by Wagner, Raye
“You would know if you looked,” I said, raising my eyebrows.
Zîvrünê’s attention shifted to Bîcav, and then the prince said, “Keep an eye on her. I’ll be back in an hour.”
As soon as I finished eating, Bîcav took my bowl. “Let’s start your training, right after you take a bath.”
“I don’t want to take a bath,” I said. “Can’t I just change clothes?”
He screwed up his face with a look of disgust. “You stink.”
“No way.” I sniffed and grimaced. Ugh. I did stink. “How long was I out?”
Blowing out a long breath, Bîcav prolonged my agony for several seconds before answering. “Three days.”
Rising from the table, I chuckled. “Which explains why I stink.”
After a bath, and another bowl of pîderîne, Bîcav and I sat on the shore of the lake, talking magîk. Unfortunately for me, there wasn’t another necromancer in Yândarî, possibly not in all of Qralî. Bîcav said there were a few spirit mediums, those who could communicate with the souls of the dead, but neither he nor Zîvrünê knew them well, and now that Zîvrünê wasn’t kümdâr, all he could do is request an audience—which he was afraid to do until I’d agreed.
“Of course I’d say yes,” I said, surprised about the hard boundary. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“As soon as you meet with a spirit medium, Zerôn will have a pretty good idea what your magîk is.”
“Got it. On second thought, let’s not.”
“That’s what we thought,” he replied with a deep chuckle. “But that’s why Zîvrünê wasn’t willing to make your decision for you. Staying out of your head meant he wasn’t sure where you stood in regards to Zerôn and your sister.”
Snorting in disgust, I picked up one of the stones that lay on the bank and threw the smooth rock into the water before addressing Bîcav. He should’ve known though. He was near me enough that he would’ve heard my thoughts. “How come you didn’t know?”
The blond guard raised his eyebrows and stared at me meaningfully. But whatever the message he’d intended by the look, I wasn’t grasping the meaning. Finally, he relented, and explained.
“Whenever Zîvrünê and I are near you, all you think about is him. I don’t have his same magîk, so all I can hear is what you’re thinking at the moment.”
I blushed, and my thoughts scattered.
Bîcav straightened, and then he glanced behind us toward the path. “Your sister is outside the barrier, screaming at me. She wants to talk to you.”
I flinched, and my insides squirmed because I wasn’t so sure I wanted to hear what she had to say. Shifting on the stones, I decided to use every advantage available. “What does she want?”
He closed his eyes, and I waited while he listened to her thoughts. When he opened his eyes again, he gave me a sad smile.
“She’s upset, and her thoughts are all over the place, Buttercup.” He stood and extended his hand. “You should go listen to her.” He pursed his lips as if considering something and then shook it away. “Just stay right outside the barrier, and I’ll be able to hear you both.”
I didn’t want to go, but want had nothing to do with what was best. I let him help me up, and it was all I could do to walk back toward the hut. “Just so you know, I’m going because I trust you, not her.”
“I know, but thanks for saying it aloud.” Bîcav bumped me with his elbow when we got to the trail. “Come on, I’ll walk with you. Zîvrünê changed the barrier so you can come and go as you please. And he also fetched you clothes from the market.”
“I’ll have to pay him back.”
Bîcav touched my arm, drawing my attention to him. “Don’t even suggest it. You don’t know how much he already feels like he owes you. Please don’t burden him with more.”
“But I—”
“Trust me on this one.”
He waved his arm at the path, and I stared at the bent and torn leaves from where I’d fallen.
With a deep breath, I asked, “Are you sure this isn’t a trap? I don’t want to go out there and get ambushed or something.”
Bîcav snorted and leaned in to meet my gaze. “I wouldn’t let you go if I wasn’t sure it was safe. Zîvrünê would kill me if you were harmed on my watch. But I won’t tell you secrets that aren’t mine to share.”
I wanted to be grouchy with him for not telling me what he knew, but a spark of giddy-warmth had blossomed in my chest with his mention of Zîvrünê.
