by Kat Ross
At times like these, Javid found it advisable to say as little as possible.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Shahak studied him for a long moment. The warmth leached from his eyes and they became coins again, flat and blank.
“Tell me again what you know about the source of the dust.”
Javid met the King’s gaze with perfect steadiness. If he’d been a poor liar, he would have been dead a hundred times over already.
“It’s to the northwest, Your Highness. Near Delphi.”
“But where does it come from? What is it?”
Shahak set the plant aside and picked up the lacquered box, running his hands over the lid like a man caressing his lover. Javid kept his face smooth. Asabana had forbidden him to reveal anything of importance. The dust was his single lever of power and if Shahak discovered how to obtain it himself, the jig would be up. Asabana didn’t seem to grasp the fact that Shahak wouldn’t take no for an answer. The merchant rarely appeared at court, sending Javid in his stead.
“The alchemist Marzban Khorram-Din always makes me wait at the wind ship, Your Highness. It is somewhere in the desert—”
“Yes, yes, you’ve told me that before.” Shahak sounded irritated and Javid blotted a patina of sweat from his brow. “I fear your employer is avoiding me. Perhaps it is time I summoned him.”
“I would be delighted to convey that message, Your Highness,” Javid replied with sincerity.
Shahak opened the lid and held up a pinch of dust, rubbing it thoughtfully between his fingers.
“It glitters,” he observed. “Yet it has a chalky consistency. Almost like ash.”
“I have wondered about it myself, Your Highness,” Javid murmured, praying he would be dismissed.
Shahak’s tongue darted out and tasted the dust smudged on his thumb. He grimaced.
“Bitter,” he muttered. “Some essence of a plant, perhaps. Yet there is a metallic aftertaste.” His reddened eyes grew distant again. “I have blood in my bowels, you know. And strange dreams. Yet I cannot give up the dust. No, no. But to discover what it is. Well….” He gave Javid a look that was remarkably self-aware. “It might explain what I’m becoming.”
13
Mirrors
The mountains sped past, their peaks shrouded in chill mist that dampened Nazafareen’s cloak. Every now and then the clouds parted and she saw Artemis through the ragged gap, an unearthly blue against the star-studded sky. The giant moon the daēvas called the Wanderer seemed to be sailing alongside them as they flew west toward the Umbra.
Riding an abbadax was nearly as good as having wings herself. They were swift as a storm and agile as hunting hawks. This one was named Brynjar. He responded to the lightest touch of rein or knee, like a war stallion. And his great wings steadily devoured the leagues with no sign of tiring. Altogether, Nazafareen thought there was no finer way to travel.
Darius sat behind her, arms wrapped around her waist. He’d been quiet for the last hour. She twisted her head and caught a glimpse of his profile, the sharp nose and glacial eyes.
“You’re taut as an arrow quivering against a bowstring,” she said. “Yet you didn’t seem bothered when they dangled you over that ravine.”
He looked at her askance.
“Or are you worried about Delilah and the others?” When he didn’t reply, she added, “They’re still crossing the Umbra. We’ll catch them before they reach Delphi.”
“That’s not it.” He paused and cleared his throat. “If you must know, I had an unpleasant encounter with some abbadax in the Dominion. Hatchlings.”
Nazafareen laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Hatchlings? Come now, how bad could they be?”
“Worse than you think. It didn’t help that I was tied up and naked.”
Nazafareen pondered this image for a moment. “I’m sorry I missed that,” she said at last, keeping her tone neutral.
He snorted. “Even the infants are formidable. Their wing feathers cut like knives. The mothers leave them to fend for themselves and these were hungry.”
“How did you manage to escape?”
“Luckily, I wasn’t alone.” He didn’t elaborate and Nazafareen sensed a hint of bitterness. Darius disliked talking about what had happened in the Dominion, when he’d been captured by Culach’s sister, Neblis.
He still keeps secrets, she thought, though I suppose I can’t begrudge him that.
