Markswoman (Asiana #1)(91)
Kyra bowed her head. “Yes, I am the last of my clan,” she said, “and I have sworn to avenge the killing of my family. But my first duty is to my Order, and while Tamsyn casts her shadow on the caves of Kali, none of us are safe.”
“My dear Kyra,” said Tamsyn, looking like a snake about to strike, “you are mistaken. I had nothing to do with the untimely death of our dear teacher. I loved her, as you did. Return to the Order, and please give me a chance to prove you wrong.”
There were murmurs of agreement in the hall and Kyra could imagine what people were thinking: such a wise, patient Mahimata, to not lose her temper with this insolent child.
Kyra kept her voice as calm as Tamsyn’s. “Give you a chance to murder me, you mean? No thanks. Here there are only you and I, and the sharpness of our blades.”
Tamsyn gave a tinkling laugh that made Kyra feel as if a spider was walking up her spine. “Indeed. And what is it that makes you so bold, little deer? The blade of Shirin Mam, I warrant.”
“I no longer carry the blade of Shirin Mam,” said Kyra. “I will fight you with my katari alone.”
Tamsyn’s eyes narrowed. “Oh really? Then pray tell, where is Shirin Mam’s katari?”
“It has found another guardian,” said Kyra. “Someone who can protect it until its true destiny is revealed.”
“The blade of Shirin Mam protects itself.” Rustan stood and every gaze turned toward him. “But I carry it until it is needed elsewhere.”
He reached into his robes, withdrew the ancient blade from its scabbard, and held it aloft. It caught the afternoon light filtering through the stained glass windows of the hall, and sparkled joyously. There were gasps of wonder from the assembled people.
Tamsyn caught her breath and hissed, “The blade of Shirin Mam belongs to the Order of Kali. By what right do you hold it captive, Marksman?”
“A right greater than yours,” Rustan countered.
Kyra frowned at that. What did Rustan mean? Why had he even spoken? She hadn’t meant to reveal that the katari was with him.
“Explain yourself, Marksman,” said Unduni.
“That’s right, Marksman. Explain yourself,” taunted Tamsyn. “Who are you to lay a claim on Shirin Mam’s katari?”
Rustan looked at the blade and it glowed in response, throwing myriad colors of light on his face, which seemed different, exalted somehow. Kyra’s heart pounded an unsteady rhythm in her chest. She was almost afraid of what he would say next, though she didn’t know why.
“It is strange, how we interpret things,” said Rustan softly. “My mother once told me that she would acknowledge me to the world. I did not believe her, not until today. I lay no claim on her katari but that of kinship. I am Shirin’s son.”
Chapter 31
Deer and Snake
It was a while before Unduni could bring any order to the assembly in Sikandra Hall. When Rustan announced that he was Shirin Mam’s son, the elders of Kali leaped up as one and started shouting at him. Tamsyn advanced on the young Marksman, eyeing Shirin Mam’s blade. She stopped short when Barkav blocked her way, his face ominous. Tiny Unduni rushed between them before they could draw their kataris, and implored them to sit. She swooped down on the elders of Kali, scolding and pleading alternately until they too subsided.
At last she returned to her place at the center of the hall. She mopped her brow with a sleeve and said hoarsely, “If I have to shout one more time, I will lose my voice. You will have to continue without me.” She reached for one of the cups on the tray, and quaffed its contents in a single gulp.
The hall went silent. Rustan sat down and sheathed the transparent blade, his face calm.
Kyra stared at him in shock, unable to believe what she had heard. Rustan couldn’t . . . he just couldn’t be Shirin Mam’s son.
Could he? Now that she thought about it, his eyes, his chin, his brow, even his manner of speaking—they were all rather like Shirin Mam’s. No wonder she had felt she could trust him, almost from the start. Why had she not seen the resemblance before?
Because it was impossible. Markswomen did not take mates. They did not have children. It was against the Kanun. Why hadn’t Rustan told her?
Never once in all their time together had he given her a hint of the connection. She had spoken to him of Shirin Mam, given him the terrible news of his mother’s death, and yet he had kept the secret close to his heart. It hurt that he had not confided in her. Although she understood that it was not entirely his secret to share.
Rustan met her gaze and frowned. Focus, that frown said. Now is not the time. She tore her gaze away from him and back to Unduni.
The mediator spoke, her voice uneven: “What—what the young Marksman has declared is unbelievable, but it is not a topic of discussion for the clan assembly. The day passes. There is a matter still to be dealt with. Do you, Kyra Veer, still wish to challenge your Mahimata?”
“I do,” said Kyra, and the two words fell like the funeral tolling of a bell in the deep silence of the hall.
“So be it,” said Unduni heavily. “It has been many decades since a duel was fought in the clan assembly, and I will repeat the rules for the benefit of those present. There will be no use of the Mental Arts. No weapons may be employed except the kataris of the duelists. No one may interfere or influence the course of the duel in any way, on pain of exile. The duel is not deemed finished until one of the combatants is dead or mortally wounded. The katari of the vanquished will pass into the custody of the victor.” She took a deep breath and raised her hands in benediction. “May your blades be true this day.”