The cart bounced — another weight climbing aboard — then the resistance fighter peered in beside Lady Dela.
“Ryko, there’s a troop of soldiers coming up behind,” he said with urgency. “Looks like a mountain patrol. They’ve seen us, too. You haven’t got time to get out.” He gave a quick bow to me, then retreated from view.
Ryko frowned. “A troop so high up in the mountains? I hope His Majesty is secure.” He glanced across at me. “We go to retrieve the Pearl Emperor.”
For a moment, relief stole my breath. “He is alive, then?”
“As far as we know,” Dela said. “Ryko says there is a safe place just past the next village. If all has gone well, he should be there.”
She ducked away from the hatch. A worried nod on her return corroborated Solly’s report. “They are coming up very fast, Ryko,” she added. “You need to get into the box.” She grasped my shoulder. “You and I are husband and wife. I am taking you to the Moon Lady Waters for healing. Understand?”
“Does the army know we are in this area?” I asked.
“No, it’s probably just a regular scout party. We’ve got through all the checkpoints so far. Just remember you are my sick wife.” She shut the hatch.
Ryko had already lifted the edge of my straw pallet and was pulling up the planks of the floor.
“What are you doing?”
“Hiding.” He lifted another plank and exposed a hidden compartment. “Sethon is looking for a boy lord, a Contraire, and an islander. You two can switch your identities, but I can’t get any smaller or change my skin.”
“Are you really going to fit in there?” It was a very small space with a carpet of straw dust and a long cloth bundle wedged to one side.
“Here, hold this,” he said, handing me the bundle.
As soon as I touched the rough cotton, I knew it held Kinra’s swords; their familiar jolt of anger seared through me, intensifying the pain in my head. The black pearls around my arm clicked, as if greeting the blades that had also once belonged to my Dragoneye ancestress. I burrowed my hand into the folds of the bundle, exposing the moonstone and jade studded hilts, and the top of a familiar leather pouch; my Dragoneye compass. Beside me, Ryko slid into the cart recess, contorting his big body to fit the shallow space. He held out his hands for the swords. I rewrapped the cloth and returned them, feeling the tug of their power. At least some of the Mirror Dragon treasures were safe. I felt for my waist pouch; the long, thin shapes within reassured me that my ancestors’ death plaques were also safe.
“Help me put these planks back,” Ryko said. “And then the pallet over the top.”
“Will you be able to breathe?”
“Plenty of air.” With a tight smile, he patted my arm. “It will be all right.”
I fitted the planks over his tense face, my fingers clumsy with a sudden rush of fear. A twitch of the straw mattress had it back in place. As I eased myself on to it and rearranged my long white tunic into modest folds, it finally dawned on me what I was wearing — the mourning robe of an almost-mother, the tragedy compounded by the orange sash of an unborn son. I cupped either side of my head, feeling the twisted cloth of the headdress that hid my hair and proclaimed my grief as recent. Not many men would want to come close to such ill luck, let alone search its sickbed. A clever ruse. It also gave a good reason for traveling at such a dangerous time; it was said that a woman could wash away such bad fortune if she bathed before her next cycle in the Moon Lady Waters, a mountain lake special to the gods. Still, it made me uneasy to wear such sad clothing. I touched the red folio in my sleeve for luck, and was comforted by the gentle squeeze of the black pearls.
The cloth flap at the back of the cart lifted. I closed my eyes and tried to soften my quick breaths into the deeper rhythm of sleep.
“It’s me,” a familiar voice said.
I raised my head to see Vida hoisting herself up onto the slow-moving cart. Her usual tunic and loose trousers had been replaced by a housemaid’s gown. For all its modest coverage, the drape of the brown cloth and the artful binding of the sash served to emphasize her generous curves. She lowered the canvas flap and crawled toward me, her skirt snagging on one of the three large traveling baskets strapped against the side panel. She jerked at the garment, cursing under her breath.
“Let me help.” I struggled up onto my elbows. My vision clouded, the cart swirling around me. I fell back on to the pallet.
“Just leave it,” she snapped. Finally freeing the cloth, she closed the distance between us. “You look terrible, although I suppose it fits your disguise.” She took my hand, but there was no comfort in the gesture. “We’ve been stopped before and got through. All you need to do is keep your head. And if you can’t do that, just shut up and play dumb.” Although her words were harsh and tough, her hand was clammy and her grasp too tight.
I looked up at the girl — so closely connected to those who had died — and forced myself to ask the question: “Is your father all right?”
Vida nodded, but her face was cold. “He was not hurt.”
Relief made me smile; Master Tozay was alive. At least I had not killed or injured the leader of the resistance. “I’m so glad.”
Vida did not return my smile. “My father is well,” she continued softly, “but I lost my — I lost good friends among those who died.” Her grip tightened until I gasped. “I have seen your power, lady, and my father insists you are the key to our success. Even so, part of me did not want you to wake up.”
I tried to pull my hand away, but she did not let go. Over the sound of our cart’s progress came the jangling of armor and a harsh call for our halt.
Vida leaned closer. “So far you have done more harm than good. I hope you are worth all this pain.” She released my hand as the cart jerked to a stop.
“In the name of Emperor Sethon, show your pass,” a clipped voice commanded.
“I have it here,” Dela’s voice answered. Her usual light tone had deepened into masculinity.
Beside me, a soldier’s silhouette appeared on the cotton canopy like a stick-puppet in a shadow play. Dela’s angular profile dipped into sight and out again as she passed him a large octagonal token. A Blessed Pilgrim pass — hard to obtain and almost impossible to forge. For a few long seconds, the man studied it. Finally, he looked up and asked, “Where do you travel, merchant?”
“To the Moon Lady Waters. For my—”
“It is a bad time to be traveling. The roads are flooding and an earthshake has destroyed one pass across the mountain.”
“We trust in the gods—”
“How many in your party?”
“Myself, my wife, and our two bondservants.”
“No guards?”
“No, sir. We have a Blessed Pass and fly the official pilgrim banner. Surely we are safe.”
“There have been reports of bandits along this road attacking pilgrims.” The soldier handed back the token. “Have you seen any other travelers? A big islander, a boy, and a woman, perhaps? Or two men and a boy?”
It was as if all of the air had been sucked from the cart. They were searching for us; I had known it as reports and warnings carried to the fisher village, but now it was real. Now it was soldiers around us with orders to capture or kill. I clenched my shaking hands.
“No, sir,” Dela answered.
“Check the cart,” he ordered his men with a jerk of his head.
I pressed myself deeper into the straw and tried to relax my limbs into a listless sprawl. Beside me, Vida rearranged her fierce intensity into meek servitude. We glanced at one another, momentarily bonded by the threat.
The flap at the end of the cart lifted, and two men peered in with swords drawn. They scanned the cart, both of them skimming across my white clad figure to pause for a moment on Vida’s body.
“A woman and her maid, sir,” the older of the two reported.
Their officer appeared, and they both made way for him. He was younger than I expected, with a good- humored face dragged down by weary responsibility. Hanging from a length of leather around his throat was a red jade blood amulet. I had seen them before on ranked soldiers: a carved plea to Bross, God of War, for protection in battle. A blood amulet only worked if it was received as a gift, and one carved from red jade instead of the usual