She never spoke of what she’d done to Nicodemus at the gate. For the first time, she’d felt a complete mastery over all four elements. The weaves had come to her without conscious thought, air and earth mostly. She’d wrapped them around his heart, felt it beating in the palm of her hand. And she’d squeezed—but not enough to kill. She’d intended to take her time about it.
A monster to face a monster. Her lips thinned. So be it. I never asked for this power, but I won’t run from it anymore.
She felt Darius’s warm breath in her ear.
“Look. The Cimmerian Sea.”
Brynjar broke through the clouds enveloping the easternmost mountains of the Valkirin range and Nazafareen felt the bond begin to stir as they passed into the twilight of the Umbra. It was still a faint thing, like distant music on the wind. She rubbed her own jaw, sensing a ghostly ache there. Not her pain. His.
And what would he feel from her? Did he know how much she longed for the sun? Not the heat or light, but the power it bestowed? Did he know about the anger that never went away?
He must, but he never commented on it. He simply accepted her for who she was. For the thousandth time, she wished she knew what she had done to inspire such loyalty. Not the dry words, not the story itself, but what she had felt at the time, what it had meant to her. She’d traded those memories to defeat Neblis. Would she do the same again if she’d known what would happen?
Nazafareen didn’t know the answer to that. But she still had the bond. And where once it had seemed a manacle, now she treasured it above all other things.
Daníel of Val Tourmaline and his nine riders had insisted on taking the vanguard. They spread out in a ragged formation ahead like a flock of overlarge, savage-looking geese, the Maenads and Herodotus following behind. Nazafareen saw a quick flash of the Great Forest and then they were skimming the shore of a vast sea, its waters wine-dark and calm. Somewhere along the low bluffs lay the Temple of the Moria Tree, where the Maenads’ mothers kept watch for the return of the Vatras. But before she could look for it, the company turned southwest toward the plain between Nocturne and Solis.
The flat, featureless landscape made Nazafareen think of Javid and the astonished look on his face when he found her hiding beneath a canvas tarp on the ill-fated Kyrenia. She’d been afraid he’d throw her overboard. Nazafareen smiled, suddenly missing his snaggle-toothed grin.
I wonder what you’re up to at this very moment, she thought. Probably drinking wine with rich lords and scheming to part them from their gold. Knowing Javid, he had his own wind ship by now—maybe a fleet of them. He was clever enough and had devilish luck, considering he managed to survive their acquaintance.
Brynjar hit one of the powerful currents flowing from east to west and dove sharply, his wings rigid with strain. The heat of Solis met the cold of Nocturne in the Umbra, making the plain treacherous for anything airborne. The Kyrenia had been dashed to bits here. But Brynjar was accustomed to harsh weather and soon found calmer air. Nazafareen relaxed her grip on the reins, squinting into the distance.
The twilight made it hard to see more than a few leagues ahead, but she could see a hint of light on the horizon, a band of lighter grey against the darkness. Her pulse picked up a notch. They would reach Solis in another few hours.
She thought of Delilah and Tethys, of the Danai marching across the plain unaware of what awaited them. They had to be turned back. The Pythia already held Galen hostage. If she had hundreds more, collared and forced to fight…. It didn’t bear thinking about.
She twisted to look at Darius. “T
here’s something I haven’t told you yet.” She paused. “Thena was at Val Moraine.”
The bond was still a fragile thing, but she sensed his shock, like a bucket of icy water in the face.
“How?” he asked hoarsely.
“She came with Daníel. They used some kind of talisman to get inside.” Nazafareen kept any hint of pity from her voice. Darius wouldn’t welcome it. “Haven’t you wondered about his collar?”
“Of course I have,” he snapped. “But that’s behind me now. I’ve no wish to revisit it. Should I have asked him who his mistress was? Compared notes on their techniques?”
Nazafareen held her tongue. Unlike her, Darius kept his temper on a tight leash. That it had slipped his grasp revealed the strain he was under. She decided not to tell him that Daníel had allowed Thena to leave the keep.
