Reaper of Souls

by Rena Barron

  Rudjek smooths a finger along one of the silver clasps pinned to his collar and clears his throat. “Apparently I’m an honorary commandant in the Almighty Army now. I have so many titles that it takes two lines to sign my name.” He pauses and gives me a crooked smile. “May I come in?”

  He looks so good—and he smells like the heavens. “Only if you promise to stop rambling.”

  Kira, Majka, and another ten gendars fan out in front of the shop. I’m not surprised that Fadyi and Jahla have slipped into the gendar ranks, posing as soldiers. I wonder how long they’ll remain with Rudjek now that we’ve stopped my sister.

  “Why so many guards for a boy who slays demons with the ease of cutting bread?” I ask, closing the door behind him.

  “Not my idea,” he groans as he looks around. “My father is nothing but persistent.”

  “And quite ambitious,” I mumble under my breath.

  “Quite,” Rudjek says, “but he did lift your banishment.”

  “He did?” I laugh and, without thinking, take a step closer to him. Then I stop. I can’t make a mistake like that again. “Sorry.” I catch another glimpse of myself in the mirror—and regret my decision to keep my scars from trading my years.

  “Wait!” Rudjek fumbles with the hem of his tunic and reaches into his pocket. “I think I found a solution . . . well, not a solution, but a way to cheat until we get this figured out.”

  “You’re rambling again.” I cross my arms, but it’s good to hear the familiar timbre of his voice after all the time we’ve been apart. “What are you going on about?”

  “These.” Rudjek dangles a pair of red leather gloves that match his uniform. When I woke after almost dying, he’d been able to hold my hand while wearing gloves. “There’s only one way to find out if they still work.”

  “Oh,” I gasp, realizing that he intends to touch me—that I want him to.

  Rudjek pulls on the gloves and moves cautiously until the tips of his fingers brush my cheek. He pauses at that, his eyes intent, his attention seemingly turning inward. I do the same, checking my magic’s response. Nothing so far. No sign of it coiling tighter with his touch, but, gods, my ache for him only grows in intensity. I tilt my chin up and lean in closer. “I’ve missed you,” Rudjek says, his voice quiet. The longing threaded between his words makes me forget about my missing tooth and gray hairs. He could have any girl he wants, but he’s here with me.

  I close my eyes, and he presses his gloved hand full against my face, no longer just testing the waters. “I’ve missed you, too.” I want nothing more than to sink into his arms—to feel his embrace like that stolen kiss in the tomb. Something about that memory snags at the back of my mind, but it flits away. Compared to his real touch, the leather feels cold against my skin. This is almost worse than not touching at all. I press my lips against his palm and pull away. “Would you like some tea?”

  “Yes,” he says, trying to make it sound effortless, but his voice is wrought with tension. “I would love tea if it’s not too much trouble.”

  I hear his emphasis on tea and remember the last time we were in the shop together. I’d offered him tea then, and he blushed, saying that in his mother’s home country, Delene, offering tea in certain situations was an invitation for something else. I want so badly for it to be an invitation and a promise now, but the bitter truth of our predicament burns inside me.

  I force down my thoughts. “When has it ever been trouble making tea?”

  Rudjek shrugs and his shoulders relax like the weight of the world lifts from his back, even if it’s only for a moment. “How are you holding up?”

  “I was about to ask you the same.” I gesture to the shelves as we move to the salon. “Last time you set foot in the shop, the magic made you sick.”

  “I’m stronger now,” he says as I put the kettle on the brazier.

  I smile at that—it’s a sad, pathetic smile. I know that without seeing my face. Rudjek removes his gloves, slipping them into his trousers, and puts his shotels aside. “I’m glad for that.” We both know that’s a lie, but he doesn’t call me on it.

  It feels nice to have a moment alone, but I find myself at a loss for words. Rudjek clears his throat again as we settle into an awkward silence at the low table in the salon. I reach for the jar of tea at the same time he shifts on his pillow. My fingers brush against the back of his hand. It happens then, in the span of a breath, a sharp awareness, my magic rising to the surface, an instinct to strike. The sickening churn of my stomach as his anti-magic assaults my senses. Rudjek jerks his hand away.

