Rone chuckled.
She looked at him. “Have you never lain back to look at the stars?” Sometimes, after a good rain, Sandis had been able to see a few stars from her old home. Never with the grafters. There, she’d been too far underground most of the time to even see the sky.
Rone pulled away from the window. “Come on.”
She turned. “What?”
“Just come.”
She followed him out of the room and back up the staircase. It wasn’t the same one that had led them to the Angelic—the steps were narrower and simpler. Unadorned. A servants’ staircase, perhaps. They reached a landing with two opposing doors. Rone hesitated before opening the one on the right, which led to a shorter flight of stairs. At the top of the dark passageway was a flat door, like the kind leading to a cellar. He unlatched something and shoved his shoulder into it to open it.
Cool air rushed down and tousled Sandis’s hair. Rone stepped out, then offered her a hand.
They were on top of the Lily Tower.
Sandis gaped, looking down at the roads and wide space behind the tower, the distant light of a town shining up behind a small hill in the distance. She turned back for the city. It was a dark bangle, an obsidian bowl filled with spots of light. She could barely see over the wall.
“That way, Sandis.” Rone pointed skyward.
Sandis dipped her head back. “Oh.”
There were so many stars speckling the black. A cloud of gray smoke swept by them, but the wind carried it away, letting the bluish lights shine through. Sandis counted quietly to herself. Thirty-seven! She’d never seen so many stars in her life.
Refusing to take her gaze from the sky, she carefully sat down, then lay back against the rough shingles atop the tower. She stared at the stars, absorbing the sight with reverence, trying to find shapes within them. A few clustered together looked like the head of a horse. She thought of Ireth and thought she felt a warm recognition from him in return.
Surely Kazen had lost her blood by now, right?
“What?” Rone asked.
He stood over her. She glanced up at him in question.
He shrugged. “You looked so happy for a moment; then . . . you didn’t.”
She offered him a small smile. “I am. Thank you, for bringing me here.” She let her vision drift back toward the horse head. “I was thinking about Kazen.”
Rone sighed. “Yeah. I’ve got to figure that out.”
“We will.”
“Hmm.” He sat down next to her and leaned back on his hands. “They’re all right. The stars, I mean.”
She smiled again. “They’re all right.”
If only she could stay atop the Lily Tower forever with the stars, and with Rone. Sandis knew such things were not meant to be, so she let herself absorb the moment until she brimmed with it. Carved the memory into her mind so she could lean on it if . . . when . . . things got bad again.
She had a feeling it wouldn’t be long before they did.
She dreamed of the astral sphere.
Kazen kept a model in his office. It was a globe about a foot and a half tall, made of ten rows of disks etched with rounded Noscon letters. Kazen used it to navigate the ethereal plane so he could summon new numina.
But in this dream—somehow, Sandis knew it was a dream—the globe looked different. It spun clockwise, faster and faster until the letters blurred together. It reminded her of the center of Rone’s amarinth. When Sandis reached for it, the globe slowed, and under her fingers she found one of the few Noscon words she could read.
Ireth.
When she woke, it was with the residual impression of fire. Not the hot, breath-stealing fire she’d experienced when she touched the Noscon writing in the citizen-records building, but a gentler, softer fire. A well-tended blaze that could easily be stoked to destruction.
What can I do for you? Her mind reached out even as it crawled toward consciousness. What do you need?
She shivered for the lack of a blanket. Rone had insisted she take the bed, though she would have gladly shared it. She’d given him all of the blankets for a pallet on the floor. Truth be told, she would have preferred the spot by the door. If she’d lain there all night, she wouldn’t have awoken to this awful, sinking sensation. She wouldn’t be wondering whether Rone had left in the night. Whether he’d changed his mind about helping her after his own father turned him away.
