Nineth and Elena met in Kyra’s cell that night before the hour of meditation. It would have been almost like old times, if not for the fact that this was the Mahimata’s cell. And the fact that Kyra could sense Rustan, not thirty feet away from her—they were separated by several walls of rock, but still. The Marksmen had been offered cells to sleep in, but had politely declined, preferring to sleep outdoors, for which, Kyra knew, the Kali elders were thankful.
It had been an eventful day, to say the least. Nineth was not the only one to have returned to the Order. In the afternoon, Helen, who had gone to Chorzu to help Tarshana procure fresh supplies, had run up to Kyra and blurted out, “Mother, Baliya and Selene are back!”
Kyra had not expected this; their return just before the Order went into battle was truly a gift, as they were both accomplished in combat.
When they arrived, Baliya had seemed hesitant, Selene relieved, but both had been sincere in begging the elders’ forgiveness, and both swore their oaths of loyalty to Kyra at once. The elders had supported giving them a penance, but Kyra had ruled that penance could wait until the fighting was done. And then she had embraced them—even Baliya, who had delivered Nineth to Tamsyn. Nineth had been a bit indignant about that, but she knew they needed all the Markswomen they could muster for this fight.
“Besides,” she’d said, “Baliya is no longer the Mahimata’s favorite. I am.” And Kyra had to chuckle at that. It felt so good to have Nineth back.
She leaned now against the wall of Kyra’s cell, her feet tucked under a blanket. Her blade hung in a scabbard around her neck; she kept stroking it, as if she couldn’t believe it was there. Kyra had just finished telling her—for the third time—about her duel with Tamsyn Turani.
“Tell me again,” she said, nibbling a leftover samsa she had stolen from the kitchen. “Tell me how you threw her into the river. I wish I could have seen it.”
Elena looked from one to the other. “This is fantastic,” she kept saying. “You’re back—both of you.”
Kyra reached over and touched Elena’s hand. She was so grateful to have been more or less forgiven, her heart felt it would burst. “I wish I didn’t have to leave again.”
Elena’s face clouded. “You’d better come back alive,” she said. “I won’t be able to bear it if anything else happens to either of you.”
“I’ll look after her,” said Nineth. “Make sure she doesn’t do anything foolish.”
“What? Certainly not,” said Kyra firmly. “No novices and no apprentices allowed. Only a full Markswoman may go into battle. That is the rule.”
“Only the novices should stay behind in the caves,” Elena protested. “The three of us should go with you.”
“Three?” said Nineth. “Oh, you mean dear Akassa.” She grinned as a flush spread across Elena’s face. “You know, forget everything else. Tamsyn dead, Kyra the new Mahimata—I mean, the elders are crazy to do that, but who understands elders anyway? The biggest shock to me is the new-and-improved Akassa who follows our Elena like a shade.”
“She’s trying hard,” said Elena. “Don’t tease her, all right? It was such a shock when she failed her first mark.”
“Good thing she did,” Nineth decided. “Took her down several notches. I can almost tolerate being in the same room as her now.”
“Do you feel any difference in your katari after being separated from it for so long?” asked Kyra, trying to change the subject, which she knew was making Elena uncomfortable.
“Not a difference as such, no,” said Nineth. “It is as if I forgot a part of myself and have remembered who I am again.” She paused. “Tell me why you threw my katari into the lake.” There was no judgment in her voice—only curiosity.
Kyra squirmed. “I saw you kissing Hattur Nisalki,” she answered.
“And you were angry?” asked Nineth.
Kyra thought about it. “I was angry,” she admitted at last. “It was a stupid thing to do, and I wish I hadn’t done it. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Part of it was the fact that I was carrying Tamsyn’s blade. It affected me more than I realized. By the time I did realize it, it was too late.”
“So if you hadn’t been carrying Tamsyn’s blade, you wouldn’t have done it?” asked Nineth.
Kyra shook her head. “I don’t think so. But I can’t just blame Tamsyn’s blade for how I felt. I saw you kissing and I was”—she swallowed and made herself say it—“jealous. I thought about Rustan and how much I wanted to be with him. How I was stuck here, and it didn’t matter what I wanted. And how worried we were about you—and there you were, enjoying yourself, without a care in the world. You didn’t even like Hattur that much, and yet you were the one who escaped from here and ended up with him.”
“Was kidnapped, more like,” said Nineth. She looked thoughtful. “Hattur’s not a bad sort. He thought he was saving my life. I like him, but I wouldn’t have stayed with him, even if I wasn’t an apprentice of Kali. But all of this seems to be more about you than about me. What’s going on between you and Rustan?”