  Neither of us acknowledges what almost happened—what will happen if we tempt fate. Shifting my position away from him, I scoop dried mint leaves into his cup. He looks like he has something on his mind, and I have things I need to say, too. “I’ve decided to reopen the shop,” I blurt out. “I’m going to continue my father’s work—without the rich patrons wasting their coins on their vanity.” Though, come to think of it, those wealthy patrons might be the reason my father could afford to help the less fortunate.

  “That’s a brilliant idea,” Rudjek says, his eyes bright.

  I pour water into our cups. “I’m going to convert the storage room into an apartment.”

  He cringes at that. “You’re not joking, are you?”

  I shake my head before taking a sip of tea.

  “I assumed that you wouldn’t want to stay at your parents’ old villa, but there are ample apartments in the city. We have whole empty wings at the Almighty Palace.” He lets his words hang in the air like he’s waiting for me to answer. When I don’t, he sighs. “If that’s not enough space, you can stay in my old apartment at the Omari estate—there’s only staff for upkeep now. You’ll have the place to yourself.” He glances at his hands. “I would rest easier knowing that you’re someplace safe.”

  “I am someplace safe,” I counter.

  Rudjek quirks his eyebrows. “Someplace safe and near me.”

  “And how will your father take that?” I ask. “Last I recall, he still hates me.”

  Rudjek blows across the top of his tea, and I can’t stop thinking about our fleeting moment in the tomb beneath Heka’s Temple. He once told me that I smelled sweet and intoxicating . . . like something forbidden. The irony of how his words have come back to haunt us isn’t lost on me.

  He glances away and avoids my question. “Speaking of my father—he’s holding my cousin Tyrek’s trial tomorrow for his crimes against the Kingdom. You might want to stay clear of the coliseum.”

  “I’m surprised the Vizier—excuse me—the Almighty One waited this long.” I stare at my tea. “I thought he would execute his predecessor immediately.”

  “Acting Almighty One for now. The guildmasters must take a vote before he’s confirmed,” Rudjek corrects me. “The Sukkaras are powerful, and Tyrek’s mother is from a highly respected family, the Ohakims. Her brother is the Guildmaster of Labor. My father would be a fool to move in haste, considering their political ties.”

  I think of Sukar’s uncle, Barasa, the Zu seer. He was Sukar’s only family left, and Tyrek Sukkara had him executed along with the other seers. And if the rumors were true, Tyrek sided with my sister and willingly did her bidding. I don’t care what happens to him, but it irks me to no end that Suran Omari will keep the throne. I have no doubts about that. “How are you adjusting to your new position as acting Crown Prince?”

  “I am . . . adjusting best I can.” Rudjek’s gaze drifts in my direction again, and he flinches. I know why, and my heart sinks. “How are you, really?”

  I squirm on the pillow. I can’t bring myself to lie and say that I’m well, but I also don’t want him to worry. We’ve both done enough of that. “I’m coping.”

  His eyes flit back and forth between the wall and me. When he catches me staring, he says, “Sorry, it’s just . . . you know.”

  “Rudjek . . . I owe you an apology.” I work up the nerve to broach the subject of my sister. “I don’t expect yo
u to forgive me, but—”

  “Apology for what?” He looks amused by my words, and that makes this harder.

  It comes out wrong—my words jumbled together, my voice trembling. “Before, when . . . when Efiya tried to have her way with you.” I wring my hands, unable to be still. “I mean when she pretended to be me . . . when she tricked you.” All traces of amusement slip from his face. “I messed up, Rudjek.”

  His features smooth out, replaced by the mask he wears in public, the one meant to reassure, to disguise.

  “Are you okay talking about this?” I realize too late that he might not be. “Because we don’t have to if . . .”

  “I want to,” Rudjek says, his voice raspy like his throat has suddenly gone dry. “We need to put this behind us.”

  I push myself to continue—not quite knowing if I’m making sense. “When I saw you with Efiya, I saw her. The way she’s always looked to me.”

  “I saw you. Down to the little mole over your left eyebrow.” When he looks at me this time he doesn’t flinch.

