Warrior and Witch (31 page)

“Right,” she said. “Same dance as yesterday. Owairi, Lehant, you’re up first.”

They started out facing each other, hands raised and laid palm-to-palm. Owairi waited for Lehant’s nod, and then she began to sing.

The tune was a simple one, a farming song from Teria, where Owairi had been raised. The melody was plaintive, and the two girls mirrored it with smooth, flowing motions, always keeping at least one hand in contact with each other. Movement with music was part of the point; two bodies moving as one was another part. She was starting them off with choreographed steps, but hoped that soon they’d learn to improvise, to anticipate each others’ actions.

They passed into a complex move, and Lehant lost her balance.

Owairi stopped when her double stumbled. After, or at the exact same instant as? Mirei couldn’t be sure. If the two happened at the same moment, that could be a good sign. Perhaps they were feeling the connection between them.

“Here,” she said, coming forward. “You pressed too hard on her hand, Lehant—leaned too much weight into her. The point of this one is that you should be touching, but without pressure. Keep your own balance, and let her keep hers.” She glanced at the watching audience. “Why was she off balance?”

Indera answered; as much as she might dislike this entire situation, she never passed up a chance to show the shortcomings of the girl she still thought of as a Thorn-blood. “It started before that, when she did the turn.”

“Right, but incomplete,” Mirei said. “Anyone else?”

This time it was Urishin, surprisingly, who answered. “She turned too fast, and had too much momentum.”

Another sign of hope? The doppelgangers were usually the ones to understand the mechanics of movement, not the witches. “Exactly. Watch, Lehant. Imagine a partner next to me; I’m touching her, but not leaning on her. I extend, and then I turn—”

And as she spun, the world spun with her, and she fell on her ass in the dirt.

Indera’s bray of laughter was excessively loud; everyone else gasped. Mirei sat where she was, eyes wide, disoriented, and tried to figure out what had happened.

Ashin appeared at her side. “Are you all right?”

“I thought so,” Mirei said, momentarily indiscreet. “Maybe not. What in the Void happened?”

“You
fell
,” Indera said with satisfaction. “Even the
Thornblood
only stumbled.”

“Let’s get you into the shade,” Ashin said, as if the weak autumn sun were to blame, and helped her to her feet. Mirei’s knees felt like wet paper; the Key had to support her over to a tree root she could sit on. “Have you eaten?” the woman asked, taking her pulse as if she could tell something from that. Ashin could cast simple healing spells, but that didn’t make her a healer.

Mirei’s stomach churned in response. “Yes. In Haira.”

“And how long ago was that? You’re pushing yourself too hard, Mirei.”

But I’m not
, Mirei thought, both irritated and confused.
I’ve done much worse than this before. Not that past stupidity should excuse present
—
but this isn’t a fraction of what I did to myself when I first arrived at Silverfire
.

Granted, she no longer had one of the advantages she’d possessed then. As a young
Temple
Dancer
, she’d learned to retreat inward, to a quiet place within that she could draw strength from; she’d reached for it since rejoining and had found nothing. She suspected it was her connection to Miryo she’d drawn from, and was half entertaining ideas for how to test that theory. Now that she was whole, though, that source was gone.

Still, she wasn’t doing a fraction of the physical work she’d done then. And tiredness wasn’t excuse enough.

“I’m fine,” she said, shaking Ashin’s hand off. “You know how sickeningly rich Hairan food is. Something just didn’t agree with me.”

It sounded lame even as she said it. Ashin gave her a skeptical look. “Am I going to have to talk to Nenikune?”

Mirei had already been through a blizzard of examinations at the hands of the witch who ran Starfall’s infirmary, back when she first showed up and the woman was determined to study the miracle of two bodies made one. She didn’t relish the thought of revisiting the place. “Misetsu and Menukyo, no. I’ll be fine.”

Urishin came trotting up with a cup of water; Mirei accepted it and took a sip, wondering what could be causing this. Dehydration? She knew better than to fall victim to that, although the drink was still appreciated. She’d eaten recently enough, whatever Ashin might think. She was sleeping.

Mostly. She had nightmares about Eclipse on a regular basis. But she didn’t want to bring that up, not to Ashin, not in front of the girls.

