Mitul’s head tilted to the side. “What happened when you came back to life?”
“I didn’t know where I was or what I was doing alone in the forest. I found two bodies nearby—the friends who had gone hunting with me, but I didn’t remember them. And then I left, started wandering around until I found my way to a village near the river.”
He looked across the table at Ranjan, who sat with his hands clasped together in front of his jawless skull. “She must have killed everyone in the city,” he said. “But I still don’t understand how. Even a curse shouldn’t be that powerful, should it?”
Mitul only shrugged, and what did either of them really know about the capabilities of magic? Especially when it came to curses. He stood up from the table and began speaking to Ranjan in Shavhallan once more. “What happened to her, in the end? Mahati. Did she leave once she’d cursed this place? Did she help the other prisoners escape?”
Ranjan stood and motioned for Amar to follow him. He did so without a moment’s hesitation.
“Where are we going?” Mitul asked, scrambling to catch up.
Before Amar could answer, Ranjan turned and pressed his palm against the man’s chest. He recoiled, and a look of disgust slipped across his face as he stared down at the bony appendage. He recovered quickly, replacing his aversion with a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I know it’s not your fault you’re in this state.”
If Ranjan understood him, he gave no sign, but Amar could picture the disdainful scowl on his old teacher’s face. He kept his palm on Mitul’s chest and, with his other hand, motioned again for Amar to follow him.
“Stay here with the others,” Amar said.
Mitul’s eyebrows shot up. “And let you go wandering off with the mysterious skeleton man by yourself?” He gave Ranjan a sidelong glance. “No offense.”
“It’s fine. I’ll be right back.”
“Do you even know where you’re going?”
He shrugged. “No, but this is something I need to do. Alone, it seems.”
“You know what happens to people whenever they say that, right? Bad things. Very bad things.” Worry etched deep creases between Mitul’s brows. “You’ve died when I’ve left you alone before, and I didn’t follow you all the way here so you could put yourself in danger again. Tell him. You’re the prince. He’ll listen if you tell him I have to come along.”
Amar nearly snorted at the idea of Ranjan taking orders from him. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
The musician’s voice became a plea. “Amar.”
“Mitul,” he replied evenly. “I’ll be right back. I promise. He’s not going to hurt me.”
“But—”
“Go find Saya and the others. Get some sleep if you can. You can all wait for me here until I return.”
“And what if you don’t?”
“Then you’ll come find me, like you always have.”
Ranjan put his hands behind his back, his posture stiff and impatient.
“I have to go,” Amar said. “I’ll be fine.”
Mitul sighed, but none of the worry faded from his eyes. “All right, then. But please be careful.”
He smirked. “Oh, let’s not be ridiculous. When have I ever been careful?”
45
Aleida
After an early morning start and a long day spent listening to Jameson’s constant complaints, Aleida was exhausted and irritated by the time they stopped to make camp. They’d found themselves wandering in circles for most of the afternoon, which Jameson unhelpfully insisted must be part of “the curse of Shavhalla.” It was only when Valkyra had flown up into the forest canopy and scouted ahead that they were able to get back on track.
By this point, the night had grown late, the darkness heavy and oppressive. Valkyra led them to the nearest landmark—a stone bridge flanked by two statues, one fallen while the other remained upright.
“This is it,” Jameson said through labored breaths, shrugging off his pack. “The entrance to Shavhalla. See the lotus flower in her hands?”
“I don’t care what it’s got in its hands,” Aleida muttered, “so long as we’re going the right way.”
“I can keep scouting ahead while you eat and rest,” Valkyra suggested. “We don’t want to get lost again tomorrow, and we should be getting close enough to the others that I could find them now.”
Aleida hoped that was true. She didn’t want to guess how much time they’d lost wandering around today, but if they were entering Shavhalla, they must be near Amar and his friends as well. Presumably, they’d be staying in the ancient city for a while trying to solve whatever mystery lay behind Amar’s curse. Hopefully, they wouldn’t succeed before she found them.
She nodded to Valkyra. “That’s a good plan.”
The Spirit Tarja opened her wings and leapt into the night sky. Aleida built a fire and divided up what was left of their fish between herself and Jameson. She also gave him his nightly dose of daravak, taking care to cover up her own face to avoid inhaling any of its fumes. He had long since resigned himself to this suppression of his magic and breathed the stuff in with barely a grumble. Aleida hovered an orb of light in front of him to watch as he sucked in several deep breaths.
Satisfied, she sat cross-legged on the ground to eat. A glimmer on the other side of the bridge caught her eye, and she stood back up, peering past Jameson into the darkness.
“What is it?” he asked, turning around.
“Those blue lights. What are they?”
There were three of them, but two more lit up farther back even as she watched. They bobbed between the trees like tiny lanterns, but she couldn’t see anyone or anything that might have created them.
“I read about this,” Jameson said, his voice animated with curiosity and wonder. “Some people say they’re spirits, doomed to linger in the physical realm for eternity. It’s part of the curse of Shavhalla.”
She rolled her eyes. “The curse of Shavhalla. You keep going on about that, like this place is haunted or something. You don’t actually believe the stories, do you? They’re just nonsense.”
