City of a Thousand Dolls (34 page)

“She has her own life to figure out,” Jerrit said. “And you can’t change what’s been done …”

“No matter how hard you want to,” Nisha finished. Her eye caught a cheerful figure in an off-white asar. Chandra ran to hug Esmer, then patted the sturdy cart horses, and finally clambered into the smaller wagon, settling in among the bundles and plants.

“That was a good thing you did,” Jerrit said, “asking the prince to send Chandra with Sashi as an assistant. You probably saved her life.”

There were so many lives she hadn’t saved, Nisha thought. Her eyes drifted again to her friend in the wagon seat. It didn’t feel like enough, and she wondered if it ever would.

Nisha watched as the wagon master swung himself up beside Sashi and clucked the horses into action. As the healer’s wagon pulled away, Chandra looked up and saw Nisha.

Even from the wall, Nisha could see the smile that lit up the girl’s face. Chandra waved, and Nisha and Jerrit waved back, watching the wagon until it was lost in the trees.

“I hope she’s happy,” Nisha whispered, more to herself than to Jerrit. She felt stiff and tired and a thousand years old.

Jerrit fidgeted for a moment. “We found this outside the main gates, by the way.” He handed her a small bouquet of star jasmine. Nisha’s heart gave a painful thump at the sight of the note tied to the stems.

She unfolded the rice paper. No poem, no elegant phrases, not even a signature. Just two simple words.

Nisha put the white flowers down on the edge of the wall.

“I’m sorry about Devan,” Jerrit said. “I know you cared about him.”

“I did,” Nisha said, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Maybe I always will. But I don’t belong in his world. I don’t want to belong in it. I wouldn’t have been happy, not with people watching everything I do, waiting for me to make a mistake.”

“Well, if you don’t belong there, then where do you think you belong?” Jerrit slid his hand over hers, and their fingers entwined like vines in a garden.

Nisha smiled up at him. There were so many new pieces to her identity, sometimes she didn’t even recognize herself. Half Kildi and half Sune, orphaned and adopted, wounded and free. The only thing she knew for certain was that she was loved. And for now that was enough.

“I don’t know where I belong yet,” she said. “But we’ll figure it out, won’t we?”

Jerrit laughed and scooped Nisha up into his arms, so their faces were inches apart. His chest was warm, driving out the chill of the frost.

Nisha half hoped her foot didn’t heal
too
quickly.

“Come on,” Jerrit said, touching her forehead with his own. “Can’t keep the tribe waiting.”

“My tribe,” Nisha said, savoring the words. She leaned her head back against Jerrit, feeling his heart beat in time with her own.

My family
.

IT WOULD BE impossible to thank all the people who made this book a reality, but I’m going to give it my best try.

To my husband, Dan, the most brilliant, supportive person I know. Thanks for the hugs, the editing advice, the late-night cookie runs, and all the other million and one ways you made this possible. I love you madly.

To my parents, who taught me to read and never took a book out of my hands because it was too hard or grown-up. Because of you, I am at home in the written word. Thank you for never giving up on me.

(Special thanks to Dad and his tribe of cats, past and present, including Macduff, Fizben, and Pascal. It’s
your
fault there are cats in every book I write.)

To my sisters, who have two of the biggest hearts I know and remember all the embarrassing stories. Thank you for being the amazing women you are.

To my astonishing and hilarious agent, Jennifer Laughran. Of all the surprising things on this improbable journey, you were the best surprise of all. Thanks for the perspective, the cheers, and the awesome book recommendations.

To my tireless editor, Sarah Dotts Barley. Because of you, my book is better than I could ever have made it by myself. Thank you for all your hard work, enthusiasm, wonderful ideas, and for loving Nisha and Jerrit and all the rest just as much as I do.

To everyone at Andrea Brown and HarperCollins, especially Erin Fitzsimmons, the designer, who made my book look more epic than it actually is (no matter what she says); Renée Cafiero and Valerie Shea, who helped me find lost days and educated me on the ways of the comma; Colin Anderson, who created the completely amazing jacket art; and Taryn Fagerness, foreign rights agent extraordinaire. A book is a work of art made by many hands. I was lucky to have yours. Thank you.

To my Starbucks coworkers and customers in the Pullman, Moscow, and Five Mile stores. You made my days go smoothly and put up with my tireless book blather. Thanks for making me feel so supported. You guys are the best.

To Neysa, Sarah, Amy, and the rest of my original critique group. You saw this book in its rawest form and did not run screaming. Thanks for sharing the ride.

To all my in-real-life friends who’ve walked the last year with me, thank you. Thanks to Arwen for the pizza-and-movie nights and the marathon book-reading days. Thanks to the Moscow Library YA book club—Sofia, Haley, Jamie, Addie, and Hailey—for being the coolest people I know. And thanks to my family at Real Life for letting me pounce on you and bombard you with book news at seven in the morning. I owe you all the coffee in the world.

To all my wonderful blog readers, Twitter pals, and Facebook friends. You guys make me laugh every single day, and I’m so lucky to have an extended family like you. You make the Internet a warm and friendly place, and that’s no small feat. Thank you from the bottom of my socially awkward heart.

And finally to my tenth-grade English teacher, Mrs. Mallory, who, when she found out I was writing a novel in her classroom, suggested I form a writers’ club. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have believed that I could do what I’m doing right now. Thank you.

MIRIAM FORSTER wrote her first story at seven and has been playing with words ever since. She is obsessed with anthropology, British television, and stories of all kinds. Miriam lives in Idaho with her husband. Visit her online at www.msforster.blogspot.com.

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Cover art © 2013 by

Colin Anderson

Cover design by

Erin Fitzsimmons

HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

City of a Thousand Dolls Copyright © 2013 by Miriam Wiedeback All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

www.harperteen.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Forster, Miriam, date City of a Thousand Dolls / Miriam Forster.—1st ed.

p. cm.

Summary: “Nisha lives in the City of a Thousand Dolls, a remote estate where orphan girls in the Empire become apprentices as musicians, healers, and courtesans, her closest companions the mysterious cats that trail her shadow. When girls begin to die, Nisha begins to uncover the secrets that surround the deaths—jeopardizing not only her own future within the City but her own life.”—Provided by pub.

ISBN 978-0-06-212130-1 (trade bdg.) EPub Edition © DECEMBER 2012 ISBN: 9780062121318

{1. Fantasy. 2. Orphans—Fiction.} I. Title.

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First Edition