by Cayla Keenan
“I’ve heard that before,” Jayin said, wincing as she sat up. Her injuries throbbed, but she had laid down enough for a lifetime. She was tired of being hurt. “Have you always been blind?”
It was a rude question, Jayin realized when Aya didn’t answer right away, but she’d been a prisoner and lived with carrions for too long to bother with politeness. She’d never been good at playing courtier, much to the Kingswitch’s dismay.
“You could find that out yourself.”
“I don’t do that,” Jayin said.
“You did last night.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Jayin replied, feeling defensive. “I was dying, and I needed to find someone who could help me.”
“So your powers allow you to find Old Aya, but you draw the line at gleaning my secrets? Why?”
“It hurts,” Jayin said honestly. She checked to make sure Kell was truly asleep before going on. The less he knew about the extent of her powers, the happier she would be. “If I don’t protect myself it’s all so overwhelming I can’t keep up. Sensory overload,” she said, remembering when she’d said the same words to Om.
Jayin felt a stab of anger towards Kell and the whole cursed lot of the sahirla. They thought that they were ridding the world of monsters by killing her people, but with every life they took, the more monstrous they became. She hoped their starcursed compound was still burning. She hoped they burned with it.
“So you are content to render yourself powerless in order to avoid pain. Pain is a part of life, child.”
“Not like this,” Jayin insisted. “When I was young and couldn’t control my abilities, I thought it would kill me. It was like having acid poured into my ears.” If the old woman didn’t believe her, Jayin welcomed her to try it out for herself. She’d given Kell the opportunity to see things her way, though she still didn’t know what it was about his aura that made it so agonizing.
“My sight was taken from me as a little girl,” Aya said abruptly. “I am very old, and I have seen much of this world. But not with my eyes.” She sighed, settling into the armchair by the fire. “When I was young, the sahirla were still a force to be reckoned with in Aestos.”
They still are, Jayin thought. She had the scars to prove it.
“They roamed this kingdom in packs, searching out and killing any witches they came across. My family was new to Aestos, immigrants from the Oldlands—”
“You’re from the Oldlands?” Jayin interrupted. She’d never met anyone from their ancestral home before. Travel between the two lands had been nearly impossible for a hundred years.
“Yes, child. I am much older than I look, though I do not think that means much anymore. Your generation is so different than my own. You live so rashly and die so young. You have forgotten how long our lives can be. I was just a baby when my parents brought me to this land. They thought it would be safer for us. From what, I never knew. I still do not know, but the rumors are many and terrible.”
Jayin had heard them as well. The Oldlands had always been a topic of interest for her, one that was infuriatingly difficult to learn about. Only the Kingswitch had the answers she sought so eagerly, but he had always rebuffed her attempts to pry them out of him. Some people said the land itself was dying, driving the last of the witches to the Three Kingdoms before it vanished altogether. Others claimed that whatever had blessed the sahir with their gifts had somehow come alive and hunted them for their power. Dayri whispered that their Dark deal was up, which is why their numbers seemed to be dwindling and the Oldlands were barred to them. Jayin didn’t know the truth.
“No one in our village escaped the slaughter,” Aya went on, oblivious to how Jayin’s thoughts spun away to rumors of the Oldlands. “Save for Old Aya, of course, but the encounter left me blind. I was just a child, but I managed to find my way to Pavaal, and petitioned the then Kingswitch to help me avenge my family.” The old woman sighed, pain evident in every line of her face. “They told me that witchhunters were a necessary evil, and I should consider myself lucky to be alive. Then they turned me away. I was a child, an orphan, ripped from my parents and my sisters, and they left me out in the cold to fend for myself.”
Jayin knew the anger in Aya’s voice, knew the sting of betrayal from the people she’d been taught to trust. The Kingswitch was supposed to look after them, but the title came with a power that corrupted and turned his interests away from the good of the sahir, and instead to whatever would keep them by the King’s side. Jayin had learned that the hard way.
“I’m sorry,” Jayin said. She’d grown up without a family, so she had no idea what it was like to lose one. But it couldn’t be anything less than devastating.
