An owl hooted from somewhere above while crickets chirped their nighttime song. It was so much louder here than it had been in Shavhalla, so full of life, yet still peaceful and beautiful. The girl would have liked it here, or at least, that was what Amar hoped.
After changing out of his princely clothing, he’d started to clear a shallow depression in the ground, but without tools, it was taking longer than he wanted. He’d sent Mitul back to see if Kesari could help with her magic. Now, he turned his attention to a different project.
Using a small hunting knife from his pack, he peeled away a patch of moss and bark on the nearest tree trunk and began to carve into the wood underneath. He scratched out Mahati’s name in Kavoran letters and had just finished going back over them with deeper cuts when the others arrived. Saya was carrying Aleida, and she paused to lay her on the ground—none too gently, Amar noted. The young woman appeared to still be unconscious.
“Did you fix whatever was wrong with her?” he asked Kesari.
“Some of it,” she answered. “For the rest, I’m not sure there is a fix. We’ll have to see how she feels when she wakes up.”
He nodded and pointed to the spot he’d started to clear away. “Do you mind making that deeper?”
“Sure.” She knelt beside the makeshift grave and placed her palms against the ground. The dirt began to shift with a gentle rumble and the snap of roots forced aside. After a few seconds, there was a hole large enough for the remains Amar had carried from Shavhalla.
He returned to where he’d set them, still wrapped in his silken sash. His crown sat nearby. He’d packed away the rest of his clothes but didn’t feel quite right keeping the crown. It was such an obvious symbol of the young man he used to be, and he’d grown so distant from that person in the centuries that had passed since. He picked it up along with Mahati’s bones and carried them to the grave, where he crouched to lower them into the ground. Sitting atop the bundle, the crown’s hard edges gleamed in the moonlight.
Mitul, Kesari, and Lucian all gathered around as Amar stood. He stared into the grave in silence for a few moments, unsure what to say. He’d wanted to give her some kind of ceremony, proper burial rights, a heartfelt tribute—something more than a mere hole in the ground in the middle of the forest. All of this seemed so trivial, a hollow gesture that would never be enough to make up for everything she’d suffered.
But it was the best he could give her, and even if it wasn’t perfect, it was still something he needed to do.
“I’m sorry, Mahati,” he said at last. “You lived such a short, hard life, and even though I wasn’t the one who did those terrible things to you, I think I owe you an apology, on behalf of my kingdom and for my own inaction. I should have spoken up, used my power to stop what happened to you and others like you, but I didn’t.”
He paused a moment, scuffing the toe of his boot against the dirt. “I’ve seen a lot of war and loss in the years since you cursed me, but I’ve seen hope and love, too. I have you to thank for the lessons I’ve learned. I can’t change the past, and I still don’t know how to atone for all my father’s crime, but I swear to you that I’ll try. I hope this can be where it starts.”
Mitul went to his satchel at the base of a tree and picked up his saraj. He began strumming a smooth, gentle melody, something beautiful and sad and serene all at once.
On Amar’s other side, Saya began to speak. Her words were Sularan and mostly unintelligible to him, but the way she bowed her head and clasped her hands together in front of her made him think it must be a prayer. Across the grave, Kesari was picking flowers from some of the nearby plants. When she’d gathered more than a dozen, she reached down to place them inside the ring formed by the crown.
Something warm swelled within Amar as he looked around at all of them, standing there with him in the middle of the night. They were all exhausted and probably confused by his adamance for laying this pile of long-forgotten bones to rest. They’d followed him across all of Erythyr and into a lost city few had ever returned from, risking their own safety and facing their fears alongside him. He’d always told himself not to get too close, not to let anyone in, not to put down his walls. But standing here surrounded by friends who had done so much for him, he knew it was already too late for any of that. They were a part of him, and that was a gift, not a curse, even if it meant he’d lose them all someday.