Holding her breath, Sandis quietly, carefully rolled away from the blue morning light streaming in through the window and studied the shadows on the floor. There was the mound of blankets, and—
She sighed. Rone was still there, one arm behind his head, his face slightly tilted toward her. He hadn’t left. She had a lead on Talbur Gwenwig’s location, and Rone hadn’t left. He had a boyish way of sleeping, his lips slightly parted, his dark eyelashes splayed against his skin. The large curls of his hair were mussed on one side, giving Sandis the urge to smooth her fingers through them to correct their shape.
She smiled.
They didn’t have many things, but Sandis gathered them together anyway and used Rone’s unconscious state as an opportunity to change back into one of his shirts and her loose slacks. He still hadn’t stirred, so she decided to find her way to the kitchen to get them both breakfast. There was just enough space for her to open the door without disturbing him. When she reached the kitchen, two priestesses, dressed in white and silver, were handing out bowls of oatmeal with cinnamon. Sandis thanked them profusely and took two—one for her and one for Rone to eat when he woke.
Breathing in the spicy steam, Sandis searched for a quiet spot to sit and eat her breakfast. The room was large enough to accommodate daily visitors, and double doors opened on either end of it. She heard a male choir singing in the distance and strained to hear, wondering if she could recognize the song.
As she moved toward the music, however, she glimpsed a familiar face passing the far exit. The wide-set eyes, the shaved head. He wore a gray pilgrim’s sash on his arm.
Sandis immediately turned away, cold bumps rising up along her arms and down her neck. Her heart knocked against her ribs.
She headed straight for the entrance and back the way she’d come, spilling oatmeal on the stairs and elbowing a priestess as she went.
Ravis. That had been Ravis; she was sure of it. She’d had no more than a split second to look . . . but she was sure. But how could he have found her? How?
The boy. The one from the cathedral. He’d lurked a ways off and hadn’t approached her until Rone left. Though she’d thought it odd that he’d asked so many questions, she hadn’t lingered on it. It now occurred to her that he hadn’t come to the tower with the other pilgrims.
Had he been paid off to watch the cathedral? Had Kazen guessed she might try to find refuge there?
Sandis was running by the time she reached the room, and her hands burned from gripping the too-hot ceramic bowls of oatmeal. She couldn’t turn the doorknob with her hands full, so she kicked the door ruthlessly with her toe—
It opened, and Rone, disheveled and holding up his unfastened trousers, said, “What—”
“They’re here.” Panic choked Sandis’s voice, and she shoved a bowl of oatmeal at Rone as she hurried inside and slammed the door shut. She checked for a lock, but there was none. “Ravis is here.”
“Ravis?”
She nodded, her short hair falling over her cheeks. “One of Kazen’s grafters.”
Rone stared at her for half a second before cursing. “Black ashes,” he spat. “Just him?”
“He’s all I saw.”
Rone set down the oatmeal and fastened his pants. “Did he see you?”
The spoon in Sandis’s bowl rattled against the ceramic.
Reaching forward, Rone put his hands over hers, steadying them. Looking into her eyes, he asked, “Did he see you?”
She looked back, at the ring of lighter brown that separated Rone’s irises from his pupils. “I don’t think so.”
He offered her a strange sort of smile, a half smile that managed to be sympathetic and incredulous at the same time. “All right. That’s good. We can work with that.”
She set the bowl down. “How?”
He grabbed the bag she’d packed earlier.
“Most of the pilgrims who stay the night at the tower have come from far away. Maybe some of them are heading west, circumventing the city. If we go with them, we could leave and then reenter the city through the west gate. Might be a good way to lose your friends.”
Sandis’s hope rekindled. “Let’s hurry.”
They rushed down the stairs, nabbed their shoes, and asked after the departing pilgrims. A priest pointed them out back and offered them a scripture, which neither of them lingered to hear.
Sandis stayed close to Rone as they exited the tower. A breeze swept by, carrying bits of dust. It felt warmer than Sandis had expected, but it gave her goose bumps anyway.