“Are they?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
She sat back down with a glower. “Never mind.”
He ate his fish in silence, but his gaze remained fixed on her, green eyes bright in the firelight. She pretended not to notice.
“I have a story for you,” he said at last. “A ghost story. Fitting, given where we are, don’t you think?”
“I’m not interested,” she growled.
“Oh, I think you should be,” he replied. “How else are we going to pass the time until Valkyra comes back?”
“Why do we have to talk at all?”
“You’re a very unpleasant travelling companion, do you know that?”
That was laughable, coming from him, but she didn’t say so.
Jameson tilted his head to one side. “If you’d rather, we could talk about your brother. I was so invested after you agreed to let me read his letter last night. You must have been very worried about him. And honestly, after that opening line, I was getting worried, too.”
She bristled. “You didn’t even get a chance to finish reading it.”
“I didn’t get a chance to finish saying what I read.”
“And what is it exactly that you think you read?”
“‘Dear Aleida,’” he recited. “‘I am very sorry to tell you that your brother…’”
“My brother what?” she hissed, eyes narrowing. His words didn’t match the ones Valkyra had read last night, and the dragon’s warning about his schemes hadn’t left her mind. If Jameson thought he could manipulate her into believing whatever he told her, he was going to be disappointed.
But that didn’t quell her curiosity.
“My brother what?” she demanded again.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t see the rest. Valkyra made sure of that.”
“It wasn’t any of your business, anyway. I shouldn’t have asked you to read it.”
“Well, it turned out all right in the end, didn’t it? You seemed relieved after she told you what it said.” The statement came out more like a question, and his head tilted ever so slightly.
“What about it?”
“I find it interesting, that’s all. The way the letter started, it sounded like bad news. ‘I’m very sorry to tell you…’ What was it they were so sorry to tell you, I wonder?”
“Nothing,” Aleida replied. “That’s not even what it said. You must have translated it wrong.”
He blinked. “Because I’m Atrean? I lived and studied magic at one of the best academies in Kavora for almost a decade. I read, write, and speak it fluently. Do you really think I can’t translate a simple letter?”
“Then you lied.”
“Why would I—” He stopped himself, and the confusion on his face gave way to a wry smile. “Ah, I see. That’s what she told you, isn’t it?”
Aleida clamped her mouth shut. They shouldn’t even be having this conversation. Better they not speak at all so she didn’t have to entertain whatever game he was playing.
“You know, there’s something I’ve wondered ever since Amar first told me about you two,” Jameson said. “Are you aware that the complexity of a Spirit Tarja’s form is almost always related to the power and abilities they possessed in life?”
She did know this, but she said nothing, chewing the last bites of her meal and resolutely ignoring her captive.
“It’s rare for a Spirit Tarja to even be capable of taking a form that can speak and move. You’ve seen Amar’s friend Lucian, haven’t you? The fire Spirit Tarja. Even his form is remarkably complex compared to what most Tarja are capable of when they die prematurely. The fact that Valkyra was able to take the form of an actual living creature means she would have been a very powerful Tarja indeed when she was alive.”
Aleida knew this already, too. She wasn’t an ignorant child, and she didn’t appreciate Jameson talking to her as if she was. “What’s your point?”
“Don’t take offense, but why would one of the most powerful Spirit Tarja in existence choose to form a Bond with an underage, orphaned Visan refugee?”
She opened her mouth, wanting to throw out all the reasons Valkyra had given her when she’d asked that exact question herself. It was because Valkyra had taken pity on her and Tyrus and wanted to help them. It was because she’d had limited options and trouble finding anyone willing to make that Bond. It was because, being so young, Aleida had a longer natural lifespan remaining to share with Valkyra, which made her an advantageous choice over older partners she might have Bonded to.
But Jameson wouldn’t believe any of that, and even if he did, he would twist those reasons and use them as a wedge to drive Aleida and Valkyra apart. It was all part of whatever scheme he was concocting to escape. It had to be.
Still, the seed of doubt that had lain dormant in the back of her mind since her earliest days with Valkyra seemed to sprout anew.
“I think it’s time for that little ghost story I had in mind,” Jameson said, tossing a few fallen branches into the fire.
“I think it’s time for bed.”
“One story, then bed. Otherwise, I’ll make a lot of noise and keep you awake all night.”
“I can make you shut up,” Aleida replied in the most threatening voice she could muster.
“Yes, but you don’t really want to do that, do you? You don’t enjoy the torture and the violence you think you have to inflict on people to make them do what you want. Besides, doesn’t that go against the compassionate teachings of your Visan god?”
She scowled. “Fine. Tell your story.”
Jameson flashed a satisfied grin. “All right then. Once, some years ago, there lived an emperor who ruled over a powerful and wealthy nation. Many of the citizens were gifted with magic, and the nation had the most powerful army of Tarja in all the land.”
“Does this nation happen to be Kavora?” Aleida muttered.
“Shh. Listen. For most of his reign, the emperor had no heir, and it was his sister who was in line to ascend to the throne. That all changed when the emperor remarried, and his new wife finally gave birth to a son. The emperor himself died shortly after, and as the boy was still only a baby, the emperor’s sister began to rule as regent. Her dearest friend, a powerful Tarja, became her closest advisor.”
