by Rose Reid
I use the bar of soap to wash the grime from my skin, lathering the soap into my hair. It’s lavender, a scent I have not smelled in a long time. King Cress used to have lavender gardens and I remember walking through them a few times before I was called to meet with the king — my father. They used to be red rose gardens, I was told, but for some reason, my father had the roses destroyed and replanted the lavenders. Quay believed it had something to do with me. Red is, after all, my color.
My hand runs over my Jezdah. Insignificant. Nothing more than an imperfection. Yet my father nearly had me killed because of it. I’ve heard the legends that go along with my strange marking. I have heard the stories of the Girls and Boys born with the Jezdahs. They were curses to their families; to their kingdoms. The Children are never born within the same timeline, both are always born into a royal family or grow to power at one point in their life.
Such magic cannot exist anymore. Magic was eradicated long ago. When I touch my Jezdah I feel no power, no energy coursing through my fingertips, and I certainly feel no dark magic lying beneath the skin.
I let my hand fall back down into the water, splashing. Why was I the one cursed with a Jezdah? In the legends, the Jezdah always revealed its power when the Girl was a youth, but the Jezdah has yet to reveal itself to me. Perhaps my Jezdah is lacking its power. Which would be terribly unfair. I have been cursed with the appearance of the Jezdah, with the recognition that comes with it, but have not been gifted with its magic?
I dip down beneath the water, blowing bubbles to the surface and watching them pop.
According to the legends, Meili Depisa was the first Girl to possess the Jezdah. She was the Girl of Earth. She was of Lydovier, the daughter of a governor, a wealthy young woman. Her parents believed her marking meant that God favored her and would bless her throughout her life. To the family’s surprise and delight, Meili Depisa married into the royal family and became a queen of Lydovier. It was not long after her ascension to the throne that Lydovier’s king was killed by Belaroux spies with the help of Meili.
Amee Findlay was the next Girl — the Girl of Water — according to the tales. She was born an Evrallonic royal, already placed in a position of power. At the time, mermaids and kelpies had roamed the surrounding oceans. As if Amee could speak to them and other Afterlighters, the creatures flocked into Evrallon, destroying the first Keep of Adandyrl. Amee was killed by the previous king’s swordmaster before she could bring more destruction upon the land.
Time and time again, Children of the Elements are cursed to bring destruction and wretchedness upon the kingdom they govern. I suppose I can understand my father’s want to keep me away from the throne. He knew the legends of the Jezdahs better than I do now. His scholars had prepared him before he was ever king, before he was ever married to my mother.
Muted knocks bounce through the water. I surface, the steam rolling off my face and back over the water. The knocks come again from the door. I wring my hair out and stand, stepping out of the pool and onto the cloth beneath me. I take a towel from the rack and wrap it about myself. In the washroom’s mirror I can see the black ink of my Jezdah peeking out from beneath the towel, crawling over my shoulder and barely kissing my collarbone.
My jaw tightens slightly. Is there a way to remove such a ghastly thing? If I hope to be safe in the king’s court long enough to be released I should try to find a skilled physician — one I trust wholly — to see if they can remove it, or at least use chemicals to scrub it away. Is there any other way to be rid of something like this?
“Aerietta,” Lyom sighs. “I have your attire here.”
I open the door enough to slip my hand outside, feeling around for the dress. Lyom almost chuckles — almost — and hands me the clothing. I snatch it back and close the door. I hear Lyom’s footsteps as he wanders around the room, likely looking for weapons I am keeping stashed somewhere. It shouldn’t concern him anymore. I think he has finally accepted that I would rather loyally work for the king this one time and then been released than to escape now and live the rest of my life in fear of capture and execution.
I hang my towel on the rack and hold the dress up to my body in the mirror. It’s a scant dress, shorter than I would like for it to be, but that is how the women in Adaai wear their skirts. The heat here can be unbearable during the summer months but thankfully the winters are cold enough to warrant high necks and sleeves, enough to cover my Jezdah.
