In the Skin of a Nunqua (16 page)

“There will be no inquiry,” Gy said, “no investigation. I command this camp. I decide your fate. Your punishment is to receive four lashes, one from each of the Commanders. Plus one from Rega Bayla.”

Vittorio returned with a rope and a whip.

“Commander Jun, take charge of this matter.”

Commander Jun ordered Zindar to take off his shirt. He tied Zindar’s wrists together in front of him, then forced him to kneel.

Vittorio said with disgust, “You brought this on yourself.”

The whip arced high in the air, then slashed down on smooth flesh. Drops of blood flecked the ground.

Zindar screamed and bent forward until his head hit the dirt.

Bile filled Bayla’s throat, and she wanted to run, to hide in embarrassment. She shuffled backward until she bumped into someone. Shanti.

“You must be present for the punishment,” Shanti said. “You’re the one he wronged. These are the rules.”

Jun held the whip, and Zindar lifted his torso for the next strike. The spike split swollen and bleeding skin for a second time. A cry of agony escaped Zindar’s lips.

Jun handed the whip to Shanti, and she left Bayla’s side.

“I made a mistake trusting you,” Shanti said to Zindar. She opened his flesh for a third time. Blood streaked down his ribs.

Zindar lay in the dirt, in too much pain to rise into a kneeling position. Commander Jun ordered two soldiers to hold his arms and position him for one last blow.

Shanti held the whip out to Bayla.

Bayla still shielded her chest with the jacket pulled tight. The forest spun about her. “I can’t.”

Shanti went over to Zindar and sliced through his flesh once more. The two soldiers let go of his arms, and he fell facedown in the dirt. Shanti returned the whip to Vittorio.

“Zindar,” Gy said, “you are hereby banished.” His command echoed through the quiet woods.

No birds sang in the trees, no insects buzzed through the air, and no animals came to Bayla’s aid. No soldiers murmured or shouted, and Zindar did not speak in his defense.

“Your actions are unbecoming of a soldier,” Jun said to Zindar. “You are no longer a member of the Willovian military and will be escorted out of camp.”

Watching the awful scene play out before her was like descending into the darkest depths of hell. Bayla slipped away from the group. The bright blue sky and green foliage hurt her eyes. She tried to use her power to search for signs of life, grasp hold of something she could control. But nothing answered her call.

Shanti caught up with her.

“We had to do it. It’s a commander’s job to enforce the rules. We must act without hesitation.”

She wiped the cool sweat from her forehead.

“You’ll stay in my tent until further notice.”

Bayla ducked under the flap to Shanti’s cramped tent and dropped to the ground. She welcomed the feel of the cool dirt against her face, but it couldn’t quell the queasiness sloshing around inside her stomach. She ran out of the tent and into the woods and vomited.

16

Thief

“
I
’ll be leaving
tomorrow.” Gy sat on a log at the edge of camp with the other commanders and puffed on his pipe. “Commander Jun is in charge while I’m gone. I’ll notify the others of Zindar’s banishment and have him tracked.”

Shanti drew in the dirt with a stick. It had been a colossal mistake to confide in Zindar while he was on guard duty and tell him about the plan to test the princess.

“I’ll return with another cook and a soldier to replace Zindar.”

Shanti didn’t want to tell them of her mistake and incur yet another reprimand from Gy.

“That’s all.” He tapped his pipe against the butt of the log, knocking out the ash, and left.

“I wonder who’ll be next,” she said to Jun and Vittorio.

“What do you mean?”

“First Pascha, then Zindar. Things like this always happen in threes.”

“Superstitious Nunqua,” Vittorio said. “Speaking of which, can I see you change into—”

“No.” She could feel his breath on her face. “Stop it, Vittorio. Who do you think will be next?”

“It’s not something we should bet on,” Jun said.

He was probably right. Shanti went into the pavilion and got two cups, then went back to her tent.

