She grinned. A campfire, and a fairly new one at that. Amar and his friends couldn’t be too far off. She’d believed they were going the right way all along, but to have a real sign of it now was encouraging. She called Jameson to her position and made her own fire amongst what was left of Amar’s.
“We have a visitor,” he said as she got a nice blaze going.
Aleida looked up, tensed to confront whoever or whatever had come to disturb them. Leaning casually against a tree trunk, Jameson nodded to the branches over her head. She craned her neck, and there sat Feros, orange firelight reflected in his large black eyes.
“Get down here,” she said to him, holding out her arm.
He blinked at her and let out a low, angry screech, but didn’t move.
She sighed and dug around in her pack for the last of the fish she’d saved from a previous meal. Only when she held it out to Feros did he deign to flutter down and perch on her arm. She opened the container on his back and withdrew Tyrus’ latest letter.
“You have a strix,” Jameson said, curiosity and wonder in his voice. “I always thought it might be useful to get one for myself. Of course, the tamed ones are so rare these days the price must be outrageous.”
“You can thank Empress Dashiva and Nandini Kumar for that,” Aleida growled. Breeding and training strixes was a Visan tradition stretching back centuries, but like the rest of her people, all the masters in that field had been killed or displaced during the invasion.
“A shame,” Jameson said, and there seemed to be a genuine hint of sympathy in his voice. Not only for the loss of trained strixes, but for the Visan people. Maybe even for Aleida herself.
Or maybe she was imagining it. She shook Feros from her arm, tossed him the rest of the fish, and unfolded the paper. Hasan’s neat handwriting was scrawled across one side of a single page, but there was nothing else. No drawings from Tyrus, no shaky letters written in his own hand.
Aleida frowned. He must not have been feeling up to writing anything himself. Maybe he was starting to lose more control of his hands. The letter would tell her more, of course, but since she couldn’t read it, she had no way of knowing what it said until Valkyra got back.
“Not the news you were hoping for?” Jameson asked.
She quickly smoothed her expression into one of indifference. “I’m not sure. I can’t read it.”
“Bad penmanship?” he asked. “I could take a look, if you’d like. My own handwriting is so terrible I can decipher almost anything.”
“That’s not—” She shook her head. “Never mind.”
Understanding flickered in his eyes. “You mean you can’t read. At all.”
She didn’t answer, but her cheeks burned, and she recoiled against the heat that rose in her stomach. She must seem so stupid to him, this great, renowned Tarja who had probably studied at one of the best academies in all of Erythyr.
But why should she care what he thought? He was her prisoner, and she didn’t need his approval or respect. No shame. Not for him, not for anyone.
“Is it about your brother?” he asked.
Her eyes narrowed, and she clutched the letter a little tighter. Had he seen part of it somehow? “What makes you think that?”
“Strixes can only bond to a few people,” Jameson said. “Traditionally, people who share the same blood, right? That way it’s easier for them to track whoever they’re bound to, wherever they might be.”
“Maybe it’s from my mother or father,” she snapped. “You don’t know me well enough to make assumptions.”
“True. But you mentioned your brother’s life depends on you finding Amar. That’s an awfully big responsibility for someone so young, and I can’t imagine your parents would send you out here alone, so…” He trailed off, shrugged, and knelt beside the fire.
Aleida sat down and stared into the flames herself. She turned the folded sheet of paper over and over in her fingertips, unanswered questions needling at her. Why hadn’t Tyrus written anything himself? How much worse had his condition gotten since she left Chatanda?
The last time this had happened, it was because he’d fallen ill and couldn’t get out of bed for a week. He’d pulled through in the end, but she’d been in a panic for almost a month before his next letter came. She wasn’t sure she could bear to go through that again.
And what if it was worse than that? What if Hasan was the only one writing to her because Tyrus was….
She shoved the thought down before it could drown her.
There was a rustle in the bushes. She glanced over her shoulder, hoping to see Valkyra returning, but it was only Feros pouncing on something in the leaves. With an exasperated sigh, she fixed her gaze on Jameson. Before, when he’d tried to look at her letters and drawings, Valkyra suggested he might be trying to get information, something to use against them and make an escape later. But they were taking so many precautions. Surely escape was next to impossible. And what harm could one letter do, really?
She stood and strode toward him, holding out the paper. She couldn’t bear to wait. “Read it to me.”
He looked up at her, a question in his eyes, and she nodded. He took the letter, unfolded it carefully, and began to read. “Dear Aleida, I am very—”
“What are you doing?” Valkyra shot past her like an arrow and wrapped her claws around the paper in Jameson’s hands. One of the sharp points caught on his skin, and he yelped. The dragon wrested the letter out of his grasp. Blood oozed up from a thin gash across the heel of his palm.
“I just wanted to know what it said,” Aleida replied.
“And you couldn’t have waited for me?” Valkyra’s silver eyes flashed in the firelight. “You have no idea what he’s plotting. He can’t be trusted.”
“It’s only a letter.”
