The Ghost Tiger's Lament

Chapter Four

When Ashne thought of Princess Sarabis, it was as little more than a name, a blurred image, a fleeting shadow or impression of what might be.

They had grown up together, and yet they had not. The twins were closer to the princess in age, and the girl had been frail and retiring from birth. Ashne had known from the start that the princess would someday be her mistress and liege, but that day seemed distant, unreal. Even death seemed the closer prospect. They did not speak to each other; they spent little time in each other’s presence, unlike the twins, who clung to her side at all times. Zsaran had remarked scornfully, once, that such a weakling would amount to little in the end, that she would be bartered away as some foreigner’s bride once she came of age rather than take the reeds and ascend the throne in her own right.

Come of age she had, some three years ago. Yet the king had made no move to marry her off, nor to declare her his heir. Queen Marnua had no other children, and the king had taken no concubines, refusing in this matter, at least, to abide by Dragon Court fashion, or fall into the very trap he had once set for his old nemesis, deceased King Pashrai of Khonua. Indeed, he seemed to Ashne frightfully unconcerned for the future of the realm, utterly heedless of that inevitable day when his life would be cut short, in violence or old age, perhaps even accident or disease.

Nor did Ashne know of the queen’s plans for her daughter, if indeed they existed. The queen doted on the girl, which was only natural. And Minister Muntong had hinted, in his plain but roundabout way, that the queen disapproved of these current marriage negotiations with Tai. Or — Ashne recalled the argument she had overheard before the alarm was sounded — at least, of the king’s preferred choice of husband.

For the queen Ashne would do anything.

But as for the princess...

A single memory lay buried within her heart:

A chill winter’s morning, the fires not yet lit. They had been then in the lower reaches of the capital at Mount Kuehgei, the summer palaces on the slopes temporarily abandoned. Ashne had been running through her daily exercises alone in an empty courtyard while Zsaran attended to the queen in her chambers; only a year had passed since they were officially instated as the Lady Consort’s guards and maidservants. (How young they had been then! How much had changed in the nine years since!)

The snap of a twig behind her startled her out of her form. She turned, sword at the ready, only to see none other than the princess herself, mere slip of a child, pale and ghostlike under the vast gray skies.

The girl said nothing but waved at her to continue.

She hesitated, but took one step, then another, and soon flowed back into the practiced motions her master had drilled into her after seasons of harsh training, every form precise, not a single movement wasted: nothing before her but her blade, nothing filling her mind but for the awareness of her own body, the energy running through her limbs like intoxicating wild streams.

When at last she was finished, she felt her entire being ease into a strange, mellow calm. Only then did she recall her audience.

The girl’s expression was cool, distant. Unreadable.

“Is that all?”

Ashne stiffened. Yet there was no disdain in the girl’s voice, no hint of mocking or displeasure, not even the barest hint of curiosity.

A shiver ran down her back.

“Yes,” she said.

Without another word, the girl turned and glided away, back in the direction of what Ashne knew to be her sleeping quarters.