Jaida Jones - Shadow Magic

A LSO BY J AIDA J ONES AND D ANIELLE B ENNETT

Havemercy

To my mom and dad, who always knew this would happen,
even when I didnt.
Danielle

To Jonah, with whom I first imagined different worlds.
Jaida

T his book could not have been written without the incredible, loving shape given to it by our editor at Bantam Spectra, Anne Groell, and our agent, Tamar Rydzinski. Thanks also must be given to our assistant editor, David Pomerico, and copy editor, Sara Schwager, for tirelessly working on this book in all its many stages. Another person without whom this book would never be is our ruthless mom: thank you, ruthless mom, for always saying something didnt make sense when it didnt make sense, and for not giving up when we insisted it did. (Because usually? It didnt.) Thanks also to Uncle David, for driving to Costco; to Grandma Fay and Grandpa Terry, for watching movies on silent with the subtitles while we were writing; to Nick, for always giving us a West Coast home; to Bob, for the mosquito netting and what that represents; to Tide, for never forgetting to ask us why were not Hemingway; to Liz and Caitlin, whose hard work on the LJ community Thremedon made our hard work on Shadow Magic seem a little less mighty; and to all the artists, writers, icon makers, and thoughtful conversationalists who hung out there during the week it was spotlighted, being just plain awesome. We couldnt have done it without you guys and your support. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

On the seventh and final day of mourning for the loss of the war, my brother Iseul came to my chambers to tell me that our father was dead.

I had been expecting the news for some time. There was ritual ensconced in the hour of his deaththis, on the seventh hour of the seventh daywhich made it all the more unsurprising to see the truth in my brothers eyes, lining his mouth and hardening his jaw. The news was no shock to us. Our father had taken his life in apology for our defeat at the hands of the Volstovics, as we always knew he would; all we could do now was join him or suffer his legacy. For either of these, we were equally prepared.

My brother came with black robes and no kohl to line his eyes, rather than with knives of ceremony. I saw then that his decision had been made. In this as in all things, I would follow the path my brother had chosen for us.

Outside the window, just past the quiet gardens of raked sand and contemplation, loomed the broken roof of the magicians dome, like the rounded edge of a broken sky as seen from above, where the gods once sat and watched over us in dominion. It was far enough away that it looked almost like a shattered bowl overset, or a forsaken cup of tea dropped by clumsy hands. What remained of the dome was charred. Here and there the blue stone sparkled, but it was no more than feeble protest in the bleaching sunlight.

The destruction of the dome had been a particularly crushing blow to our people, though perhaps not the one the Volstovics intended. We were not a society based heavily on magic; war had forced our hand in advancing the skill of our magicians. And though in later years the dome became a perfect gathering place for the magicians, it had first been built as a temple of worship for our gods. Its demolition had been a huge blow to the morale of the people, as a symbol more than a practical structure.

Iseul pushed his fingers through his hair, each heavy braid a commendation of his prowess as our fathers general. He was on the verge of pacing, but practice kept him fearsomely still.

The delegation arrives tomorrow, he said. We shall meet them as planned.

The entire city must have known by thenor would soon knowof my father the emperors death. From somewhere deep in the green garden just below my window, I heard the sudden throaty wail of a songbird, trembling upon the air. The sound echoed the faint trembling of my brothers fists, and I averted my eyes.

The dew had barely left the leaves.

Well meet them as though nothing has changed, I said, with the hint of a question.

Iseuls eyes flashed in anger. Nothing has changed, he insisted.

I sank to my knees before him at once when the look in his eyes betrayed the lie. Everything had changed. Our father was dead and my brother the emperor in his stead, and I had shown grave disrespect to my new lord by neglecting to bow to him; shock had overwhelmed all memory of protocol. I struggled with my shame and could not lift my eyes.

Mamoru, Iseul said, in place of how he had once addressed me. Brother. Do not do this. Rise.

I swear to serve you, I said, instead of obeying him. This old custom was more important even than brotherhood. We were no longer two princes, and I had wasted too much time already without acknowledging his new place as emperor of the Ke-Han. In seven ways I shall serve you. In seven ways I shall offer my life to you. In seven ways, if it is in my power, I shall die beneath your blade, as your blade, for your blade. May your reign be prosperous and long. Then, closing my eyes, I strayed from the words Id known since before I could form them with my own mouth, the prayer with which I was born. May the people love you as I do, I whispered. Iseul

My brother held up his hand, fingers spread wide. As always, it was a small sign, but the shame I felt was assuaged by the openness of the gesture. If my brothers fingers had been all together, I would have sensed his anger at my actions, but I had never given my brother cause to close his hand and his heart against me.

Enough, he said, his voice cold. He must have already been preparing, mentally, for the arrival of the delegates. Rise.

I did as hed bidden me. It was as things would be between us from then on, and it was as things had always been, for I respected my brothers elder position just as I loved him, and it stilled the quaking in my chest a little to know that not everything had changed.

What I held my tongue, breathing the way Id been taught to hide the uncertainty in my voice, my movements. What happens now, Iseul?

He shook his head, looking out over the gardens as though expecting to find some answer within their soothing patterns. Of course, my brother was a man who needed no such reassurance. I myself felt an unbidden longing. The sand had no need to worry as to what direction to take, what shape, what form. There was a plan in mind for the sand, and it had only to follow. My brother and I had no such luck.

I fiddled with the smooth, soft fabric of my overlong sleeves, trying not to seem as though I was waiting on my brothers response. Surely the new responsibility was weighing heavily on his mind, and he would have a great many things to discuss with the warlords, our own diplomats, before the delegation from Volstov arrived tomorrow. The proper thing, I knew, was to beg my leave, expecting to be informed of what my new role within the negotiations would be at a later hour, when my brother had taken his time to sort it out. Knowing this, however, did not preclude my stubborn desire to stay nearby. After all, with our father dead, Iseul was all I had of family, and I the same to himfor even as the elder prince, my father had not yet seen fit to find my brother a wife. Now he was emperor, but still my brother, and I would not leave until Id found some sign that Id not lost him to dark thoughts of what was to come. But he would not look at me.