Emperor Mage. Tamora Pierce

these captives. She had no reason to like spidrens, Stormwings, hurroks, Coldfangs, and their kind. Too much of her time in Tortall had gone to fighting immortals like these. Stormwings in particular had caused her, personally, a great many problems. She ought to be glad these were locked away from doing more harm – oughtn’t she?

      At midmorning she returned to her rooms, to find an old servant woman there, straightening things. ‘Don’t mind me,’ she said, her grin revealing a handful of teeth. ‘You sit down. I won’t be but another minute.’ She flicked a duster over one of the carved screens.

      Awkward and unsure of what to say, Daine sat on a chair. She guessed this was a slave, though she was much older than the other palace slaves that she had seen. The woman’s dress was undyed cotton, looped over one bony shoulder and hanging just to skinny knees. She wore straw sandals. Her only ornament, if it could be called that, was a tattooed bracelet of snaky lines that twined around each other.

      Putting aside her duster, the old woman took the pillow from the bed and plumped it. ‘You’re from up north, aren’t you?’ she asked. ‘Up Tortall way?’

      Kitten trotted over and tugged the woman’s dress, chattering loudly.

      ‘Not now, dearie,’ the slave told her, apparently comfortable with a dragon in the room. ‘I have things to do.’

      ‘Over here, Kit,’ summoned Daine.

      The slave laid her hand on Kitten’s muzzle. ‘Enough,’ she said, black eyes dancing wickedly in a seamed face. The dragon was instantly silent. Turning back to the bed, the woman grappled with the slippery eiderdown.

      Daine barely noticed Kitten’s abrupt silence. Her upbringing got the better of her, and she stood, placing Zek on her seat. Ma had not raised her to sit idle, not when housework was to be done. She also had not been raised to let an elder work without aid. ‘Here, grandmother – let me help. Kit, move.’ The dragon ducked under the chair. Together the girl and the old woman bared the sheets on the bed and began to neaten them.

      ‘Yes, I’m from Tortall,’ Daine said. ‘From Galla, before that.’

      ‘Your first trip to Carthak? What do you make of us Southerners, eh? D’you like it here?’

      It occurred to Daine that the woman might be a spy, there to get information from her. ‘It’s all right,’ she said hesitantly. ‘It’s very different from home, of course.’

      ‘It’s in trouble, you know – the empire.’ The gnarled old hands were busy, tugging and straightening. ‘Famine in the South, five years running – did they tell you? Locusts – folk out of work – wells drying up. It’s as if the gods have turned their faces from the emperor.’

      ‘It – it’s not my place to say,’ Daine stammered.

      ‘You ought to look around a bit. Really look. Long as you’re here. The priests don’t like the omens, you know. They whisper that a cold wind’s blowing from the Divine Realms. Might be next time you visit Carthak, it won’t be here. Hard to argue with gods, when they’re done being nice to mortals.’ Briskly she patted the coverlet into place.

      Daine blinked at the woman. Her words sounded too much like what the badger had said. And weren’t slaves supposed to be quiet and timid? None of the others had talked to her like this one did: all they’d said was ‘Yes, Nobility,’ ‘No, Nobility,’ and ‘Right away, Nobility.’

      ‘Do you think the gods are vexed with Carthak?’ she asked, digging her hands into her pockets.

      The slave ran her duster over the writing desk. ‘Ask them to show you the temples,’ she advised, apparently not hearing Daine’s question. ‘The shrines. They used to be the glory of the empire. Now they think mages and armies are imperial glory. They think – the emperor thinks – he doesn’t need the gods.’ Wickedly, she reached with the duster and flicked the end of Kitten’s nose as the dragon peered out from under the chair.

      Kitten sneezed, then squealed with outrage as her scales turned angry red. Her voice rose as she hooted and chattered with fury. Daine begged her to be quiet, but there was no silencing the dragon this time. The girl knelt and clamped her hands on her muzzle. ‘Stop that this instant!’ she ordered. ‘Look at Zek – you’re hurting his poor ears, and you’re hurting mine!’

      Kitten glanced at Zek. The marmoset sat gravely on the back of the chair, paws over his ears. Slowly turning a sullen grey, the dragon whistled what sounded like an apology.

      ‘She wants discipline,’ remarked the old lady, sounding breathless. ‘Her own folk would never allow her to speak out of turn.’

      Concentrating on Kitten and Zek, Daine had taken her eyes off her visitor. When she turned to ask the servant what she had meant, she discovered that the old woman had dragged the tiger-skin rug from under the bed and was attempting to stand with it bundled into her arms.

      Daine’s reaction was automatic. ‘Here, grandmother – I’ll take that,’ she said, holding out her hands. ‘Just tell me where it goes—’

      The woman dumped the bundle into Daine’s grip, and white light flared. Kitten shrieked as the skin began to writhe. The girl dropped it, horrified. Her head swam, and she toppled over, landing on her hands and knees next to the fur.

      As she gasped for air, the skin rippled. The great forepaw, by her toes, flexed. Long, razor claws shot out, then resheathed themselves. By her nose a hind paw stretched, then braced itself on the floor. The rump, no longer flat on the stone, wriggled. Slowly, as if a body filled the empty hide, the cat got to its feet, hindquarters first, then forepaws. The tail lashed.

      Daine scooted away from it. ‘Grandmother, you’d best get out of here!’ she cried.

      The door opened. A slave peered in, seeing first Zek and Kitten by the chair, then Daine. The door hid the rug from her view. The slave knelt and bowed her head, putting her right fist on her left shoulder. ‘You called this unworthy one, Nobility?’

      ‘No,’ said Daine. ‘I mean, yes, I mean—’

      The slave touched the floor with her forehead. Daine lunged to her feet. ‘Please don’t do that,’ she pleaded, not sure if she spoke to the slave or the tiger. ‘I don’t – I can’t – I’m not a Nobility, all right?’

      ‘Forgive this one’s faults, Nobility. What do you need? This unworthy one is here to serve.’

      She took a breath and got herself in hand. ‘Please get up. And – where’s the old woman?’

      ‘Old woman, Nobility?’ asked the slave. ‘There is no old woman here.’

      Baffled, Daine looked around. The old servant was gone, feather duster and all. ‘She was just here a moment ago – you must have passed her.’ She grabbed the door, holding it so that the kneeling slave would have no glimpse of the tiger behind it. ‘She was cleaning in here.’

      The slave looked up. ‘The care of your room is this unworthy one’s task, Nobility,’ she said, clearly frightened. ‘It was done some time ago, shortly after the Nobilities from the north went with the prince and Lady Varice.’

      Daine thought fast. The old slave must have fled in that moment when the light blazed. No doubt she’d been frightened out of her wits; Daine knew her own knees were decidedly weak. She had to calm down, because now she was scaring this poor girl as well. ‘It’s all right,’ she said, attempting a smile. ‘I – I must have been napping, and had a – a dream or something. I—’

      She looked behind the door. The tiger skin lay on the marble tiles, all four paws tucked underneath, tail curled around its chest. The head rested on the floor, eyes closed. If she hadn’t known better, she would have sworn the thing looked smug – except, of course, that dead animal skins couldn’t manage that kind of expression.

      ‘Would you do me a favour?’ She closed the door so that the slave could see the tiger skin. ‘This – rug. It’s very – upsetting,