In the Skin of a Nunqua (5 page)

“I’m loyal to Willovia.”

“Show me your arms.”

Her breath stopped in her chest as she remembered being alone with Caravey in a similar situation. Caravey had given her an order to change for him, plunging a knife into her gut when she disregarded his command.

“Finally,” he said, “a crack in your shield. Maybe now we can get somewhere. Show me your arms.”

“And if I refuse, sir?”

“Why would you do that?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“I would like the decision concerning my promotion to be based upon my abilities, character, and actions during this training, not on my past.”

“Don’t shit me. You flaunt those scars for attention. Why refuse my request to see them now?”

Commander Gy wasn’t Caravey. He didn’t have healing power that made him invincible. She lifted her sleeves. Seven straight scars marred the flesh— seven memories of her former life. The scars got her noticed by the right people, but they could also ruin her chances of advancement.

The tone of his voice changed from loathing to frustration. “Do you understand how much I’ve risked by allowing you into this training? If you’re loyal to Willovia, why do you bear the marks of a Nunqua? Why did they train you? You’re Willovian. It’s unprecedented.”

Could she trust him? Shanti understood that his conduct toward her was not a true reflection of his feelings. Trainees were supposed to be treated with the utmost contempt. Her affiliation with the Nunqua was known among the soldiers, but she had concealed the depth of the connection. “They,” she said, aware that the blink of her eyelids and the pause in her speech betrayed her emotions. “My father—”

“Stop shillyshallying.”

“The Nunqua forced me out of Willovia after both my parents died. They trained me as a warrior, like my father before me.” She rubbed the scars on her forearms, breaking her stiff posture in a moment of reflection. “But I . . .” She wanted to say “escaped,” but that was too telling. “I left.”

“What do you mean, ‘trained you like your father’? Speak plainly.”

“I’m not entirely Willovian. My father was a Nunqua warrior.”

“What!”

“My father was—”

“I heard you,” he said. “Just not sure I believe you. And your mother?”

“Willovian.”

“You’re
half
Nunqua?”

“Yes.”

“How’s that possible? There’s no interbreeding between the two races.”

She dared look directly at him. “Breeding is for horses and dogs . . . sir.”

“You have no spots, no red lips,” he said.

“I look like my mother.”

“What was your mother’s occupation?”

“Homemaker. Raised sheep, chickens, a few milking cows now and then. Whatever it took to survive.”

“Did she entertain many guests?”

“My mother was not a prostitute,” Shanti said. “I knew my father. He brought us money, food, gifts. He taught me the Nunqua language and how to read, told me stories.” An unexpected spasm of grief hit her. She hadn’t thought much about her mother and father for a long time.

“Why did you leave the Nunqua to join us?”

“Because their cruelty went beyond the cutting of my forearms.”

He retrieved her wristlet from a nearby table and inspected it, touching the latches and coils. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

She smirked, unable to resist telling the tale that had entertained so many of her companions. “Bought it from a hag who was half mad and blind in one eye. Her teeth were greenish-gold from chewing beetle wings. The flecks of gold you see on the hollow tips of the darts are the poisonous innards harvested from the beetle. Guaranteed to kill a man in a day.”

“Not much use in battle, then,” he said.

“I don’t harbor any delusions that I’m physically strong as a man, so I compensate for it in other ways.”

“You have strength enough.” He gave her back the wristlet, then paced in the room.

Shanti fastened the weapon to her forearm. Perhaps the beetle story had been too informal for the occasion, better suited to an inn than an inquisition. Besides, she didn’t want him to think ill of the Nunqua. “I’d like you to know, Commander,” she said, “not every Nunqua is brutal or addicted to beetle wings. My uncle and his family have always treated me well. They live honorably in—”

He waved his hand, indicating he wanted silence. She stared ahead, awaiting his decision concerning her promotion.

He laughed unexpectedly, mischievously. His condescending attitude disappeared, and a genuine smile warmed his face. It was as if the mask had disappeared and she was permitted to see the man. “You’re perfect, Shanti—more than I could have hoped for. Your training is complete, and your secret is safe with me. For now.”

