6. Diar
Diar
At the same time, in the city of Tsuyan . . .
How severe would the punishment be for dumping wine on a lord’s head? I balanced the goblet between my fingers, staring at Lord Ishida's mop of black hair, longing to humble him.
My imagination would have to do for now—I was in no mood to be locked away again.
Setting the glass down on the table beside him, I grabbed my tray and moved on to the next man.
A hand brushed my leg, caressing from my thigh to my ass. Ishida leered at me as he returned his hand to his lap.
Forcing myself to keep a straight face, I ignored the burning in my cheeks and leg—like someone had rubbed poison where his fingers had been. Father caught my eye, as though warning me to keep quiet.
He held meetings like this with his captains once a month, but this dinner had come two weeks early, hastily arranged at the last moment. An Aenir diplomat named Finan Rohan had arrived, insisting he bore a message of the utmost urgency.
I paused behind the next captain, eyeing the Stormborn diplomat from Aenir. To the lords, I was a ghost. But this white-haired, pale-eyed man kept glancing at me, as if expecting me to give my opinion.
Perhaps daughters in Aenir were allowed to speak.
General Yuudai, my father, wore a stern expression etched in a permanent frown. His countenance had been stuck this way for five years, since the day my brother died.
"Had I not known better," Yuudai said. "I would think you wanted my men sent from the city to leave it defenseless."
Finan shifted in his seat. "We are all as one under Forlaith. You are valued allies. And Killian is not one to lie—if he believes something unusual is happening, then we should take preventative measures."
"None of my men have reported anything." Lord Ishida leaned forward.
I really hated his voice. Haughty, sneering, like he thought himself better than those he spoke to.
"I would think," Finan said tightly. “A Paragon knows more than the average foot soldier."
"A Paragon can still jump at shadows," Ishida said. "Nothing lives beyond the walls but mindless beasts. The garrisons stationed in the south have always been enough."
Crossing to the table's other side, I placed a wine goblet down by Finan. He looked up. "Thank you, dear."
Surprised, I lingered by his side. No one thanked me. My service was expected.
Pulling myself away, I moved on to the last lord. Once he had his drink, I'd have no more excuse to loiter.
And eavesdrop.
The sum of my knowledge about the outside world came from what little I could glean in meetings such as this. I treasured every word.
"What if they're not?" Finan pressed. "What if Killian's right, and this time, they're not enough?"
Southern walls that fought off darkness were faraway thoughts for a girl who'd never left home. Would monsters spill through the lands and claim us all?
Sermons spoke of the great black tide that would one day come.
I set down the final glass and tucked my empty tray under my arm. Yuudai shot me a pointed glare—instructing me to leave. Bowing my head, I turned and nearly tripped on my ridiculously long skirt.
I caught one last statement on my way out.
"We would be fools to dismiss a Paragon's warning outright," Yuudai said. "What, exactly, did he ask of us?"
Father still sounded doubtful. He would probably deny Aenir's request.
Hiking up my gown, I marched down the hall, back into the kitchen.
Mother flitted about with a pair of servants, preparing dinner.
Slabs of smoked fish lay on the counter, generously salted.
Fresh bread piled high in a bowl, beside a chutney made from iceberries.
My stomach growled, but my mother and I ate after the guests departed.
Hoping to avoid conversation, I tossed the tray onto an empty counter and hurried for the other door. Smoke drifted from the fire burning beneath the bubbling cook-pot and wafted across my nose. Stumbling, I pressed my fingers to my burning eyes, remembering fire from a long-ago night.
Screams echoed around me. The sound of steel cutting flesh. A strong hand grabbed mine to guide me to safety.
Akemi led me through flaming halls, sword held aloft. A shadow stepped from the smoke, a radiant blade gleaming by his side.
Blood sprayed across my face as it tore through Akemi's chest. All I could do was scream.
“Diar?” Mother called. “Are you alright?”
Breathing deeply, I pressed a hand to the wall, steadying myself. The visions had only been memories.
Memories that returned every time I smelled smoke.
Mother watched me with a furrowed brow, but didn't say anything. She wasn't very old, yet her face was lined and worn. Thin, pale hands adjusted her taut bun.
She waited until I rose to speak. "You should change into something a bit nicer."
"Why?" I asked, hanging up the apron.
"Lord Ishida wanted to see you tonight."
Gods, no. My head plunked against the door. "Why?"
"So you can give him an answer."
Why did we play these charades? Everyone knew I couldn't say no. Father had already decided upon our marriage; the rest was pointless tradition.
I exhaled. "Alright." Grabbing the knob, I yanked the door open.
My mother's voice chased me into the hall. "Let me know if you need any help."
The manor was cold as the snow outside. Here in southern Muirashi, decorative flair was considered vain and performative. Simple dark walls and wooden floors had wrapped me in their embrace for years.
I liked our plain aesthetic well enough, but I longed to see something different.
Only the echo of my footsteps accompanied me through the silent halls to my room. Shutting the door behind me, I leaned against it and stared at my unmade bed. A long white skirt hung from the frame and pooled across the ground.
Tonight, I would have to say yes to Ishida's proposal. The marriage ceremony would soon follow.
A dutiful wife, mother to several kids . . . I could not picture myself in that fantasy. But it was my inevitable fate.
Leaning off the door, I knelt by the bed and reached under the obscuring bedskirt. I lifted the loose floorboard and dragged it aside to reveal the hidden compartment beneath the floor.
Retrieving the bundle of clothing tucked inside, I rose and dumped its contents onto the bed.
Old robes, a belt, and bracers lay before me. They had belonged to my brother. Father had allowed me to keep some of Akemi's things after his death, to remember him.
