“She’s right,” Kehn said from the driver’s seat. “Ayt’s the one who caused offense. Also, no one in No Peak has actually seen the bitch fight. Shae-jen has as good a chance as anyone.”
“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” Hilo snarled at his Horn, something Shae had never seen before. “Ayt’s always searching for ways to get at us. Now she has a clean blade and the chance to cut off my little sister’s head with everyone watching. She’s got to be fucking ecstatic!”
Shae had to admit there was a painful irony to the situation. Four years ago, she’d been ambivalent about even returning to Janloon; now she was sacrificing a relationship, a pregnancy, and most likely her own life to defend her position and reputation as Weather Man of No Peak. She was not usually the bold and reckless one—that had always been Hilo’s role in the family.
How things change. Then again, all the actions Ayt Mada had publicized as evidence of her weak character—dating a foreigner, working for the Espenians, taking off her jade, and leaving the clan to be educated abroad—had been rebellious declarations, attempts to prove herself equal or better than her brothers. She wanted what she was told by others she couldn’t have, was willing to dramatically self-immolate rather than accept terms forced upon her. So no, some things had not changed after all.
The door to the prayer room slid open and Hilo came in. Shae did not get up or turn around to face her brother, but to her surprise, he knelt beside her and touched his head to the ground the customary three times. She had never even seen him come into this room before.
“I didn’t think you believed in the gods,” she said when he straightened.
“I don’t,” Hilo said, “but the feeling’s mutual, so maybe they won’t hold it against me.” His jade aura was still humming at a higher pitch than usual, but he was calmer than he had been. Perhaps Wen had talked to him; she always seemed able to smooth her husband’s thoughts. Shae could hear her sister-in-law’s footsteps upstairs, pacing with Ru to settle him down, and she could Perceive Niko’s soft energy, asleep. She thought about how she might not live to see either of her nephews grow up, and an ache bloomed in her chest.
Hilo muttered, “If this is supposed to be peace, I think I prefer war.”
Shae glanced at him. “Ayt had us in a bind, and she knew it. Whether I resigned or not, No Peak would be damaged. We would be seen as weaker than the Mountain. Tearing me down would’ve been only the start.” She faced the shrine again, chin raised. “No matter what happens tomorrow, we’ll have taken that leverage away from her.”
“As if that’ll do us much good if you’re dead.” Hilo turned to her with a ferocious glare. “You didn’t listen to me; you never do. You did your own crazy thing as usual. So now you have to go through with it and win.” He seized her upper arm in a painful grip and forced her to meet his eyes. “It’s true what Kehn said. You have a chance to put Ayt Mada in the ground. We both know that anything can happen in a fight, and a duel is fought in here”—he tapped the center of her forehead with a forefinger—“before blades are drawn. So tell me you’ll do it, Shae. You’ll cut off Ayt’s fucking head and put an end to all this.”
Shae felt her bones prickling from the insistent pressure of her brother’s aura. She forced a swallow out of her shrunken throat. “I’ll do it,” she said, her voice muted but steady. “I’ll win tomorrow.”
Hilo released her and stood up, his fierce expression unchanged. “Then stop sitting in here pretending to talk to the gods. Go to bed and get enough rest. Or else get your moon blade and practice, put your mind in the right place.” He opened the door. “I’ll be in the training hall.”
In the morning, Shae rose and dressed in comfortable pants, fitted nylon top, traditional leather vest, and soft-soled shoes. She tied her hair back and examined herself in the mirror, debating how much of her jade to wear. Combatants hoping for every modicum of advantage wore all their jade into a duel, but that meant losing it all if one was defeated. Green Bones who were heavily jaded and thus gained little additional martial benefit from carrying their entire arsenal might be advised to think of their jade more prudently, as family wealth that they’d rather see passed on to family members instead of adorning the body of an enemy. Notwithstanding the promise of victory she’d made to Hilo in the prayer room last night, it was in Shae’s nature to be realistic about her chances. After a long moment of consideration, she removed her earrings and bracelets, leaving in place her anklets and two-tier choker.
She selected her best moon blade—twenty-nine and a half inches in length, with a slightly curved twenty-and-a-half-inch single-edged blade of the finest tempered Da Tanori steel and a hilt stippled with small jade stones. She was not remotely hungry, but she cracked an egg into hot porridge and forced herself to eat. She looked around at her surroundings, thinking that the house was nice and Wen had decorated it well—hardwood flooring and dark furniture with clean lines contrasted with the soft throw pillows, light walls, and creamy drapes.
The place was too large for one person, though. Shae thought of Maro, of all the ignored messages now filling up the tape in her answering machine, and her throat closed, making it impossible to finish the last bites of her breakfast. Guilt and regret swelled and settled below her gut like bloat. She ached, more desperately than she’d expected, to see Maro’s face, to hear his voice, to seize the chance to tell him that she did in fact love him. She knew that at last, when it was too late. She wished she’d thought of writing him a letter, but there was no time to do so properly, and speaking to him now would be of no good to either of them; she didn’t think she could explain herself, and Maro—idealistic, rational, argumentative Maro with his two jade studs and skepticism of clan culture—he would not understand. Maro had never dueled, had walked away rather than spill blood or risk his life to satisfy traditional notions of Green Bone honor. He’d tell her to do the same.
She washed and dried her single bowl and spoon, put them away, and turned off all the house lights. Then she walked outside to where Hilo and the Maiks waited by the Duchesse.
The drive was quiet. The darkness under Hilo’s eyes suggested that he had not slept any more than Shae had the previous night. He did not speak, and the Maik brothers, taking their cues from him, didn’t either. The morning after a holiday, traffic was light, and it didn’t take long to get to the Garrison House & Gardens in Juro Wood. Shae suspected that Ayt Mada had chosen the location for the symbolism. The Garrison House was a colonial mansion of red tiles and white colonnades; the residence of the Shotarian governor during the occupation period, it had been spared from destruction and turned into a national historic landmark containing a museum and public gardens. Shae and Ayt would be facing each other on the lawn, with the country’s most visible symbol of past foreign domination looming in the backdrop.
Creeping warmth in the air promised a hot day to come, but the sky was thick with clouds and a layer of summer smog hung low over the city, creating a diffuse, sunless gloom. As the Duchesse pulled up to the curb in front of the public gardens, Shae saw an enormous crowd bordering the lawn. Some people carried cameras and others had spread blankets on the ground. For a second, Shae thought they had interrupted some public event and would have to move the location of the duel. Then it dawned on her that the duel was the public event. Of course, dueling was not uncommon—but this was not a common duel. News of Shae’s challenge had created a storm of overnight attention. Clean blades between the Pillar and the Weather Man of the two largest clans in the country was dramatic enough, but moreover, there had never been a duel between two women of such high rank in their respective clans. Only in the postwar generation, with the country’s population of male Green Bones depleted, had it become more commonplace for girls to be trained to wear jade. These days, one in five graduates from the nation’s martial schools were female, but most men still scorned to duel a woman, and duels between women, even Fists, were often smirked at as something of a joke.