“I have a name,” she said. “Sapphire Orsalian.”
“I’m not interested in your name. I want you to tell me where your master has gone. It seems someone has been too distracted with you to get that answer himself.”
“It’s not like that, master,” Enosh said, walking up behind him.
Sapphire cleared her throat. “I work for Ylir. I abandoned all ties with Bannal when he killed my sister.”
The room had gone silent. Enosh walked close to Yn Garr’s shoulder so he could lower his voice. “Best not attract too much attention around here, master. They could call the guards. There’s mandraagars in the temple, too.”
“Gasparian leeches,” Yn Garr snorted. “I don’t believe her.”
“You must,” Enosh murmured.
The finality in his voice made Yn Garr turn to him. He looked puzzled.
“You,” he whispered, sounding like a man who’d just discovered something new. Perhaps he had finally realized that Enosh was no longer a boy. But whatever it was, he didn’t stay to voice out the rest of his thoughts. He turned on his heel and left as quietly as he’d come.
Enosh glanced at Sapphire before returning to his seat. There, he noticed that his palms were cold and that sweat had gathered around his neck and brow. No—he was no longer a boy, but he still felt like one in front of Yn Garr, and in so many ways there was something about the man that always unsettled him. As if no matter how much he thought he was two steps ahead or thought he’d figured it all out, that the man knew so much more than he let on. You could see it in his eyes—looking into them was like looking at something old and broken.
And he had put that calculating gaze on Enosh tonight. Had he finally crossed the line? Even though he had always spoken his mind, he had never outright told Yn Garr what to do before. At another time and place, he might’ve even hung back and allowed the man to kill Sapphire. The act was not beneath him.
You’re getting old, Enosh, he told himself. Old, and impatient. What would your father say?
He couldn’t know, of course. That daft old fool. A hunting accident. He had been as bad as Kefier, in that regard. If he had been more careful, he could’ve lived another ten, fifteen years. That would’ve been long enough. If he had been alive, Enosh would have never needed Yn Garr.
Right, he thought. Old wounds. He returned to his food and began to pen a letter for the Lord of Barun in the back of his mind. There was a girl he needed to marry and a mage he needed to catch. Necessary sacrifices, in the grand scheme of things.
The man who met Kefier at the door was one of the guards who had taken them from the soldiers. “I’ve been asked to lead you back to your family,” he said. “The Warlord has deemed you harmless.”
Kefier bit back a retort and followed him to the stairs. At the top flight, the guard turned, his spear on his shoulder. “Do you know what you’re having?” he asked. “A boy or a girl?”
“I—” He realized the man was talking about the baby and shook his head. “Is there even a way to know?”
“Sure. The healers can tell, depending on which side they kick. They said I would have a boy because mine kicked the left side all the time and they were right. My son was born two moons later.”
“I guess it doesn’t matter. I’ve felt it. It’s strong. It kicked me.” It had been an accident, too. He was not the kind of man who went around touching women’s swollen bellies, but he had brushed against Sume once while helping her off the wagon and had felt the strongest poke in return. The memory of it made him smile.
“We’ll help you in any way we can. I don’t like doing this, but the way Warlord Yeshin is these days, I have little choice.”
“I appreciate it,” Kefier said. He paused. “Could you tell me why he wants us to leave the healer behind?”
“We won’t harm her, rai.”
“Can we not wait for the warlord to finish questioning her? We can find lodging somewhere in the city. I don’t want to leave without her.”
The guard scratched his face. “I don’t know how to explain this to you.” He sighed. “He thinks she is an anggali.”
“I’m not familiar with that word.”
“There’s been complaints. Children have gone missing over the last few years and her name has been linked to them on more than one occasion. He feels compelled to check it thoroughly.”
Kefier felt cold. As far as he knew, his brother Enosh had been the one responsible for the missing children. They had needed to feed Naijwa’s beast and it was easier to snatch young people from across the continent. Dai had nearly been a victim, if he hadn’t escaped. “What you speak of has happened in the Kag, too. I knew someone who lost a child in Cael.”
“We’re not saying she did it. But he needs to make sure. If people find out he let Narani slip through his fingers, there’ll be trouble, and that’s the last thing he needs right now.”
“You didn’t explain what an anggali is.”
“I’m getting to that.” The guard removed his helmet and brushed the top of it with his fingers. “It’s a creature that goes under the guise of a human. At night, the upper half of its body flies out, entrails and all, and feeds on children. It favours the unborn.”
Kefier started laughing.
The guard looked at him, lips tight, and didn’t say anything. “You Jinseins—” Kefier began.
“You do not have such beliefs where you come from?”
“We do. I was just trying to imagine Narani, as you said. Oh, she will not like this at all.” He smiled. “We’ve been staying with her for several days. If she finds unborn children delectable, we would’ve found out by now. I can swear, on my mother’s grave, that I’ve seen her in the morning’s light, snoring to her heart’s content.”
“Back in her bed after a tiring night.”
“Listen to yourself. If she’d gone flying out, I would’ve heard.”
“You haven’t seen her do anything strange at all?”
“No more than you’d expect from a senile old woman.”
