A Warrior's Path (The Castes and the OutCastes) (52 page)

*****

T
he Martyr’s Plaza was every bit as beautiful as Rukh had claimed it would be.  There were the glistening, gray paving stones with flecks of crystals sparkling under the warm noonday sun; the nine fountains splashing water high into the air, the droplets glittering like diamonds; and the green hills of Ashoka, upon which elegant homes and wide boulevards subtly blended with the scenery rather than dominated it.  Watching over the Plaza were the bronzed statues – turned green with time – of great men and women of the city’s past.  Especially gilded Union Fountain with Hume and all the heroes watching with proud attention over what they had wrought while happy, carefree children, ran and laughed under the warm gazes of their loving parents.  Martyr’s Plaza was a vibrant place of history and hope, much like the city itself.

Ashoka was
as beautiful, warm, and safe a place as Jessira could have ever imagined.  It was far lovelier than Stronghold.  Her home was carved into a mountain fastness, in deep, dark caverns where even the Queen could hopefully not see or hear so well.  Her home was quiet and utilitarian with everything designed for defense; they lacked the protective embrace of an Oasis and had no choice but to focus all their energies on making their city as impenetrable as possible.  Safety was their only concern, not poetry or music or the oddity of theater.  In Stronghold, the gentler arts had been left to lie fallow.

She sighed.  But she wished it could be otherwise
.

It had been
three days since she had come to Ashoka and every day had been a revelation.  The Purebloods had created a city of grace and loveliness but also of stern power, made manifest by the mighty Inner and Outer Walls and defended by the highly trained, highly disciplined army.  She wondered if Ashoka’s brilliance was cultural.  The people here had decided to create a place where beauty and fine arts could thrive, and in order to protect their heritage, those born to the sword had taken it to be their holy duty to safeguard this home their forefathers had struggled so mightilty to build.  The other Castes worked just as faithfully to keep it beautiful and thriving.

Her own people could
learn much from the Ashokans.  In fact, they could learn from all of the Castes, but would the Purebloods share their learning?  She didn’t think so.  Not with a city full of ghrinas.

“Are you ready to go?” Rukh asked, ending her reverie.

Jessira nodded.  “I’m more than ready,” she said, filled by an abrupt despondency.

“Are you alright?” he asked, noticing her sadness.

She grimaced, not wanting his sympathy.  In the days since they’d arrived, he’d all but ignored her.  She knew he was busy, having been chosen for the strike force aimed at the Chimera breeding caverns.  The expeditionary legion was to be ready in ten days, a monumental undertaking, and one the entire city had thrown itself into with utter abandon.  They might even make their departure date.  So, yes, Rukh was busy, but why then, did he snub her even in the privacy of his home?  It was obvious: he was embarrassed by his association with her.  Their relationship was a stain lingering about him like a rotten stench – a description she had heard once while hidden in the anonymity of her cloak and scarf.

As a result, her days had generally
been spent alone, wandering the city, wishing her shoulder would heal so she could go home.

However, for some reason, t
his morning Rukh had taken it upon himself to spend time with her.  He had even offered to show her some of Ashoka’s sights.  It might have been meant as an apology for his poor treatment of her, but she wasn’t in a generous mood.  If he wanted to say he was sorry, he would have to say the words.  She wouldn’t make it easy on him simply to assuage his guilt.

“I’m fine,” she said.  “I’d like to go back now.”

“Is it your shoulder?” he asked.  “We can take a rickshaw if you want.  You don’t have to walk.”

“
I don’t need a rickshaw,” she said.  “I can walk.  The women of Stronghold don’t require coddling.”