“She’s the one who took Galen. I don’t know how she managed it, but she’ll be with the Pythia.”
His laugh chilled Nazafareen to the marrow. “I should have killed her when I had the chance. It was stubborn pride. She asked me to, so I refused.”
“I imagine you thought the Pythia would mete out a worse punishment,” Nazafareen said carefully.
She took his silence as confirmation.
“I have no love for Galen,” Darius said finally. “But I wouldn’t wish Thena on anyone.”
“Not even Nicodemus?”
He didn’t smile. “Not even Nicodemus.”
“Well, I have no problem cutting her head off,” Nazafareen said. “Or perhaps something slower and vastly more painful. I’ll have to think on that.”
She leaned back against his chest, felt it rise and fall. The emotions coming through the bond were subdued again, barely decipherable. He’d thrown up a wall against her.
“How long was Thena at Val Moraine?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I should have asked. A while, I gather.”
“I wonder if she spoke with Victor?” He paused. “She must have.”
“Why does it matter?”
“It doesn’t really.”
But she knew he was lying.
“Tell me, Darius.”
“Tell you what?” He didn’t raise his voice, but it had an edge. A note of warning. Nazafareen ignored it.
“What could Victor have told her?”
His whole body tensed and she prepared for another angry outburst. Then Darius took a deep breath and she felt his shoulders relax.
“My name,” he said finally.
The weariness contained in those two words told her all she needed to know.
“You never gave it to Thena,” she said gently.
“I never did. Sometimes I forget everything except for that. Where I came from and how I ended up there. Lack of sleep does strange things to a person.” He sighed. “But I always kept my name locked away. I would have died before telling her. I fully expected to.”
Images of what Thena might have done to extract this information from Darius crowded her head. Nazafareen felt nauseous.
“Why did she let you go? I’ve never understood that.”
He was silent for a long time. Nazafareen sensed he knew, but was reluctant to put it into words.
“She told me a story once. About lovers named Psyche and Eros. She said we were like them. That I had been sent to test her faith. She was mad, Nazafareen.” He pulled her closer, resting his chin on the top of her head. “There’s an emptiness in Thena. She tries to fill it with devotion—to her god, to the Pythia—but it’s a bottomless hole.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
He swallowed. “I think…. As revolting as it sounds, she came to care for me. In her own twisted way.” His voice grew wintry again. “I encouraged it. I used the bond to try to understand her. To crawl into the cesspool of her head. I could have blocked her out to some degree, but I didn’t. I wanted her to know me too. To make it harder for her.” He shifted back so they were no longer touching. “I must sicken you.”
Nazafareen’s heart lurched. “How could you say such a thing? Don’t ever think that. I would have done the same. You were very clever. And if you hadn’t….” She trailed off, the sentence unfinished.
If he hadn’t, Darius would be dead.
She understood now what survival had cost him. She said she would have done the same, but in truth, Nazafareen wondered if she would have had his strength. She knew how to sharpen her hatred to a fine point. She knew how to kill without regret. But it was another matter to have your mind chained to a sadistic monster. To hold the broken pieces of yourself together, not knowing if each hour would be the last.
It wasn’t simply a matter of courage. Darius had the ability to distance himself from pain and suffering to an extreme degree. It was almost as if part of him welcomed it.
But nor would it be honest to say Thena’s warped affections meant nothing to Nazafareen. She remembered a woman standing next to the Pythia, with long black hair and olive skin. She had been very beautiful. Nazafareen suddenly wondered if Thena had seen him naked. This led to fury and inevitably, shame at her own petty jealousy. Darius seemed to sense an echo of it. She felt him tense up again.
“Let’s not speak of it anymore,” she said. “Unless you wish to?”
“I don’t,” he replied fervently.
“If it helps to ease the burden—”
“There’s no burden.”
Nazafareen doubted the truth of this, but she decided to change the subject.
“I forgot to tell you,” she said. “Culach and Galen’s mother, Mina.”
Darius lifted an eyebrow.
She lowered her voice in an approximation of Culach’s. “They’re very fond of each other.”
