The Heart Forger (The Bone Witch #2)(86)

Leave me alone.

Tea, I’m only trying to help—

“Well, you’re not!”

Startled faces look back at me. “Tea?” Zoya asked.

Flushing, I scrambled to my feet. “I have to get ready for the party,” I mumbled, avoiding my brother’s gaze. “I’m going ahead.” I hurried out before anyone could stop me.

The long walk back to my room felt like it took forever, and my legs gave out the instant I reached my bed. I threw myself onto the covers and spent half an hour weeping furiously.

I’d never killed anyone before. Perhaps it was foolish of me to think I never would. Even worse, I knew I would do it all over again. I felt revulsion; I felt sick.

But I felt no remorse, not even for the poor soldier with the wife and son. With the assassin, all I could remember in those moments leading up to the kill was anger, fear that he would kill Kalen—and a curious sense of satisfaction.

Am I a bad person?

I hadn’t expected Fox to answer, given how I’d left him, but his words came quickly, wrapping around me like a warm cloak.

You worry too much about being a good person to be a bad one.

I killed someone.

So did I. Many times. Does that make me a bad person?

Of course not.

I can’t say that it gets easier, Tea. We may hold the sword, but it’s circumstance that deals the killing blow. He sighed. I don’t know how to make this easier for you, love. That’s always been the problem—it never gets easier. But taking a life is not supposed to be easy, and you are a good person. I never had any doubts about that.

Thank you. I smiled into the darkness, the weight off my shoulders for the moment. Still, I looked down at my heartsglass, half expecting to see the beginnings of black there, as Aenah promised it would. But all I saw was silver.

? ? ?

Kion royal parties and balls were extravagant affairs, but the Daanorians put those memories to shame. I do not know how much was spent to finance this ball, but I was certain it surpassed the annual budgets of other smaller fiefs. Fireworks dotted the sky with explosions of color and light, and the resulting smell of gunpowder was an odd contrast to the scents of incense, roses, and perfume hanging heavily in the air.

Ice sculptures taller than I was depicted scenes from Daanoris’s past: the successful war against Tresea; the first emperor of Daanoris, Golgolath, leading his soldiers into battle; his marriage to the beautiful Faimei. Some of the sculptures were not as historically accurate. One ice scene had the Great Hero Anahita the Mighty riding the skies on the azi, and the Daanoris’s subsequent battles against Istera had not been as triumphant as these scenes made them out to be.

Five long tables were piled high with food, most of them delicacies I was not familiar with: roasted crackling pork belly, dumplings surrounded by soft, silken curds made of soy milk, spicy noodles in red and green pepper sauces, and braised white chicken in ginger-oyster dressing. I parked myself in front of the banquet table and helped myself. Morose as I was, I did love food.

Not for the first time that night, I wished Fox were there to make amends with, though no doubt he thought I needed more time to myself. The language barrier made it difficult to initiate conversation with the Daanoris, but a few of the noblemen persevered. Word had spread about the fight with the savul. Since the azi was venerated by the people of the kingdom, I soon attracted, much to my horror, a throng of male admirers clamoring for a dance.

Asha are trained to be more than fighters; we are entertainers, conversationalists, listening companions. Not wanting to cause a scene, I accepted the men’s invitations, trying to inject as much cheer as I could with the little Daanorian that I knew.

Already I’d seen Shadi and Zoya, each with their own bevy of admirers. Much to my amusement, it was Likh who attracted the most number of men, and the terrified expression on his face only spurred them on.

Khalad approached the group surrounding the male asha, oblivious to the dark stares thrown his way. The boy’s face lit up when he saw the forger approach and wilted somewhat when the latter began to talk. A few seconds later, and Likh was excusing himself from his admirers, glancing wistfully at the dance floor and then ruefully back at Khalad as they left together. For someone whose job was to examine heartsglass, I thought, Khalad was woefully inept when it came to reading Likh’s.

“Pet azi?” my dance partner asked, my seventh for the night. Every suitor I’d danced with had asked a variation of the same question, and it was becoming harder not to force my smile.

I had racked my brain for the Daanorian equivalent of “equal” earlier on but had given up. “Yes,” I lied, for the seventh time that night. “Pet azi.”

There was the sound of drums, and all heads turned to look at Emperor Shifang at the doorway with Princess Inessa on his arm. The Kion noblewoman was stunning, decked in gold and silver from head to toe, handmade embroidery trimmed the edges of her dress. There was a hush over the onlookers as their ruler led his betrothed to the ornate thrones and then the sound of knees falling to the ground as everyone prostrated toward him and their future empress.

Once seated, Emperor Shifang called out a command, and the dancing resumed. All too quickly, I was whisked away again by another Daanorian waiting his turn.

“Beautiful,” my partner breathed. “Stay in Daanoris longer?” He rattled off a string of words I didn’t know, going on and on until finally ending with a question and looking back at me hopefully. “Pardon me?” I managed, not entirely sure what I was answering or if a guesswork yes would bring me more trouble than a no.