Bayla lay on her cot, one arm covering her face.

Shanti opened the bottle of expensive brandy from Jun and poured two drinks. She hit Bayla in the shoulder with a cup. “Here.”

Bayla ignored her.

“It’ll help you sleep.” The elixir coated Shanti’s throat with a smooth, satisfying burn. “I don’t understand. This area is full of animals. You could have used your power. Why didn’t you defend yourself?”

Bayla lifted her other arm and draped it over her face.

Shanti sipped her drink. “You fight me and not Zindar?”

“Zindar was drunk. I was with him behind Vittorio’s tent that night.”

“You kissed him that night. He wanted a good deal more today. You said no. Hell, we could hear you screaming across camp.”

She uncovered her face and sat up. “It’s your fault!”

“Of course.” Shanti held the drink to Bayla. “Why shouldn’t it be? Everything else is.”

“You humiliated him, upended the table where he ate, beat him in a sword fight, cut his arm. Zindar was emotional, drunk. He wasn’t thinking straight.”

“Being drunk is no excuse! What he did was wrong. Don’t blame me, and don’t blame the ale.”

Bayla took the drink and swirled it in the cup. “I need to ask you something.”

Shanti removed her sword and darts, then put them under her cot. Lounging on her cot, she scratched the place usually covered by the leather wristlet.

“I’ve seen you in my dreams before I met you,” Bayla said. “Only I didn’t know it was you. A leopard with spots like yours chases me.”

“It’s just a dream.”

“It’s not always a leopard. Sometimes it’s a bird or a dog or a fox, but always with your spots.”

“You’ve never seen a Nunqua?”

“No. They say you’re half Willovian and half Nunqua.”

Shanti swallowed the rest of her drink. “My father was Nunqua, my mother Willovian. Both are dead now.”

“Who is the white wolf?”

“The white
what
?”

“Wolf,” Bayla said, “the polar bear, the ivory ant. Who is it?”

The white wolf was Madiza, the fortuneteller. Shanti thought it best not to reveal her name. “She’s the hidden witch.”

“A woman.” Bayla sipped her drink. “You’ve met her?”

“Yes.”

“Is her power great? Greater than mine?”

Shanti poured herself another drink. “
Different
from yours.” She rummaged through her things, found a sewing kit, and tossed it to Bayla. “You need to fix your uniform. The buttons are still in your tent.”

“I don’t know how to sew.”

“You . . .
what
?” Shanti sighed. “Give me your jacket. I’ll start it; you finish it.”

Bayla put down her cup. She flung the jacket to Shanti, then lay back on her cot with her arms over her face.

*

Commander Gy returned with a new cook and a soldier to replace Zindar. The brown uniform hugged the woman’s ample chest, and she smelled faintly of perfume. Soft ringlets framed her round face.

Shanti greeted the new addition to camp. “Leanna!” It was her old coconspirator in drugging Commander Mossgail and recovering the stolen medicines.

“Commander Shanti.”

“Leanna volunteered to come,” Gy said. “Her responsibility is to take care of any medical emergencies, and she’ll be the princess’s new tentmate.”

“Volunteered?” Shanti said.

“Anything to help.”

“I believe you two know each other,” Gy said. “Shanti, please give her the medical supplies and show her around.”

Gy left, and Jun came over. “Leanna, is that you? I’m surprised to see you here.”

“I’m not,” Shanti said.

Leanna smiled and blinked twice. “Why, Commander Jun, I had to come. After all, we can’t very well trust Commander Shanti to take care of the sick and wounded, now, can we?”

“How can she take care of the wounded when she’s always getting hurt herself? I have some things to do now. I’ll see you later.”

Leanna and Shanti watched him as he walked away. “I can figure out why you’re here,” Shanti said, “at this camp, in the middle of nowhere. It’s not like you to leave a more comfortable encampment to come to a place like this. Don’t get too interested.”

“Why? Is he married?”