  “I know that now,” I say, my belly twisting with anguish. “She did such a vile thing.” I swallow hard and finally get the words out. “And I blamed you for not knowing that she wasn’t me.” My voice is desperate now, and I fight back the tears choking my throat. “I was wrong, Rudjek, and I’m sorry.”

  “I should’ve known.” He rubs his hand across his eyes. “Re’Mec warned me, after the chieftains had bound themselves to you, that we could never be together.” His mask slips and his obsidian eyes burn, his pain shining through. “She didn’t smell like you. Deep down, I knew something wasn’t right, but I was caught in the moment.”

  “You can’t blame yourself.” I shake my head. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Rudjek nods. “Just as you must know that you’re not responsible for Efiya’s actions.”

  “But . . . ,” I say, ready to prove him wrong.

  “No buts.” Rudjek lifts a hand. “I don’t want this to stand between us.”

  “Me either.” I can’t help but wonder what Efiya whispered in his ear on the battlefield, but I won’t ask. It’s not my place. If he wants to tell me, he will.

  A knock on the door interrupts our conversation, and we both come to our feet. I brush wrinkles from my tunic, and Rudjek gives me a sheepish smile. “I can’t stay.” He pulls on his sword belt. “I’ve got official Kingdom business to attend to, but let’s meet tomorrow at twelfth bells in our secret place.” He says it like we’re kids again, sneaking out against our parents’ wishes. I miss those days.

  I cock my head. “Official Kingdom business, eh?”

  “I . . . ,” Rudjek splutters as he shifts his hands to the hilts of his shotels; then, he lets them fall at his sides. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with them. “I’ll be spending most of the day meeting my adoring fans.” He laughs at that, but he’s anxious. I smile back even though I know he’s lying to me. What I want to know is why.

  Six

  Arrah

  After Rudjek leaves, I set out to peruse the East Market, uneasy about how our conversation ended. Why was he so nervous when I asked him about his official Kingdom business? Without intending to, instead of going east, I end up at my family’s old villa. I peer through the wrought-iron gate and soak up the sight of it. The earth-toned walls, the tan shingles, the three sides enclosing a private courtyard. The gardens blossoming with lilies and irises and hibiscuses. Birds chirp in the trees. It’s exactly as we left it. The porter’s station sits empty, where Nezi would lean against the wall, rubbing her scarred hands.

  I am surprised that the Vizier hasn’t destroyed the villa, or a mob hasn’t vandalized it. The reason why becomes apparent when I touch the gate. A storm roars in my ears as my mother’s magic flares to life like a sleeping giant stirring. I stumble back as sparks rise from the grass and lace together into a dome that surrounds the gardens.

  Arti must’ve warded the villa. She probably did it to annoy Suran Omari. I imagine how mad he would’ve been to discover that he couldn’t even touch it. It serves him right for the villa to stand as a reminder of his despicable actions.

  Both my parents had thought to use protection spells, be it for different reasons. The lock on the gate clicks, and it creeps open. I turn away from the villa, and my mother’s magic teems at my back, threatening to consume everything in its path.

  I have half a mind to take down her ward, to shred it to pieces. The knowledge is within me; I know I can do it, but I won’t. Let this be a reminder to me, too, to never take my magic for granted, to never use it for the wrong reason. I’ll never be like her—I won’t let my magic turn me into a monster. I take one step away and falter. The gate opened for me. I blink back tears, remembering Arti’s desperate plea on the battlefield. She had offered to die in my place. Whatever my mother’s plan might’ve been, I don’t believe she ever intended for Efiya and me to be enemies.

  I touch my chest, where she’d carved the Demon King’s mark, the serpent. The scar’s gone now, but I can still trace where it had once been. In her own twisted way, she’d done it to protect me. “Be brave.”

  I turn around to face the villa and stalk through the gate, which creaks closed behind me. The moment is surreal, as a lifetime of memories flood back into my mind. I push them aside—I’m not here to reminisce. I round the gardens to the kitchen entry, which is closest to my old room. The air inside is cool and smells like honey and coconut—like my mother. Candles come alive as I head into the corridor. The dancers on the wall prance, leap, and twist to keep pace with me. Good to know they’re still in a mood to celebrate.

