The Secrets of Jin-Shei. Alma Alexander

were Guard trainees,’ Xaforn said. ‘This was not …; honourable.’

      JeuJeu was betrayed into a grim smile. ‘You took on four older boys on behalf of a half-dead street cat because what they were doing was not honourable? For the love of Cahan, Xaforn. Did you know who the boys were?’

      ‘Just the Guards,’ Xaforn said.

      ‘The others were far more important,’ JeuJeu said. ‘The one you landed in the House of Healing for five days was the son of a City Councillor. His father was not pleased.’

      ‘The City Councillor’s son is a bully and a fool,’ Xaforn said trenchantly. ‘He was told by the others –’

      ‘Yes?’ JeuJeu prompted when Xaforn came to a grinding halt. When Xaforn remained stubbornly silent, JeuJeu heaved a deep sigh and sat back in her chair, stretching her legs out before her and crossing them at the ankles. ‘I’ll tell you, then,’ she said. ‘The others told your target that he shouldn’t mess with you. He didn’t listen. He paid for it.’

      ‘Am I in trouble?’ Xaforn asked warily.

      JeuJeu laughed, a sharp bark of a laugh, betraying amusement but not mirth. ‘Oh, a great deal of it,’ she said. ‘You broke so many rules that it would probably take me less time to enumerate those you did not break. There are people out there exceedingly angry with you, who won’t forget your name in a hurry. But you took on an adversary against the odds – they were bigger and there were more of them – and you did it on a matter of principle.’ JeuJeu shook her head. ‘Yes, I’d say you’re in trouble. But I also dislike interference with Guard matters, and they were in the compound. So technically they were in our jurisdiction. And it was our cat.’

      Xaforn, who had kept her eyes down, stole a look at JeuJeu’s face at those words. The damn cat had become a symbol, somehow.

      And it hadn’t been Qiaan who had squealed. It had been that malicious bully with his flabby muscles and soft belly. Once he had recovered enough to whine, that is. Xaforn allowed herself a small smile at that thought.

      JeuJeu caught it. ‘Don’t look so smug, you aren’t getting off scot-free,’ she said sharply. ‘We’re holding you back this autumn. You’re ready to go up a level, but you obviously need to learn more about strategy and prudence. So your cat has cost you advancement, this round.’ She saw Xaforn’s stricken face, and allowed herself to smile. ‘For what it’s worth, it is my own considered opinion that it won’t matter one whit, and that you will be the youngest Guard to be inducted into the Imperial Corps. But it will be a year later than you hoped. Xaforn, I don’t want you to learn the wrong lesson from this. I am proud of you. We are proud of you. You understand honour; now you must start learning to weigh when and how it can best be defended. You could have come to me with this and I would have done something about it – I like torture no more than you do.’

      ‘But the cat would have died,’ Xaforn said softly.

      ‘Maybe,’ JeuJeu said. ‘And maybe not. And maybe both it would have been alive and you would have had your promotion. And maybe you’d never have known what it was that you really believed in.’ JeuJeu’s smile turned a little wry. ‘Truth? I don’t know that I would have done any different. I’ll see what I can do for you, for my part. You may go.’

      Xaforn left, her thoughts churning. She found herself utterly ambivalent about the cat, the bully, her actions. Her gut told her she had done the right thing; her reason railed against her having risked anything at all that would have harmed her sole focus, her chance of belonging, of being Guard – full Guard, part of that family – as soon as she could make that happen.

      That cat.

      The damned cat had survived. The odds had been against the kitten, just as they had always been against Xaforn achieving impossible goals. Xaforn was not blind to the irony of this. She was suddenly curious to see how the cat was doing – but that would mean, of course, going into the family quarters again. Where Qiaan was.

      ‘I might as well get it over with,’ she muttered. ‘I should probably never have meddled at all.’

      Xaforn wore such a fierce scowl as she came through the archway and into the inner compound that perfectly innocent children instinctively sidled out of her way, avoiding the sense of being somehow at fault which circled around Xaforn just waiting to find a target to land on. The scowl only deepened when she emerged from the passageway leading through into the inner garden surrounded by the mews where Captain Aric lived, and found Qiaan seated on the grass, a straw hat on her head, and another on the ground beside her which had been made into a nest of sorts where, now, a black kitten with white-edged paws curled up asleep. There were a dozen children there, some playing knucklebones, others acting out domestic dramas with rag dolls or attacking each other furiously with wooden swords, a few of them keeping an eye on the kitten and waiting for it to wake up and enchant them with its antics.

      The damn cat had become a celebrity.

      Xaforn’s scowl deepened even more when a few of the noisier children lapsed into silence, watching her progress across the yard. A couple of the small faces registered alarm.

      ‘Don’t be scared,’ said Qiaan, who hadn’t turned to look but somehow knew that the children had become wary. She was supposedly addressing the children, but her voice had been pitched for the visitor. ‘She’s just come to see Ink.’

      ‘Ink?’ Xaforn repeated, blindsided by the fact that the cat had survived long enough to gain a name.

      ‘One of the little ones said she looked like somebody had been holding her by the paws and dunked her into a pail of ink,’ said Qiaan, with a straight face.

      Coming closer, Xaforn noticed the paper smoothed over a wooden board in Qiaan’s lap, and a small bottle of ink, the writing kind, beside her on the grass. ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘Drawing her,’ Qiaan said, turning the board.

      ‘It isn’t very good,’ Xaforn said tactlessly, studying the brush-and-ink rendition.

      Qiaan shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘It’s only for me.’

      Xaforn, somehow always on the defensive with Qiaan’s particular brand of passive resistance, sidestepped. ‘I suppose it’s better than I could do.’

      The kitten chose this moment to stretch and yawn, revealing sharp, delicate and somehow impossibly feral needle-like teeth. It opened one eye, just a narrow slit gleaming green in the black fur of its face, and then both, giving Xaforn a guileless, wide-eyed stare.

      Captivated, Xaforn reached over a finger.

      ‘Careful,’ said Qiaan, ‘she …;’

      The kitten began purring softly, butting its head against Xaforn’s fingertip.

      ‘ …; scratches,’ Qiaan finished, and then grinned. ‘Well, look at that.’

      The cat was a tangle of conspiracies. Xaforn flushed, snatching her hand back. ‘I just wanted to make sure she was all right,’ she said.

      Qiaan smiled again at the ‘she’. Xaforn and the cat continued looking at one another warily. Still smiling, Qiaan picked up the narrow brush lying by the inkwell, dipped it into the ink and sketched out a few letters of script beside the cat picture. She blew on the ink gently to dry it, and Xaforn’s attention switched back to her.

      ‘Here,’ Qiaan said, picking up the paper and handing it to her visitor. ‘You keep that.’ Her eyes were veiled behind long dark lashes as she added, ‘Although it isn’t very good.’

      Xaforn took the paper automatically as it was thrust at her, and her face settled back into its scowl.

      ‘What’s this?’ she said, staring at the letters Qiaan had put onto the page.

      Qiaan started to answer, and then stared at her. ‘You don’t know, do you? And how could you?’

      Caught