I put my undergarments on before taking the dress and making an attempt to get it on. I lace the back of it with more ease than I have before and take a look at my appearance in the mirror, checking to be sure my mark is thoroughly hidden, before I exit.
Lyom waits for me outside, wearing similar colors to that of my patched dress. He has on brown trousers, workman’s boots, and a loose beige shirt. He has done nothing to tame the wild waves of his midnight hair but I suppose that will be good for our disguise tonight. It’s stunning to me how he can go from wearing the decorated garb of a high-ranking Evrallonic soldier to the rags of a poor nation and still look like he could be royalty. And even with his shirt on, it’s hard not to stare at him; the looseness of the shirt can’t quite hide the muscle beneath.
“Jamas and Carnahan are ready?” I inquire.
He nods. “They are already out in the bazaar watching for Dominik.”
Lyom reaches to his belt, removing the dagger I’d returned to him earlier. He hands it to me and I slip it into the belt around my own waist, concealing it amongst the rags of my frilly dress. I turn my attention back to him, smiling up at him, inwardly disliking the height difference and the combat advantage it gives him.
“You know,” I begin. “at one point I should like my own weapon back.”
Lyom nods. “When we return to the Keep I’ll see what I can do.”
I grin. “See? You can be reasonable.”
Lyom leads me outside of my room, where he hands me brown flat shoes which I slip onto my feet. We move quickly down the stairs and nearly bump into the innkeeper who is on her way out into the bazaar. I quickly thank her for the clothes before Lyom whisks me out into the night.
The moment we step away from the inn, Lyom parts ways with me and disappears into the night, likely assuming that I remember all the details of our hastily-thrown-together plan. Luckily for him, I do.
My wet hair is hardly appropriate to wear out in Lydovier but the Adaaian people couldn’t care less. I pin my hair up behind my head, appreciating that I now smell like lavender instead of the hundred other scents that clung to my skin and clothing.
The night is cold and shivers run down my back due to my damp hair. Tendrils of dark blond hair falls down into my eyes and I impatiently push them back, trying to pin them up into the knot behind my head. Sooner or later the pins will not be able to hold my hair and I’ll be forced to let the air dry it.
Fires have been lit along the streets where vendors continue to try to sell their products to the sightseers. The flames give off enough heat for the air around them to be warm but walk several feet further and you will be plunged into the brisk frigidness of winter. Fireworks shoot off at five minute increments, a chorus of excited shouts and wonder-filled gasps following their debuts.
I stay light on my feet as I walk, pretending to be nothing more than a traveling young maid. It would be more feasible if I had an escort with me but I suppose I am only trying to fool the citizens of Zahlemia. Dominik won’t be fooled by my disguise.
The fiddling has stepped up since I was last in the bazaar only hours ago. The clapping is more upbeat, the dancing quicker. I am caught up in the whirl of dancers but this time I am more conscious of my partner. I spin and whirl and clap my hands to the rhythm of the music. The tapping of feet and quick sawing of the bow across the violin’s strings is contagious and soon half the street is dancing along, some throwing coins to the two violinists that perform on the sidewalk.
I change partners every few minutes, sometimes hooking elbows with a you
ng maid who seems far more excited to be at this celebration than I am. I do not blend into the crowd as well as I’d hoped I would. I look foreign to them, surely, which is why most of the men try to make their way towards me as we all dance.
I meet up with another partner in the middle of the street, glowering when I recognize the face.
Carnahan smiles. “Hello, there, lovely.” he croons with a harsh note in his otherwise singsongy voice. “What’s a pretty thing like you doing in a place like this?”
I force myself to grin again for the sake of the people watching us and discreetly knee him in the groin when I dance around him. Carnahan grunts and doubles over but by the time people around him notice I have already disappeared from sight.
Continuing to move down the streets, eyes watchful for Dominik, I travel back into the bazaar. Now that the festival is in full swing, costumes have been broken out, along with lambs whose wool has been dyed colorfully, likely to be later sacrificed to the Adaaians’ pagan god.