Rukh
remained quiet, and they made their way back toward the House Shektan Seat. They travelled along Bellary Road.  Here the boulevard was wide and straight with bookstores, cafes, and restaurants along its length.  In the near distance was the gloriously domed Magisterium and the inaptly named Plaza of Toll and Toil – on the occasions Jessira had been to the Plaza, entry had always been free and she had never seen anyone toiling.  On they walked, nearing the border of Fragrance Wall, and large houses and manors with lush gardens began to appear.  Summer blooms of jasmine and honeysuckle wreathed gatehouses in their green growth while their lovely aroma drifted on the breeze.

It would have been a nice
, relaxing excursion, but throughout their walk, people had avoided both of them, and Jessira knew why.  By now, her story was well known, and all knew the woman who walked Ashoka with her face covered was the ghrina, the OutCaste.  She heard the muttered curses of the Purebloods as they crossed the street, shunning her.  Her nostrils flared in anger.  Jackholes.

Devesh help her, but she couldn’t wait to leave this place. 
Ashoka confused her senses and her mind.  The city left her loving and longing for its beauty and yet unable to fathom its people.  How could a culture produce such grace and loveliness and be so hard-hearted to those whose only sin was to be born different.  The Shiyen physician, the same old woman who had first stitched her up, was one of the few who could bear Jessira’s presence without making an obvious show of her discomfort or disgust.  It left her despondent.

Worse, the same physician also
said it would take Jessira another two weeks to heal before she would be ready to go home.  It was a frustratingly long wait, but at least Rukh’s nanna had promised to provision her so she could make the journey home without too much hardship.  He had even offered her a horse, which was a kind gesture, even if it had been made because he felt duty-bound to do so.

She glanced at Rukh and shook her head in dis
appointment.  How could he be so great a coward in his own home?  Or had he always secretly despised her, like the rest of his brethren?

A
n ugly voice inside spoke to her. 
You know the truth.  Admit it now.  The Purebloods will never accept you.

She knew the voice was right.

“I’m sorry,” Rukh said, breaking the silence.

She was so lost in thought, she almost didn’t hear him.  “You’re sorry,” she
repeated.  “About what exactly?”

“For how I’ve behaved
around you,” he said, stopping to turn to face her.  “For how I’ve treated you.  I’ve…I’ve been a coward, and for that I am sorry.  I can’t even begin to imagine how hard this must all be for you, and then to have your only friend pretend like you don’t exist.  You deserve so much better, and I gave you so much less.”

Some of Jessira’s
cold anger thawed.  “
Am
I a friend?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said.  “A good friend.”

“Then why have you treated me like this?” she cried, all the hurt, loneliness, and anger of the past three days coming out.  “You’re the only person who I can trust here, the only one who I thought might treat me like a real person.”

“I don’t know,” he said.  “I was scared, I guess.  I’m scared of this coming expedition.  I’m scared of who I’ve become and how I’ve changed.  I’m scared of banishment if anyone learns what I can do, and I’m scared what people will think if they see me with you.”

Jessira studied his face, seeing the confusion and unhappiness in his eyes.  At that moment she felt very little sympathy for him.  “You were right the first time.  You are a coward.”

He flinched as if she’d slapped him.  He looked angry for a moment before he took a deep breath and seemed to set it aside.  “Is there anything I can do or say to help you forgive me?” he asked.

She smirked.  “Walk down this street with me hand-in-hand.”  She laughed in derision when she saw his comically aghast expression.  “I wouldn’t be so cruel,” she said.

“Is there anything else?”

She considered.  “I don’t care how you behave in public, but in your home, act like I’m there.  Talk to me and don’t pretend I don’t exist.”

“I can do that,” Rukh said with a nod, looking
abashed and relieved at the same time.

“I’ll hold you to it.”

They began walking again, and after a moment of quiet, he looked at her.  “How brave are you?”

“Braver than you.”

“Brave enough to take off your scarf and walk uncovered in public?”

“Are you brave enough to walk next to a
ghrina?”

“I can be,” he said.  He gently lifted the scarf from her face.

She smiled, feeling a warm breeze play on her hair.  “You realize most Purebloods want to stone me, and they probably won’t be too good with their aim.  You’ll likely get your share of rocks, too.”

