The Cruelest Mercy

by Natalie Mae

  I raise my hand at the nearest guard. “Stop the boat!”

  “What are you doing?” Kasta says. “My father is expecting us by tomorrow afternoon. We don’t have time for a detour.”

  “There’s something here I think your father will want back.” I grin. “We’ll be fast. You can keep an eye on the time.”

  He scoffs. “You assume I’m going with you?”

  “Why not?” I ask, my smile widening. “You have something better to do?”

  This is, I’m thinking, one of my more ingenious traps. He can’t answer that without explaining himself, and there’s nothing else he could reasonably need to do in the middle of the night. I’m mentally tallying a point for me when he shrugs.

  “Yes. I’m going to bed.” He starts for the door.

  “But—” He can’t get away this easily. I need to watch him. I need to make sure he’s not hunting while I’m out. “What if it’s dangerous? What if I need help?”

  He turns at the door, his lip curving. “You have the Wraiths. Unless there’s a reason you’d prefer me, personally, beside you?”

  His own loaded question. My stomach tightens. Now it’s me who can’t answer without sounding like . . .

  Like something we aren’t.

  Point to him.

  “No,” I say through my teeth. “Goodnight.”

  A smile, and he slams the door. Just as I turn around, Yashi jogs over, still securing the buckles on his red armor, and I feel a little guilty that he was likely called out of bed for this. “Are we really stopping?”

  “Yes,” I say, sighing. “But will you do me a favor? Can you assign someone to watch Kasta and follow him if he leaves? I don’t want another situation like the mercenary ambush.” I shrug. “You know how he can be.”

  Yashi snickers. “Yesterday you two are ripping into each other; today you’re assigning bodyguards. Must have been a good hunt.”

  He winks and moves off to handle my order. This is definitely how rumors start about canoodling royals, and I’m beginning to understand now how the travelers’ stories get so skewed. Sure, one explanation for me assigning bodyguards and following Kasta around could be lovesickness, but it could also be spying or stalking or mutiny, and I can’t even correct the rumors, because that would reveal my Plot. So I just have to sit here while the rest of the world starts betting on when we’ll go public.

  I can’t even care anymore.

  The boat docks, a redwood gangplank drops directly into the muddy shore, and two of the Wraiths take invisible positions ahead of me, while a regular guard joins my side. The little town rests in the moonlight like a tray of fresh rolls. That feeling of being watched, of having been here before, heats my front like sunlight, and I follow, anticipation crawling under my skin as we pass patched storefronts and small houses formed from the desert’s orange sand. The streets are tidy here, the glassless windows lit with oil lamps, and even though I have no idea where we are, I find myself relaxing as I move. There’s something cozy about this place, small as it is.

  The feeling pulls me west, toward the end of the street, where the stone-layered road turns to dirt and the houses end. A small stretch of brush-covered desert opens before me, parted by a narrow road that leads to a large estate and a stable. All the windows in the house glow with light. The stable sits quietly in the shadows of palm trees, its torches burning low and blue, and the strange tug sparks in my veins, growing eager.

  There, it seems to say. There.

  I step off the road into the sand, navigating moonlit bushes and black scorpions that dart under rocks. And about halfway to the stable, I realize it’s absolutely bizarre of me not to approach the house first. The owner is clearly awake, judging by the lights and the music drifting from the wide windows. Laughter reaches me in bursts. They’re having a party, and I’m sneaking around with guards in their yard.

  But then I consider: this is the moment I’ve been waiting for all my life. The royals in the travelers’ best stories never show up knocking at doors. They’re either in disguise, or inexplicably fall through roofs, or sneak about on divine missions, like I’m doing right now. I always wondered how that happens, but this is it. I could go to the front door, as is socially responsible, but I’m already halfway to the barn and I don’t feel like changing course, so I’m just going with it. And if anyone finds me, I’ll just throw out my fancy dōmmel title, and they’ll gasp, and soon stories of my brilliant mysteriousness will be circulating the entirety of Orkena.

  I was born for this.

  I consider the epic speech I’ll give as I approach the barn. Like many of Orkena’s stables, this one is topped in three bronze domes to draw the heat away from the stalls, though as the property of a richer person, its walls are made entirely of gray marble, not mudbrick. Likewise, it’s surrounded in painted columns that form a shaded porch all the way around, and carvings of plateaus and wild horses cover the sliding door on its side, as fine as palace artwork.

  The door stands ajar, a slit of darkness against the stone.

  “Dōmmel?” asks my guard.

  “I know,” I say, sighing. “I didn’t think about going to the house until a minute ago. We’re just sticking with the barn, all right?”

