She stretched out her arm, and Feros landed, his sharp talons digging into her bare skin. His feathers reeked of blood and rotten flesh. She held her breath against the stench, opened the tube on his back, and drew out its contents. Feros fluttered up to perch on the branch of a nearby tree and stared down at Aleida with his haunting, ink-black eyes.
She unrolled the folded sheets of paper and smoothed them over her leg. There was no written message this time, only a few drawings. One showed Aleida and Tyrus sitting on a bench under an apple tree. Another had Aleida leaning forward on a horse that galloped across the center of the page. The last drawing was of Hasan, chasing after a rabbit through a sea of leafy plants that could only be his garden.
Aleida smiled. The lines were steadier and stronger than they had been in the last batch he’d sent. Maybe he’d had a good day, one where his hands hadn’t hurt or shaken as much as usual.
She opened her pack and tucked the drawings in with the rest of Tyrus’ letters, then pulled out the sketches she’d been working on over the last few weeks to send back to him. Her journey had been remarkably dull of late, and rather than documenting the miles of empty landscape around her, she’d drawn some of the familiar characters and creatures from the bedtime stories Papa used to tell them.
There were the giant sea dragons that attacked ships or guided them through storms, depending on which version one wanted to believe. There was the great artist Cassia, chosen by Artex himself to paint the lightning that drove off their enemies. There were creatures that were half human and half beast, mythical monsters defeated by the legendary heroes of old. Aleida had even thrown in a drawing of Tyrus dressed in gleaming armor fit for a hero. His voice was strong in her memories of their childhood, pleading with Papa to make up some story featuring himself as the lead character.
Carefully, she rolled up the drawings and called for Feros. It took more than a little bribery with some dried pork to get the strix to come down from his perch, but he eventually complied. Aleida slipped the drawings into his carrier and offered him a drink from the palm of her hand. His sharp beak cut though her skin in what she half believed was a purposeful attack, and he drank the bloodied water greedily. Aleida’s nose wrinkled in disgust, and she was glad when he finally flew off, back toward Chatanda to deliver her message.
Valkyra returned as she was bandaging her hand. “What happened?”
“Feros,” she muttered.
“Did he bring a message?”
“Yes, but he’s left already.”
Valkyra’s gaze drifted to Aleida’s pack. “Anything you need me to read?”
“No. Only drawings this time.”
“I see.” She shifted her wings behind her back. “Well, I’m afraid I didn’t find any food, but you still have enough to last a while. And there's something else that might be useful. Come. And bring the rest of those bandages.”
She bounded across the forest floor like a fox, and Aleida tried to keep up as best she could. It was hard to see much of anything in the shadows, and she used her magic to create a glowing orb of light over one hand. After a few minutes, Valkyra stopped and waited for her to catch up, then jumped up from the ground to perch on her shoulder. “You’ll want to cover your face,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because we’re going to harvest daravak, and you don’t want to accidentally inhale any of it yourself.”
She raised her shirt up over her mouth and nose. Valkyra extended one clawed foreleg to indicate the direction she should walk. After a few paces, the light from Aleida’s hand fell upon a gnarled tree. Shelves of fungus grew along the lower section of the trunk, soft and pale against the rough bark. In some places, it grew so thick Aleida couldn’t even see the tree beneath. She stepped closer and bent to examine the fungi, which was speckled with dark spots that reminded her of a seagull’s egg.
She reached out to touch the daravak but stopped before her fingers brushed its surface. “Is it safe to touch them?” she asked, her voice muffled through the fabric of her shirt.
“Yes, but you’ll want to wash your hands thoroughly after. It won’t affect you unless you ingest or inhale it. Wrap it up and we’ll take some with us.”
Aleida spread some of the bandages on the ground and pulled a section of the fungus from the bark. It separated with a gentle tug, and she laid it atop the fabric. “I assume you’re thinking this could be useful against Amar’s Tarja friend.”
“And Jameson, should he prove to be uncooperative when we question him.”
Aleida nodded. It was a good idea. Not a complete plan, maybe, but better than charging into another fight unprepared. “Do we need to do anything special for it to work?”
“No. It should keep its potency for at least a couple of months. And then of course we’ll have to find some way to administer it, but we can figure that out once we have a better idea of the situation we’re dealing with.”
Aleida pulled several more pieces of daravak from the tree, then wrapped the bundle up tight. She wound another bandage around it as an extra precaution before pulling her face free of her shirt. “It’s a good find,” she said, smiling at Valkyra. “Thank you.”
“Of course, dear.” She draped her silky tail over Aleida’s shoulder. “I know how frightening it can be to lose your magic to something like daravak, even temporarily. But the weapons people use against you can be wielded just as effectively in your own hands. Maybe even more so. Your very existence is the perfect example of that.”
Aleida frowned. “How do you mean?”
“You were orphaned by Kavoran Tarja and their magic, and yet here you are, using that same magic to fight for your brother’s life. Our greatest weaknesses can become our biggest strengths, under the right circumstances.”