  When I step into the room, the echo of thunder draws me back to that awful night. Lightning struck outside my window, and a torrent of rain slapped against the roof. My mother stood in shadows with the dagger she used to carve the serpent into my chest. The memory feels so real that a whimper escapes my lips. I’ve given you a gift, she said.

  I cross the room quickly, not intending to stay long. I sigh when my eyes land on the altar coated in thick dust. The necklace of teeth my father gave me at Imebyé lies between three clay dolls. Feeling immense relief, I brush off the dust and slip it around my neck.

  Someone clears their throat behind me, and my heart leaps in my chest. I know that voice, but it can’t be. When I turn around, a plump woman stands in the doorway. Even in the dim light, I can see her eyes—the warm brown of copper coins. Not green. I don’t feel any magic from her, either. It’s really her—no tricks, no demon.

  “Ty?” I take a reluctant step toward her. The last time I saw the matron of our house was at the villa in Kefu when I tried to convince her to run away with Terra and me. I had assumed the worst, but I should’ve known that Arti would protect her. “Are you okay?”

  Ty nods as she steps into the room. She looks much the same as when we still had some semblance of a normal life, and I’m relieved. She touches the wall, then cocks her head to the side and frowns at me with surprise and hope in her eyes.

  “I’m not staying.” I clutch the charm around my neck. “I only came for this.” Ty looks away, her face dropping in disappointment. “I’m glad you’re here.” When she doesn’t respond, I blurt out, “I’m sorry about Nezi.”

  Ty taps her chest twice and turns her palm to face the ceiling. It was her choice.

  I shake with anger that she could give me such a flippant answer. Ty and Nezi had both sided with Arti and supported her vile actions. “It was my mother’s choice to do awful things in the name of revenge, too. For Heka’s sake, Ty, we lost everything—our family, the tribes. So many innocent people died in her bid to bring the Kingdom to its knees. Was it worth it in the end?” I clasp my hand over my mouth to bury my sobs.

  Ty looks at me, unblinking, for a long time as she thinks on it. I expect her to be dismissive, but instead, she shakes her head. No.

  I draw in a breath to calm myself and wipe away the beads of sweat on my forehead. Ty will be safe at th
e villa. She can live without fear. “I have to go,” I say, as if it’s an apology. I can’t stand to stay here any longer. “I’ll be at my father’s shop if you’d like to visit me sometime, but I won’t be coming back here.”

  Ty nods, then she holds up a finger. Wait.

  “What is it?” I ask, but she turns on her heel and scurries out of the room. When she returns, she hands me a small pouch that I recognize as belonging to my father. I take it and feel the weight of coins. “You’re giving me money?”

  She nods.

  “You should keep it.” I shove the pouch back at her. “I’ve got the shop now.”

  Ty makes a cradle with her arm. I have plenty.

  As matron of our house, she must have access to Arti and Oshhe’s wealth, but I don’t ask. I accept her offer and take the coins. I can use the money to buy things for the shop. “Thank you.”

  Ty smiles and presses her hand to her heart.

  I return the gesture. I love you, too.

  I pocket the purse as Ty slips back into the shadows. She was never one for goodbyes. I leave the villa after that, and it hurts not to look back. I head down the cobblestones, crossing the point where the pavement turns to dirt. I walk through rows of modest homes to arrive at the East Market. The smells and noises assail my senses at once, and I smile.

  A donkey kicks up a cloud of dust as a man rings a bell, announcing his wagon of fresh eggs and goat milk. Merchants shout over each other to attract patrons to their wares. One gives out samples of kebabs simmered in a spicy tomato broth.

  “Authentic Estherian silk scarves!” shouts another merchant. “Look your best at only forty-five copper coins.”

  Most people don’t recognize me, and hardly anyone cuts their eyes in my direction. It’s nice to be back in my old routine, moving with the flow of the market, blending in with the crowd. The money immediately comes in handy. I barter with several merchants and put down deposits for a bed and some new clothes.