points, but Akrit
and Kalameshli and the will of the Wolf had made it work. Here
she now was, poised to stand before her mother’s people and
lead them into the Wolf’s Shadow.
She reached within herself to see what she thought of this.
She had never realized that the Tiger were so bound to their
bloodlines that some bastard child of their last ruler might come
and usurp control of their whole tribe. For all she knew, Akrit
was entirely wrong about that. They might just tear her apart.
Or she might bring him a grand victory for the Wolf. She
might prove herself Akrit’s daughter.
She had not ever thought that being of use was something she
might aspire to or value. She had spent her childhood being as
contrary as possible, as a reaction to finding herself without
friends or place or even parents who cared about her. The harsh
hand of Kalameshli had seemed almost more paternal than that
of Akrit. And yet all that time she had been in his thoughts: if
not as his child, then at least as his weapon.
If he had asked for her agreement, she might have said yes,
and been forever after bound by her own word. He took her
consent – her subjugation to his plan and his will – as a given
though. He never asked, and so never extracted that agreement
from her.
And then he added, ‘And we must find you a mate, of course.’
She went still at the thought.
‘If the Shadow Eaters are to be driven into the Wolf’s Shadow,
they will need a firm hand holding the switch,’ he went on, and
the image made her think of Kalameshli, so that for a terrible
moment she thought that the old priest was somehow being put
forward as a suitor, against his vows and all prior custom.
‘I will rule them for you,’ she said, but Akrit barely seemed to
hear her.
‘You will need a man, a hunter, to govern you,’ he told her,
‘even if the Shadow Eaters will want to hear his words in your
voice.’ He frowned. ‘Someone who will do what he’s told.’
Something inside her was turning sour, as though she had
been drinking and the liquor was curdling in her stomach. Yes,
so many of her peers had lived a life of speculation over who
they might be mated to, recounting the names of the fine young
hunters or hearth-keepers of the Wolf tribes. For Maniye, however, it had never been a consideration. She had made a virtue
of necessity. She had lived a future in her mind in which she was
self-sufficient: a tribe of one.
‘I would match you to Smiles Without Teeth,’ Akrit went on,
forging deeper and deeper into this appalling new territory and
dragging her along with him. ‘I would want him always at my
side, though. And he is . . . not the cleverest.’
Maniye had begun to shake, very slightly. She thought of big,
brutal Smiles Without Teeth, a man without humour or imagination, but very quick to strike out whenever the complex world
frustrated him. He had already taken one wife, Maniye recalled,
but the woman had been seen too often with bruises about her
face, and she had cast him from her hearth. Smiles had been
searching for a new wife ever since, but no woman would look
at him.
But her father continued talking, the drink drawing the words
out of him, and Kalameshli listened complacently. Nothing of
the conversation even required her contribution or consent.
‘But then I thought,’ Akrit went on, ‘there was one I need by
my side for the fight, and nothing I’ve done for the ungrateful
cur has ever bound him to me enough to keep him here whenever spring comes. But if I give you to Broken Axe, that must be
enough. He must know his wandering days are done, and
become my warrior.’
Maniye sat motionless, because she knew this game: this was
the game she herself had played every day up to today, up to the
Testing. This was the game she had thought she would never
need to play again. This was show nothing on your face. This was
where she sat and pretended that nothing that she heard or saw
affected her, because
and Kalameshli and the will of the Wolf had made it work. Here
she now was, poised to stand before her mother’s people and
lead them into the Wolf’s Shadow.
She reached within herself to see what she thought of this.
She had never realized that the Tiger were so bound to their
bloodlines that some bastard child of their last ruler might come
and usurp control of their whole tribe. For all she knew, Akrit
was entirely wrong about that. They might just tear her apart.
Or she might bring him a grand victory for the Wolf. She
might prove herself Akrit’s daughter.
She had not ever thought that being of use was something she
might aspire to or value. She had spent her childhood being as
contrary as possible, as a reaction to finding herself without
friends or place or even parents who cared about her. The harsh
hand of Kalameshli had seemed almost more paternal than that
of Akrit. And yet all that time she had been in his thoughts: if
not as his child, then at least as his weapon.
If he had asked for her agreement, she might have said yes,
and been forever after bound by her own word. He took her
consent – her subjugation to his plan and his will – as a given
though. He never asked, and so never extracted that agreement
from her.
And then he added, ‘And we must find you a mate, of course.’
She went still at the thought.
‘If the Shadow Eaters are to be driven into the Wolf’s Shadow,
they will need a firm hand holding the switch,’ he went on, and
the image made her think of Kalameshli, so that for a terrible
moment she thought that the old priest was somehow being put
forward as a suitor, against his vows and all prior custom.
‘I will rule them for you,’ she said, but Akrit barely seemed to
hear her.
‘You will need a man, a hunter, to govern you,’ he told her,
‘even if the Shadow Eaters will want to hear his words in your
voice.’ He frowned. ‘Someone who will do what he’s told.’
Something inside her was turning sour, as though she had
been drinking and the liquor was curdling in her stomach. Yes,
so many of her peers had lived a life of speculation over who
they might be mated to, recounting the names of the fine young
hunters or hearth-keepers of the Wolf tribes. For Maniye, however, it had never been a consideration. She had made a virtue
of necessity. She had lived a future in her mind in which she was
self-sufficient: a tribe of one.
‘I would match you to Smiles Without Teeth,’ Akrit went on,
forging deeper and deeper into this appalling new territory and
dragging her along with him. ‘I would want him always at my
side, though. And he is . . . not the cleverest.’
Maniye had begun to shake, very slightly. She thought of big,
brutal Smiles Without Teeth, a man without humour or imagination, but very quick to strike out whenever the complex world
frustrated him. He had already taken one wife, Maniye recalled,
but the woman had been seen too often with bruises about her
face, and she had cast him from her hearth. Smiles had been
searching for a new wife ever since, but no woman would look
at him.
But her father continued talking, the drink drawing the words
out of him, and Kalameshli listened complacently. Nothing of
the conversation even required her contribution or consent.
‘But then I thought,’ Akrit went on, ‘there was one I need by
my side for the fight, and nothing I’ve done for the ungrateful
cur has ever bound him to me enough to keep him here whenever spring comes. But if I give you to Broken Axe, that must be
enough. He must know his wandering days are done, and
become my warrior.’
Maniye sat motionless, because she knew this game: this was
the game she herself had played every day up to today, up to the
Testing. This was the game she had thought she would never
need to play again. This was show nothing on your face. This was
where she sat and pretended that nothing that she heard or saw
affected her, because
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