“So don’t let anyone see you.”
“You make it sound so simple,” Valkyra murmured, but she bounded into the air anyway and flew to an open window on the second floor. She perched on the sill for a moment, peering inside, then disappeared into the building.
Aleida waited. Inside the inn, a new song started up, and when that one ended, another. Valkyra did not return. Aleida nudged a rock back and forth between her shoes with mounting impatience. Judging by the size of the building there must have been dozens of rooms, and searching them all was going to take some time. Most likely, Valkyra wouldn’t even be able to check all of them properly. Some would be closed off, and some areas would be too crowded for her to sneak past unseen.
This wait was unbearable. A more direct approach would speed things along. Aleida didn’t have any travel papers, but no one else knew that. The fact that such a thing existed at all meant it wasn’t completely out of the question for a Visan to be in the city at this hour. She might draw a little attention to herself, but what did that matter? She’d be gone soon enough, and she hadn’t seen any guards around for a while.
She squared her shoulders and headed for the door. There was a lively crowd inside, but no one even so much as glanced in her direction when she entered. They were all too busy listening to the singer atop a low stage in the corner of the room, or calling for more food and drink as servers rushed by balancing wide platters over their heads.
“Can I help you?” said a voice to her right. A broad-shouldered man sat behind the counter, the quill in his hand poised over the slim book he’d been writing in. He peered at her from below a pair of thick eyebrows, and when she lowered the hood of her cloak, his eyes widened a little.
“I’m looking for someone. I was told he’s staying here.” She pulled out the sketches in her pocket. The pages were wrinkled and beginning to tear at the edges, but the drawings were clear. She held one out to show the man. “His name’s Amar. He was here yesterday, and he might be still. Do you recognize him?”
“I don’t make it a habit to say who my customers are,” the innkeeper said, not looking at the drawing. “People like their privacy.”
“Of course,” Aleida replied. “But he’s a friend of mine, and it’s very important that I find him. I have some time-sensitive information he needs to hear.”
The innkeeper narrowed his eyes. Aleida tried to maintain an expression of innocence. After a few seconds, he sighed, looked down at the drawing, and nodded. “I remember him. He was here with a few others the night before last, but they left this morning. A shame, too. The saraj player was quite talented. He drew in a lot of customers.”
She was too late. Again. “Do you have any idea where they might have gone?”
“They were talking about getting supplies for a journey through the desert. Sounds like a bad idea this time of year, but one of them was a Sularan, so I suppose they’ll manage.”
Aleida returned the drawings to her pocket. “All right. Well, thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”
She turned quickly, colliding with the solid, uniformed torso of a city guard. Throwing her hood up over her ears, she tried to slink past him with a mumbled apology, but he gripped her shoulder and barred her path to the door.
“Is this one giving you any trouble?” asked the guard.
“Not at all,” the innkeeper replied. “Aren’t you off-duty? Come sit down and have a drink.”
Aleida cast a look of gratitude to the man over her shoulder, but the guard didn’t release his grip. He pulled down the hood of her cloak and nodded. “Visan. I thought so. You’re not where you’re supposed to be, are you?”
Aleida’s heart thundered inside her chest. “I—I was only—” Her mind stumbled over excuses, but she couldn’t get anything coherent out.
“There’s no need for all this,” the innkeeper said. “She wasn’t causing any trouble, really.”
The guard ignored him. “Where are your travel papers? Or are you foolish enough to think you can walk around this city without them?”
Aleida’s eyes darted around the room. There was no help to be found among the inn’s patrons. They were still listening to the music, oblivious to what was going on behind them. But the door was right there. So close. If she could get through it, she was sure she could outrun the guard.
She channeled her altma at the same time she tried to duck out from beneath his grasp. When that didn’t work, she put a hand around his wrist and sent heat and electricity into the exposed skin between his glove and his shirt sleeve. He let out a roar of pain and released his hold on her.
Aleida ran—or started to. She’d only taken a single step when she tripped over the guard’s outstretched leg. She didn’t have time to catch herself and landed hard, scraping her chin against the rough wood floor.
Before she could scramble to her feet, the bulky weight of the guard’s body was pressed against her back. He pushed her head down with one hand and used his other to shove something soft and wet against her mouth and nostrils. Aleida could barely breathe through it, and she thrashed frantically in an effort to break free. She clawed at his arms, his legs—anything within reach. It was no use.
After a few seconds, he let go of her face. She sucked in a gasp and blew air out her nose, shooting chunks of something orange and slimy onto the floor. Then she reached for her altma again, ready to tear the entire building apart so she could escape.
But there was no altma to reach for. Or, if there was, she couldn’t sense it. She tried again to no avail. It was as if all the altma had simply been ripped from her and the world around her.
The guard wrenched her arms behind her back and hauled her to her feet. “You’re under arrest for trespassing and assaulting a city guard.”
“What did you do to me?” she asked, trying over and over again to channel her altma. “Why can’t I—what did you do?”
The guard chuckled. “Your first experience with daravak, I take it? Well, now you know how surprised I was when you tried to use your magic on me. I’ve never heard of one of you heathens being blessed by altma, but I suppose there’s a first time for everything. Now move.”
