Avoiding the other trainers and their students, Tamra retreated to the stalls. She occupied herself with checking the locks on the doors and shackles. She didn’t want to hear any snide comments or even accept any sympathy. Says something about my life that I’m more comfortable being with monsters, she thought. She patted one of the kehoks on her broad neck. The monster swung her golden eyes toward Tamra and then bared three rows of teeth and lunged forward to snap at her hand. Tamra was quick enough to avoid losing any fingers.
“Yeah, I feel the same way,” she told the kehok, who was glaring at Tamra balefully. Drool dribbled from the kehok’s jaws. “Ugh, people are the worst, right? Myself included. Good thing there’s no chance I’ll be reborn as one.” It had been years since she’d paid for an official reading, but she had no illusions about the state of her soul. Being reborn as human, even as a lesser Becaran, required a kind of balance that most did not have. There was no shame in that. Unless you were destined to be a slug.
Or a kehok.
She should never have let those children try to race. Closing her eyes, she let the guilt swamp her. They trusted me. And I failed them.
She prayed to her ancestors and theirs that they healed quickly. Even if she never saw them again. Even if she never had another student. Even if their parents did take the revenge they’d promised and had her barred from the track. She’d wanted more than those kids could give, and that hadn’t been fair to them. She’d pushed fish to fly like birds, and she should have known better.
Only when she was certain that the grounds were deserted did she begin the trudge home. The desert wind had shifted—the evening wind coming from the east, with a bite of chill. Stars were beginning to poke through the graying sky, and she took comfort in the familiar constellations: the Crocodile, the Emperor’s Robe, and the Lady with the Sword. The lady’s sword was ascendant this time of year, and the three stars that made the blade shone brighter than anything else in the sky. She used to tell her daughter, Shalla, the story of the Lady with the Sword, who saved an emperor from an army of assassins, suffered a mortal wound, and was reborn as a constellation.
Oh, Shalla, what am I going to do?
She had until the next augur payment to figure it out.
Set apart from the city, the training grounds and their practice racetrack were two miles from the closest nest of houses, far enough away to warrant their own river dock but close enough that the road between was well-worn, hardened sand. Beside the road was the mighty Aur River, black without the sun shining on it. Ahead, Tamra saw the soft amber glow from the tightly packed clusters of houses on the northern bank, all with the traditional white walls and blue-tile roofs. On the other side of the river, the southern bank, the palaces of the wealthy were lit with blue-glass lanterns, bathing their white walls in faux moonlight.
You couldn’t tell there had been another riot there yesterday.
According to the other trainers, who loved to gossip, a group of textile workers had gone unpaid, and the business owners had blamed the emperor-to-be for unsigned contracts. Last week it had been dockworkers. Thankfully, both times the augurs had been on hand to help the city guard calm everyone down before the riot got out of control. But the turmoil was only going to get worse until Becar had an actual emperor again. Fun times.
At least tonight seemed peaceful. The night herons were calling to one another, a low croon so soothing that it unknotted the muscles in Tamra’s neck and shoulders. She loved her home at night: the sweetness of the cool air, the serenity of the stars, and the knowledge that she’d be able to see her daughter in the brief moments they were allowed to visit before Shalla returned to the augur temple for another day of lessons.
Tamra picked up her pace, anxious to see her.
She and her daughter lived in a patchwork kind of house, two mud-walled huts that had been shoved together and painted white to create a two-room home, between a spice shop and a weaver’s workroom. It smelled like a mix of cinnamon and citrus all the time, and there was the continuous comforting whoosh-thump sound of the shuttles on the weaver’s loom. Their house was too small to hold a shop plus living quarters, so the rent was cheap. Wedged between the other buildings, it didn’t look like much. But it was their home, and the recent unrest in other parts of the city hadn’t touched it yet. She wondered if the discontent would reach such a boiling point that it would stop being safe to let Shalla walk to and from temple. She hoped it didn’t come to that. Surely, the emperor-to-be would be crowned soon.
Tamra let herself in and breathed in the scent of baking onion bread, her favorite. “Shalla? Shalla, I’m back!” Shutting the door behind her, she braced herself.
A second later, an eleven-year-old girl bounded out of the second room and launched herself toward Tamra. Shalla had shiny black hair, burnished bronze skin, and brilliant purple eyes—her eyes were a legacy from a man that Tamra barely remembered, though she once thought she loved him. She’d named her Shalla, which meant “star,” because she was the light that guided Tamra through the darkest parts of life.
Shalla launched herself into Tamra’s arms, hugging her so tight that Tamra let out an “Oof!”
“Mama, you will not guess what happened!” Grabbing Tamra’s hands, Shalla skipped in a circle as if she were again five years old. A memory flashed into Tamra’s mind of her daughter that young, pudgy-cheeked and mud-spattered, contrasting with the polished young student she was being groomed to become, and Tamra felt like laughing and crying at the same time.
Shalla often made her feel that way, especially these days.
“You sprouted wings and learned to fly,” Tamra guessed.
Stifling a laugh, Shalla rolled her eyes. “Mama.”
“You tamed an elephant and want to keep him as a pet.”
“Mama.”
“You met the Lady with the Sword, and she promised you a ride across the desert on her magical cheetah, but first you had to eat a lake of honey.”
“Mama! I passed the level eight exam!” For the past three weeks, Shalla had barely slept, worried about the exam and consumed by the fear that the augurs had made a mistake in choosing her—only the best souls were reborn as potential augurs. An irrational fear, Tamra thought. Of course my Shalla was glorious in her past life. But now all that worry had vanished, and Shalla was beaming joy with every bit of her body. Tamra wouldn’t have been surprised if she started to glow bright enough to drown out the city lights.
Beaming back at her, Tamra kissed her on both cheeks. “Knew it! You are the most clever, most wise, most brilliant, most talented, most—”
Shalla laughed again. “Only in your eyes.”
“My eyes are the only ones that matter. I see you clearly.” Tamra cupped her daughter’s face in her hands and met her gaze, hoping her daughter could read her sincerity. She meant every word. Shalla was a miracle and a marvel.
Pulling back, Shalla batted her mother’s hands away. “Gah! You’re looking at me like you look at kehoks!”
“I’m looking at you with adoration and admiration!”
“Exactly what I said.” Then she yelped, “Oh, no, I burned it!” She scampered across the room to the brick oven and yanked the door open.
“You didn’t,” Tamra said reassuringly. No smoke. No burning smell. “It’s perfect. Like you.” If she told her daughter that often enough, maybe someday she’d believe it. Her worth wasn’t measured in exam grades or in the approval of the augurs. She was worthy no matter how well she did or didn’t do. Tamra wanted her daughter to understand that at the very core of her being.