Free Shadow Magic by Jaida Jones Page A

hallway. I could smell rice. At least, I hoped that was what I could smell. If it wasn’t, then I was very confused. “It wasn’t all that terrible, really. Mostly, it was just boring. You know how that is.”
    Alcibiades looked at me with a baffled expression, as though he felt we were occupying and acting out two very different conversations. “What are you talking about?” he asked, confusion getting the better of him.
    I liked it when he frowned. “Exile, of course. Terribly boring. One must depend solely on the kindness of others, to write letters and answer them in return. I was restricted to an estate in the old Ramanthine countryside. You can
imagine
what that was like. Or perhaps you can’t, in which case you ought to be terribly thankful. In any case, you really must pay better attention, my dear, or else we’ll never get anywhere.”
    “This is ridiculous,” Alcibiades said. “I’m going back to bed.”
    I held up my hand in protest. “But we’re completely lost. And besides, I was just about to tell you about the dog.”
    “The—what?” I’d got the better of him at last, though who knew how long I’d manage to continue coaxing responses out of him? It was best if I pressed my advantage right then.
    “Why, the one you remind me of, that is,” I said. I ducked quickly around one corner, sensing the sound of footfalls somewhere in the distance. From behind a closed door, I heard someone yawn; I could see, through the squares of rice paper, a candle as it was snuffed, followed by murky darkness. It was beautiful there, if a little damp, and the wood floors were very smooth beneath my slippered feet. It was possible, in a place like that, to traverse the entire hallway withoutmaking any sound. What a delightful prospect that was. All manner of people could sneak up on one that way, or listen to what one was saying. I felt sorry for them if they were listening to us.
I
was being amusing, while all Alcibiades could manage or muster were a few pained words here and there, and noises that sounded unpleasantly as though he had indigestion. “He died a while ago,” I went on, shaking my head. “The dog, I mean. But he was yellow, and before he got very old and started relieving himself on the furniture and I absolutely couldn’t stand him anymore, I liked him very much. The dog and all the letters: That was how I entertained myself.”
    Alcibiades just stared at me. I could make out his broad, simple features in the darkness. I smiled.
    “During exile,” I repeated, for his sake. “I did have parties, of course, but with the most impossibly boring people, without any imagination. Once I ordered tigers from the jungle and had them in cages and one woman fainted! Of course, that was
after
I let the tigers out, but they didn’t really eat anyone. For tigers, they were disappointingly tame.”
    “You wanted the tigers to eat people,” Alcibiades said. It didn’t really sound like a question, so I could only assume he’d made his mind up about the matter.
    “Not at all,” I said. “Well—not
really
. It would have made a mess, and it’s hard to keep good help in the countryside. Ah! Here we are, I think.”
    Alcibiades nearly crashed into me as I stopped short in front of another one of those beautifully crafted sliding doors—these weren’t papered, but solid wood, and looked more native to the palace—more solidly, fiercely
Ke-Han
—than the other, flimsy creations had.
    “I thought we were lost,” Alcibiades said.
    “Oh, we are,” I agreed. “But now we’re lost by the kitchens.”
    “Oh,” said Alcibiades. Then, as if I were suffering from the same lack of attention toward this conversation
he
had been suffering from, he added: “I’m starving.”
    “Yes, my dear, I’m quite aware,” I told him. I had no intentions of sleeping in such close proximity to a man whose stomach was infinitely more talkative than he was. It was far worse than the tigers! “That’s why we’re