He laughed and the sound—not cold or despairing anymore, but warm and amused—gladdened her heart. “Mina was at Val Moraine?”
“I didn’t meet her, but yes.” Her brow wrinkled. “I told Culach to tell Mina that I forgave Galen. I didn’t mean it though. He’s a git.”
Galen’s betrayal still stung. She hadn’t known him well, but he never gave any sign that he wished her dead.
Darius snorted. “I haven’t forgiven him either and he’s my brother.”
“Why did he do it? What did he have to gain?”
“You’ll have to ask him yourself.”
She tossed her head. “I can’t think of two people less suited to the power than Galen and Katrin. Especially Katrin. She’ll probably use it on me the moment I break her ward.”
“If she has one. We don’t know for certain yet.”
“Oh, it’s her, all right,” Nazafareen said darkly. “The gods are perverse.”
They flew on without talking for a while. Darius produced some bruised apples and they made a quick meal in the saddle. Nazafareen must have drifted off, her back nestled against Darius’s chest, for when she opened her eyes the horizon was distinctly brighter.
“Any sign of the Danai?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.
He gave his head a slight shake. “Nothing’s moving on the plain.”
“Are we on the right course to intercept them?”
“Should be. I can check the globe again.”
Nazafareen felt him lean forward.
“Wait…. I do see something. But it’s not on the ground.”
At the same instant, Daníel raised a fist. The other riders slowed and he circled back around to fly alongside Nazafareen and Darius. She peered into the gloom, but saw nothing.
“Wind ships ahead,” Daníel called. “About five leagues off.”
“The Pythia’s?” Nazafareen called back.
Daníel’s hood lay across his broad shoulders. His unbound silver hair streamed out as he leaned carelessly from the saddle. “Must be.”
“What are they doing?”
“Nothing. Just sitting there.” Daníel’s eyes burned like green coals. “They can’t maneuver like the abbadax. We’ll knock them out of the sky.”
Nazafareen frowned. The Pythia h
ad set a trap before at the Ecclesia and sprung it with ruthless efficiency. She’d waited for precisely the right moment. Like a hunter stalking prey.
“We have to stop thinking of her as the Oracle,” Nazafareen muttered. “She’s a creature of the Kiln. So the question is, what’s she got up her sleeve this time?”
“Something nasty,” Darius ventured.
“No doubt. Let me send the Maenads to scout,” she called to Daníel. “We need to know if there are Vatras on those ships before we do anything.”
Daníel gave a sharp nod and banked away to tell the other daēvas.
“Megaera!” Nazafareen bellowed.
She flew over, her cheeks flushed. Rhea clung to her back, looking slender as a birch sapling next to Megaera’s solid bulk. Their long braids streamed out behind them.
“There are wind ships ahead. Go take a look. Just a look!”
Megaera signaled that she understood. Their abbadax sped into the gloom.
“Find the Danai,” Nazafareen said to Darius, passing him the globe. He took it and blew on the runes.
“They’re already past the ships,” he said a moment later. “But only by a few leagues.”
The temptation to race forward was overwhelming, but she was no longer a rash girl. The last months had taught her some hard lessons.
Brynjar flew in circles while they waited, the monotonous landscape passing beneath her wings. A few minutes later, Megaera and Rhea returned with Herodotus and Kallisto. Daníel flew over with Katrin. The abbadax slowed and hovered over the plain.
“Each has two pilots,” Megaera reported. “They look like mortals. We counted twenty ships, strung in a line across the Umbra. We came close but they did nothing.”
“A blockade,” Katrin said, her eyes narrowing.
“Yet they allowed the Danai to pass,” Darius said.
Daníel frowned. “We have to get through them.”
Nazafareen’s unease grew. The Pythia had demanded her presence at the Gale. Why would she attack now?
“We stick together,” she said. “Only use the power if you have to. If they attack, go for the air sacks. It’s the most vulnerable part of the ship. And I don’t have to tell you to retreat at the first sign of fire.”