She recognized the men packing up a trio of wagons—their families had already been worshipping at the cathedral when Sandis and Rone arrived yesterday. Their clothes were looser, with broader sleeves, than what people wore inside the city. She wondered how far they had traveled. Were they farmers? Merchants? Could they see all the stars wherever they were going?
Maybe, after Sandis found Talbur, she could go someplace like that, too.
Rone approached the older of the two men and paid his respects with a brief bow. For some reason, seeing Rone bow was odd. He seemed the sort who could stand in the middle of a winter storm and refuse to move to the ice and wind.
Rone gestured back to Sandis, who approached trying to look as innocent as possible.
“If you could take us as far as Ieva, we would be incredibly grateful.”
The man glanced at Sandis, considered, then nodded. That gesture made Sandis’s body feel incredibly light. “It is not far, and not out of our way. You’ll have to sit in the back of the first cart. It won’t be comfortable.”
Rone nodded. “We’ll take it. Thank you.”
The man escorted them to the first wagon, which was filled to the brim with supplies—supplies purchased in Dresberg, most likely. They were held back with lengths of rope, but there was a little space between the rope and the edge of the wagon for Sandis and Rone to sit. After giving her a hand up, Rone mumbled something about helping their new friends pack to earn their favor. Sandis pulled her knees up to her chest and pressed her back against the rope and the keg of ale behind it, making herself small, letting the shadow of the wagon wall hide her.
She breathed slowly, listening, trying to stretch her hearing beyond the caravans. Was Ravis still in the tower? Would the priests discover him? Would he hurt these kind people?
Had she made a mistake in coming here?
It took another twenty minutes for the pilgrims to finish loading the third wagon and settle into the second. Rone returned to her, sweat glistening below his hairline. He sat on the back of the wagon and leaned his head against a sack of something—maybe flour or sugar—and took a few deep breaths.
“They’re crazy,” he whispered, wiping his sleeve first across his eyes, then across his forehead. “They bought a statue of the freaking Celestial. A heavy one. But as soon as the guard passes through, we’ll be off.”
A jolt passed through Sandis. “Rone?”
He sighed. “Yeah?”
“Is . . . the guard checking for papers?”
His eyes came into focus. He looked at her for several seconds before saying, “You don’t have any.”
She shook her head and tried to keep her voice level. “Not anymore.” She couldn’t remember if she’d left them at the flat when she’d gone searching, again, for Anon, or if they’d been on her person and the slavers had taken them. Vanished, just like her records.
Like she didn’t exist.
Rone swore and looked behind him. The wagon was packed. Sandis started pressing against the odds and ends, hoping one would give or that she’d find a space she could crawl into to hide—
She heard voices approach. The guards?
Rone grabbed her wrist and yanked her down. “Pretend like you’re asleep,” he hissed. Opening his bag, he grabbed a set of his undergarments and shoved them at her. “Put this under your shirt. Head on my lap. Hurry.”
She didn’t question him. Her shaking hands did as told. She wadded the clothing against her stomach and lay down with her head on Rone’s thigh, bending her knees to fit the space. She faced away from the wagon opening and closed her eyes. She clenched her jaw, then forced it to relax. Sleeping, sleeping, sleeping.
Rone smelled like rain.
“Name?” a low, masculine voice asked seconds later.
“Rone Comf.” Rone took his time rustling through his bag. Sandis heard the stir of papers.
A pause. “Comf?” Another pause. “Related?”
Sandis thought she felt Rone shrug before rummaging through his bag again. “Hold on—I swear I saw her put them in here. My wife, she’s been sick ever since we left the farm. Hoping the travel doesn’t jostle her too bad.”
His hand brushed her shoulder. Sandis dutifully played the ill, pregnant wife. It wasn’t the first time she’d pretended to be asleep to avoid unwanted attention.
The guard grunted. Papers shuffled—he must be handing them back to Rone. His steps faded away.
Rone said nothing. They held still for a long time, until the voice of the older traveler who had granted them passage said, “One of the priests is riding with us as far as the west side of the city to ensure we’re not bothered by bandits.”