“It’s information. Information that could give him power over you. Over both of us. Information he could use to—”
“I get it!” she snapped. “I’m sorry, all right? I got impatient. Something’s wrong with Tyrus, and I—”
“Shh,” Valkyra hissed, casting a dark look at Jameson, who had wrapped his injured hand in one of the sleeves of his robe. She gave Aleida a pointed look, her mouth pressed together in a thin, annoyed line.
“I’m sorry,” Aleida said tersely, impatience threatening to boil over inside her. “Please read it to me.”
Valkyra let out an exasperated sigh, but smoothed the letter out on the ground. She switched to Visan so Jameson couldn’t understand what she was saying. Her Visan wasn’t perfect, and it always took her a little extra time to make the translation, but at least she was reading now instead of lecturing.
“Dear Aleida, I hope this letter finds you well. Tyrus wanted to write you himself, but he’s had some bad days this last week and doesn’t have much energy. There has been a sickness going around the village, and I’m afraid we weren’t able to prevent him from being exposed to it. It’s not anything serious, only a fever and some nausea, but of course with his condition, any illness is cause for concern. I’m taking good care of him, don’t worry. I make sure he gets enough to eat and drink, and I’ve used what healing magic I can to ease his discomfort and speed his recovery. He looks at your drawings every day, and I know that helps him, too. Sometimes friends come to check on him or bring him gifts. So many people here care for him. The boy could befriend a tiger if he tried.”
Aleida laughed a little at this. It was true. Tyrus had always had a much easier time making friends than she had, though she’d never begrudged him for it.
“He’s been in good spirits,” Valkyra continued. “Sick, but coping with it better than I expected, all things considered. He should make a full recovery, and I’m sure he’ll have more to tell you in his next letter. Please be careful out there, and hurry back as soon as you can. He misses you. We both do. Your friend, Hasan.”
Relief washed over Aleida as she took the letter back from Valkyra. “Thank you,” she said. It wasn’t the best news, but it was c
ertainly better than all the worst-case scenarios that had been running rampant through her mind. “And I really am sorry. I should have been more careful.”
“We can’t trust him, dear. Not even for a second.”
“I know.” Aleida studied their prisoner with a new level of caution. His brows were furrowed in concentration as he examined his injured hand, and he looked completely harmless with his disheveled robes and dirt-smeared face. Without his magic, he couldn’t harm her, and he’d done little more than bemoan his fate during their travels together. He seemed more like a bumbling fool than a respectable Tarja, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still one of the most powerful men in Atrea. She sometimes forgot that. An easy error, but one she couldn’t afford.
Whatever he was plotting, she couldn’t let herself be fooled or distracted. Not when she was so close to reaching her goal. She watched him warily as she threw more wood onto the fire. The next time he tried to strike up a conversation, she wouldn’t mistake his questions for idle curiosity.
41
Kesari
Kesari woke before dawn and found Amar already up, standing with Lucian near the edge of the road. She went to them, and together they watched the few remaining blue lights that lingered in the gray morning. Both the statue and the nearest skeletons had returned to their original fixed positions from the previous night.
“You’re up early,” Amar said as she approached.
“I could say the same to you.”
He only grunted in response.
“He didn’t get much sleep,” Lucian said. “Nervous about returning to his childhood home and all that.”
Amar scuffed the toe of his boot against the ground but didn’t disagree. “Do you think it’s too early to wake the others?”
Kesari shrugged. “I’m sure they won’t mind. We’re all willing to do to whatever you think is best.”
He nodded and headed for their camp. She stayed with Lucian, watching the blue lights wink out of sight as the morning sun began to brighten the forest. “Did anything interesting happen last night?”
“Aside from walking skeletons and statues coming to life, you mean?” Lucian replied. “No, that about sums it all up.”
“You don’t think they could hurt us, do you?”
“I’m not sure. Last night they only seemed interested in going about their own business, but that doesn’t mean they won’t harm us if we get in their way. We should be ready to fight if we need to.”
“With magic, you mean.” Her stomach knotted at the thought.
“Well, you don’t exactly have any other weapons to speak of. Besides, the best way to fight or defend against something magical is usually with more magic.”
Kesari frowned. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. She was barely starting to get comfortable with using her magic for healing. Using it to fight was something entirely different. If she was her friends’ best protection against whatever magical foes they might come across, they could be in real trouble.
She returned to the remains of the campfire to retrieve her pack. Saya divvied out some dried fruit for their breakfast, which they ate as they started down the road. They passed more and more skeletons the farther they walked, along with more statues and the ruined remains of various buildings. All were lifeless in the morning sunlight, but perhaps they would reanimate again once darkness fell. Or, maybe, last night’s activity had been some sort of special occasion.
The buildings seemed to be more well-preserved the farther they went. Some were almost entirely intact. Amar stopped at one, and they all ventured inside. Even the furnishings remained untouched by time. A family of skeletons sat on the floor around a low table, ceramic plates arranged in front of them, cups clasped in bony fingers. Amar picked up one of the plates and traced his finger over the flowering swirls painted along the rim.
“Do you remember any of this?” Mitul asked.
“I don’t know. Some of it seems so familiar, but I can’t quite place it.” He stared down at the skeleton seated below him, its colorful robes decorated with intricate patterns and beadwork. “These people were wealthy, I think. A noble family, maybe…” He trailed off as he set the plate back down, then turned and let his eyes wander around the rest of the room. His next words were barely audible. “Friends of my family.”