He shoved her forward, and without her magic, Aleida was powerless to do anything but go where he directed.
17
Kesari
At Mitul’s suggestion, Kesari and the others booked passage on a merchant ferry that could carry them downriver most of the way to Sharmok. Mitul charmed the ferry master into letting them pay their way with their own labor, which allowed them to save the money they’d need to buy supplies later. Kesari and Amar spent their days on board cooking and cleaning for the crew while Saya and Mitul helped sort through inventory in the cargo hold.
True to his word, Amar seemed to be making more of an effort to treat them all with less hostility. Sometimes he was even kind. He and Lucian got along especially well, and when no one else was around to see or hear the Spirit Tarja, the ferry’s galley filled with the sounds of their banter. Kesari kept out of these conversations, but her heart warmed at seeing Lucian make a connection with someone who wasn’t her. The two of them had always gotten along well enough, but there was a certain burden of responsibility between them that Lucian didn’t have to carry with Amar.
She was happy for him. He deserved to have those positive connections with others, and so much more. More than she could give him. She pondered that as she lay awake on their third night aboard the ferry. With every passing minute, they drifted closer and closer to Atrea, to home. They still had a long ways to travel, but the fact that she was going at all still filled her with a strange mixture of surprise and apprehension.
She rolled onto her side and shifted her arm beneath her head, staring at Lucian’s flames as they flickered against the glass of his lantern. They might be headed to Atrea, but that didn’t mean she had to go all the way home. Malfram was nowhere near Deveaural where she’d grown up. She didn’t have to go back there and face what she’d left behind.
Memories flickered in the back of her mind like tiny sparks, and the silence was suddenly unbearable. “Lucian,” she whispered.
“Yes?”
“Tell me a story.”
“It’s late, Kes. You should sleep.”
“I can’t.”
“You’re not even trying. And aren’t you getting a little too old for bedtime stories?”
“Mum says you can never be too old for stories.”
Lucian’s mouth curled up in a smile. “A very wise woman, your mother.”
Kesari tried to smile back but found she had to fight back tears instead. Most days, she could deal with the pain of missing her family. All she had to do was shut out the images of Mum and Dad, Navya and Rajiv, and remind herself that they were better off without her. But sometimes, missing them would hit her out of nowhere, a sudden yearning that pushed against her lungs until she could barely breathe.
She should be with them now. She should be asleep in her own bed, not here on a Kavoran ferry lying awake in the dark. If only she had made different choices. If only her childish heart hadn’t longed for magic. Maybe then she wouldn’t have Bonded with Lucian, and they both could have been spared their current burdens.
“Tell me what’s really keeping you awake,” the Spirit Tarja said gently.
Kesari swallowed the knot in her throat. “Do you ever wish you’d made a Bond with someone else?”
“Never,” he replied without hesitation.
“I’m serious. Someone stronger, maybe. Or braver.”
“Kes, you’re one of the strongest, bravest people I know.”
“I’m not.” The certain truth of the words brought back the knot in her throat, and her voice became shaky. “I’m terrified, all the time. Amar, Saya, Mitul—they’re all so brave. I have all this altma inside me waiting to be used, but I can’t bring myself to use it. I’m not even brave enough to keep our Bond.”
“There are other kinds of strength and courage.”
She gripped the cuffs of Rajiv’s coat a little tighter. “You don’t have to say that to make me feel better. I know this isn’t what you wanted when we made our Bond. Just tell me the truth.”
His dark eyes locked with hers. “The truth about what?”
Kesari took a breath. She hadn’t ever dared ask him this before. Already, she feared the answer, but if she didn’t pose the question now, maybe she never would. “Do you resent me for rushing into making this Bond and then wanting to break it?”
He made himself a little bigger and pressed against the glass so she could see his face more clearly. “All I wanted was a chance to live a little longer,” he said. “You gave me that. How could I resent you?”
“Because this isn’t what we agreed to. A Bond is supposed to be permanent.”
The dark voids of Lucian’s eyes flickered a little. “It wasn’t fair for me to ask you to form a Bond when you were so young. I never should have put you in that position.”
Kesari frowned. “It was my choice.”
“You were a child, and I knew better. Besides, if it was your choice then, it should still be your choice now. It’s your life, after all.”
“And yours.”
“No. I’m only here because I’m leeching off the borrowed time you gave me.” He shrunk a little, and his voice grew softer. “I still worry about what will happen to you if you go through with this, but if it’s what you really want, then that’s what we’ll do.”
Kesari nodded and dabbed at her eyes with her coat sleeve. “But what will happen to you?”
“I’m not sure. I suspect I’ll fade away, like any other Spirit Tarja without a Bond.”
“You mean you’ll die.”
He grinned, flames twisting into jagged teeth below his eyes. “I’m already dead, you know.”