“And by the way,” Shanti said, “the princess snores.”

Leanna laughed, and a dimple appeared on her cheek. Shanti hated that her friend was so pretty.

“I’ve been hearing rumors about you,” Leanna said. “They say you can transform into a Nunqua. Is that true?”

“It’s been known to happen.”

“Can you show me? I’d like to learn how your skin changes. What makes Nunqua so different from Willovians?”

“I won’t be your experiment.”

“I thought we were friends. Let me see you change.” Leanna looked at Shanti as if she were examining a sick patient.

“No.”

A tall man with brown skin pulled on something hanging from the roof of the pavilion.

Shanti jogged over to stop him. “Stop. Leave it be.”

“It’s not right, not clean.” The new cook tugged on the tuft of yellow hair hanging by a string from the rafters.

“It’s a custom,” Shanti said, “and I request that you leave it alone.”

The lock of hair remained.

*

They ran through the obstacle course twice with swords drawn. The covering of leaves offered shade but little relief from the heat. All four commanders had positioned themselves on the course as obstacles. Each soldier sparred briefly with each of them on the way to the finish. It was an exhausting ordeal.

Bayla gasped for breath after completing the course. Salty sweat stung her eyes, and the constant buzz of cicadas irritated her ears like the scratching of metal on metal.

The participants drank from floppy goatskin bags of water. Too thirsty to care about the communal nature of the drink, Bayla gulped the water down. If only the Daughters of Fortunate Birth could see her now, they would snicker behind her back and call her a filthy brute. How long had it been since she felt clean?

She returned to the boulder where she had left her sword propped in its sheath, and her muscles tensed despite their fatigue. It wasn’t there.

The sword wasn’t on the ground or near the bushes. It wasn’t anywhere. Of all the things that could have happened, she would rather have broken a bone from falling on the obstacle course than lose her sword. Vittorio announced that it was time to return to camp.

Her panic increased with each step toward the formidable trainer. “Commander, I don’t have my sword.”

“Where is it?”

“I—I don’t know.”

You left your sword
unattended
?” he yelled.

“No. I mean, yes. But only to get water, I—”

“I don’t need to hear how you lost it, Rega. Just find it.” He ordered two soldiers to stay with her until the weapon was recovered.

She searched and searched until the events leading up to the sword’s disappearance became jumbled in her mind. Had she left it somewhere else? Her body slumped from despair.

“Rega,” one of the soldiers said, “we’ve been out here forever, and I’m starving. Besides, it’s getting dark. You can look for it tomorrow.”

The three soldiers dragged back into camp. Bayla ate very little before retreating into her tent. Losing the sword upset her more than leaving the castle, her home, on that night long ago.

Leanna entered, and Bayla feigned sleep. When she finally did sleep, bizarre dreams filled her head. No leopards chased her, and no white wolf watched her. Instead, she fell down a black hole while hands tried to stop her—hands unable to halt her dizzying plummet. She hit the ground. The thin mattress compressed upon impact, waking her from the dream.

*

“Do you have any idea what we went through to get that sword?” Vittorio said. “It was specifically designed for you.”

“I’m sorry, Commander.”

Her apology fell on deaf ears. “What would happen if you lost your sword in battle? That’s what we’re training for: battle. War. Do you expect one of the soldiers to give you his sword because you’re the crown princess?”

“Isn’t that what they’re supposed to do?” she said. “Isn’t that what they’re doing now—protecting me even at the risk of their own lives?”

His face showed his revulsion at her comment. “Stop thinking like a spoiled child! If you lose your weapon in battle, these men will fight for you, protect you. But don’t expect a soldier to give up his sword. It would be like asking him to become a eunuch. It isn’t right. Never leave your sword unattended. Never drop your sword in battle.”

Vittorio selected a practice sword from the many at his disposal and gave it to her. The weapon was dull, chipped, and ugly. It embarrassed her to carry it on her back.