Kyra’s cheeks warmed as she remembered the feel of Rustan’s lips on hers, his hands enfolding her, drawing her to him. The beat of his heart against her own. The hitch in his breath as she ran her hands along his hard, muscled body.
She couldn’t tell her friends about that. It was his secret as well as her own. And it meant too much; she would diminish it by talking about it. “He wasn’t too well after the battle of Valavan,” she hedged. “He’s fine now that he’s reunited with his blade, but . . .” She waved a hand.
“He’s surrounded by his Order,” finished Elena. “It won’t ever be otherwise for you two. You know that. And what about you, Nineth. Will you see Hattur again?”
Nineth shrugged, popping the last of the samsa into her mouth. “Maybe, at the next festival in Chorzu. I have to return his horse. But I could be a Markswoman by then. Or I will be one if Kyra lets me go into battle.”
“No,” said Kyra at once. “Please, don’t ask this of me. I couldn’t bear it if you got hurt. It would be my fault.” She hesitated. How to tell them what Astinsai had hinted to her, what she herself now believed? “But . . . about Rustan . . . I think we can be Markswomen and still love other people,” she said at last. “I know Shirin Mam taught us the importance of detachment, but remember, what she actually did was something else entirely. She bore a son. She must have loved someone enough to have a child with them.”
“Or maybe she did it for entirely different reasons,” said Nineth.
“Possibly,” agreed Kyra. “Astinsai, the seer and katari mistress of Khur, told me that the ability to bond with a kalishium blade is inherited. The reason the number of Markswomen and Marksmen have declined over time is because the trait is dying out. We aren’t passing our gifts on to future generations.”
There was a stunned silence. Both girls stared at her as if she was mad.
“Have you told the elders this?” asked Nineth. “They’ll throw you out, never mind that they’ve made the grievous mistake of anointing you the Mahimata while I wasn’t around to prevent it.”
Kyra grimaced. “Not yet, no. But I did tell the Valavians. And I’m telling you. Not that we all have to go out and start procreating—that would be ridiculous and stupid, and I’m sure most of us have no desire to do so. But maybe it’s not a bad thing if one or two of us likes a man well enough to have a child with him.”
“Well, count me out,” said Elena firmly. “I don’t feel that way about boys. Not the way you two do. And even if I did, I’d much rather die than get pregnant. Yuck!”
“I don’t want to get pregnant either,” said Nineth fervently. “Or what is the difference between me and my poor mother who had five babies because the first three were all boys and we needed a girl to carry on the family name and the fourth was a girl, but it was me, and Mother thought quite rightly that she needed a spare, just in case, and look what happened—”
“Yes, yes,” Kyra interrupted, “but there may be others who feel differently. Markswomen who would like to have a child. A child who may or may not be born with the gift but would be loved nevertheless.” She threw her hands up. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m just saying we should all have choice in the matter. Choice in who we love and whether we have children. Our bodies, our decision!”
“Not going to happen,” said Nineth flatly. “Not if the elders have anything to say about it. And most of the older Markswomen won’t like what you’re saying either. Just because Tamsyn is gone doesn’t mean you can overturn centuries-old rules.”
Kyra sighed. “I know. Maybe things will change with time. Otherwise, the Orders may well be doomed to die out.” She noticed their expressions and hastened to add, “I mean, much later. Not in our lifetimes.”
“Do we have to talk about this kind of dark, terrible stuff?” grumbled Nineth. “I’ve had quite enough of it.”
Kyra gave her an affectionate glance. “Of course. How many samsas did you manage to scarf today?”
“Eleven, I think,” said Nineth, with a satisfied smile. “Tarshana’s cooking is the one thing I’ll miss in the Thar.”
“You stay here and recover,” said Kyra. “Regain some of your strength. You’ve gone quite thin.”
Nineth shook her head, decisive. “I’m strong enough to fight. Not even Tarshana’s samsas will tempt me to stay. I’m going with you to the Thar Desert. You owe me, all right?”
Kyra’s head began to ache. She had forgotten just how stubborn her friend could be.
“I’m coming too,” said Elena casually.
“You need to stay here and look after the novices,” protested Kyra.
Elena gave her a withering look. “I already asked, and Navroz said yes. She needs me. There’ll be plenty of wounded, and my skill may save somebody’s life.”
“That’s decided then,” said Nineth. “We’re all going. Akassa can guard us while we save lives.” And she grinned as if they were talking about going on a picnic.
Kyra held her head in her hands and groaned. “I could forbid you from coming.”
Elena laid a hand on her arm. “But you won’t. Weren’t you talking about choice just now? We choose the risks we take. We choose to be with you. Respect our choice.”
The gong rang for solitary meditation, saving Kyra from having to reply. And truly, there was no reply, for Elena was right.