Rukh shrugged.  “Let them try.  I
can take them.  I’m the Hume Champion, you know.”  He grinned.

She rolled her eyes.  “How could I forget?”

As they continued back to Jubilee Hills, she found she was wrong: no one tried to stone her.  People still ran across the street when they noticed her, but many also glanced back in fascination, especially the men, some of whom might have even worn appreciative looks before catching her glance and hastily looking away.

Men.

“No one else treats you like a real person?” Rukh asked as they walked along a relatively quiet side street on the way to House Shektan.  “Not even my sister or Mira?”

Jessira
chuckled low.  “Mira is civil, and Bree is polite, but neither is exactly friendly and neither will talk to me any longer than is absolutely necessary.  In comparison, your nanna and those two old men of his, Garnet and Durmer, are warm and friendly, but they have no time for me either.  They’re too busy trying to save Ashoka.”

“I
promise I’ll make this up to you,” Rukh said.

“Don’t make promises you can’t and don’t want to keep,” Jessira warned.  If he wanted to spend time with her, fine, but she didn’t want his company if it was only because he felt sorry for her.  She didn’t need his sympathy
, or the sympathy of any Pureblood.

“I want to.”

“We’ll see.”

Rukh had no response, and soon, the seat of House Shektan came into view.  Once inside, Rukh led her to his father’s study.  He always checked in with Dar’El
as soon as he arrived home.  While Rukh and his nanna spoke, Jessira perused the books lined along the shelves.  At least Rector Bryce was rarely at the House seat anymore.  His outburst on the morning after her arrival had been noted and judged unacceptable by Dar’El.  As a result, Rector was no longer trusted as much.  Or so Rukh said.

Minutes after their arrival, Jaresh burst in.  “There’s been a third murder,” he exclaimed.

The Withering Knife.

“Send for Mira and Rector,” Dar’El ordered. 
“Have them meet us there.”  Further orders were given, and Dar’El and Rukh were soon outside, quickly making their way down the drive.

Jessira accompanied them, face bare to the world.  She had nothing better to do.  At Rukh’s questioning glance, she lifted an eyebrow in challenge, daring him to send her back.  He
shrugged.

“If you don’t mind, I don’t mind,” Dar’El murmured, looking straight ahead.  “But can she not cover her face?”

“
She
can but chooses not to,” Jessira said, answering for herself.

Dar’El gave the
two of them an inscrutable stare.

Rukh s
miled in response.  “You always told me never to pick a fight you can’t win,” he said.  “Especially with a woman.”

Dar’El
flashed an answering smile.  “At least you remembered my most important lesson.”

Shortly before their arrival at
East Vineyard Steep, home mostly to Sentyas and some Rahails, and the site of the third murder, Jaresh and Mira caught up with them.

East
Vineyard Steep was an older part of Ashoka.  The buildings there hadn’t been refurbished in many years.  They were a bit run down, in fact.  The Sentyas were quite competent with both their own and other people’s money, but they were also a tight-fisted, stingy Caste.  Where others saw a somewhat drab and dreary area, the Sentyas saw a place that was practical and functioned well enough to suit their purposes.  They saw no reason to spend currency to pretty up the buildings even if a few them looked to be on the edge of falling down.

The City Watch had already cordoned off the area in question. 
Once again, the murder had taken place in an alley, this one bordered by several buildings that were obviously better maintained than most of the ones around them.

Rector
Bryce had already arrived, and Jessira frowned.  Wonderful.

He saw them and walked over, a look of disgust flashing across his face when he caught sight of her.  He faced Dar’El, positioning himself so he wouldn’t have to
look directly at her.  He began talking without preamble.  “The victim was a Rahail Investigator by the name of Slathtril Apter.  His wife found him this morning when she couldn’t find him in the house.  She’s the woman screaming over there.”