“Fine,” I said, marching past. “I’ll go talk with my sister.”
13
Two Years Ago
After rounding the bend by the fallen tree, I stopped. I’d been acutely aware of how my sister had ignored me for the last year, but the evidence of my own disregard stared back at me in the form of a stranger. Zîyanâ wore a loose tunic covering from shoulders to knees. There was no belt, and her golden hair was plaited in a simple braid. She wore little makeup, and the golden tattoos were bright against her sickly pallor. But the most disconcerting thing was Zîyanâ’s hunched shoulders and her tight expression of worry. Why is she so tense?
“Dîsa,” she said, forcing a smile. “I wanted to see if you would come for supper.”
I studied my sister, trying to get a read on her, but I didn’t know her—not like I once had. “No thank you.”
“Why not?” she asked.
My chest tightened, and the brief debate of sparing her feelings was lost to the truth. “I don’t trust Zerôn.”
Her eyes widened, and she swallowed. Then she straightened, nostrils flaring, and pointed at my tunic. “Are you sleeping with him?”
“N-no.” I took a step back, reeling. How had she come to that conclusion?
“You’re a liar,” she muttered, jutting her chin out. “He was right.”
Indignation flared through me, and I waved at her new clothing. “Is this the new Zîyanâ style?”
She stiffened, and in a single heartbeat, her tight expression morphed from hostility to rage. “I was trying to be nice. But if you want to stay here, I guess you like being a whore to the Zîv and his Serîk.”
I stared at Zîyanâ, too stunned for words. They flitted in and out of my mind, but I couldn’t even form a sentence.
“When you finally get tired of them manipulating and confining you, let me know. Zerôn and I would love to have you as our guest, completely free to come and go as you please. Zerôn has even offered to hire a private tutor for you to train under.”
Which might be tempting, except I didn’t trust Zerôn one bit, and Zîyanâ seemed determined to share in his fate.
“But chances are Bîcav is nearby watching and listening, and you’re too in love to see the truth, just like you’ve always been.” She sneered in disgust and spun on her heel, throwing her parting comment over her shoulder. “Come yourself or send one of Zerôn’s Serîk ahead of you when you change your mind. We have rooms all ready and waiting.”
Her bizarre display pretty much insured I would never come. I turned and, no longer affected by the barrier, walked toward the cabin. Bîcav met me a few feet in, his eyes wide with horror.
“That didn’t go like… Wait. I missed something.” I could tell just by the look on his face. “What did I miss?”
“She’s scared.”
I frowned because that was not the vibe I’d gotten.
“Of Zerôn. Something changed between them in the last few days or so.”
Obviously. Because I’d never gotten the feeling of fear from my sister, and the year of travel had been filled with affection, presents, whispers, and laughter.
Bîcav tilted his head toward the hut. “Let’s go wait for Zîvrünê.”
We’d barely arrived when the magî prince appeared wearing a wary expression. He found us sitting by the lake, pointed at me, and said, “You’re going to have to make a choice.”
I stared at him, his bare chest, hard abs, and vibrant eyes. He was beautiful and fierce. You. I choose you.
&nb
sp; Next to me, Bîcav cleared his throat, trying to hide his laughter.
Blushing, I stammered, “About wh-what exactly?”
Zîvrünê frowned at Bîcav and then settled next to me, on my other side. “Zerôn knows you broke through my barrier, which means he knows how much power you have.” Rünê tapped his zeta bands. “You need to be marked.”
I nodded, remembering when Zîyanâ had received her zeta tattoos from Zîvrünê and his father. She’d been so excited about getting them, but afterward she only told me that she’d been marked—nothing else. The sudden weight of what Zîvrünê was saying sank in, and I grimaced. “Zerôn wants to mark me?”
“It’s his right as Kümdâr—”
“No,” I gasped. The idea of Zerôn tracing the marks on my arm made my stomach heave. “I don’t want him touching me.” I looked at Bîcav and then to Zîvrünê. “You said I have to make a choice, which means there is another option. Can’t you do them? You helped do Zîyanâ’s, right?”