Mitul’s song ended, and he lowered the saraj as Saya spoke the last few words of her prayer. Kesari gave Amar a questioning look, and when he nodded, she knelt again and placed her hands against the ground. Dirt shifted to cover Mahati’s remains, the fresh flowers, and the crown Prince Darshak Kaur had worn six centuries ago. Silence fell once more, broken only by the sounds of nocturnal forest creatures.
And then, after a few seconds, Mitul pointed above Amar’s head to an open space in the canopy. “Look. The lights.”
Amar followed his gaze. Hundreds of glowing blue lights filled the night sky, floating up into the air, where they disappeared among the stars one by one. A wind rushed through the trees from the north, from Shavhalla, and a sudden weightlessness came over him. His eyes burned, and he cleared his throat to stop the tears from falling.
“What is it?” Mitul asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.
Amar’s eyes remained fixed on the small blue orbs, all of them souls once tethered to the world, now free to venture into whatever afterlife awaited them. His mouth lifted in a small smile. “The curse has been broken.” He wasn’t sure how, but he could feel it leaving, like fog dissipating in the light of the sun.
“Did you know this would happen?” Lucian asked.
He shook his head. “I only wanted to do right by her.”
“And you did,” Mitul said. “What about your immortality? Is that gone, too?”
The tentative hopefulness in his voice made Amar regret the answer he had to give. “No. Just the curse on Shavhalla. I think it’s going to take more than a funeral to satisfy the terms of my own curse.”
They watched the blue lights in silence for a few more minutes, until the last one had vanished, leaving only stars in the sky overhead. “I’m sorry,” Saya said. “I know you were hoping for something better when we came here.”
“It’s all right,” he replied.
And it was. If Shavhalla’s curse could be lifted, then so could his. Someday, after he fulfilled his promise to Mahati, he would find his peace, too. For now, he had more hope than he’d felt in a long time and friends who were willing to walk by his side.
That was enough.
49
Aleida
She was drowning.
Her limbs flailed as she tried to reach the ocean's surface, but every time she got close, a new wave slammed her back down, the undercurrent pulling her deeper and farther away from Papa's boat. Her chest was tight from the strain of holding her breath.
She couldn’t do it any longer. Water filled her mouth and nose, so salty it burned her throat and stung her sinuses. She sucked it into her lungs, unable to force it out, and her vision began to darken as she sank, sank, sank...
She woke with a start and a gasping breath. The salty burn of ocean water still lingered in her mouth. Every muscle in her body ached, and her head pounded like someone had clubbed her with the broad side of an oar.
Sunlight filtered through the trees above. She was still in the forest, alone and apparently left for dead. But since she wasn’t dead, she needed to figure out what she was going to do next.
She started to sit up and groaned from the effort. Her weakness stemmed from more than the pain in her muscles. There was a feeling of emptiness in her somewhere, like someone had reached down her throat, grabbed hold of her insides, and ripped them out. When she tried to channel her altma, she felt nothing—a nothing even deeper than when she’d been under the influence of daravak.
Not only that, but her hands and feet were bound with rope. What was going on?
“Ah, you’re awake,” s
aid a voice to her left.
Aleida turned, and a cluster of dancing flames came to hover in front of her. She squinted at the face that peered out from the fire. This was the same Spirit Tarja Bonded to the girl who accompanied Amar. Lucian, Jameson had called him. But that meant—
She whipped her head around to look behind her and was overcome by a sudden wave of dizziness. Her vision went blurry. She tried to blink it away, but it was like the whole world was suddenly underwater.
“Don’t try to move around too quickly,” Lucian said. His voice was low and rough with a jagged edge that matched the grin amongst his flickering flames. Two dark eyes watched Aleida with unblinking intensity. “You’ve been through quite the ordeal. I’m still not sure how exactly it’s going to affect you, but you probably need a lot more rest.”
She tried to turn again, slower this time. There behind her lay four prone figures around the remains of the same campfire she’d built last night. Her eyes immediately found Amar’s face among them.