Shortly afterward, the wagon lurched forward. Rone squeezed Sandis’s shoulder, and she sat up slowly. Rone met her eyes for a moment—the bright sun turning his irises a dark topaz. She had meant to say something, but she couldn’t remember her words right then.
Rone looked away first. “Glad that worked.”
“Thank you.” She pulled his clothes free and handed them back to him.
Rone’s mouth twisted. “Why is a priest riding with us? What’s he going to do, pray the grafters away?”
Sandis pursed her lips at the jab. Outside of the Angelic, the priests had been kind. They’d offered them board and food. They’d treated her like a real person, unaware of the sin that scarred her back with gold.
Despite all the weight pressing it down, the wagon rocked and shook, yet Sandis found the ride calming. The risen sun warmed the air and calmed her further. She didn’t see any grafters or suspicious people lurking around the Lily Tower once they came around it, following the great wall of the city west, so she let her legs dangle over the side of the wagon and watched puffs of dust spit up from the back wheels.
“If only it were so easy,” Rone said, more to himself than to her. He had one knee up, his elbow resting on it, and his brown eyes watched the distancing wall.
“What?”
“Leaving.” Rone scratched the side of his nose. “That’s what it feels like, doesn’t it? Like we’re just walking away from it all.”
Sandis furrowed her brow. “We are leaving, Rone.”
He shook his head. “Not the Lily Tower. Dresberg. Kolingrad. All of it.”
Ah, that was it. “You don’t like it here.”
His dark gaze dropped to her. “Do you?”
She shrugged. She’d like it more if life could return to how it used to be. If her family were still . . . If Kazen and the grafters didn’t exist. Family was what mattered, not place.
“You’re right.” He leaned his head against the rocking wall. “I hate it. I’ve looked into leaving before, but even my best jobs can’t get me past the border guard.”
Sandis frowned. Looked at the wagon behind them. The floor bucked beneath her as the wagon pulled onto the paved road leading out of the city. While everything was industry and cobblestones in Dresberg, there was so much space outside the city walls. The land stretched open and vast before them. Empty, or very nearly. Sandis marveled at it for a m
oment, fighting the urge to slip off the wagon and run ahead of the train. She hadn’t experienced such lack of confinement for a long time, if ever.
Her thoughts pulled back to Rone. Though it made her feel heavy to suggest it, Sandis said, “Maybe you could stay with them.”
Rone laughed. “With who?”
She cocked her head toward the second wagon. “With them. Wherever they’re going.”
Rone rolled his eyes. “If I’m going to be trapped in Kolingrad, I might as well find my work in Dresberg. I’m used to a certain lifestyle.” His countenance fell. “Besides, I wouldn’t leave my mother.”
Sandis pinched her lips together, considering the situation with Rone’s family. She could see how it pained him to be unwanted by one parent and fearful for the other. Sandis’s family—outside of Talbur Gwenwig—was dead, but at least they’d wanted her when they were alive.
“We’ll figure it out.” Sandis wasn’t sure if Rone heard her over the tumult of the wagons, so she gingerly placed her hand on his knee. He looked at her hand for a moment before shaking his head.
“Because this uncle of yours will magically be the savior we need.” His tone was sour and dark.
“I hope so.”
He glanced at her, a single eyebrow raised. “I don’t know if I should admire you for your hope, Sandis, or hate you for your naïveté.”
A loud snap sounded somewhere behind the second wagon, followed by a few shouts. The driver of the second wagon pulled his oxen to a halt, and within moments the driver of their wagon followed suit. The ale keg behind Sandis pressed against the ropes and against her, but the bindings held.
Rone stood immediately in the wagon bed, grabbing the wagon’s roof and looking over it. “What’s wrong?”
The driver passed by them, shaking his head in confusion. Voices began to sound one over another; Sandis couldn’t decipher them.
The driver came back. “Wheel on the rear wagon broke.” He kicked the road. “Damn. We have a spare, but we’ll be delayed.”
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