“Okay, practice is over,” Ashin said, standing up from her crouch.

“What?” Mirei got to her feet, and was pleased to find her knees had solidified into bone and muscle again. “It isn’t time.”

Ashin looked at her with an uncompromising expression. “Yes, it is. You’re going to rest. Owairi and Lehant are the oldest girls here, and they’re barely twelve; they’ve got plenty of time to learn what they need to. Practice is over for today.”

The Air Key could compete with a boulder in a stubbornness contest, and Mirei didn’t have the energy to argue. “Very well,” she said, and handed the cup back to Urishin. “Dismissed.”

The girls made their bows to her, Ashin smiled in satisfaction, but Mirei did not rest when she went back inside. Instead, she turned her mind once more to the endless, fruitless question of how to save Eclipse.

Chapter Thirteen

Eclipse woke to searing pain, and found his sheets stained with blood.

He was out of bed and halfway across the room before he knew it, one hand clamped over his wrist as though that would save him from the Warrior’s retribution—and he found the scar smooth, closed, not bleeding.

His hands shook badly as he fumbled with flint and tinder, until he gave up and took his candle into the hallway to light it from a sconce there. Alone in the corridor, he turned his wrist up into the light and examined it.

There was blood on his skin; it hadn’t just been a nightmare. And it was still wet. But the scar was quiet—no sign that it was the source.
Had to have been, though. I’m not cut anywhere
.

Back into his room, candle in one trembling fist. Stains on the bedsheets, yes, but small ones. It hadn’t been much blood.

But it was a warning.

“They knew this might happen,” Jaguar said, tapping one finger on a paper that lay on the desk before him.

Anger was much easier to deal with than the heart-stopping terror that had woken him up. “Nice of them to
tell
me.”

“They didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily.”

“This is my Void-damned
life
on the line. I’m
already
worried.”

“Apparently the Warrior gives warnings when an oath is in danger of being broken. I’d heard of it, but didn’t realize it would take this form.” Jaguar sighed. There was no sign in his immaculate appearance that he’d been woken abruptly in the small hours of the morning; his weariness was not physical. “They recommend taking certain steps to prevent the situation from growing worse.”

But it
will
grow worse
, Eclipse thought
It’s unavoidable. Unless Mirei finds me some way out of this
. He prayed for that, but with each passing day his hope grew frailer.

Jaguar was looking at him as if he could hear the tenor of Eclipse’s thoughts. Shoving his dread down for the thousandth time, Eclipse said, “Tell me.”

“Make plans,” the Grandmaster said. “Gather information. It’s legitimate that you would have to plan this assassination carefully; she’s as highly trained as you are in combat, and has magic to defend herself with. Moreover, she’s very well-guarded. Caution is warranted, and caution takes time. They advise you to be as methodical as you can.” The Grandmaster smiled briefly. “And they inform you that under no circumstances will they tell you the first thing about Starfall’s defenses.”

“I’m shocked,” Eclipse said ironically. The only way they could be more helpful would be to feed him misinformation that he’d have to spend time sorting through. But even without that, he could spin it out.

That tiny flash of humor evaporated in no time, though. He didn’t want to do this. Mirage had been his dearest friend in the world, and he’d grown fond of Miryo in their travels. He didn’t want to spend his days planning how to kill the woman they’d become.

Was it his imagination, or did he feel a twinge in his wrist?

“This may take time away from your other work,” Jaguar said, dragging his mind away from his fear.

Other work. “Who needs sleep, sir?” Eclipse asked, taking refuge in irony once more. “You’d be amazed how much I can get done. Speaking of which, is there anything new?”

The Grandmaster gave him an unreadable look. Was it the flickering light of the candles, or did he see sympathy and concern? Probably just Eclipse’s tiredness talking. Jaguar took care of his own, but nobody would ever accuse him of being soft-hearted. “In the morning,” Jaguar said. “You can’t afford to make mistakes out of weariness.”

True enough, given the game he was playing. But Eclipse doubted he would get any sleep. “Very well, sir.”

Satomi took a seat before the mirror in her private quarters, arranged her skirt, and waited.