She’d stopped asking Krey if she’d killed anyone. She knew the answer. While the dream was always the same, the victim shifted. Over and over, she’d seen two distinct, male faces. She’d be willing to bet she’d killed them both.
When the sky turned from black to gray, she slipped out of bed and quietly exited the building. By the time she arrived at the rooftop garden where she’d been assigned to work, the sky was pale orange.
Zeisha worked in silence for an hour or so before Kebi joined her. They’d been gardening together almost every day.
As Kebi knelt, she yawned. She laughed when Zeisha did the same. “All of Star Clan is tired after the drill.”
Zeisha pulled her hands out of the soil. She eyed Kebi, who would be stationed in a window with a bow during the battle. “Are you nervous?”
“Yes,” Kebi said simply. She dug her spade deep into the soil and carefully removed a weed with its roots. She looked up.
Zeisha realized she was still staring at her friend. Well, not at her exactly. She was staring into space, and Kebi’s face happened to be in the way. She laughed and returned to her work. “Sorry.”
“Zeisha,” Kebi said, “you should not fight.”
Zeisha blinked. “I . . . don’t know about that. Maybe I should.”
“When you use magic to make food then give that food to others, your face fills with light.” Kebi pulled another weed, gave Zeisha a smile, and dug her spade into the ground. “If you use magic to hurt others, you will hurt yourself too.”
“But you’re going to use arrows to hurt others.”
“I know. I am trained to do this since I am a child. I am scared, but I am ready. If you fight, will you be ready?”
“I don’t know.” Zeisha let out a long sigh. “I think we should change the subject.”
Kebi laughed softly.
At the end of the day, Zeisha was sore but happy. She joined Nora, Ovrun, and Krey for dinner in the small dining room where the militia ate their meals. Afterward, she returned to her room and lay down. Without meaning to, she slept.
For once, her rest included no torturous dreams. When she woke, it was dark. The room was full of deep breathing and soft snores. Zeisha shuddered. The darkness and sounds reminded her of waking every night in the militia warehouse.
She’d known she shouldn’t lie down right after dinner. Now she was wide awake in the middle of the night. Like she’d done the morning before, Zeisha rose and quietly walked outside. Now that the trog guards knew who she was, it was pretty safe to be out after dark. The moon’s round face gave her just enough light to navigate.
She found herself on the Star Clan’s residential street. As she reached the last of the occupied houses, a heavy blanket of exhaustion fell on her body, weighing her down. A large evergreen tree, with lush branches that blocked out the stars, grew in front of the first of a long line of vacant houses. Zeisha sat, resting her back on its trunk. She pulled her legs up to her chest and closed her eyes.
Something woke her from a light doze. She jerked her head up. Moonlight outlined a man walking up to the last occupied house. The man was probably coming home after a late shift as a guard or something.
He stopped at the door but couldn’t seem to get in. From her spot several mets away, Zeisha heard the knob rattle. Was his key stuck?
The door opened—but the man didn’t go in. Instead, he turned and bolted away before the person on the other side could see him. Candlelight illuminated a young boy in the doorway. “Hello?” the boy asked softly.
The man fled into the shadows between the child’s house and the one Zeisha sat in front of. Zeisha froze. She couldn’t see him, but she heard him breathing.
“Hello?” This time, the boy shouted the word.
The man darted back to the door and grabbed the child. The candle fell and went out. A moment later, the man had dragged the child in between the houses. Muffled screams reached Zeisha’s ears.
Coherent thought fled her mind, replaced by sharp panic. Acting on instinct, she pulled bark off the tree, shoved it in her mouth, and chewed.
The man spoke in a low, gruff voice. “I’m gonna let you go, and you’re gonna go inside. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt anyone. But you can’t tell your parents you saw me. If you do, I’ll—I’ll come back and hurt your family. Just—just go to bed, kid. Go to bed. Got it?”
He must’ve gotten the response he wanted, because he and the boy exited their hiding place. Moonlight revealed the large man in silhouette, his hand over the child’s mouth.