Feather boas are strung around the necks of women as they flaunt themselves in front of men. Harlots. How fitting. It seems that no matter where one goes one can never escape debauchery. Though I cannot claim to have abstained from such sin
Fireworks shoot off again and I nearly trip over my own feet but an Adaaian man catches me, laughing as he twirls me back up and spins me around.
“Watch yourself, love.” he says with a wink. “Wouldn’t want to twist one of your pretty ankles.”
I smile back at him though I’m not sure whether it’s appreciative or flirtatious.
I wander the booths, trying to remain in plain sight as Lyom has told me to. I keep my eyes on the crowds, waiting for Dominik to make his appearance. I inwardly pray that I am right and that Dominik has not left yet but deep down I know my prayers are falling on deaf ears; God would not listen to an assassin like me.
The back of my dress has grown cold from the wetness of my hair and another chill sets in over me but it is not the cold from my hair that I feel. Tingles run up my back, the kind I recognize when I am being watched. I try to remain willowy, spinning around leisurely to examine the people around me, hoping to find Dominik’s face amongst the travelers.
No. Not Dominik, but another face watches me, a cold smirk etched into scarred lips. Eyes of dark brown glitter with amusement as I dance, making my way through the bazaar. Someone else is watching me. I stop before I get out of view of the stranger, straightening my posture as I observe him. He openly evaluates me, glancing me up and down.
He is not familiar at all. His hair is lighter than his eyebrows and the shadow that crosses his jaw and upper lip. Another ugly scar trails from his eyebrow to his mouth, as thick as the scars on my back. He is dressed in Adaaian garb, but I get the feeling he is not from this land.
“Watch your back. Someone has hired men to get you, and they don’t play nice.”
A warning — Dominik’s warning. I must also take into account Torrin’s statement back in Erod. He’d mentioned that whoever had come for me had killed Helleanor and nearly him in the process. Which of my numerous enemies could have hired men to have me tracked down and killed? I have no shortage of wealthy victims. Perhaps it was even the Emsworth family, of whose relative I somewhat recently offed.
Before another moment passes, the eery man begins talking to someone beside him. I start to move in his direction but an irritating voice in my mind reminds me that this disturbing man is not my assignment. I see Lyom out of the corner of my eye, watching me. He nods, though he cannot possibly know that I fear my enemies have sent mercenaries to do away with me.
Perhaps that is who was tracking us through the Menca Denu? Lyom had mentioned that they could be mercenaries. I feel my throat tighten at the thought of my involvement drawing pitiless killers into the mix. Even if Lyom were something otherworldly, even he would not be able to take on a hundred bounty hunters.
Forcing myself to ignore the eeriness of the man’s previous gaze, I turn around and move on throughout the crowd, refocusing my attention on the task at hand.
And that’s when I see him.
XV
“Now Albert in her quiver lays the arrow in its place,
And wonders as he gazes on the beauty of her face:
‘Those hunting-grounds are far away, and, lady, ‘twere not meet
That night, amid the wilderness, should overtake thy feet.’”
— William Cullen Bryant, The Strange Lady
Dominik is not disguised. Ashes do not tint his silver hair and he has not attempted to conceal his bright eyes with a cap. His face is clean, not covered in soot, and he even wears clothes I would have expected to see him in back in Lydovier.
He stands at the end of the row, silver eyes glowing in the firelight. His hands are in his pockets as if he does not have a fear in the world but his shoulders are hunched slightly, as if he grows weary of carrying the weight of his transgressions. He begins walking toward me before I him and at my side the knife burns into my skin. I will not draw my knife until he is close enough to touch, will not even break eye contact until then. Dominik is crafty and he knows me too well.
The closer Dominik gets to me, the hotter the rage in my veins boils, and the quicker his pace becomes. I underestimate how long his stride is and before I have the chance to draw my dagger, he has closed the gap between us in two long strides. I suddenly feel his lips against mine. It happens so quickly that I forget who he is, where we are, and who is watching.