This was all sounding awfully familiar. Aleida glared at Jameson in annoyance but allowed him to continue without interruption.
“Two short years later, the boy heir and his mother were tragically killed by assassins. This left the empress regent as the sole remaining heir to the nation’s throne, and thus, many began to suspect that perhaps it was she who’d ordered the boy’s assassination. Others speculated the boy might still be alive, having miraculously escaped the attempt on his life. The new empress denied these claims, of course, but people continued to whisper about the lost prince and their empress’ convenient ascent to his throne.”
“This is just the story of Prince Savir,” Aleida said in exasperation. “Why would I care about any of this? Is he your ghost?”
“The story isn’t finished,” he replied calmly. “And no, he isn’t. May I continue?”
“Get it over with, then,” she said, half out of genuine curiosity and half out of frustration that she’d suddenly become so intrigued. What more to the story was there? If the lost Prince Savir wasn’t the ghost in his ghost story, then who was?
Jameson cleared his throat and went on. “As the years passed, the empress and her Tarja advisor worked together to expand the power and influence of their nation. They absorbed various provinces into their country and even went so far as to invade a small, peaceful nation at the edge of their borders. It was the advisor who pushed for this invasion, believing the smaller nation could offer a wealth of resources and a strategic defensive position to hold off potential invaders.”
Aleida clenched her jaw. He was talking about Vis now and the invasion that had killed thousands and made refugees of many thousands more. So this was a story of Kavora’s history. With Savir out of the picture, the key players were Empress Dashiva along with her long-time friend and most trusted advisor, Nandini Kumar. Just thinking of the woman made her seethe. Nandini was the mastermind behind the invasion of Vis, and if anyone was to blame for everything Aleida had lost, it was her.
“The advisor continued to push for greater power and bigger conquests,” Jameson went on, “but the empress grew tired of war. She wanted her country to enjoy peace and prosperity under her reign, and so, despite all its great military strength, the nation stopped expanding its borders.” He picked up another stick and prodded at the fire, creating a flurry of smoke and crackling sparks. “Peace was tenuous at first. Neighboring countries didn’t know yet whether to trust this change of course, so when the advisor took actions that put a further strain on those relationships, the empress lost patience. She stripped the advisor of her title and her power and ordered her to be arrested for treason.”
“Are we getting any closer to the point of this little history lesson?” Aleida asked.
He ignored her question. “Unwilling to spend the rest of her days in a Tarja prison, the advisor fled. The empress’ best warriors pursued her and eventually tracked her down. Their orders were to take her alive, or if that wasn’t possible, to drain her of all her altma before they executed her. Given how dangerous and powerful she was, the empress didn’t want her dying prematurely and becoming a Spirit Tarja.”
Aleida knew the rest of the story. There had been a time when she’d taken pleasure in imagining Nandini’s end again and again. Sometimes she even embellished the details, making them more gruesome, more punitive toward the woman who had taken so much from her. It had been a darkly comforting ritual.
“The warriors fought her,” Jameson said. “She killed some of them, but they finally overpowered her, and she attempted to end her own life with her magic. But her powers were weakened from the fight, so
she didn’t die right away.”
“But one of the Tarja warriors drained away the last of her altma before killing her,” Aleida said quickly. “Because of that, she didn’t become a Spirit Tarja. She got what she deserved for her cruelty, and she died in disgrace. The end.”
Jameson nodded. “That is how the story’s usually told. Though I heard a slightly different version of the ending once, from a teacher—a man who was one of the Tarja warriors sent after the traitorous advisor.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he had some doubts about whether they’d really managed to drain away all her altma before she took her last breath. He thought there was a slight possibility that she became a Spirit Tarja after all. Her ghost may still be tethered to the physical world by whatever remaining magic she possessed when she died.”
Aleida waited for him to continue, but he said nothing more. “That’s it?” she asked. “That’s your ghost story?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t think much of it either, until I spent some time with the two of you.”
“If Nandini was still alive, someone would know about it by now. Besides, what does that have to do with me and Valkyra?”
Jameson stared at her without saying anything. He simply raised an eyebrow, the same look he’d given her when he’d asked a question of his own.
Why would one of the most powerful Spirit Tarja in existence choose to form a Bond with an underage, orphaned Visan refugee?
“You think Valkyra is Nandini Kumar?” She wanted to laugh at the idea, but a prickling feeling at the base of her skull gave her pause. Her mind began to fill in gaps she’d been too preoccupied to notice until now.
The battle between Nandini and Empress Dashiva’s warriors had happened almost three years ago along the banks of the Adrati River, less than a day’s journey east of Chatanda. Aleida and Tyrus were both living there by then. Hasan had recently diagnosed Tyrus with Storm Withering Syndrome, so she’d had more pressing concerns when news of Nandini’s fate reached them. Valkyra had found her a day or two later, a shimmering spirit in human form, offering her hope and power and a chance to save her brother’s life. A chance she’d taken without hesitation.
Tethered Spirits Page 39