The Ghost Tiger's Lament

Chapter Two

Light footsteps woke Ashne from an uneasy slumber. She rose silently, brushing straw from her clothes. From the darkness outside the bamboo slats of her tiny cell window, she guessed that it was the hour of the rat, perhaps nearing the ox.

The footsteps padded closer, too swift and insistent to be the pacing of a guard. Right as they reached her door, they stopped. Ashne stood. The lock clicked, and the door swung open to reveal a grinning Zsaran, candle in one hand and string of keys in the other.

“You have straw marks on your face.”

Ashne raised a hand to her cheek. Dropped it. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Zsaran made a little huff of exasperation. “Neither should you.” She tucked the keys into her waist sash.

It was a relief, Ashne thought, to see Zsaran back to her normal self. But she said quietly, “What if they were right? What if we got the wrong b— the wrong person?”

Zsaran stilled and looked up at her.

Ashne bowed her head. “What did you come for?” she said at last.

“Silly. Isn’t it obvious? You’re in no condition to be lounging about in a place like this. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Ashne ignored the mild chiding in her tone. “They’ll kill us both.”

“The lady would never allow it.” Zsaran reached for Ashne’s hand, but still Ashne did not move.

“Nor shall I,” announced a deeper voice from the hall outside. Ashne whipped her gaze to the door, but as Zsaran did not react, she stilled.

In strode the broad, sturdy figure of Minister Muntong.

“Earth Minister!” Surprise stirred within her, mixed with apprehension.

“The Minister’s on our side too,” Zsaran explained. “What, you didn’t think I beat up the guards again, did you?”

Muntong inclined his head, unsmiling. The candlelight deepened the lines of his face, highlighted the gray in his beard. “I have a mission for you,” he said in smooth but accented Awat.

Zsaran continued blithely, undeterred, “It’s that foreign sorcerer, isn’t it? And here I thought the Lord Speaker above such ‘superstitious nonsense.’”

“You would be correct. My lord is more cautious than he seems.” He hesitated. “But it is not for him that I come tonight.”

This seemed to catch even Zsaran by surprise.

“You have perhaps not heard of the inheritance dispute among the ruling family of Zhae.”

Ashne shook her head.

Zsaran frowned. “Zhae — ah, you mean Tai of the Court. Sure, what do the northerners have to do with anything?”

“Both parties seek an alliance with Awat. To strengthen their respective claims.”

“Huh! I suppose they wish for our dear Princess Sarabis’s hand in marriage.”

Zsaran must be right, Ashne realized. Perhaps that explained the princess’s presence at the summons that morning, and the staged atmosphere of the earlier proceedings. Still, the pieces refused to fall into place.

“But why us?” asked Ashne. “Surely an alliance with another domain of the Court would be of far more benefit to them?” She knew very well what those of the Court thought of them; that two lords of the Court now wished to be bound by blood to Awat seemed utterly inconceivable.