Never assignments like rendezvousing with an informant or relaying back a message. This … this is not training. This is Shadow business.
My fingers grip tightly to Yandor’s reins, a paltry anchor as the true meaning of this letter hurls against me. If she hasn’t already, then Kendara plans to name Jonyah her apprentice. For long seconds, I can do nothing, letting the impossibility tear through me. Every part of me screams in denial even as heat rises from my chest into my cheeks. I curl my fingers around the troll bone at my wrist. Kendara wouldn’t choose Jonyah over me.
I scowl at the russet dirt that passes beneath our feet. How dare she not tell me this morning? I clutch the troll bone so tightly that my palm aches.
It occurs to me what the talisman might really be: a parting gift.
My anger suddenly drains, leaving me swaying. Only the shreds of my pride keep me from tumbling to the ground and ripping into the earth at the unfairness. Somehow, in some way, I was not enough.
That has been the constant of my life. Not obedient enough. Not clever enough, except maybe in languages, and what use is that? Not humble enough to suit my betters.
Not enough for the parents who abandoned me, or the monks who raised me, or the officits who trained me.
Although I met Kendara when I was eleven, the first time I fought her was at thirteen, during my final year in the Prince’s Company. By the time graduation neared, not even the officits could best me in the sparring circle. Kendara found me training alone, and when she stood opposite me in the sword ring and ordered me to attack her, I laughed, thinking she was joking.
Blind and weaponless, she defeated me in less than two seconds.
This, she said, meaning her own skill, was what I could achieve if only I stopped pitying my circumstances and started demanding that I become more. That I deserved more.
Kendara always believed I could be something great.
But I spent the last four years devoting myself toward this single goal, and now? I only joined the Queen’s Company because Kendara required it of me—a test of my dedication, she said, of what I would endure to win my place as her apprentice. And I have endured. Oh, but I have endured.
Perhaps my pride was my downfall. The Shadow must not draw attention, must allow herself to be underestimated. For the sake of securing my future at her side, I could lower my head and swallow my pride—except in the sparring circle. Not there, the one place where I’m allowed to fight back, where I can bury my fear of worthlessness beneath the proof of my strength.
What was it all for?
Up ahead, a path cuts away from the main road, heading west. Until now, we’ve been on Keistra’s Flight, which stretches from Evewyn’s southern shores, through the capital of Vos Talwyn, and north to the port city of Byrth. But the path that leads west is little more than a couple of narrow depressions in the grass formed by the passage of wagons and drakes.
The hatchlets grumble beneath their breaths when the guardsmen veer off Keistra’s Flight onto the narrow, uneven trail. I glare at the back of Jonyah’s head and jerk Yandor’s reins, bringing him to a stop. With a worried glance at the growing distance between us and our party, Saengo pauses as well. No one has noticed our departure.
Saengo clutches my arm hard enough to regain my attention. “Sirscha, talk to me.”
I take the note from her, glancing at the words again before crumpling it in my fist and shoving it back into my pocket. To reach the teahouse by tonight, Jonyah will need to leave soon. He’s likely already invented some excuse to gain Officit Boldis’s permission.
When I trust my voice not to break, I say quietly, “I’m going to the teahouse first.”
In less than a month, we will graduate. I will be cast about the kingdom at the whim of the Royal Army, left to rot in obscurity at an outpost for six years until my required service ends. And what then? I have no family, no home, no talent other than fighting.
If I’m not to be the Shadow, then I am nothing.
I am tired of being nothing.
THREE
We remain on Keistra’s Flight, hoping to put as much distance between us and Officit Boldis’s party before we’re missed and someone is sent after us. I briefly consider turning back for Vos Talwyn to demand an explanation from Kendara, but she would never tolerate such impudence.
“You should go back,” I say when Saengo glances over her shoulder for the dozenth time in as many minutes. “I don’t think you’re going to get out of penance this time.”
Saengo’s cheeks flush at the reminder that I’m the only one punished for our shared transgressions.
“It’s possible,” she says, sounding almost hopeful. “But someone has to watch your back. What are you planning to do when we get to the teahouse?”
“Take his place, of course.” Talon’s Teahouse is about a half day’s ride south, directly along Keistra’s Flight. We’ve got a head start. With luck, I’ll have whatever message Kendara wants from “the man with crossed swords” before Jonyah even catches up.
In the past, fellow pupils were known to either sabotage or eliminate one another to thin out the competition. Kendara herself had killed two of her competitors when she’d been in training beneath the previous Shadow.
For her own pupils, she’d chosen to keep our identities hidden. She disliked how the practice drew unwanted attention, especially when the dead pupil turned out to be someone of influence. She also preferred her pupils focus solely on their training and not on one another. However, she implied that should one of us expose ourselves, another pupil could capitalize on it. From Kendara’s mouth, it is all but permission.
But my concern is less about whether sabotage or interference is allowed and more about the repercussions.
The Queen’s Company is run far more rigidly than the Prince’s. The first time I spoke out of turn—a simple, honest question—the officit struck me hard enough to knock me off my feet. He’d wanted me to wear the shame of my disrespect on my face until it healed. After that, I quickly learned my place, for what little good that did. Students like Jonyah delighted in reminding me of their power, cornering me when I was without Saengo or spinning lies that would earn me all manner of penance.
Abandoning our posts, however, is a worse offense than anything Jonyah’s ever concocted. The Prince’s Company is compulsory for children eleven through thirteen, but continuing on to the Queen’s Company is voluntary. When I enrolled—at Kendara’s bidding—I committed myself to the service of the Royal Army and all the consequences therein.
If I’m not outright expelled and branded as a deserter, I will likely have my feathers stripped and my braid cut, demoted to a previous year.
But if I do nothing, then I will lose Kendara, and with her, my entire purpose. There is no punishment the Company can bring down on me that would be worse than that.
Stealing Jonyah’s mission is a dangerous gamble, but it’s one I have to take. I must prove to Kendara that I am the better choice. My entire future depends on it.
By the time we spot the red shingles of the teahouse’s roof, the day has almost ended. A crescent moon hangs low, a silver scythe to cut away the light. The teahouse is a small two-story building with dark columns and a dramatically curved roof ending in splayed talons at each corner. It’s impossible to miss, even in the dark, and a popular stop for travelers in need of refreshment.