Commander Gy didn’t spurn her because of her Nunqua heritage. He had called her perfect. Perfect for what?

“Do you know who nominated you for this training?” he asked.

“I suspect it was Gray St—I mean Commander Edwyn—but I’m not certain.”

“It wasn’t Edwyn,” he said. “It was I.”

High Commander Gy, whom she had never met before her first day of training, had nominated her. But why?

*

Shanti lingered in an alleyway and watched people enter a crowded tavern. Through the open door, she saw a waitress balancing a tray of mugs over her head. A boisterous voice told indecent jokes, and someone sang off-key.

An autumn breeze chilled the air, and she tried to smooth the wrinkles out of her dress without success. Her clothing had been crumpled inside a bag for the duration of her training, when all she could wear was a uniform. The dress used to be nice, but now it smelled musty from being packed away. It felt good to let her hair down, although wearing the dress made her uncomfortable since she had gotten so used to the uniform.

A rat scuttled along the ground and stopped to sniff a discarded shoe. The crescent moon reflected in a rain puddle. It was getting late. The merriment might end before she even arrived. Had she forgotten how to relax and join in a friendly conversation? If only she didn’t have to go in alone. But what the hell—she deserved to have a good time.

Shanti left the alleyway, crossed the road, and entered the tavern. Everyone cheered.

Men and women gathered around her, eager for adventure, wanting to hear grandiose tales full of bravado. One young man shoved a mug of ale into her hand. “I knew you could do it. How many started training with you?”

“Seventeen,” she said, surprised by the attention.

“And how many were promoted?

The young man’s smile was boyish, charming. Shanti couldn’t help but smile back. “Four.” She took a sip of warm ale.

The waitress tapped her on the shoulder. “They’re waiting for you at the commanders’ table.”

“Too good for the likes of us now.” The young man gave her a congratulatory hug and a quick kiss on the cheek. The crowd around her dispersed.

The tavern, popular with the soldiers, smelled like smoke, alcohol, and perfume. It was the first time she had visited the place or had a reason to celebrate since her training began.

There they were, at a table by the fire: commanders of the camp—respected leaders, pitiless taskmasters, the most feared men in the Willovian military. And there was nothing boyish or charming about them.

Commander Coda sat with his back to her. It was Coda who had given her a bloody nose when he tripped her on one of the obstacle courses. Next to Coda was the commander who had stolen her boots, tossed them up a tree, and made her train barefoot. Commander Gy was also at the table. He conversed with Commander Hajari, master of swords, whose unnerving stare made even the strongest soldiers want to crawl under a rock and hide.

Yet none of them had ever slashed her with a knife and calmly watched her bleed. Caravey’s voice resounded in her skull.
The fires of combat do not burn in their bellies. They are soft—sheep ready for the shears or the slaughter. I made you greater than them all.
She shook her head to rid herself of the presence that often engulfed her thoughts. She supposed it was normal; Caravey had taught her first.

Commander Coda moved over to make room for her on the bench. “Have a seat.” His tone was oddly pleasant. Shanti set her mug down on the best table in the tavern, reserved exclusively for the commanders. Coda put a shot of liquor in front of her. “You’ve earned it.”

A compliment? She lifted the cup. “You didn’t make it easy.” The fiery drink filled her mouth and drained down her throat.

“It’s not my job to make it easy.” Coda lifted his own glass in a toast. “To the meanest woman I’ve ever met, who can give as well as take, and who’s a hell of a lot of fun on an obstacle course. Congratulations, Commander.” Coda gulped down his drink, then refilled his cup from a bottle on the table.

“I’m not mean,” she said. The men at the table laughed. Even quiet, stone-faced Hajari cracked a smile.

“Do you know where you’re going after this?” Coda asked.

“The castle,” Shanti said. “I’ve been assigned as the princess’s personal guard.”

“I don’t envy you.”

“It’s only for a short time. When spring comes, I’ll accompany Commander Gy to a new camp.”

Coda turned to Commander Hajari. “Who’s in charge of the royal guards at the castle?”

Hajari answered in a voice that reminded Shanti of a snake, if snakes could speak. “I believe it’s High Commander Kyros.”

“Not good for you,” Coda said to Shanti.