“Amar?” Saya asked after several long moments of silence.
He blinked a few times, as if coming out of a daze. “Let’s keep going. The palace isn’t far.”
Kesari exchanged a look with Saya, who only shook her head in confusion. None of them had seen a palace. Perhaps Amar was starting to remember more than he was letting on or even fully aware of.
He led them on, through winding streets that were starting to feel more and more like a maze. A few minutes later, they ducked through a partially collapsed archway and emerged into an open city square lined with more statues. At its center stood an empty fountain covered in moss and vines, and beyond that, the ornate towers and domed roofs of a palace rose into the air.
Where the rest of Shavhalla had been crumbling and half-hidden beneath the forest’s overgrowth, the palace remained almost entirely untouched. The surrounding trees likely would have been cleared away when the city was still thriving, but the forest hadn’t encroached onto the palace grounds in the centuries that had since passed. There were none of the skeletons they’d seen scattered throughout the rest of the city, and as they approached the wide stone steps leading to a set of heavy doors, the silence around them seemed to deepen.
The architecture was similar to that of the imperial palace in Jakhat, and though it wasn’t quite as large, it was still an impressive structure. White marble towers reached toward the sky, their surfaces glistening like diamonds in the light of a sun that shone far brighter in this open space than anywhere else in the forest. Bell-shaped roofs gilded with gold topped each tower, including the largest one in the center. A myriad of designs and figures had been carved into the exterior walls of the entire structure, depicting what Kesari assumed were stories of the glory, majesty, and mythology of the people who had once lived there. Polished columns surrounded the perimeter, held up at their bases by stone tigers, horses, birds, and dogs. Some were inlaid with gleaming jewels on their chests and foreheads.
An arching set of double doors formed the entrance, each side engraved with one half of a lotus flower that was at least as tall as Kesari. Amar stopped when they reached it, staring up at the doors with his eyes narrowed and his lips pressed tight. His thumb ran over the pommel of his sword, but otherwise, he didn’t move. The others stood behind him, waiting, but whatever thoughts were running through his mind, he didn’t share them.
“Shall we go in?” Mitul asked gently.
Amar gave that same, dazed blink again and nodded. He put both palms flat against one of the doors and pushed. It glided open with ease, and the palace’s shadows fell over them as they stepped over the threshold.
The inside was as neat and clean as the exterior had been, without so much as a speck of dust or a misplaced bauble to be seen. Strong angles and elegant arches made from stone suggested the prowess and grandeur of the nobility who had lived within these walls. More animal statues and vibrant tapestries lined the halls, and everywhere Kesari turned, the repeating symbol of the white lotus immediately drew her eye. It was carved into the walls, woven in tapestries, and laid out in a tiled pattern on the floor. It even adorned the chest plates of the stone guards standing erect and watchful at either side of the hall opposite the entrance.
Amar approached one of the armored figures, his footsteps echoing in the empty room. Lucian darted ahead to inspect it himself. “Impressive craftsmanship,” he said. “It looks almost—”
The statue whipped a scimitar from the sheath at its hip and sliced through the Spirit Tarja’s flames. In the split second it took his shape to reform, Amar had his own blade drawn, and Saya had leapt in front of Kesari and Mitul with her bow at the ready. Sparks flew as the metal of
Amar’s blade collided with the statue’s stone weapon. On the other side of the hallway, the second guard drew its sword and crouched low in a fighter’s stance.
Saya fired a shot to stop its attack on Amar’s unguarded back. The arrow glanced harmlessly off its surface. She strode forward a few steps and took another shot, but that only succeeded in drawing the guard’s attention to her. It started to charge, but Amar was there in a split second, forcing it to fight him instead of Saya.
Mitul grabbed Kesari by the arm. “Can’t you and Lucian do something?”
She didn’t know if she could, but she had to try. She took stock of her mental and emotional state—the fear clamoring inside her head, the panic that rose as one guard swung its blade at Amar’s neck, the almost hysterical relief that came when he managed to dodge the blow. She couldn’t make any of those feelings go away, but they didn’t get to control what she did next.
Sucking in a deep breath, she stretched out her hands and channeled her altma.
All she managed to produce was a mere flutter of the great wind she’d tried to summon.
Lucian flew to her side, hovering near her ear where she could hear him above the clangs and clashes of the battle in front of her. “You’re all right. You can do this.”
“I’m trying,” she said through gritted teeth, reaching for her altma again. The faintest stirrings of her old nightmares were beginning to creep into her mind, but she shoved them back down.
“You’re holding back,” Lucian said. “You’re afraid.”
“Of course I’m afraid! What if I lose control again?” Rajiv’s face, the clocktower, the fire, the wails of the injured and mournful—they all spun in a whirlwind through her mind.
Amar feinted, and Saya ducked under a heavy swing from an enemy blade. The stone guards were slow, but they could easily wear an opponent down with sheer strength and endurance. Both Amar and Saya were already breathing heavily, and if their weapons couldn’t harm the statues, they were fighting a losing battle.
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