There was a certain pride in her voice, an admiration for what Aleida had become—for what they had become together. But Aleida’s stomach twisted, and she found no encouragement in the dragon’s words. Yes, her trials had changed her, made her stronger, made her hard. She’d been thrust into the fire and hammered relentlessly, only to come out on the other side as sharp as a steel blade. The right circumstances indeed, her weaknesses turned into a weapon.
But if she was sharp and hard and strong, it was only because she’d been forced to become so. She had never asked to be made steel.
28
Kesari
Alone in her old room, Kesari ran her hand across the lovingly hand-stitched blankets spread over the bed she used to share with Navya. A lamp in one corner illuminated the space with a warm glow now that night had fallen. Saya had returned to Jameson’s tower after dinner, but Kesari had opted to stay with her family. They’d welcomed her back so warmly; it would have been wrong to disappear on them so soon after that reunion.
And yet, the idea of staying here permanently didn’t feel quite right either. This had been such a long time coming, but it had happened so fast. She was still trying to sort through it all in her head. So much had changed, and so much hadn’t. Maybe in time, she would feel like she belonged here again.
But what if she didn’t?
She stooped to open a wooden chest sitting at the end of the bed. Dad had gifted it to her and Navya right before Kesari left home. A bitter chill cut through her when she found a bunch of Rajiv’s old things inside, as well as some of her own. She picked up a doll Mum had made when she was six or seven years old. It smiled at her with a chipped-paint mouth, but she couldn’t bring herself to smile back.
“None of us could bear to throw out any of that useless stuff after you left.”
Kesari jumped at the unexpected voice behind her.
Navya stood in the doorway. “It all sat in that trunk, collecting dust. Shame. I really could have used the storage for my own things.”
Her voice was filled with a contempt Kesari wouldn’t have previously believed her capable of. She hadn’t said a word during dinner, though Kesari thought she’d caught her sister glaring at her a few times.
Navya rolled her eyes. “It’s my room, you know. You can’t invite someone into their own room.” She walked inside anyway and sat on the bed with a huff. “Dad’s out there thanking Lucian for looking after you all this time”
“You mean they’re actually having a civil conversation?” Kesari asked. “They used to have such terrible fights.”
“He says you haven’t used any magic since you left.”
“I haven’t.” Kesari walked over to sit on the bed beside her sister. She folded her knees up against her chest. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone else.”
Navya let out a snort. “Oh, of course not. Heaven forbid you should hurt anyone else. Just your family.”
“Navya, look—”
“No, you look.” She shook her head. “Why did you even come back here anyway? Was it because you wanted to see us, or only because you wanted to help that Sularan girl and the other new friends you told us about?”
“I did want to see you, I just…didn’t know if I should.”
“You left us.” Navya clenched her hands in her lap. “I wasn’t sure you’d ever come back.”
“I know.” The pain in her sister’s voice squeezed around Kesari’s heart. She’d put her in a horrible position the night she left. She’d gotten Navya home safe, but after such a traumatic event, the burden of having to tell their parents what had happened couldn’t have been easy.
“I was ten years old,” Navya said, her voice rising. “My brother was dead and my sister disappeared, and I had no one. Mum and Dad could barely take care of themselves for a while, let alone pay any attention to me. We weren’t even sure if you were all right out there. You could have been dead, and we never would have known.”
“I’m sorry.” That weak, useless word again.
“Now you’re back, and it’s all I’ve ever wished for, but I’m still so angry at you for leaving.” Tears filled Navya’s dark eyes. “You didn’t have to, you know. You could have stayed. Maybe it would have been hard, but we would have figured it out.”
Everything inside Kesari crumbled. Navya was still so young, but so much more grown up than she remembered. “I really am sorry, Navya. I couldn’t bear to stay knowing that I…” She swallowed. “I killed him.”
“You didn’t kill Rajiv, Kes. It was an accident.”
“An accident I caused.”
“No.” She swiped at her cheeks with the palm of her hand. “There was an investigation, after you left. Some men from the palace started questioning anyone who was seen at the clocktower the night of the fire. They came here, and I told them everything. I told them it was your fault.”
A new wave of guilt surged through Kesari. “I know it was.”
Navya took her hand. “But it wasn’t, Kes. Not entirely. I heard one of them talking to Mum and Dad after. He said the building had been in poor condition for years. He said architects had been trying to convince the king to renovate it, because it was dangerous, ready to collapse. But it wasn’t ever a priority, and it kept getting worse, so it was only a matter of time before something bad happened.”
“I’m still the one who set it on fire,” Kesari said, new tears running down her cheeks.
“But it shouldn’t have burned so easily or so quickly,” Navya insisted. “Think about it. It was one little fireball. It shouldn’t have been capable of doing so much damage. If we’re going to point fingers, the king is as much to blame as you. Maybe even more so. And he must know that, because the royal family made payments to every family who lost someone in that fire.”