They’d found her, taken her prisoner. What were they going to do with her now? They hadn’t killed her, so they must be planning to interrogate her. And if they weren’t satisfied with the answers she gave…well, she knew what she’d do in that situation. She strained against the ropes binding her wrists and ankles. Her hands trembled so much she could barely control them.
The Spirit Tarja hovered over to his sleeping companions and began to wake them, starting with the girl he was Bonded to. She sat up blearily and rubbed sleep out of her eyes, then shrugged on the coat she’d been using as a blanket. She gave Aleida a small smile as she stood, stretched, and approached. Aleida wasn’t sure whether the smile was supposed to be friendly or condescending, but either way, she wanted nothing to do with this girl and her magic.
“Stay away from me,” she said, shuffling backwards as best as she could manage. Her shoulders hit the hard surface of one of the statues near the bridge, halting her progress.
The girl put her hands up and took a few slow steps forward. “It’s all right, Aleida. We’re not going to hurt you.”
Her eyes narrowed. How did this stranger know her name already?
The letter! Where was her letter from Hasan?
“My name’s Kesari,” the girl said. Her friends were awake now, too, and they all crowded around Aleida like she was some kind of feral animal. Maybe she was. She must look that way to them, cornered like this, her hair bedraggled and falling into her eyes, face contorted in an angry snarl.
“Get her some water, Mitul,” Amar said, and the older, bearded man behind him went to retrieve it. She recognized him as Amar’s musician friend.
Kesari knelt in front of her, closer than the others, but far enough away that Aleida couldn’t reach her. A smart choice. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Terrible. What do you want with me?”
“We just want to talk.”
A plan began to take shape in Aleida’s mind. They didn’t know she and Valkyra had separated, and she could use that to her advantage. “My Spirit Tarja will be back for me. She’s bringing help any minute now. If you don’t let me go—”
Amar cut her off. “Your Spirit Tarja left you here to die. Either that, or she vanished when your Bond was severed.”
Her stomach dropped. How did they know?
Mitul returned with a canteen, which he passed to Kesari. She edged a little closer and held it out. “Here, have a drink.”
Her throat was dry and scratchy, but she didn’t trust these people or anything they might give her. She didn’t reach for the canteen.
“It’s perfectly safe.” Kesari uncapped the top and tilted it back to pour some water into her own mouth. “See? I’m sure you’re thirsty. Take it.”
Aleida scowled, but she was very thirsty. She grabbed the canteen and tipped it against her lips. Her hands were still shaking. Water sloshed out of the opening and splashed onto her cheeks and neck. It felt like less than half of the liquid made it into her mouth, but the cool relief soothed some of the dry ache in her throat.
Kesari smiled. “There, that’s better. Hopefully the hand tremors will go away as you recover your strength. Are you hungry?”
She was, but she was still trying to decide whether she should answer the question when the Sularan woman spoke for the first time. “We should be questioning her, not feeding her. She’s perfectly fine now, and I want answers. Why have you been hunting us?”
Aleida clamped her mouth shut and glared back at her.
“We saved your life,” Kesari said, as if that made any kind of difference. “We’re not your enemies.”
“Yes, we are,” the Sularan woman said. “If you don’t answer our questions, we’ll—”
“Saya,” Amar cut in. His voice was authoritative, a warning.
She muttered something under her breath but said nothing more.
Amar crouched down to look Aleida straight in the eye. “You and your Spirit Tarja have been pursuing us for at least three months now. I’d like to know why.”
“Why should I tell you anything?”
He shrugged. “Why not? You’re not going to be able to hurt me or my friends in this state, and we won’t harm you if you stay calm. So, let’s talk.”
She stared back at him defiantly, but he was right. She didn’t have any real reason to withhold information from him—not anymore. Not when every reason she’d had for coming after him in the first place had been rendered meaningless.
Tyrus.