“She doesn’t talk to animals, or anything like that?”
“I do, too.”
“But I’m sure you don’t expect them to answer.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of another soldier. “You!” the man called, pointing at Kefier. “You’re needed at the guardhouse. Your wife is giving birth. Don’t just stand there!”
He felt someone grab his elbow and drag him across the yard. Everything else was a blur after that. Somebody shoved him inside a room, and a man with a white band around his head rushed past him with a bucket of water. He smelled sweat and blood and something else, and looked at Narani, bent over the bed, before his eyes focused on Sume. She was groaning, a deep sound from within that made the hair on his arms stand on end, and he didn’t know whether he should run to her side or walk away and shut the door behind him.
I am not the child’s father, he thought. I am not needed here.
But they didn’t know that. The doctor led him to the corner. “Stay here,” he heard the man say. “I might need your help in a while.”
“That’s—that’s a lot of blood,” he said, looking at the puddle around Sume’s ankles. He felt light-headed. “Is that normal?”
The doctor said nothing, patting his shoulder before walking away.
I am not the child’s father, he thought again, feeling the panic rise inside of him. She was making too much noise. Is it dying? Is Sume dying? Oh, Enosh, you fucking excuse for a man. You should be here, not me.
And then he heard one last scream, followed by the sound of soft flesh and a gush of fluid. His throat tightened. He couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything, and he closed his eyes and tried not to remember that the last birthing he had known of had ended with two bodies under grey sheets. Enosh had not been there that time, either. He had walked out as soon as they told him what was happening, had left him to deal with the grief of losing his mother
and sister alone.
It was almost laughable, all of life’s little echoes. How the years could shape a man and then put him back exactly where he was. He was thinking about what he would say to Enosh if Sume and the child died and in what way he would hit him when he heard a cry. The sound was like a gust of wind cracking a window through a storm. He saw Narani walking towards him with a bundle in her arms and a smile on her wrinkled face. Something inside him unbuckled.
“She’s very tired,” Narani said. “I thought you’d want to take a look at your daughter first.”
Half-shaking, he took the infant. I am not your father, he thought, but he tugged at the blanket so he could see the tiny, wrinkled face, and the words, and all he knew of the world, melted behind him. She had her father’s eyes and his father’s fingers, and also skin the hue of amber, too much like his own. This child that was not his had the audacity to look like him.
She stopped crying and looked at him. He felt himself begin to breathe again. He drew her closer to him and ran his thumb over her cheek.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” he heard Narani ask.
He nodded.
“Have you picked a name yet?”
He glanced at Sume, who was looking at him from across the room. She met his gaze.
“No,” she said, sounding almost ashamed. Sweat pooled around her neck and arms. Narani returned to her, patted her leg, and drew a blanket to cover the rest of her.
He looked down at the child again. Her eyes were like little pools of dark liquid.
“I—I have one,” he found himself saying, the words catching at his throat. “I have a name for her, if you don’t mind.”
He glanced down, wishing Sume hadn’t heard, and then realized that she did, because she had pulled herself up and was waiting. He took a deep breath. “Kirosha. It’s a Gorenten name. It means—I don’t know what it means. But a princess had it, a long time ago.”
She looked away. He swallowed. He turned back to the child and pressed his finger into her hand. She grabbed it. He laughed; the sound of his own voice surprised him. “She’s strong. You did well, Sume. Do you want to see her?”
She hesitated for a moment before she nodded. Kefier drew close to her head.
“I’ll leave you two for now,” Narani said, signalling to the doctor. They walked out, closing the door behind them.
“Kirosha,” Sume murmured. “A Gorent name, is it?”
She was silent then, staring at the child. She looked like she wanted to hold her, but didn’t know how to ask. “You knew Ylir, of course. You know where he came from.”
“I am of Gorent, too.” That much, he could admit to her.
“I had thought there were similarities. It’s good she has the skin. They won’t question it.” She swallowed. “They’re calling you the father. I’m not sure if that’s something you’re comfortable with.”
“They think we’re a family. I think we’ll be safer that way.” He glanced at the baby. “I won’t leave you. I’m not the man her father is.”
“Not now, please.”
He bit his lip. “If you want, I could send him another letter.”
“No. No more. He had more than enough time to find us if he wanted to.” She closed her eyes. “I don’t want to worry about that now.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Nothing has changed, has it? So we have another mouth to feed. We still need to get Dai to Shirrokaru.”
“The soldiers have him next door. Don’t worry about him for now. You need to rest. Feed her. Call for me, if you need anything.” He bent down to hand the baby to her.
“Stay here, Kefier,” she said. “I’m sorry. I—I don’t want to be alone.”
“You’re not,” he murmured, pulling a chair close to the bed. The infant started crying again, and after trying to rock her awkwardly, she handed the child back to him. He settled into the chair and hummed the only lullaby he knew, the one his mother used to sing for him and Enosh when they were young. He didn’t even know the words anymore.
The infant fell asleep, one hand clutching his shirt collar.