“Yes, but…you’ll be gone.” A hollowness opened up inside her chest. Until now, she hadn’t given much thought to what breaking their Bond might mean for Lucian. There hadn’t been any point in speculating on it until they knew it was possible. But if it was, and if she really went through with it, she might be killing Lucian in the process. His altma still tethered his soul to the physical world, but without a physical body to attach itself to—without that Bond to Kesari’s body—he probably would fade away into a true and permanent death.
“Don’t worry about what happens to me,” Lucian said. “I had my shot at living, and I’ve cheated death long enough already. I’ll be all right.”
Kesari nodded and closed her eyes, but that hollow ache followed her into a restless sleep filled with nightmares of smoke and falling ash.
The ferry master dropped them off at a bend in the river not far from Sharmok. The fast-moving water had carried them far in three days’ time, well outside the deciduous forests that characterized much of Kavora and into the flatter, drier terrain of the country’s southern border.
The summer air was hot and dry, and as they walked, Kesari’s skin grew damp with sweat. She kept her coat on anyway. She could handle a little warmth. Beneath the coat, her tunic sleeves barely reached her elbows, and she was less certain of her ability to handle the stares and questions her companions might have upon seeing the self-inflicted scars that covered her forearms. She could change into something more comfortable once they found lodgings in Sharmok.
The town itself was smaller than both Valmandi and Tarsi, but as the only major Kavoran settlement this close to the desert, it served as a hub of trade and travel. Several Sularans mingled with the Kavoran locals, and Saya held out her hand to them in silent greeting as they passed, palm low at her side and facing forward. The other Sularans returned the gesture, often with a brief nod. Like her, a few of the younger ones bore the same painted haseph markings on their faces—two lines under one eye, an unfinished circle around the other, and a third line from the lower lip to the chin.
Kesari and the others followed Saya’s lead toward the center of town. A Sularan woman with thick, graying braids caught her gaze and turned a palm out to her. Saya nodded but didn’t mirror the hand gesture this time, and Kesari did a double take as they passed. The haseph lines on the older woman’s face weren’t painted on, but were instead carved out in raised scars that glistened a shade lighter than the rest of her skin. Reflexively, she touched her own cheek. That had to have been painful.
She waited until they were out of earshot to ask Saya about it. “That woman back there—who cut those markings on her face?”
“Probably someone from her tribe, unless she had the courage to do it herself.”
The hairs along Kesari’s forearms prickled, and she resisted the urge to run her fingers along her own scars. “Why?”
Saya gave her a sidelong glance. “We’re required to complete haseph before we can be fully accepted into our tribe. The markings we paint on our faces show that we’ve started that pilgrimage. When we return home and if our offering is accepted, we wash those markings away forever. But some don’t complete their haseph, or they bring back an unsuitable offering. They wear the mark of their failure forever and can never fully be one with us.”
“That seems…” Kesari struggled to find the right word, not wanting to offend Saya.
“Harsh?” the warrior offered.
She shrugged. “A little.”
“We’re given plenty of opportunities for success. If the first offering is insufficient, we can seek out another, and there’s no specific timeframe for when the haseph must be completed.”
“Then why would anyone let themselves be marked like that?”
Saya shrugged. “The reasons are different for everyone, I suppose. It’s not easy, leaving home and being separated from everyone you know. We live among strangers who often have little respect for our customs and beliefs. For some, it becomes too difficult.”
“Isn’t in just as hard to never be fully accepted in your own tribe.”
Saya considered this for a few seconds. “Maybe. I know a man who has those same scars. He resen
ted our leaders for not accepting his offering, and he didn’t take the opportunity continue his haseph out of pride. For some, I think it’s easier to be an outcast at home than to be an outcast among strangers.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“Neither do I. As much as I miss home, I don’t think I could ever face my people if I knew they’d never fully accept me.”
That was a sentiment Kesari could understand all too well.
A few minutes later, they came upon a public well near the center of town and stopped to rest a while. Each of them took turns drawing up cold, clear water from its depths to refill their canteens, and Kesari splashed some of it over her face and neck to cool her skin. When they were finished, they gathered in the shade of a nearby building to eat and discuss what supplies they needed.
“How much money do we have between us?” Saya asked, pulling out a pouch of coins from the red sash around her waist. Kesari dug around in her pack for her own stash. It was far lighter than she’d hoped, but it seemed the others didn’t have much to offer, either. Amar held out only three jitaara on an open palm.
Saya frowned as her eyes darted to each person’s hand. “We’re going to need more than that. We can hunt some of our food in the desert and I can forage around the area here before we leave, though it will slow us down. And it won’t sustain us for the entire journey. You’ll all need different clothes to protect yourselves from the heat, and I was hoping to get a donkey to carry our water and other supplies.”
“I’m sure we can earn a little money here,” Mitul said brightly. “Everyone loves good entertainment. While you look for food, Amar and I can play some music and hope a few coins are tossed our way.”
“I don’t play music,” Amar muttered.
“Oh, come on,” Lucian said from the lantern at Kesari’s side. “How hard can it be? All you have to do is bang your hands on some drums.”
“You do it then.” Amar’s voice was harsh, but a teasing glint lit his eyes. “Oh, that’s right. You can’t because you don’t have any hands.”
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