Markswoman (Asiana #1)(77)

Kyra turned to resume climbing, and stopped short. Someone was cat-footing along the first-floor gallery ahead of her. Even without her blade, she sensed it was Shurik. Sure enough, he appeared a few moments later, his boyish face framed by the light of the oil lamp hanging at the top of the stairs.

“What are you doing still up?” asked Kyra, wary.

He shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d wait for you.” He came down the stairs and sniffed. “You smell nice. I’m dying to have a bath myself.”

“You’ll get your turn tomorrow morning,” said Kyra.

“Yes, I can just picture myself, sweating in the hot room between Ghasil and Ishtul,” said Shurik with a wink.

But Kyra sensed that his heart was not in it. “What’s the matter?” she couldn’t help asking, although she could guess, and she didn’t really want to hear it spoken aloud.

Shurik ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “I don’t know,” he said. “I thought I could do this, come here and run whatever errands the elders wanted me to, and wish you godspeed with a smile. But it’s too hard. I can’t bear the thought of losing you.” He added hastily, “As a friend, of course.”

“It’s hard for me too,” said Kyra, choosing her words carefully. “But the right thing is rarely easy to do. In fact, that’s probably an excellent way to choose your course: What’s the most difficult and thorny path of all? And then take that one.”

“What?” he stared at her, surprised. “Kyra, that might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Or the wisest. I’m not sure.”

“Thank you,” said Kyra drily, shaking her head, moving past him up the stairs. “Now, if you will excuse me, I need to sleep.”

“Stay awhile and talk?” said Shurik, trailing after her. “In three days you’ll be gone and God knows if I’ll ever see you again, and all you want to do is sleep?”

“Hush,” she hissed. “You’ll wake them up.” They were walking past the rooms that had been given to the elders.

“I don’t care,” said Shurik. “Let them wake up. I’m not scared of those old bats.”

“Bats?” drawled a familiar voice. “That’s a new one, Shurik.”

Kyra stopped, astonished. It was the Maji-khan, leaning against the railing of the gallery ahead of them. How had they missed seeing him in the lamplight? Perhaps he had the gift of camouflage, like Ria Farad.

Behind her, Shurik cleared his throat. “Gnats. I was complaining about the gnats. They’re always flying about at this time of the night. I think I’d better go to bed.”

“Yes,” said Barkav. “You had better go before those gnats decide to come after you.”

Shurik left so quickly that Kyra could have sworn she felt a breeze. She quenched the mirth rising up inside her and met Barkav’s gaze.

“Has the boy been troubling you?” he demanded. He raised a hand. “No, don’t answer. I know that you will not admit it. I have let this go on for far too long. Perhaps I should not have let him come with us to Kashgar. Saninda did speak against it.”

Kyra stifled her indignation with difficulty. What did he mean, he had let this go on for far too long? What was this? “I don’t know what you mean, Father,” she said. “Shurik is my friend and I have been glad of his company. There is no trouble of any sort.”

“You know what I mean, Kyra,” said Barkav. “I’ll not see a promising young Marksman—one who is exceptionally gifted in the Mental Arts—lose his wits because of a childish infatuation. I will send him back to Khur tomorrow morning.”

Kyra bit her lip. He would send Shurik back through the desert alone? Suppose he was attacked by a gang of outlaws or caught in another storm on his own? How would he survive?

“Father, there is no trouble,” she said at last. “I will come to you if there is. You have my word. There is no need to send him away. It’s only a matter of three days.”

Barkav frowned. “Yes. Three days before the meeting in Sikandra. I will be busy with the Kushan and Turguz clan elders, but perhaps I can spare Ishtul to work with you on the different forms of katari duel.”

Kyra quailed at the thought of individual lessons with the dour Ishtul. “Thank you for the offer, but please don’t trouble the elder,” she said. “Rustan has taken me through all the forms in great detail. I can practice them on my own.”

“Fine, see that you do,” said Barkav. “You may take a couple of hours to explore Kashgar tomorrow morning, but after that I expect you to practice for the rest of the day. I will send for you in the evening, and then you will duel with me.”

Kyra gasped, but Barkav slipped away before she could say another word, silent and graceful as a cat despite his bulk.

She went to her room, bolted the door from within, and collapsed on the bed. Duel the Maji-khan? She doubted even Rustan had done that.

*

After an early breakfast of fruit and milk brought up on a tray by a serving girl, Kyra set off to explore the town. She took her own katari, leaving Shirin Mam’s blade underneath the bed, buried in her little bundle of clothes. Ever since Shirin Mam had told her to leave her katari with Rustan, the ancient blade had begun to feel more and more like a burden. Was that why she had also not heard her teacher’s voice in so long? Despondent, Kyra slipped out of the guesthouse, careful not to draw attention to herself.