Kesari shook her head. She didn’t know what to do with this new information. For so long, she’d carried the full burden of blame for what had happened that night. It was something she’d known she would carry for the rest of her life, and the fact that someone else might be equally responsible did nothing to ease her conscience. She was still directly connected to the deaths of all those people, and shifting part of the responsibility onto someone else didn’t change that.
When she said nothing, Navya sighed and let go of her hand. “It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway. You’re back. And I guess I’m going to have to get used to sharing my room again.”
“I guess.”
“You are staying, aren’t you?”
Kesari chewed on her lip. If only she could give Navya the straightforward answers she deserved. She’d waited so long to come home, and the reception from her family had been better than anything she could have hoped for. She owed it to them to stay.
But didn’t she also owe it to herself to do whatever was best for her? She’d had some dark days, but the time she’d spent wandering all over Erythyr had been valuable. She and Rajiv had always talked about going off on grand adventures and seeing the world one day, and that was what she’d done when she left home. The idea of staying in one place now seemed restrictive. The idea of staying here, in this place, where Rajiv’s memory was still so painfully close—she wasn’t ready for that.
And then there was this curse of Amar’s, and Saya’s haseph. She wasn’t sure how any of that would play out, but she’d come this far with them already, and she wanted to see it through. Whatever that meant.
“You should stay,” Navya said, more quietly now. “I’m sorry if I haven’t seemed as happy to have you back as Mum and Dad. I really did miss you.”
“I missed you too,” Kesari said. She was too tired and too emotionally drained to make any big decisions tonight. That could wait until later. For now, it was enough to just be home.
She smiled at her sister, and for the first time since she’d returned, Navya smiled back.
29
Amar
Amar, Saya, and Mitul made themselves comfortable in Jameson’s tower over the next few days as their host came and went sporadically. He would spend hours poring over stacks of books and scrolls, only to go dashing back to the library or to consult the historians at Deveaural’s most prestigious academic institution. The disheveled piles on his table grew by the day, and his mutterings to himself became increasingly frenetic. He jotted notes in a green, leatherbound journal, and he often fell asleep in his armchair with a book still propped open on his lap.
Sometimes, while Jameson was out, Amar would try to peek through his notes and the stacks of books on the table. Much of it was written in Atrean, making it impossible for him to read. Even the Kavoran notes were hard to decipher, written in a laborious, academic style. The content was all related to magic and science, of which Amar didn’t have enough background knowledge to fully understand. He tried to talk to Jameson about his findings a couple of times, but the Tarja only brushed him off. He seemed to have a particular talent for immersing himself completely in his work and ignoring everything else. He probably wouldn’t have even remembered to eat if Saya or Mitul didn’t set a plate in front of him two or three times a day, and even then, it sometimes went untouched. No wonder the man was so thin.
Kesari and Lucian were still staying with her family, but they stopped by at least once a day to see if there had been any new developments. Jameson was as good at ignoring them as he was Amar. Sometimes, he would engage in lengthy theoretical discussions with Lucian about a specific magical problem he was trying to puzzle out, but Amar couldn’t keep up with these conversations and had to content himself with being patient. He’d find out what he needed to know when Jameson was ready to share it, and not a moment sooner.
He kept himself busy by writing in his own journal, documenting some of the more notable events from his travels over the last few months. Maybe it was futile, but since he couldn’t hold onto his real memories, this was the next best thing.
Four days into their stay in Jameson’s tower, the Tarja was finally ready to
review the results of his research. Kesari and Lucian had arrived at noon with fresh vegetables from her mother’s garden and a savory meat pie, which Kesari cut and divvied up amongst the others for lunch. Jameson had just roused himself for the day and yawned as he took a full plate from her. “Oh good,” he said brightly. “You’re all here. I think I’ve figured out what to do about your predicament.”
Mitul exchanged a hopeful look with Amar. “You mean you can break the curse?”
“Ah—well, not exactly. Not yet, anyway. Let me explain from the beginning.” He cleared his throat and set down his plate. “Most magic is short-lived. Fast-acting, powerful, and over almost as quickly as it began. Think of the way Tarja use magic to attack or defend against an enemy in battle. Each burst of altma is gone in a second.” He snapped his fingers, igniting tiny green sparks that crackled over his fingers and then disappeared.
“Of course, there are some types of magic that last longer. Healing magic, for example, or illusions. Those don’t fade away quite as quickly, but they do fade, usually within minutes or hours, sometimes a few days. If you want the effects to last longer, you have to renew them by channeling altma over and over again. By nature, magic is fleeting and unpredictable. Tarja can spend years honing the skills and power needed to control it.” He glanced at Kesari and Lucian. “Of course, if one is Bonded to a Spirit Tarja who already developed those skills in their lifetime, that learning process is often faster and easier, but the point is, in most cases, magic doesn’t last.”
“What does that have to do with my curse?” Amar asked.
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