Fajir had tried to kill her.
Twice.
“Watch your step,” Fajir said. “The slope is deceptively steep.”
Maybe Lydia should ask why she was being so helpful. Fajir would probably babble about widows and duty and destiny. Those were all good answers, true ones, but they weren’t the main reason Fajir had turned a corner.
She was in love.
Lydia had realized it before, ignored it, called it vague names like “feelings” or a “crush.” But someone didn’t help a crush through hostile territory filled with people she hated on a mission that made no sense for her to care about.
“I’ve never been into the mountains,” Lydia said, distracting herself as much as anything.
“Nor me.” Fajir’s hand hovered as if ready to take Lydia’s elbow, a fact Lydia tried hard not to find charming. She made herself remember the feeling of Fajir’s hands around her throat.
“Stop,” Fajir said, eyes locked on something in the distance.
For a moment, Lydia had the panicked thought that Fajir was reading her mind, but she had to have seen something. “What is it?”
Fajir drew the bone sword from the sash at her waist. “They hide, Nemesis, so no doubt they have already seen us.”
“Lydia. And who?”
Fajir’s smile reminded Lydia of the one time she’d seen a grelcat, a large predator that hunted the plains. “Shall we find out? Stay behind me.” She ran, and after a moment of gawking, Lydia stumbled after. Clearly, Fajir wouldn’t wait for an ambush.
Or to see if those she’d spotted were friend or foe.
When Fajir raced around a boulder and a leather-clad form leaped to accost her, Lydia was relieved to spot a red eye emblazoned on their clothing. She’d worried that all her thoughts of Mamet’s people had caused one to appear.
Her relief fled as several more Naos fanatics sprang from their hiding places, but Fajir moved for them like the wind. Her eyes went half-lidded; her hair was like a black flame dancing around her shoulders. Lydia faltered, losing pace as Fajir whirled amongst the grass and boulders, a dust storm given human form.
Some she killed, and Lydia’s stomach wanted to rebel, but others she wounded, and Lydia began to see a pattern. Fajir only killed if her attacker left her no choice or when a wounding blow would have left her open.
Lydia had done that, changed her. It was…special.
She had just enough time to call herself an idiot when one of the fanatics found a way around Fajir and into Lydia’s path. She’d fallen too far behind. The fanatic stared at her, the lower half of their face hidden behind a scarf. They must have been riding hard through the dust before they’d reached this place.
Idiot, she thought again, thinking about dust instead of moving and falling into her power before—
The fanatic pitched forward, the back of their neck split like a ripe fruit. Fajir spun away, but the attack had left her exposed, and another fanatic slashed her arm. Fajir didn’t let the wound stop her as she scored a hit across the attacker’s belly and moved closer to Lydia.
Lydia spotted a dust cloud in the southeast. More were coming, and Fajir already had one wounded arm. The blood trickled from her sleeve.
“Fajir!”
“I see them.” She kept the last two fanatics at bay.
“We have to…” Run? They couldn’t hope to outpace what was probably a pack of ossors. But if these scouts had ridden hard, they had to have mounts, too.
Lydia pulled Fajir to the base of a boulder, then scrambled atop it. She scanned the nearby rocks and ravines, her heart racing. Her power sat at the back of her mind, desperate to be used, promising she could at least see if they got away.
“Shut up,” she said with a snarl. “I already know Fajir does, so just shut up!”
“Nemesis?”
A hint of movement caught her eye, and she nearly crowed. “There, that ravine! Their mounts!”
Fajir didn’t wait. She feinted left, and when the fanatic on the right came at her, she slashed his knee, toppling him. She dispatched the last one quickly, and Lydia slid down, running for the ossors.
“Careless Nemesis!” Fajir said as she ran to catch up. “They may have a guard!”
Lydia slid to a stop just as she saw the fanatic hidden by the rocks. He lifted a knife as if to throw it, and Lydia didn’t need her power to know that her life was about to end.
She hoped there’d be starlight.