“It’s in the past,” Aya said, waving a bony, veined hand. “The very distant past. Sometimes I think our longevity is a curse.” Jayin wondered what it would be like to live for centuries, seeing wars come and go, rulers rise and fall. If Kell had his way, she wouldn’t have the chance.
“I doubt I’ll live long enough to compare,” Jayin said, not bothering to keep the bitterness out of her voice. Aya was a stranger, but she’d done more for Jayin than those who had known her for years. “Have you been around long enough to know how to break the bond on these?” she asked raising her wrist. Aya’s knobby fingers drifted over the cold metal band and after a moment she shook her head.
“Old Aya does not know how to break such an enchantment. Your lives are bound until the bracelets come off.” Jayin knew as much, and yet hearing it said aloud sent a thrill of fear through her blood. She wasn’t ready to die. She hadn’t been at the sahirla’s compound, and she wasn’t ready now.
Stars, she just wanted to go to the Isles like she’d planned. Or perhaps join a crew and spend the rest of her life at sea, where no one wanted anything from her. Not the Kingswitch, not the sahirla, not Kell. No one.
She was only eighteen—ancient by the Gull’s standards and infantile by the sahir’s. There was an entire world she hadn’t seen yet. Even if she spent the rest of her life looking over her shoulder, waiting to see the telltale colors of the King’s men, at least it would be her life. At least she would be living.
“He will not betray you, whatever you think of him,”
Jayin shot Aya a sharp look. “He already has. He’s sahirla.” Jayin wanted to slit his throat and be done with it but there was no way to do it without dying along with him.
“The dayri is not one of them. I would not have allowed him into my home if he were. I do not know what he is.” The blind woman paused, threading her fingers together. “It seems that you two are creatures without equal, bound to one another. It is interesting.”
That wasn’t the word Jayin would use.
“It is time for me to rest,” Aya said, abruptly. “You should as well. You have a long journey ahead of you, and many hardships.” Shuffling to her feet, Aya patted Jayin on the head and disappeared into a back room. Jayin didn’t move for a long time before finally taking Aya’s advice and trying to sleep.
Chapter Nineteen:
Jayin
This time, when Jayin opened her eyes, Kell was awake.
“Good morning, traitor,” Jayin said, not bothering to ease the cranky bite in her voice. Never in her life had she enjoyed mornings, and weeks of imprisonment and torture hadn’t changed that. He stared at her oddly, his blue eyes still clouded with sleep. “What?” she snapped.
“Your hair,” he said. Jayin glared, daring him to say another word. Her hair, which had hung nearly to her waist, was gone. With one of her knives, she’d sheared it off without bothering to look in a mirror. It wasn’t pretty, but her head had been matted with so much blood and seawater that it was unsalvageable. Now her hair was cropped short in the back and lighter than she’d ever felt it.
“You found me based on a description,” Jayin said. She shook her head, tossing the new, uneven bangs out of her eyes. “I’m not walking back to Pavaal looking like I used to, and neither should you.”
“Chi
ldren,” Aya said, emerging from her back room. “You will need these.” In her hands were two identical packs, one for each of them. Jayin dug around in hers to find a week’s worth of provisions, a sleeping roll, as well as several knives to replace the ones she lost and a belt to conceal them. Aya had already outfitted them with traveler’s gear to replace the sopping wet—and in Jayin’s case, bloody—clothes they’d worn to her door. Jayin’s new coat didn’t have half as many pockets as her old one, but it would do.
Jayin caught Kell looking at her, his hand worrying the stone around his neck.
“What?” she snapped, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves and tucking the new daggers into her belt.
“Do you really think you need so many knives? That seems excessive.”
That’s excessive. Om’s voice echoed in her head. Jayin inhaled, trying to keep herself from flying at him. The thought of Kell and Om having even one thing in common made her stomach turn.
“Your sahirla friends thought so too,” Jayin said. She made a show of spinning one of the new knives around her thumb. “Right before I gutted them.” Spots of color appeared on Kell’s cheeks, and he took a furious step towards her.