  I can’t see her face, but I swear she gives me a look. Possibly this is why the guards wear leopard masks, so when royals start going off on something ridiculous, they can’t see their guards judging them.

  She gestures to the door. “I was only going to say I should probably go in first.”

  “Oh.” I snicker at myself. “Yes, go ahead.”

  She rolls open the door, frost steaming up her arms. Not that I expect to be attacked in a random barn, but it’s still reassuring to have someone else go in first. Straw shifts, and I sense, more than see, something large lift its head.

  Whisperer? comes a very old, very familiar voice.

  My heart flips. In the dim light, I can just make out the outline of tulip-shaped ears and the glint of a golden halter.

  I was right.

  “Ashra!” I rush past the guard. Even in the night, the Firespinner is as striking as she was the first time I saw her: her blood-red sides shimmering like live coals, her eyes a symphony of sunset colors. She drops her head over the half wall of her stall, and I reach for her soft cheek. Granted, this reunion feels a little strange considering the last time I saw her, she’d just thrown Sakira off her back and set a hill on fire, but then, I have to admit those were extenuating circumstances.

  “What are you doing here?” I say, awed. “You’re so far north. Who found you?”

  Found? The mare tilts her head. No find me. I find them.

  “Who?”

  A door on the far side rattles, and the mare turns her head. The guard forms a sword of ice, and anticipation bursts through me. Here it comes. This is my moment of glory, when I’ll finally get to be the mysterious princess in the barn.

  The door flies open. A girl stumbles in, laughing, followed by three others.

  “Don’t hurt him yet,” slurs a girl in the back, her straight black hair swinging over her shoulder. She catches her balance against the doorframe. “I’ve heard these stories. Thieves are always very attractive—”

  The torches flare to life, activated by one of the girls, and I wince in the sudden brightness. Their laughter turns to silence. When I lower my hand, my breath catches.

  The girl who first spoke wears a cloth headband, her hair a little longer than when I last saw it half-burned from our excursion to steal Ashra . . . her gorgeous features unmistakeable even in the dim light. But it’s the girl in front I can’t look away from. A girl with bronze armor crossing her pale stomach in an X, and short, dark hair, and striking, familiar blue eyes.

  “Dōmmel,” she says, her grin lopsided. Her companions—including Alette—immediately fall to one knee, their fingertips to their fo
reheads. The girl in front follows, slowly, and at my side, my guard inhales in surprise, her ice sword vanishing.

  “Sakira,” I say.

  * * *

  “I thought you were dead,” I add, which is possibly not the most graceful thing to say to anyone, ever, but it’s what I can manage at the time. Alette—the girl in the headband, and Sakira’s First in the Crossing—shifts behind her. It’s equally bizarre to see her whole and unharmed. Kasta never said outright what happened when he ambushed them, but I’d assumed, from the blood splattering him in the caves, that he’d killed her.

  “Sakira?” says another of her companions, a curvy girl with silver-blonde hair. “The lost princess?”

  “I think you’re confused,” Sakira says, and at first I think she means her friend, but her smile is for me. “Grief is such a terrible thing, you know. I heard our dōmmel and sweet Sakira were close, and our blessed crown princess has been wandering the countryside since, sobbing and calling out Sakira’s name.” Sakira looks to her girls, who frown and nod drunkenly. I squint, about to ask what in Numet’s creation she’s talking about, when she slips her finger, quickly, over her throat. “Would you excuse us for a moment, ladies?”

  “Of course,” says Alette, putting her arms around the other girls and swiftly turning them. “But don’t forget we’re starting a new game of crystals. That pretty duke won’t play if you’re not.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll get him for you later,” Sakira says, winking. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

  The girls tip their fingers once more to their foreheads—which jolts me a little when I realize I’m coming to find that normal—and burst into excited chatter as soon as they’re out of sight. Before Sakira slams the door, I have time to think how strange it was that not even Alette questioned my being here. I suppose they were drunk, but do they really think I have nothing better to do than wander the desert? Is this a normal thing, for royals to pine for weeks over people who once held them hostage?

  “Dōmmel,” says my guard. “We should notify the Mestrah immediately.”

  I nod, still in disbelief. “Yes, of course. I should be fine to get back with just the Wraiths, if you want to go now.”

  My guard crosses an arm over her chest and takes her leave. Sakira’s focus stays on me, her eyes flitting to the mark just visible beneath the clasp of my cloak.

  “Well, Living Sacrifice,” she says. “Look how things have changed.”

  “You know your parents have been desperately looking for you?” I say, since my first statement seemed to have no impact. “And I’m sure Alette’s parents would be relieved to know she’s alive, too—are you all right? How long have you two been here?”