An arrow sprouted in the fanatic’s side as if summoned, throwing him to the ground. Lydia dashed for the ossors. No matter who’d saved her, they couldn’t wait around and confront the horde that was coming.
She pulled herself into the saddle, Fajir beside her, when a voice called, “Seren?”
Fajir froze as if someone had dunked her in ice. A group of mounted warriors milled not far away, all of them armed with shortbows.
And all of them in Sun-Moon robes.
The one in the lead pulled down a dust-covered scarf, revealing tattooed cheeks. “Seren Fajir, it is you!”
“Nico,” Fajir said softly, her eyes wide, voice nearly trembling.
Lydia looked between them and wondered what Fajir could be so afraid of.
* * *
Shiv began to wonder if she even needed the help of this much-feared Naos. It was hard to hold on to despair as her tree nearly flew through the swamp. The roots curled around the taller swamp trees and moved her tree in leaps that tickled the insides and made Shiv laugh in delight. As Lyshus laughed with her, she forgot his failure to understand the importance of the drushkan trees. He became a normal child, thrilled by sensation and the joy of another.
Soon, they would break free from the swamp. Shiv had never been so far north, had no idea what sort of terrain awaited her. She recalled Sa’s stories of mountains, but what lay between the swamp and those rocky peaks? Perhaps she would be so happy at discovering it that she would avoid Naos, avoid everyone, and continue on her own with Lyshus.
Forever?
She shook the thought away. She had no time for despair. For all her delight, she had to be wary. She had kept close to the eastern border of the swamp, wanting to remain far from the Shi, but this territory might belong to another queen.
As if summoned, Shiv felt a questing mind. She ignored it. The queens could feel her presence, probably sought her, but her smaller tree could move far faster than theirs.
A flurry of movement caught her attention. Far to the side, a group of figures flashed through the air like a disturbed flock, but birds did not fly so low, and insects were not so large. It could only be a band of drushka. She should have known the queens would not be content with her lack of interest. They sent scouts to see what could be seen.
The old drushka had been very interested in her when she had stayed among them. She denied them full access to her mind, not wanting them to know about Lyshus. A child born of a queen was interesting enough; frowned upon but not expressly forbidden. One had not been seen in even the longest memories.
Still, there had been stories, tales Shi’a’na had never learned because she never asked. They did not end happily.
Shiv commanded her tree to turn away from the oncoming drushka. They would not hurt her, probably would not even bar her path, but she was not in the mood to be fodder for their eyes, did not want tales sung about her. She would not be another unhappy tale.
The drushka turned, keeping pace. Since they were not hers, Shiv could not speak directly to their minds, and shouting seemed undignified. But as she continued and still they followed, her anger grew. She did not want to fight them; that would only give them another story. Surely they had enough tales to sustain them. They did not need hers!
But she might find theirs helpful.
The thought made her pause. They had tales of queens’ daughters. Perhaps they had others even more forbidden. All the tales she had heard ended in tragedy before the daughters ascended to a tree, but that did not mean such stories did not exist.
The wind gusted across her, and Shiv caught a hint of scent, something familiar. She had met this silver-haired female among the old drushka but had smelled her scent even before they met. This was Enka, once envoy of the old Shi, now a hunt leader with the Seventh. The old queens had introduced them, saying Shiv might be more comfortable speaking with a drushka who had also been to Gale.
If only to poison it.
Shiv told Lyshus to stay aboard the tree while she went out. If Enka felt any guilt for harming the humans, she had never shown it. The old Shi had commanded it; now the new one commanded her to leave the humans alone. It mattered not to Enka.
“Young queen,” Enka said, eyeing the tree curiously. “Your tree is larger than I imagined.”
“You will come aboard and travel with me,” Shiv said, trying to fill her voice with Shi’a’na’s tone of command.
Enka spread her hands, but the gesture seemed hesitant. “If you will it, but…”
“I do not ask you to give yourself into my branches,” Shiv said, though the desire to do so beat inside her.