“None of that here,” she said sharply, her knuckles connecting with Jayin’s skull. Jayin cursed, rubbing the bristly hair on the back of her head. “You are still in Old Aya’s house and you will be civil.” Aya muttered something else, but Jayin couldn’t make it out. She doubted it wasn’t complimentary. “Now, you must leave. I have done all I can for you.”
Jayin was sorry to go. She would miss the tiny house and the warmth and magic curled in the air. Maybe, when all this was over, she would come back. Aya had years worth of stories to tell, and Jayin wanted to hear them all.
“Thank you,” Jayin said, surprising even herself by pulling the old woman into a hug. Aya was only just taller than she was, and it was a strange thing to be the same size as someone. Jayin was used to being dwarfed.
“Try not to die, yes? I will be upset if you waste all of my hard work.”
Jayin nodded, biting her lip. Kell was already waiting outside, the pack slung over his shoulders and stolen sword at his hip. The white gem gleamed against the pale column of his throat.
“Come on then, traitor,” Jayin said. “It’s a long way to Pavaal and I’d like to get this suicide mission on the road.”
“Are you always so cheerful?” Kell asked as they started walking.
“Only when I’ve been kidnapped by a simpleminded murderer with a death wish,” Jayin replied without missing a beat. He didn’t answer.
It was slow going, but at least they would have plenty of advance notice if the sahirla were coming. Jayin used a tiny part of her power to scour the land, searching out hostile witchhunter energy. Her only advantage was Maerta probably thought she was dead, killed by the sahirla, so there was no need to go to such lengths to conceal her powers. She wouldn’t be sending up magical flares anytime soon, but it was better than traveling like a dayri.
“We should get off the streets,” Kell advised as the sun started to set, breaking the silence that had held since Old Aya’s.
“There’s still plenty of ground to cover.”
“Not if you want to stay out of sight, valyach,” Kell insisted. “The helwyr do sweeps at sunset.”
Helwyr, valyach, he kept using the words like he knew what they meant. Jayin shook her head. It wasn’t worth explaining, not to him. He’d sought them out. He escaped from the Pit just to join them. That was fanatical dedication if she’d ever seen it, and Jayin didn’t have time to try and recondition a zealot.
“Play along,” she hissed, pulling him into a dingy inn off of the main thoroughfare. Jayin looped her arm through his, careful to keep their skin from touching. “Hello,” she said brightly to the man behind the desk.
“What can I do for you?” the innkeeper asked. “Are you looking for a room?”
“Two,” Jayin said, pulling an exaggeratedly mournful face. She pulled Kell close, ignoring how he stiffened in discomfort. “I love this man with all of my heart, but stars does he snore.”
The man behind the counter smiled. “I know what that’s like.” He leaned towards her conspiratorially. “My wife is the prettiest little thing you’ve ever seen, but she snores like a sailor. Here.” He handed them two separate keys. Jayin thanked him before leading Kell up the stairs.
“What was that?” Kell demanded as soon as they were out of earshot.
“You’re saying you want to share a room?” Jayin deadpanned. “With me?”
“No, but—”
“Then shut up and you’re welcome,” she cut him off, pushing into her room and slamming the door behind her. Stars. They’d only been on this little adventure for a day and she was already exhausted.
Jayin locked the door firmly, weaving tiny amounts of magic into the door. It wasn’t much, but it would give her a split-second head start in case someone came too close.
Even after she’d settled on the bed, Jayin couldn’t sleep. She lay awake, tossing and turning on the soft mattress. After sleeping on the stone ground of the witchhunter’s dungeon and Old Aya’s table, the plush mattress was stifling.
Eventually, Jayin pulled the blanket and pillow off of the bed and settled herself on the floor. Her arm was bent under her head, fingers wrapped around a ring dagger. She should kill Kell now, while he was sleeping, and be done with it. Her days were numbered anyway and there would be one less sahirla maniac in the world. She should slit her own throat and expedite the process. Jayin sighed and rubbed her temples, trying to force the idea out of her head.