“We guard you only because you represent Willovia. Or
do
you?”

Her spirits could sink no lower. She hated carrying the old blade, a testament to her stupidity. What had happened to her sword? She was determined to find out.

Bayla stomped over to Shanti, who leaned against the wall of the pavilion, eating a peach.

“What do you want, Rega?”

“Where is it?” she said.

“Where is what?”

“My sword,
Shanti.
”

“First, you will address me as ‘Commander.’ Second, don’t blame me for your own ineptitude. Your sword is your responsibility.”

“I know it was you. You took it . . .
Shanti.
”

“Failure to address me by my rank is a punishable offense.”

“And how does an insignificant, low-ranking half-breed punish royalty? What are you going to do? Cut my hair? Tie me to a tree? Shoot me with a dart? Those darts aren’t poisonous, anyway. Everyone knows they’re fake. I doubt you could even hit a target with that useless wristlet of yours.”

Shanti threw the half-eaten peach into the bushes. “Let’s find out, shall we?” She left the pavilion.

Bayla jogged to keep up with Shanti’s long stride. They stopped in front of the pasture. Horses grazed on the tall, luxuriant grass. Shanti bent beneath the ropes and entered the enclosure. She lifted her arm and pointed the darts at Bayla’s stallion.

Gy stood close by, puffing on his pipe and watching the two women.

Bayla allowed her anger to infuse the stallion. The horse lifted its head, ears pointed back. Even if the darts were poisonous, they couldn’t stop the heavy steed from charging Shanti and trampling her into a mangled, muddy mess.

“Careful,
guard
. That horse is worth more than your pathetic life.”

“Exactly.” Shanti lowered her arm and left the pasture. “Baylova, queen of the animals, commander of insects, and to hell with everyone else.” Shanti bowed to the princess as several soldiers viewed the demeaning performance. “We’re merely your pathetic guards, Rega—your servants. Insignificant. What shall be your first decree as ruler? No deer shall be killed in Willovia? Eating of meat shall be forbidden? Or will you put me in jail for speaking the truth?”

“Enough,” Gy said.

Shanti’s head snapped in his direction.

The soldiers turned away from Bayla. It was a mistake to call her guards pathetic. She had meant to say
Shanti
was pathetic. Shanti had baited her, manipulated her. It was Shanti’s fault. It was
always
Shanti’s fault.

*

“Why are you trying to be something you’re not?” Jun’s legs stretched out on Shanti’s cot. In his hand was the black velvet bag containing the hair tied with string. He had gone through her belongings. “You’re still one of them, aren’t you? Still loyal to the Nunqua. They sent you because only a woman could get this close to the princess.”

Shanti closed the flap of her tent. “Why are you here?”

“Commander Kyros sent me to spy on you. You’ve known what I am for a long time. You know my purpose. What’s yours?”

“Give it to me.”

He closed his hand over the bag. “Take it.”

“It doesn’t mean anything to you. Give it back.”

“Whose hair is it?” He waited for a response. “I’ll shut down this camp and put you in prison. Not even Commander Gy could save you if I tell King Magen you’re a threat to his daughter. And I have the authority to do much worse than send you to prison.”

She shook her head. “And people say
I’m
arrogant.”

“Does it belong to Bayla? The king? Commander Kyros? Whose hair is it?”

“The hair is from a dead Nunqua warrior,” Shanti said. “I killed him when the Nunqua took me away from Willovia after my mother died. Caravey Delartay gave me the hair, saying it would protected me from the warrior’s spirit.”

“Enough of your lies. Not only did you kill a man, but the infamous General Caravey Delartay made you a gift from the hair of one of his dead warriors? I don’t believe it.”

“Believe what you want,” she said.

He got up and threw the small bag on the bed. “I have every authority to end your life if I even perceive that your intentions are not in accordance with the plan.” His words were harsh, but his eyes were anything but cold.