Enka smiled softly. “We will escort you—”
“No, only you. The others may leave. We will have a journey, you and I, and then you will return to the swamp.” There would be time enough for a few stories, then Enka’s task would be done. She could return and tell the old queens whatever she wished. After Shiv had visited Naos, all problems with Lyshus would be solved.
* * *
Nemesis’s predictions had prepared Fajir for tragedy, but not for the lurch in her heart at the sight of Nico’s face. He was dressed and mounted as if stepping from her memory, and yet he seemed like something from another world.
Nemesis’s eyes were wide with questions. Since she and Fajir had their own ossors, they could flee from Nico. But Nico and his troop didn’t seem fazed by the approaching dust cloud. It had to be an army from Celeste, a force great enough to catch her and Nemesis if they fled.
“Nico,” Fajir croaked again.
“Seren,” Nico said, a myriad of expressions flashing over his face even though his voice was steady and formal. No calling her his Faja in front of others, not that she would have allowed it. She still felt the sting of betrayal over his confession of love, still felt the pain of his abandonment.
She sat straighter in her saddle. “Well—”
“The Lords will want to speak to you.” He gestured over his shoulder, and her heart sank further.
“The Lords are with you?” She stared again at the dust. Gusts of wind came from the west, sweeping the cloud over the waving grass like a discarded veil. A few drops of rain pattered down.
Nico nodded and gestured for them to follow.
Nemesis’s eyes grew even wider. Fajir nudged her ossor close. “We cannot outrun them,” Fajir said. Nemesis nodded, and Fajir could practically smell her fear. The Lords were much maligned by her former people.
For good reason.
“I will not leave you,” Fajir pledged, gratified to see some relief on Nemesis’s face.
Fajir kept their ossors close as they turned with Nico’s group. She had a flash of memory: Nemesis riding and leading Fajir, whose arms were bound. She’d pledged to kill Nemesis, Samira, and Mamet a hundred times over during her imprisonment.
That, too, felt like a different age.
They rode through the first ranks of Sun-Moon soldiers. Fajir heard whispers in their wake, but she had never minded whispers. As a widow, she was used to them, and most were respectful enough.
It wasn’t until she heard a stray comment calling her the former seren who’d abandoned her duty that Fajir whirled around, hand going to her sword. One of the soldiers shied back.
“Come say that to my blade,” Fajir said. She wanted to add that the Lords had abandoned her in her darkest moment, but she wanted to give them the chance to answer for that first.
Nico shooed the offending soldier away, but he did not deny the accusation. Fajir wanted to strike him. So he believed it, too, even though he’d been the one to leave. He’d clearly spread his own tale when he should have told everyone that she’d died. Only the Lords needed to know the truth.
Even if only to deny her aid.
The Lords rode in the center of the pack atop a geaver, no doubt the spoils of some plains dweller skirmish. The large creatures didn’t often come close to Celeste, preferring the stumpy trees that grew centrally in the plains. When the creature stopped, its long neck moved over the ground, and it pulled up a large hummock of grass, massive teeth grinding loudly. It blinked a long mane out of its huge eyes and didn’t seem to mind anything going on around it.
A handler tapped the beast with a pole, and it folded its four legs, lying down. The Lords leaned out from a canopied box that sat atop the geaver’s pebbled hide. The dribble of rain continued, but only the Lords were shielded.
“What’s this?” they said in unison. They bent their heads together, one dark, one golden. They looked well enough, but Fajir remembered their haggard faces after Naos had attacked Celeste. “Our widow returned.” They looked to Nemesis, and she bowed, always the wise one. Fajir followed suit before she realized it.
“Will you not introduce us?” the Lords asked.
Fajir started. They normally read the minds of those nearby, but she obeyed, speaking Nemesis’s language since the Lords seemed disinclined to insert the language of Celeste into Nemesis’s mind.
“This is Nem—” Fajir cleared her throat. “Lydia, lately of Gale.”