Zîvrünê leaned forward and stared at Bîcav, and I turned to see him shake his head.
“You don’t have to worry about that at all,” Bîcav grumbled. “And you shouldn’t even have to ask.” The Serîk stood and, narrowing his eyes, added, “Your doubt in yourself is making you ask questions you shouldn’t.”
Zîvrünê’s eyes widened, and whatever thoughts he threw to Bîcav had the latter shaking his head as he strode away from us.
“Worried? Doubt?” I asked. When neither of them answered, I raised my voice and asked again, “What are you worried about?”
Zîvrünê met my gaze. “We’ve always believed that each of us is made up of two parts: body and soul.”
I rolled my eyes, frustrated that he felt like now was a time for a basic metaphysical lesson instead of answering my questions. “I’m aware of—”
“But there is a third part: your mind.” He gave me a sad smile as he tapped the side of his head. “And there is a lot about it that is challenging to decipher… even for me.”
The concept of “mind” being the bridge between body and soul wasn’t a new one. I remembered listening to a discussion years ago when he was just Rünê, and he, Erôn, and Anâ were still training, before my parents died.
“But that’s your magîk,” I said in protest. “How could you not understand your magîk?”
He barked a short, dark laugh. “How could you not understand yours?”
That was not fair. Narrowing my eyes, I snapped, “I haven’t been trained like you have.”
“But who can train a zeta?” he asked. “It’s one of the biggest challenges because there is no one stronger, right? So any magî training can only take you so far before you surpass their abilities. And the rules—like the impossibility of breaking through another’s magîk—can be broken or rewritten by another zeta.”
He took a deep breath and let his words settle. My thoughts raced with all the implications of what he was saying, but there was no agitation with the proposal. In fact, it made sense. I wasn’t sure if the knowledge or determination came from my mind or my soul, but I wasn’t going to let him take away this spot, barrier or not.
“So are you saying it was because of my mind or my magîk that I broke through the barrier?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. But the zeta bands tie all three together: body, soul, and mind. And if you’re not at peace with the binding on all those levels, it might affect your magîk.”
“So then I definitely don’t want Zerôn to do it. Can’t you?” I asked. “You were supposed to be Kümdâr. Don’t you have the power to do it?”
He nodded. “I do. But it will be sealed by my magîk, which will have an effect until one of us dies. That’s why the kümdâr does the bands of zetas; it ties your allegiance to him. But if I do it, you’ll be loyal to me over Zerôn—”
“Already feel that way,” I said with a snort. “Bands or no bands, that won’t change.” My mind jumped to him and Zîyanâ. “Did he redo your bands? Or Zîyanâ’s?”
He blew out a breath, and my stomach responded by twisting in knots. He better not have let Zerôn bind him.
“Not mine. I’m certain he’ll have done all three of Zîyanâ’s, and they also have their mate bond, tying their bodies and souls to one another. The ones I did on your sister were tied by my father, so they were loosed when he died.”
“Why didn’t Zerôn redo yours?” The only threat to Zerôn would be Zîvrünê. Why wouldn’t the kümdâr want to bind his brother’s allegiance?
“For the same reason I hesitate to do yours. I’ll have to touch you.”
An eager thrill blossomed in my chest with his words, and I tried to suppress my smile. “I’m sure I’ll survive,” I quipped. As soon as the words left my mouth, the deeper meaning settled. “You’ll see my memories.” Blushing, I stammered, “Th-that’s a little embarrassing.”
He stood and brushed off his butt. Even knowing he would be subject to all the memories of my infatuation, I couldn’t help looking at him. How mortifying.
“I wonder if that’s why Zerôn refuses to bind me,” he said, giving me a look of pity. “He doesn’t want me to know how much he loathes having me as a brother.”
I scrambled upright, stunned that was his conclusion. “No way. And honestly, why would you want him to bind you?”