“Go,” the man said.
The boy was free, but he didn’t run. He stood, limbs frozen, and screamed, “Ma—”
The man tackled him to the ground, stifling his cry.
Zeisha didn’t consider her options. Didn’t think at all. Her hand rose. A strong vine shot out, reaching its target in barely more than an instant. The end coiled around the man’s thick neck. Zeisha drew her hand back, pulling the vine tight.
The man’s hands rose to his neck. Loud sobs emerged from the boy beneath him.
“Get off him!” Zeisha screamed in a voice so loud and raw, it seared her throat. The man didn’t move. She pulled the vine tighter. “Get off!”
The man tumbled to the side. The child scrambled up and ran inside, crying the whole way.
Zeisha screamed the word she knew would bring trogs running: “Intruder!” She grabbed the vine with her free hand, then released its base from her other hand. The skin of her palm shrank back into place.
Pulling herself along the vine as if it were a rope, she approached the man. She knelt next to him. “You try anything, and you’ll never breathe again.” She released the vine just enough to let the man gasp. “Got it?”
“Yes.”
Running footsteps and shouts approached from all sides. Men and women knelt next to Zeisha. Some of them bore lanterns.
“He wears an army uniform!” one of them shouted.
“Spy!” another cried.
Hands grabbed the man. Zeisha let go of the vine. Trogs flung questions at her. She couldn’t answer, couldn’t even look at the trogs. Her gaze remained on the man’s neck, covered with marks from her vines. Not again, her mind cried. Oh, God, not again.
The Seer: 3
Sarza was in a different room tonight. The large office had probably been used by some bigwig in charge of . . . whatever preday bigwigs were in charge of. From the window in here, she could see a trog residential street. She’d been watching it all night.
A bunch of people with lanterns were moving about. Sarza was too far away to make out many details, but she knew exactly what was happening. She’d seen it the day before in a crystal-clear vision. Another Cellerinian spy, some guy she’d never even seen until his stupid face showed up in her head, had just gotten himself arrested.
Her vision had consisted of two scenes. First, she saw the hungry man leaving the building where he’d holed up. He tried to find food, but he got caught by a vine eater. Then an alternate scene had played itself out: she found the soldier and warned him not to go out that night. He remained hungry, but he was safe.
Sarza often saw unchangeable future occurrences. Like the vision of her little brother dying—she couldn’t have stopped that from happening, no matter what she did. But when she saw multiple versions of a scene, it meant the future was unsettled. She had power. She could choose any of the options she saw.
Sarza could’ve saved the guy who was, at this moment, being led away by angry trogs. But what would’ve been the point? She would’ve revealed herself to a stupid, bumbling soldier who’d probably have eventually gotten them both arrested. No, she’d chosen the best option: he needed to suffer his own consequences instead of pulling her down.
At least that was what she told herself. She’d done the right thing.
But there was this part of her—a quiet-yet-persistent part—that argued, You’re selfish, Sarza. You didn’t want to deal with the complication of working wit
h someone else. But what if you could’ve helped each other?
Sarza slammed the door on that line of thinking. Her life had given her zero reason to partner with anyone on anything. That idiotic soldier was in charge of his own future. She was in charge of hers.
She lay down on an old, stinky rug in the center of the room, pulling her jacket tight around her. Time to sleep, not think.
But her mind kept returning to the captured soldier’s frightened face.
9
Today I’d like to tell you about a woman named Chara Rigget. When Chara entered one of Therro’s largest prisons at age twenty-two, she thought her life was over.
That was ten years ago. Last week, Chara was released. She already has a job as an accounting assistant for a Derogan food-packing company. She learned all the skills she needed for her new career while she was incarcerated.
-“Education Doesn’t Just Happen in Schools” by Genta Ril
The Derogan Chronicle, dated Quari 14, 6293
“A spy?” Nora asked.
“Yeah.” Ovrun kept jogging, his pace quick. “Zeisha caught him. She’s really upset. Eira sent someone to wake up Krey. He figured it might help if you and Isla were there too.”