“But not anymore,” Nemesis said with a smile. “I’m Lydia Bauer of No Affiliation now.” After a moment she added, “A pleasure to meet you, Lords.”
“So, you are not scouts for the Galean army marching on the mountains?”
“I only wanted to check on some friends I have there,” Nemesis said hurriedly. “And Fajir was kind enough to accompany me.”
It wasn’t wholly a lie, but Fajir still sighed. Hiding things from the Lords was useless.
They smiled. “We have determined your abilities before, Lydia, ex-prophet of Gale. Your power will be useful to us in the future.”
Nemesis’s smile disappeared as she bared her teeth in a snarl. “I won’t—”
“Your cooperation will not be necessary.” They gestured to Nico. “Guard her until we have need of her.”
He bowed from the saddle. “Lords.”
Fajir’s temper rose, but she put a restraining hand on Nemesis’s arm. Something was amiss here.
“Lords,” Fajir said, “Simon Lazlo is among the Galeans. You once told me you would never risk his wrath. Now you follow him?”
They glowered at her. “We will not discuss Simon Lazlo or anyone else with you, now or at any time. Either take your proper place again or leave.” They gestured, and their geaver stood.
Fajir followed numbly as Nico led Nemesis away. The Lords had abandoned her, and they didn’t even remember? But they remembered everything, knew everything. If it wasn’t a lapse of memory…
They didn’t care. All the nights she’d lain awake lamenting her fate, knowing she’d let the Lords down, and they hadn’t thought of her at all. Her hands tightened on the reins. They hadn’t bothered to disarm her, either. She was immaterial. She couldn’t do anything to them, not while they could read her mind.
Or could they? Crazed thoughts were flying through her head unchecked.
The army began to move, and Fajir and Nemesis went with it, watched over by Nico in a pocket of mounted widows, none of whom had been part of her former force.
Nemesis scrubbed her hands over her head and leaned close. “My scalp is tingling like crazy. Your Lords must be using their power in a big way.”
“Reading your mind?”
“If they are, they’re not saying
anything. And I didn’t feel a spike when they said they knew my power—which I will not use for them—so maybe they already knew because they’d read my mind when we were closer to Celeste?”
If they had, they’d neglected to help Fajir then, too. “Normally, I would say that the Lords can make you use your power, but if they’re already using that power to such an extent that they did not read us…”
Nemesis whistled softly. “I bet they’re creating a telepathic shield around this whole army, hiding from the other gods. It’s got to be taking everything they have.”
Not just reading minds but making those minds invisible and seeking to keep their output of power undetectable? Yes, they had to be very distracted.
Enough for an escape? That depended on their plans.
Fajir fought down anger and disappointment and turned to Nico. She dearly wished Cordelia was there to lie for her. “Where are we going?”
He barely glanced at her, shifting in his saddle. Good, maybe he was ashamed of any rumors he’d started. “To the mountains. The Lords say we will receive metal there.”
Fajir glanced at Nemesis. They’d both heard Naos’s voice in their heads, inviting whoever could reach her to claim the downed spaceship. It seemed everyone in the world had heard it, too. And the Lords had believed it.
It sounded dangerous, foolhardy even. The Lords’ main enemy, the Storm Lord, was dead. Perhaps they feared his followers would claim the metal, make fearsome weapons of old, and seek revenge.
And since they’d brought an army, they knew there would be competition for the metal.
If it wasn’t simply a trap.
Chapter Fifteen
Dillon was tempted to pump a few bolts of lightning into the tunnel walls. It would vent some of his frustration and maybe give Patricia a reminder about why she shouldn’t fuck with him.
It could also give away who he really was to Horace, but that cat was out of the bag already with almost everyone else. And maybe the healer could use a reason to be afraid of him, too. Dillon had seen him cozying up to Patricia, even if she was too blind to notice. A person could do a lot of things with a captive, but trust was not one of them, especially one as powerful as Horace. It didn’t help that Patricia seemed determined to keep him awake and healthy against Dillon’s wishes.
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