“Felda can wait a little longer, don’t you think?” The elder’s mesmeric eyes held her. Kyra tried to still her thoughts, knowing that it was hopeless.
At last Tamsyn withdrew her gaze. “You are so simple, Kyra. Almost the worst at Mental Arts among the younger girls. You should have accepted my offer of extra lessons. It would have done you some good. At least your thoughts would be a little quieter than they are right now.”
Kyra controlled herself with an effort. The worst of it was that there was truth in what the elder was saying. She resolved to focus better during Tamsyn’s lessons, no matter how the Mistress of Mental Arts goaded her.
Tamsyn’s eyes narrowed. “Shirin Mam will never let you go back to the Thar, little deer. You can wait forever, but she’ll not give you the command to kill another Tau. You have killed the eldest son of the outlaw, and that is punishment enough.”
The words—hard-edged and true—stabbed Kyra. “What of the twelve who slaughtered my clan?” she said.
“Shirin Mam has told you that being a Markswoman is not about taking revenge.”
“I have made a vow and she knows it,” retorted Kyra, realizing that she should stop talking, disengage from Tamsyn and step away, but unable to help herself.
“What is your vow to her?” said Tamsyn contemptuously. “You’ll dance on her strings like everyone else does.” She gave a flick of her fingers and went on, her voice somehow deeper and more compelling: “Years will go by and your vow will fade in everyone’s memory, even your own. The Taus will breed and multiply like the vermin that they are, while the name of Veer will be forgotten. And you—what will you be but a mediocre old Markswoman whom no one respects? Perhaps you will inherit Felda’s miserable little hoard of number-books.”
Kyra closed her eyes. Tears pricked her eyelids and she suppressed them with difficulty. Never weep in front of your enemy, Shirin Mam had said once. Your inner strength flows out from your tears and into your enemy’s grasp.
When she opened her eyes, she found Tamsyn watching her. “What would you have me do, Elder? I must obey the Mahimata.”
“Yes. But perhaps a way can be found. Perhaps I can help you.”
“Help me?” echoed Kyra. How could Tamsyn do that? And more importantly—why?
Tamsyn leaned forward until her lips were close to Kyra’s ear. “If it were up to me,” she whispered, “I would command you to kill the Taus. I would not rest until I had seen you avenge your family. I would walk with you into their camp, blade to blade, and butcher them in their sleep. The desert would drink their blood and I would garland you with their skulls, like the Goddess Kali. I would teach you all the words of power I know—words in the ancient tongue that can bend anyone to your will. And then you would be the most feared Markswoman in Asiana, the bane of outlaws and the scourge of wyr-wolves.”
“But,” stuttered Kyra, and stopped. The vision was too bright, too strong. She saw herself walking proud and fierce through the remains of the Tau camp, bodies falling before her katari like puppets. She saw Kai Tau kneel before her and beg for mercy. She saw herself swing her blade down onto his lowered head, and slice it off from his undeserving body.
The vision wavered and she rubbed her eyes. A small, sane voice within reminded her that it was not up to Tamsyn, and she should thank the Goddess that it wasn’t.
Tamsyn leaned back and smiled, as if satisfied with what she saw. “My time will come,” she said, soft. “And yours will too. Are you with me?”
“Yes, Elder,” said Kyra, making her voice humble. She waited, but Tamsyn was silent. “. . . I should go for class now.”
Tamsyn waved her away and Kyra made her escape, trying not to run.
For the rest of the day, Tamsyn’s words and the vision she had spun kept dancing through Kyra’s head. She thought she should go to Shirin Mam and tell her about the encounter, but something held her back. Perhaps it was the vision itself, and seeing her dream of revenge come to fruition. Or perhaps it was that uneasy feeling that she should have stopped Tamsyn from speaking, and defended Shirin Mam in some way.
But that was ridiculous. As if Shirin Mam needed anyone to defend her. The Mahimata knew her Markswomen inside out, and was stronger than any of them. Even if Tamsyn did make a bid for leadership, Shirin Mam would soon squash her. And Tamsyn knew it.
Still, if it was Tamsyn in charge, she would send Kyra back to the Tau camp. She would order Kyra to execute the killers who still walked free, fourteen years after her own loved ones were dead and gone.
The knowledge haunted Kyra. She felt she was betraying Shirin Mam and, miserable, began to dread her upcoming lesson with the Mahimata.
Chapter 5
The Shining City
The next evening, Kyra and Nineth joined Elena in her cluttered, candlelit cell. The deft, petite sixteen-year-old was Navroz Lan’s favorite student—a “natural healer,” the elder called her. Jars of pastes and bottles full of swirling liquids jostled for space on the floor. Bunches of dried herbs and roots hung from the ceiling. On the walls, she had stuck parchments scribbled with her favorite remedies. Shadows danced over them, blurring the words and dimming the drawings. A faint smell of honey lingered in the air.
“What does the Mahimata want with you?” asked Elena, massaging Kyra’s left shin. Kyra had hurt it in a mock duel during Hatha-kala practice that afternoon. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”
“Of course not,” said Kyra, trying not to wince. “She’s giving me an extra lesson.”
“Better you than me.” Nineth shuddered. “As if it’s not enough, having classes all day.”
Silently Kyra agreed with her. It had been a long day and she was bone-tired. Felda had been deeply annoyed that Kyra missed most of Mathematics yesterday, never mind that it was the Mahimata herself who had summoned her. She had been even more displeased today when Kyra was unable to solve the “simple” derivations she set for the class. Nor was Kyra able to concentrate in Healing afterward; she couldn’t get Tamsyn’s words out of her head, and she couldn’t figure out what she would say to Shirin Mam.
The worst class was Hatha-kala; fatigue and hunger had conspired to dull her fighting skills, and she had been beaten by each one of her opponents. Every part of her body throbbed.
Kyra sighed as Elena’s fingers worked their magic on her shin. “It doesn’t hurt at all now,” she said. “What did you use?”
“Figwort, arnica, and calendula extract,” said Elena, closing the lid on a jar of green-brown paste. “Oh, and a bit of horse dung.”
“What?” Kyra sat bolt upright and glared at her friend. Elena’s shoulders shook with suppressed mirth, and Nineth grinned.
“Very funny,” said Kyra, annoyed. “I won’t need any more of this ointment, will I?”
“You might,” said Elena. “You’re really not in any trouble? Or is there something you’re not telling us?”
The sound of the gong summoning them for dinner saved Kyra from having to reply.