Nora tried to keep up with Ovrun. The women’s sleeping quarters weren’t far from Eira’s office, but her tired body protested every step.
Next to Nora, Isla said, “I’m glad you woke us.” Like all the former militia members, she was in great shape. She wasn’t even breathing hard.
When they entered the small lobby of the Star Clan’s administrative building, Nora caught her breath as she took in the scene. Zeisha and Krey were on a couch. He was holding her tightly, her face buried in his chest. He was murmuring something into her ear. Isla sat next to them and put her hand on Zeisha’s back.
Eira stood a short distance away. Slumped shoulders betrayed her exhaustion. The lines of her face seemed to have deepened in the last two weeks.
Comfort Zeisha or talk to Eira? Nora took one step toward Zeisha before deciding if she were upset, she’d want one or two people around her, no more. She altered her route to approach Eira. Ovrun followed.
“What happened?” Nora asked.
“People hear shouting on a residential street,” Eira said. “They find a man in an army uniform with a vine around his neck.”
“Dead?” Ovrun asked.
“No. Conscious.” She reviewed what they’d learned from a trog whose son the spy had briefly taken.
“Why was Zeisha there?” Nora asked.
“We hope she tells us soon.”
Nora took a step closer to Eira. “Where is this spy? I want to talk to him.”
“This is trog business,” Eira replied.
“We’re honorary members of your clan now, remember?” Ovrun’s low voice was friendly. “Who better to interrogate him than Nora? He’s more likely to talk to the princess of his own land than to a trog.”
“Please take me to him,” Nora said.
Eira eyed Nora and at last nodded. “Very well.”
“I’d like Ovrun to come too,” Nora said. “He’s trained as a royal guard.”
Eira’s gaze took in Ovrun’s form. “A guard. This does not surprise me.” She picked up a lantern. “Come. Both of you.”
They walked to a small, squat building two doors down. A man holding a sword stood at the front door. He nodded at Eira as they entered. She led Nora and Ovrun into the tiny lobby and down a shadowy staircase into a stark, damp basement lit by hanging lanterns. A male guard, probably not out of his teens, stood watch at the entrance. He stepped aside, letting them pass.
Pungent body odor filled Nora’s nostrils. A dirty man who looked to be in his mid-twenties was the source. He sat on the floor, his suspicious gaze darting between his visitors. His hands were behind his back, a chain connecting them to a metal ring on the wall. He wore part of a Cellerinian Army uniform: black pants and a long-sleeved blue shirt. His black jacket lay nearby. The man’s thick hair was cut close to his scalp, and untrimmed whiskers speckled his cheeks, chin, and upper lip.
As Eira talked quietly with the guard, Nora watched the spy. Her breaths quickened, along with her pulse. A flush warmed her skin. This man represents everything wrong with Cellerin. From what she’d seen during the attack, the army wasn’t mind controlled like the militia had been. She doubted even her father had the ability to control a thousand people. The man before her had chosen to join the army. He’d vandalized trog territory and tackled a child. Nora’s pulse quickened, and she tried to tamp down her anger.
Eira moved between Nora and the spy, speaking quietly so only Nora and Ovrun could hear her. “You may interrogate him. Soft cloth lines his restraints. Long chains allow him to move.”
“Okay,” Nora said, not sure what Eira was getting at.
Eira captured Nora’s gaze. “We do not mistreat prisoners.”
Ah. “Of course not.”
“Return to my office when you finish.” Eira turned and left.
Nora caught the guard’s eye. He nodded and gestured with his hand for her to proceed. She stepped forward. “What is your name?”
He didn’t answer.
Her eyes narrowed. “Do you know who I am?” she asked in a low voice.
Again, no response.
She stood taller. “I am Nora Abrios, Princess of Cellerin.”
That got a reaction. The man’s chains clanked as he sat up straighter.
“Tell me your name!” Nora’s words, spoken in a commanding tone she’d learned from her father, echoed off the hard walls.