Zîvrünê swallowed, and his gaze went distant. When he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion. “When we were little, my father said it was like dulce. Remember, we were boys who liked sweets, which is probably why he chose the analogy. To make the confection only required four ingredients—”
“Two,” I said, frowning.
He smiled a boyish grin and said, “That’s what I’d said, too. But it’s four. Milk, sugar, heat, and time. Time is like the magîk binding; it marries the other ingredients in perfect balance. Without the binding, the other three can be out of harmony, so much so it can be challenging to contain the result. If you had too much sugar or milk, perhaps there would be no harm to anyone but the zeta. But too much heat—say, in the form of fire—could destroy others.”
Was he trying to say… “What about you? Are you going to burn everything down if you don’t—”
He looked down at me and rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Dîsa—Zädîsa.” He furrowed his brow, took a deep breath, and then, glancing away nervously, rushed to add, “But after your binding takes, it would be great if you would redo mine.”
“Sure. Of course.”
He cleared his throat and asked, “Where would you like to do this… and when?”
“How about now?” I asked. “Or does it take some special preparation, or ingredients, or something?”
“Nothing special, just us. But you have to lie down, so maybe somewhere a little more comfortable?”
Bîcav had gone back to the cabin, so I suggested the cave. “It has that spongy moss area I could lie down on, or is that too dark?”
Zîvrünê studied me, his blue eyes bright, and as he inhaled, he straightened. “Let me go change. I’ll meet you there.”
I waited on the shore, nervous that he wouldn’t come back. But he did, wearing a short sulu and a smile. Together we walked into the cool water toward the waterfall and the cave behind it—where I’d become a zeta.
14
Two Years Ago
The moss was spongy and soft, and I lay down on it, my entire body thrumming with excitement and trepidation.
“Will it hurt?” I asked, raising my voice to be heard over the pounding waterfall.
Zîvrünê knelt by my side, a somber expression on his face, as if he took what we were about to do as life or death. Then he leaned over me and whispered, “It won’t hurt you at all until the very end. Then you’ll feel tightness in your body, like you’ve climbed too much in one day. And your thoughts will be slower, your emotions a little more volatile, like you’ve had too much alcohol. You might even have a sense of wrongness because my magîk will be there too, for a short while. But in a day o
r so, you’ll feel fine.” He leaned back on his heels to look me in the eyes. “Are you ready for this?”
I nodded.
He picked up a small blade, and I tensed, gasping in horror as he sliced over the meaty part of his palm. A slow smile spread across his face, which only confused me more. My muscles coiled, the need to flee bubbled up inside, and then Zîvrünê winked at me.
“It looks barbaric,” he said. “But the cut is shallow enough that it’ll scab over, probably even before I finish. Although, I hope not.”
“Are you going to tattoo me with your blood?” I asked.
He chuckled and inched closer. “No. My magîk.”
That sounded less creepy, but I wasn’t stupid. “Then why did you cut yourself?”
“It’s easier for me to use my body fluids as a vehicle because there is magîk in them, and blood is one of the most concentrated. I’d rather not have to use just my mind, and to bind you with my soul is a different bond.”
I tried not to think about how much I wanted that bond in particular.
“Now, close your eyes and try to relax. I’m going to paint your arms, your face, and your navel. I’ll go as fast as I can.”
“Don’t hurry on my account,” I replied. “I’ve got nothing else to do today.”
His touch was feather-light as he painted three bands on the skin of my upper arm. He finished the left arm, and I felt his breath against my skin where he’d touched. Whatever words he murmured were lost to the sounds of the waterfall, but I felt a thrum of energy go through me. The copper smell of his blood barely reached me as he worked on my arms, and I remained still—even when he moved, scooting closer to my head.
His touch on my face was brief, just a single dot on my forehead, but I sucked in an unsteady breath as his lips brushed against my skin and he whispered the magîk to seal the binding.
“Strength to your mind…”