Perhaps, five years ago, Father would have given the Aenir diplomat the men he requested. These days, Father was paranoid, obsessed with defending our city.
Five years ago, the Solhearts’ Emperor departed his holy city for the first time in decades. He’d come here for some reason. And assassins had followed him.
Shadows appeared in the flames and struck the holy Emperor. They’d killed a few guards and escaped, leaving no evidence of their identity behind. And in the five years since, nobody had found anything more.
But I knew something. Something nobody would heed, for it came from the lips of a useless girl.
A blazing sword of radiant light had killed Akemi as he defended me. Only a Solheart could have created it—one of the Emperor’s own people.
The assassins were still out there—the traitorous Solhearts who’d killed their holy Emperor. No one had found them because no one was looking for them.
Whoever they had been, they had never struck again.
Father had erred in letting me keep these robes. Over the years, I'd slowly tailored my brother's old uniform to fit me. They hadn't required much altering; I was already tall for a woman, and well-muscled from the years spent chasing Akemi around.
Holding up the dark blue Shatterblade robes, I traced their silver stitches, remembering the day Akemi had presented them to me. My brother had been so proud to become a Shatterblade, the finest swordsmen our country had to offer.
How many times had I clutched these robes and contemplated running away?
Tonight, I'd tell myself, before tucking them back under my bed.
A knock sounded at the door. Kicking the bag of clothes under the bedskirt, I hurried to answer it.
Mother stood outside, idly toying with the wispy strands brushing her forehead. We had matching hair—locks so blue they were nearly black.
"Listen," she said softly. "I remember being your age. And . . . what it is you might not know."
"About the proposal?" I asked.
"Yes." Mother hushed her voice and glanced over her shoulder. "Most men will expect you to consummate the engagement. Your father did."
Her words struck my head and fell to the floor. Furrowing my brow, I glanced down, trying to let them sink in.
Ishida wanted to consummate the marriage . . . tonight?
I dipped my head, dark blue locks spilling loose from their bun to fall around my eyes. In their darkness, I imagined laying with Ishida.
His servants always looked meek, frightened. They bowed their heads and flinched when he raised his hand. Once, he'd stolen a kiss, though I'd tried to rip away. Ishida did not care about anyone's comfort but his own.
The thought of bedding him made me want to throw up.
Mother sighed. "I don't understand why you're being so stubborn. You’re nineteen—well past the age where you should be wed. And Ishida is a perfectly fine man."
That was probably true. I hated him because I didn't want him.
And because he treated me like I already belonged to him.
"Just do as he says," Mother said softly. "And don't complain. It will be over before you realize." She glanced over me. "You aren't dressed yet. Do you need help?"
"No," I blurted out. "I already hailed a servant."
"Alright . . . " Mother reached out and squeezed my hand reassuringly. Lifting her long, trailing skirt, she softly padded down the hall.
Kicking the door shut, I dove back under the bed and grabbed my hidden satchel.
Father had made my marriage arrangements years ago. My brother had been the only one to protest them.
'Let her pick,' Akemi had insisted. Father never listened.
I couldn't stay here and disappear, buried beneath children and the expectation of obedient silence. Couldn't let the years fly by, allowing everyone to forget him.
If no one else would bring the murderer to justice, I would. My brother had given me everything, and I would not let him fade into a forgotten tombstone.
I shimmied into the tight white pants and pulled the ankle-length robes over my head. Fitting a cloak over my shoulders, I leaned down and laced on the black leather boots and bracers.
So long as my hood stayed up, everyone would think I was a man—an off-duty Shatterblade soldier.
I was only missing one thing.
Slipping outside, I looked around for Mother but found an empty hall. Holding my breath, I returned to the main foyer and passed the meeting chamber. The doors were sealed shut, and murmurs drifted from inside. Good, Father and the lords were still in there.
A lonely fire burned in the great room's mantle, casting faint light across the room. Checking over my shoulder, I climbed onto its stone ledge and eyed the display case resting above it.
Akemi's sword had been on display here for five years. Father would notice its absence. Gingerly touching the bottom of the blade, I lifted it off its stand.
All Shatterblades wove ice from Tsuyan's unique formations into the core of their folded blade. They were priceless masterworks.
A cord hung around the cross-hilt. My throat tightened as I slipped it off.
Every Shatterblade wore necklaces like these. They were expected to fill the cord with something that represented their journey as a warrior.
Akemi had never gotten to start his. Maybe I could finish it for him.
Fitting the blade onto my belt, I hurried to the window and pushed it open.
Checking to make sure no guards were around, I jumped into the side yard and closed the window behind me, crouching low as I made my way to our stables.
My boots crunched on the snow and the dead bushes buried beneath the white.
Our stables were small. Father's large brown horse dozed beside a stocky white gelding that had not seen much use in years.
Arrow. Akemi's horse, though I'd borrowed him so much he might as well have been mine, too.
The shaggy beast nuzzled me with his broad head as I entered the stables and strapped his saddle on. My hand shook, and I clasped it against my chest.
Women were expected to be silent and well-behaved. They did not leave their homes without the company of a male family member or their husband.
Running away like this, leaving my fiancé waiting for a woman who would not arrive . . . the punishment would be severe.
Steadying my breath, I led Arrow outside and fit my foot into the stirrup, and finally stopped to think.
Where, exactly, was I going? The assassin from five years ago could be anywhere, and I had no leads.
Swinging up on top of Arrow, I eyed the crystalline formations growing in abundance around the city—glimmers of icy silver in the night.
That diplomat, Finan, had come from Kentoro with a warning of danger.
I'd start there.