Silence.
Nora’s reason dissipated like hot vapor. “Do you know what you’re doing to Cellerin?” she shouted. “You’re making it possible for my father to destroy our nation!”
The prisoner’s eyes widened, but his mouth remained closed.
Nora got on her knees, right in front of him. “Do you know why I left home?”
The spy smirked. “Because you got bored in your big palace? You’re a poor little princess who couldn’t stand her life of luxury for one more second?”
His utter disdain transported Nora back to her moment of greatest helplessness.
Faylie. Her face above mine. Begging her to stop cutting my cheek. Cold eyes. Cold blade. Unimaginable pain.
Lost in the powerlessness of it all, Nora released whatever tendril of control she’d been grasping. She made a fist and drew it back.
Before she could swing, a strong hand grasped her bicep. She turned. Ovrun’s wide eyes stifled her rage.
Reason suddenly returning, Nora gasped and skittered back. Ovrun released her. What am I doing? What’s wrong with me? Her gaze fell on the spy. For the first time, she noticed the red marks on his neck. He’s injured and shackled, and I almost hit him! Nora turned to the young guard, whose eyes were wide. “Go—fetch a healer,” she commanded.
“Eira tells me one is on the way.”
“Go check!” Horror at what she’d nearly done lent urgency to her words. “Can’t you see he’s hurt?”
“I’ll guard him while you’re gone,” Ovrun said.
After a moment’s hesitation, the guard departed.
No one spoke. Nausea seared Nora’s stomach. She stood and ran to the stairs. Halfway up, she sat, breathing hard. Would she have punched that man if Ovrun hadn’t stopped her? Self-loathing twisted her insides. She buried her face in her hands.
Strong arms encircled her. “It’s okay,” Ovrun said.
Nora tried to slow her breathing. It worked, sort of. After a couple of minutes, she was reasonably calm, though her stomach ached, and she couldn’t stop shaking her head. “I don’t know what happened to me in there.”
Ovrun was still holding her tight, his hand rubbing her back in slow circles. “Same thing that happened to me during the battle with the militia. Remember you had to stop me from strangling someone?”
Nora nodded.
“I guess I was returning the favor.”
; “Thank you.”
They sat quietly. Before long, the guard arrived with a blood lyster, the same one who’d healed Nora after Faylie cut her. The healer finished a few minutes later. He stopped on a step below Nora and Ovrun. “I heal his neck,” he said before continuing up the stairs.
“You need to go back in there,” Ovrun murmured.
“That’s the very last thing I need to do.”
“You’ll be fine. I’ll be with you. If I see you losing control, I’ll pick you up and throw you over my shoulder.”
Despite everything, she grinned. “I might like that.”
Ovrun rolled his eyes. “You’re definitely back to normal. Come on.”
Inside, Nora sat on the floor, a respectful distance away from the prisoner. She pinned the spy with her gaze. He didn’t look up. “I shouldn’t have gotten so angry,” Nora said. “I’m sorry.” She hadn’t expected a response, and she didn’t get one. She took a deep breath. “I left home because my father has lost control of his own mind.”
Without disclosing the secret of brain lysting, Nora told the spy about the king’s mind-controlled militia. About halfway through, he lifted his head and locked his gaze on hers. Gone was his derision; his mouth gaped as he took in every word.
When Nora finished recalling how she’d freed the militia, the man said, “I don’t believe a word of that. You may not like your father, but he’s a good king. He wouldn’t abduct magic eaters to make some mind-controlled army. That’s . . . that doesn’t happen. Magic doesn’t work that way.”
Nora bit back the snarky remark she wanted to say. Instead, she said in a level voice, “Maybe you’re right. The king you know wouldn’t do that. Would the king you know invade the trogs and command his soldiers to vandalize the city?”
The prisoner didn’t answer.
Nora continued, “Would the king you know attack New Therro with no warning and force all the men in that province to join the army?”
The Vine Eater (The Magic Eaters Trilogy Book 2) Page 8