“Why not?”

Hajari spoke in his usual aloof hiss. “Kyros is not fond of women.”

“Oh, he’s fond of women, all right.” Coda stopped a passing waitress and ordered another bottle. “As long as he can get under their skirts. You wear the uniform of a soldier, a female commander. He’ll not like you. Unless . . .”

“Unless what?” she challenged.

Coda’s hearty laugh drowned out the noise of the tavern. He smacked Shanti good-naturedly on the back, propelling her head and shoulders forward. Commander Coda didn’t know his own strength sometimes. Or maybe he did.

It seemed strange to be talking with the same men who had treated her so terribly, told her she was a waste of skin. But she knew that their cruel games were just that: games to test her competence under pressure. Other soldiers quit rather than suffer through the ordeal. Shanti had learned to play the game long before she became a member of the Willovian military, and she was good at it.

“Don’t let Kyros push you around,” Commander Gy said.

“But he outranks me.”

“And
I
outrank
him.
” Gy took a pipe out of his pocket and stuffed the chamber with tobacco. “Remember, you work for me.”

Coda drank another shot of liquor in one gulp and set the cup on the table without so much as a waver. “Where’s home for you, Shanti? Are you going to visit your parents before starting work at the castle?”

“Both my parents are dead.”

“Sorry. Brothers or sisters?”

“Only child.”

“Family?” Coda said.

“I have an uncle. He lives far from—”

“You can stay with my family for a while,” Gy said. “It’s on the way to the castle.”

Stay with the high commander and his family? As uncomfortable as that would be, it was an offer she must accept. “Thank you, sir.”

“I’ll expect you in a few days. It will take at least that long to get reacquainted with my wife.” He puffed on the pipe with an air of self-satisfaction. “Give her what she’s been missing.”

“A few days,” Coda said, “or a few seconds?”

Everyone except sword master Hajari laughed at the joke. He scrutinized Shanti with slanted eyes sunk deep in a weathered and serious face, like a serpent eyeing its prey. Hajari nodded once—a small gesture of approval that meant more to her than all the free drinks and backslaps of the other rowdy soldiers put together.

*

Shanti stayed three days with Commander Gy, his wife, Tova, and their two children at the family’s farmhouse. She slept in a small room by the kitchen and helped Tova cook and gather food from the garden. Plenty of time was available to take her horse for long rides through the countryside and visit the town. The night before she was to leave for the castle, she sat alone with Gy before a dying fire.

“Do you know why I nominated you to undergo the training to be promoted to commander?” Gy said.

“No sir, but I’ve been wondering about it since you told me. I don’t remember meeting you before the first day of training.”

“That’s because we had never met. Commander Edwyn told me about you. He considers you a natural leader and said your skills are above average.”

“Really?”

“He also called you arrogant, reckless, and antisocial.”

Shanti nodded. That sounded more like the Commander Edwyn she knew.

“I also reviewed the incident involving Mossgail, and although you were never officially implicated in the theft, we know you were involved. Hell, everyone knows it. You disregarded the law to expose—dare I say, humiliate—a corrupt commander and see that the medical section got the supplies they were entitled to. Although I cannot and will not publicly support your method of dealing with Mossgail, it’s one of the reasons I chose you for this mission.”

“The mission to guard the princess?”

“Those are your official orders. I have another mission for you—something far more important.” He got up and pumped a bellows to feed the flames. “An untested leader is no leader at all.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Before being promoted, you were tested to see how you handled pressure. I tried to get you to quit the training, made it so that every other candidate there hated you—even Commander Taran. I suspect he had great affection for you in the beginning. And you for him.”

Was it that obvious?

“As much as the other candidates learned to hate you, they listened to you, and they would go into battle with you.” Gy set the bellows down, then returned to his seat. “Your mission is not simply to guard Rega Bayla, but to test her as we have tested you.”

“Test the princess?” she said.

“You’re a commander now. You will lead a handful of soldiers, give orders, and expect those orders to be followed. One day, the princess, as queen, will be in command of the entire Willovian military, yet she doesn’t know what it means to be a soldier. It’s the duty of the Guardians of Willovia to train her. And to test her.”