were legendary—as were the horrific tales of what they endured in the conversion and what they lost when it was complete. She had set out to find him, to free him, when she’d been called before Queen Makhi.
Mayu thought her investigation had been discovered, that she would be banished or put to death.
Instead the queen had said, “You’re from Nehlu, one of the larger towns. Is that why you have no country accent?”
“My mother was a teacher, Your Majesty,” Mayu had said. “She wanted us to have every advantage as we tried to make our way in the world.”
“There is little call for elocution in the Tavgharad. Your fists speak for you. Did she teach you a passable curtsy?”
She had not, but Mayu could learn. That was her gift. She could always learn. The queen had offered her an opportunity to save her brother.
Or so Mayu had believed at the time.
Now, sitting in the cargo hold, she heard the Ravkan king’s voice in her head: You are Reyem Yul-Kaat’s sister, and he still lives. If there was any chance her brother might still be saved, she had to take it.
“Where are we?” she asked as the airship began to descend a second time. “This isn’t the palace.”
“The temple fields outside Ahmrat Jen,” said Tamar. She turned to Ehri and the remaining Grisha guards. “This place is too conspicuous by half. Stay alert.”
She wasn’t wrong. The darkness provided cover, but Mayu’s instincts told her they were badly exposed. Maybe instead of finding her brother, she’d only succeed in getting herself killed.
“Here,” Tamar said, handing Mayu a sword belt and a curved blade.
“Where did you get this?” she asked, and fastened it around her waist. The talon sword was the traditional weapon of the Tavgharad, often worn with a pistol, but they weren’t easy to come by, and none of the Tavgharad had been permitted to bring them to Ravka.
“My father,” said Tamar. “It was a gift from one of his students long ago. I’ll be expecting it back. Let’s go.”
“Why this place?” Mayu asked as they walked down the long gangway to the fields where Mayu had once trained to become Tavgharad. Though she couldn’t see them, Mayu knew some of Tamar’s Grisha were stationed around the temple.
“We can’t just go marching up to the palace gates,” said Tamar. “My spies have made contact with Ministers Nagh and Zihun. We’ll meet them in the Temple of Neyar. My scouts recommended a barn farther afield, but the princess insisted on the temple.”
“The ministers will be skeptical,” Ehri said. “We need the temple to give our words weight.”
Neyar. One of the Six Soldiers, the sacred protectors of Shu Han. Mayu knew this temple. She’d been reminded of it when she’d seen the six-sided hall at the Little Palace. It was built as a hexagon, the six entries guarded by slender garnet columns, the statue of Neyar holding her famous sword, Neshyenyer, beneath a roof open to the sky. This was where Mayu had taken her oath when she’d been inducted into the Tavgharad. And this was where she would break it and betray a queen.
They approached through the eastern entry. The ministers were waiting with guards in tow.
“You vowed to come alone,” said Tamar.
Minister Nagh recoiled. “What is this treachery?” he demanded. “You bring Ravka’s trained attack dog beneath the roof of one of our temples?”
Everyone in the Shu government knew of the kebben who served first the Sun Saint and then a Ravkan king. Tamar’s tattoos, her axes, her short hair, all made her instantly recognizable.
“She is the enemy,” said Minister Zihun, and punctuated the statement by spitting at the floor near Tamar’s boots.
Tamar didn’t react, but her golden eyes narrowed, and Mayu wondered at the arrogance of these politicians. Tamar was not someone she would seek to provoke, and Ehri seemed to agree.
“Friends,” Ehri said sweetly, shyly, “I do not believe you think Tamar Kir-Bataar is a threat. If you did, you would never speak to her thus. Not when you know she is a Heartrender. Not when she wears those silver axes as another woman might wear jewels. She has put her life at risk to save mine. I hope you will hear me out.”
“To save your life?” Zihun sputtered. “What is the meaning of all of this, Princess? The queen was supposed to be attending your wedding this very day. Have we sent her into a trap? You must explain yourself.”
“The trap is of the queen’s own making,” said Tamar.
“You dare—”
Ehri stepped forward. “I will explain. If you will only give me the chance. That is why Tamar escorted me here.”
We’re lost, Mayu thought. Ehri had none of Makhi’s authority, none of her mighty presence.
Minister Nagh sniffed. “And what does the traitor get from this?”
“A chance to see two windbags in a temple,” Tamar muttered.
“What was that?” the minister snapped.
Tamar plastered a smile over her face. “I said, a chance to see peace thrive.”
“Please,” said Ehri. “As a Taban princess, I ask you to hear me.”
The ministers exchanged a glance and gave the barest nod. They couldn’t very well deny her, but they didn’t intend to be won over.
“Gentle friends,” the princess began, using the formal address, “my story is a sad one, but I hope you will hear me.”
Ehri didn’t speak like a politician. She told her tale in the cadence of the great poets. It was like listening to someone play music, as if she had her hands on the khatuur at this very moment and was plucking out a melancholy song, each verse revealing a new tragedy: a cunning plot to kill a king, a failed assassination, a sister’s betrayal. No, Ehri didn’t have Makhi’s fire. There was a sweetness in her, a softness that Mayu had never liked. But now she couldn’t help but think of the legendary generals who feigned a weakened flank to lure their enemy closer. Mayu watched as the ministers’ expressions shifted from rigid suspicion to stunned disbelief to outrage and then to fear. Because if Ehri’s story was true, they had no choice but to challenge Makhi.