Her chin trembled, and the threat of tears pricked at her eyes. She fought to keep her composure. The last thing she wanted was to cry in front of these people.
Amar tilted his head, dark eyes searching her face. “What happened to your Spirit Tarja? Why did you break your Bond?”
Valkyra. This was all her fault.
The wet pinpricks in Aleida’s eyes turned to tears of rage and hatred. She could no longer hold them back, and they coursed down her face in tiny drops that fell onto her trembling hands. She glanced between the faces surrounding her. Maybe Kesari was right. They weren’t her enemies, but Valkyra was. And Valkyra was their enemy, too. After all, it had been her idea to go after Amar in the first place.
Maybe he and his friends could be useful. With Tyrus gone, Aleida had nothing left to live for—nothing but revenge. And with a common enemy, perhaps Amar would help her. Together, they could finally bring Nandini Kumar to justice.
Artex would not approve of this plan. The Artist taught peace and forgiveness, not destruction and vengeance. But Artex had forsaken her. Despite all her pleadings and her very best efforts, he had allowed Tyrus to die. Why should she care anymore about Artex’s teachings?
“I didn’t break the Bond,” she said. “It was Valkyra.”
“Your Spirit Tarja?” Amar asked.
“Yes.” She began to explain, starting at the very beginning with Tyrus’ illness and the desperate Bond she’d formed with a powerful Spirit Tarja, never questioning who the woman really was or what her true intentions were. “We hoped your immortality would be enough to save my brother.”
“And what about Valkyra?” Amar asked. “What did she want with me?”
Aleida frowned. She hadn’t considered that. She hadn’t yet had time to think about it much. “I don’t know.”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Lucian cut in. “She must have wanted immortality for herself.”
“But she’s already dead,” said Kesari.
“Yes, but think of it. If she were to make a Bond with someone who’s immortal, she could live forever.”
Aleida nodded slowly. It made sense, especially considering who Valkyra really was. She’d been powerful, a high-ranking member of the Kavoran imperial court. Her life had been cut short, and to her, that must seem like an unbearable injustice. Maybe she wanted her own revenge on the people who’d thrust her from power, or maybe she wanted that power back. Someone of her station wouldn’t have been content to simply fade into obscurity, and
there were plenty of advantages to living forever.
“And then I suppose you started following us?” Amar prompted.
“Yes. You were hard to find at first, but Valkyra was so sure you existed, and I needed to believe her. It was the only way to save Tyrus.”
“How did she find out about me?”
“I don’t know.” There was so much she hadn’t known, hadn’t questioned. Perhaps if she hadn’t been so desperate, she wouldn’t have been misled. She should have asked more questions. She should have been more skeptical. But that desperation was likely why Valkyra had chosen her.
“I think I know,” Saya said. “Zefar.”
“Your mercenary friend?” Kesari asked.
Saya nodded. “He always told me the woman who hired him to kill Amar must have been nobility or a member of the court.” She turned her gaze to Aleida. “You said Valkyra was powerful, but who was she, before she died? Do you know?”
“I didn’t for a long time,” Aleida replied. “It was Jameson who figured it out. She’s Nandini Kumar.”
She watched their expressions shift as they took in this information. Even Lucian’s face changed, the smirk in his flames replaced by a tiny frown.
“Wait,” Kesari said. “What does Jameson have to do with any of this?”
Aleida backed up, recounting her arrival in Deveaural, taking the man prisoner, their battle at sea, and her eventual arrival here. When she spoke of the letter Hasan had sent, Amar produced it from his pocket and handed it to her. A new bout of tears threatened to spill out as she gripped the paper with shaky fingers, but she managed to hold them in. The others’ faces were grim as she described her confrontation with Valkyra and the severing of their Bond.
“I think she forced a Bond with Jameson,” she said at last. “I’m not sure how. It looked…wrong. They walked off together, and it was like he was under her control. That was last night. Or at least, I think it was. I’m not sure how long I’ve been out.”
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