Chapter Six
In his dreams, Enosh heard a child crying, and he woke up to the memory of another. Scratching his beard in the dark, he thought he felt the hand descending on his shoulder, and the voice murmuring, “Look away, little prince. It is better this way. The mages will leave us alone. Why do you cry? It is only another bastard.”
His next breath came ragged. He pressed his fingers over his eyes, forcing the tears away.
The woman on his bed stirred. “Do you need anything?”
“No,” Enosh said, pulling his face back into that familiar grin. It comforted him. “I’m just getting pre-wedding jitters, is all.”
She sat up, blankets covering her lithe form. “I haven’t even congratulated you yet.”
“I thought you did a good enough job last night.”
“Good enough?” She laughed, the melodious sound well-rehearsed. They were both extraordinarily good at facades.
“Perhaps you should go,” he said, at length. “I still don’t know how demonstrative my new father-in-law is regarding my indiscretions.”
“Why, this? You’re not the first man who’s committed infidelity the eve before his wedding day.”
“Thank you.”
“Still, it is not that common. You, my dear, have serious issues.”
He smiled. “Thank you again. But I knew that.”
She got dressed. Her yellow hair, unbound, reached past her waist. She was brave to have left Kalthekar with him when she did—though was it truly courage, if a fat bag of money was involved? He didn’t want to think about it. He grabbed his own clothes and began putting them on: a tunic, a loose robe, loose pants. Today, he was a Gasparian.
Makin had traced the inn and was waiting for him outside when he walked out. “How long have you been there?” he asked.
Makin grinned through his beard. “Long enough.”
“You will not lecture me?”
“You’ve known me a long time, Ylir. When has it ever been in my best interests to lecture you?”
They mounted their horses and went down the road in silence. Enosh watched Makin’s tall figure riding ahead of him and suddenly missed Burgois. Burg—that detestable, conscience-ridden man—had introduced Makin to him years ago in Kalthekar, the first time he had been in Gaspar. Makin, he was informed, was to be their guide, translator, and an extra sword-arm should trouble arise, though that was unlikely; Gaspar’s streets were relatively safe compared to Cairntown’s.
Makin, in Enosh’s mind, never seemed to age. There was a streak or two of grey in his beard, but he still looked young, with his complexion—lighter than most Gasparian’s—unmarred by lines. His small, thin eyes showed deep crow’s-feet when he smiled, but that only added to the light-heartedness of his expression. He was tall when he first met him and he still seemed so tall now, though Enosh himself had grown since.
I have been here so very long, he found himself thinking. Not just Gaspar—though in truth, he hadn’t gone back to the Kag for over a year. No…he was thinking of the whole of it, of the mainland and the noise, and the constant push and pull of his life from one thing to the next. He couldn’t remember the last time he had simply allowed his gaze to drift out to sea.
Today, he was allowing himself to be tied further in. Getting married, even by Gasparian standards, was not something to be taken lightly, and he had too much business to do in these lands to just steal away in the middle of the night. And it wasn’t as if he was too young. He’d hit his twenty-sixth year a few months ago. His father had been much younger when Enosh was born.
“Azchai’s daughter,” Enosh said, breaking the silence.
Makin’s mouth formed the barest hint of a smile. “What about her?”
“Why am I not being allowed to meet her before the wedding itself? Does she really have warts?”
Makin glanced at the distance first
before allowing his eyes to rest on Enosh. “I don’t want to be the reason you drive off into the sun-set before uttering your vows. Or is that sun-rise? Your Kag words, hoshat!”
He smiled. “As if I’m capable of that. You’ve deliberately chosen a slow horse, Makin.”
“They’re all damnably slow. Barun horses are the worst.” Makin snorted. “If you must know, Ferral, you’re the easy part of this equation. I am told, by the most reliable of sources, that Lady Reema has barricaded herself in her room ever since her father told her she is to marry the likes of you. She has not come out since.”
“Marry the likes of me?”
“Her words, not mine.”
“What does she know of me?”
“That you’re a rich Kag merchant, a notable womanizer, and old.”
He coughed. “Someone was exaggerating.”
“I thought I was being too truthful, to be honest.” Makin smiled. “I will not tell Lord Azchai, but you’re only doing this to get your hands on the mage, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Makin. The Lord of Barun is presenting a glorious opportunity for a merchant such as myself to marry above my position. Who doesn’t want to be a member of the Gasparian nobility?”
Makin snorted. “That, there. You forget that I’ve known you for years. I know when you’ve rehearsed a line long enough. Your tavern whores might fall for it, but I’m not one of them.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
“I’m flattered, really, I am. Ferral, you are a merchant. Barun’s beehives aside, this marriage will open opportunities beyond your wildest dreams. But you don’t look like that man. I’m sure you know it, but you don’t look like you care at all. Why, Lady Reema is almost a princess of Gaspar.”
“Almost, but not quite,” he murmured under his breath. Makin must have heard, because he looked at him in disbelief, but Enosh dismissed his words with a wave of his hand. “I’m just tired, Makin. As you’ve said. It’s all beyond my wildest dreams. I can hardly contain myself.”
“There you go. That tone again.”
An Elegy of Heroes Page 45