Her dreams were bloody.
THEIR ROUTINE DIDN’T vary after the first night, walking from sunup to sunset and only taking breaks at midday to eat. Aya’s rations lasted a little over a week, but they soon resorted to stealing.
“It must be nice,” Kell said when Jayin tossed him his share. Walking into the shop unnoticed had only taken a whisper of magic, and Jayin wasn’t willing to risk exposing Kell. She didn’t want to think what would happen to her if he were captured while still wearing the cuff. “Being able to disappear.”
“I don’t disappear,” Jayin growled, tearing at a hunk of bread with more force than strictly necessary.
“And yet I’ve seen you change your shape,” Kell pointed out, a mouthful of food.
Jayin rolled her eyes. “That’s not how it works.”
“Then how does it work?” Kell insisted, oblivious to how quickly Jayin’s tolerance was waning. “Come on, valyach, what could be the—” The rest of the question died on his lips. Jayin surged forward, pinning him to the wall with a gauntleted hand and bringing her dagger to his throat. She could feel the prick of steel against her own skin and ignored it.
“I,” she snarled, her face so close to Kell’s that she could feel his aura even with the stone, “am sahir, you stupid, ignorant boy. And your heroic witchhunter friends aren’t helwyr, they’re sahirla. Using a dead language and insisting on cleansing Aestos doesn’t make them pure. It makes them monsters.” She straightened up and slipped the knife back up her sleeve. “I’ve spilled enough witchhunter blood to know their blood is as red as mine, and if you call me valyach again, I’ll spill yours too. Cuff or no cuff.”
She didn’t wait for him to answer, tucking her meal into her pack and stalking off. She didn’t bother looking over her shoulder. He would follow her. He didn’t have a choice.
For days they walked without speaking, barely looking at one another. Kell trudged behind her, always warning of the sunset sweeps before Jayin found them somewhere to stay. The best places were inns or hostels, and the worst, abandoned, half-destroyed structures that barely kept out the elements. Those nights, they slept in shifts. Jayin sat with her back to Kell during her watches, trying to ignore the way he thrashed about in his sleep. She knew enough about nightmares to recognize the symptoms.
“Why aren’t you looking for him?” Kell asked her one morning. It was the fir
st time he’d addressed her since she’d threatened him. Jayin dragged her hand down her face. It was too early for this.
Because I don’t believe he exists. “We’re too far away,” she said instead. They were still days away from Pavaal, and Jayin wasn’t willing to use her powers from such a distance.
“I thought you could find anyone, wherever they were.”
Jayin sighed, blowing out her cheeks in irritation. “I can, but thanks to you and your homicidal friends, Ayrie thinks I’m dead. Right now, that’s the only thing keeping the Kingswitch from finding and killing both of us. I’d like to keep breathing, thanks.”
“What does that—”
“You really have no idea how magic works, do you?” Jayin snapped.
“Magic is power,” Kell supplied. Bleeding stars is he jealous? “It’s the only reason you witches think you run things.”
Magic is pain. Jayin didn’t bother correcting him. Let him think what he liked.
“Yes, well, the big bad witches who run things want my head on a spike, and I’m a fan of living.”
“How does a coddled Palace witch end up with so many people wanting her dead?” Kell asked, changing track.
“How does a Guardling go completely mad and murder four people?” Jayin shot back.
“If there was anyone else—” he started. Jayin cut him off again.
“But there isn’t, is there?” she asked coldly. “That’s why I’m stuck on a death march with the dumbest skiv under the stars and not some other sahir. That’s why you didn’t kill me.”
Kell’s blue-eyed glare softened into something that might have been shame, but Jayin had already turned away.
That night, they found a busier inn than the others.
“Aren’t you coming?” Kell asked when Jayin didn’t follow him up the stairs.
“No,” she said shortly. “We need money.” Jayin gestured to the card tables in the tavern connected to the inn. She couldn’t keep wasting magic on stealing meals for them every day.