Dominik’s hands cup my face gently and he holds my mouth to his. I don’t close my eyes, don’t look away … I stare at him. I count his dark silver lashes, note that his hair has grown longer in the weeks I have been hunting him. Leaned over the way he is, one would think he is medium height, when in reality he has an inch on Lyom.
I notice the circles under his eyes and even the healing gash along his jaw, likely where he was recently in a fight. I feel something in my chest twist but not in a painful way — like I am somehow connected to this traitor. Like a string has been tied from his chest to mine and if he were to take one step too many away, it would sever the cord.
Dominik pulls back, his eyes slowly opening. I am caught, completely at a loss for words. My hands know they should be doing something, should be reaching for something, but I can hardly comprehend it. His scent, his being has left me dizzy and unprepared. The farther he leans back, the tauter the cord connecting us becomes.
His gaze searches mine. “Tell me the king did not ensnare you.” he whispers. “Tell me you found me of your own accord.”
The mention of the king snaps me out of whatever daze he had me held in. A kiss. He would know. I have trained to never be distracted by anything, but how can one train to be unaffected by a kiss? Is it possible? Perhaps if it was Carnahan kissing you.
I unsheathe my dagger and swipe it at his throat but he jumps backwards, catching my wrist in his hand. Screams reign out throughout the bazaar as people scramble to get out of our way.
I don’t hesitate to strike again, my blade nicking his shoulder. I step forward, throwing him off balance, and use my leg to trip him. Dominik falls backwards but has all the training I do and uses my own momentum against me, tossing me off him like a pesky fly when we land.
I bring myself into a crouch, flicking the hair out of my eyes. Dominik is already on his feet and is running for the gates of Adaai. Frustrated beyond measure, I take off after him, bounding past the people that shriek. I nearly trip over a young boy that stumbles in the streets but manage to stay upright as I make my way towards the gates.
He turns sharply once he has reached the outside of Zahlemia. I screech to a halt outside the gates. Past the walls everything is at near complete blackness. My eyes lock in on movement and I sprint forward again, trying to keep pace with him. Behind me I can hear the footsteps of Lyom and perhaps Carnahan and Jamas. I pray one of them has a bow and will throw it to me; even in the blackness of night I could surely find my target.
“He’s going for the gulch!” I exclaim.
Lyom’s pace quickens and his stride meets mine. I’m not sure whether or not Lyom knows about the bridge that crosses the ravine but Dominik certainly does.
I see Dominik’s shadow ahead and weigh whether or not I should throw my dagger and hope it hits him. My aim is good but in the darkness there is a good chance I will miss.
The bridge’s shadow comes into view and I see Dominik turn, beginning to cross quickly. I slam on my brakes and practically scramble towards the bridge. I will not hunt Dominik for another month, dragging Carnahan, Moher, and the rest of Lyom’s company with me.
I take off across the bridge, half paying attention to the rotten boards beneath me. I run my hand along the rope that has become frayed over the years, keeping it close in case the bridge were to collapse. The wood feels weak beneath my feet. I subconsciously know that it’s years since this bridge was built and knowing the the young Emperor Yanlin has likely not done anything to repair it is not comforting.
Dominik must be injured or weak because he is slower than he usually is. When I am close enough to his shadow that I am fairly certain of my aim, I throw the dagger. I don’t see where it impacts but hear Dominik’s pained grunt when it hits him. I see the glint of the dagger as he pulls it out of his shoulder. It’s not big enough to do much damage to him but it is enough to slow him down.
I’m on him within an instant, legs wrapping around his neck. Dominik begins to reach his hands to my neck but stops abruptly. At first I’m not sure why, but then I hear the creaking of the boards.
Marvelous.
The boards beneath us give way and I am suddenly in a free fall. The initial feeling of weightlessness catches me and my breath leaves my lungs. Everything seems to flow in slow motion. I watch as chips of wood fall down into the darkness below me, where I can hear the rushing of the icy river.