  But I can tell from the glow of her creamy skin and the coy light in her eyes that Sakira has been all right for some time. She shrugs and approaches Ashra, running her hand down the mare’s sleek forehead.

  “We’ve been here a couple of weeks,” she says. “We’ll write home, eventually. It’s just nice to take time to regroup once in a while. Keep a low profile, ponder the meaning of life.”

  “But . . .” I look around the stable, at the dustless shelves holding neat piles of riding gloves, brushes, and buckets. “Kasta said he left you in the middle of the Barren.”

  Sakira’s fingers curl, and she drops them from Ashra’s nose. “Yes. Holding on to my unconscious best friend.”

  A chill settles over me as I think again of the blood that splattered Kasta’s chest. “Gods, Sakira. What did he do?”

  “Oh, you know, the usual. I wouldn’t tell him where you were, so he dislocated each of my fingers until I did. Then he used his filthy Deathbringer magic to knock Alette out so she couldn’t pray for his failure.” She looks over, her red eyeshadow glinting. “At least I managed to cut him before he got my sword. But Alette was delirious for a week. Do you know how hard it is to move around the desert with dead weight and dislocated fingers?”

  I close my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Not as sorry as I am for you.” She pulls a sugar cube from a leather pouch near Ashra’s door and offers it to the mare. “Though he must not think you’re much of a threat, if you’re still in one piece. For your sake, I hope that doesn’t change.”

  An echo of the exact thought I had earlier. “But how did you . . . you walked here?”

  “Part of the way. I knew which stars to follow, but after we ran out of water, I couldn’t really focus on that anymore.” She strokes the mare’s cheek. “I thought I was hallucinating when Ashra came.”

  Me, Ashra thinks, nudging Sakira’s shoulder.

  “Ashra found you,” I muse, marveling at the mare. “Alette could still pray?”

  She laughs. “Oh, no. Alette barely knew who I was. So I prayed . . . I prayed more than I ever have in my life. You know the old legend about Rachella, who split her soul between eleven animals when she crossed into Paradise so her mortal children wouldn’t have to be without her? Apparently some version of that is true. We needed help. I called on the goddess.” She considers Ashra, her eyes glittering. “She answered.”

  A lump forms in my throat at this reminder of the gods working in our lives, of the power behind the mark on my chest. “And now I’m here, after hunting another magical animal led me to you.”

  Sakira laughs. “Don’t read too far into it. Some things are fate. This is coincidence.”

  “Pretty big coincidence,” I grumble, thinking of the tiny town outside.

  “Oh, I know it must be.” She pushes away from the stall, her red skirt flaring. “I’ve been praying to never be found again.”

  I jerk my gaze back to her. “Never?”

  “You see, I had an epiphany.” Her smile widens, half-wild. “And you know what I realized? My father was right. This is where I belong, out of the way, hosting parties and doing whatever I like, and not worrying about who wants to kill me.”

  “But . . . you hated that people saw you that way!”

  “And I hated that they might think I was soft. But after you, and that week in the desert . . .” She shoves away from the stall. “I’m done. I found the kind of life I want to live. Is there something you need, by the way? Or are you just here to steal from me? Which I’m rather impressed by, if it’s the latter.”

  Her grin grows impish, and I shift, uncomfortable. How am I going to tell the Mestrah and the queen that I found their daughter, but she doesn’t want to come home?

  “No,” I say. “I mean, I was here for Ashra, but I didn’t actually know it was Ashra. Sakira . . .” A new idea hits me. Sakira claims this is coincidence, but I can’t help but hope it’s more. “If there was a way for you to get back at Kasta for all he’s done, would you?”

  She tilts her head. “I’m listening.”

  “I think . . .” I look over my shoulder, and though I know the guard should be well out of earshot, I keep my voice low. “I think he’s a Shifter now. He was really hurt at the end of the Crossing. As in, wounds he couldn’t have survived without a Healer. We left him in the caves with Maia. But somehow he came out unscathed.”

  Sakira, who went still when I said Shifter, nods once.

  “I’m trying to make a case against him, but he’s been really careful. You have a lot of friends at the capital, right? You could get some of them to watch him. Or . . . or you could mark him with Obedience when he’s not looking! Get him to admit the truth, and he’ll lose the throne!”

  Sakira doesn’t look nearly as excited about this as she should. She gives me that terrible, pitying smile, and sets her hands on my shoulders.

  “You want me to leave my little haven, ride back to the palace as a loser, and risk my life by marking the brother who already left me to die, so you can have the throne to yourself?” She laughs. “Zahru, I’m liking you more and more. But when I’m on this end of things, the answer is absolutely no.”

&nb
sp; My stomach drops. “But—he’s a Shifter! He’s going to be Mestrah. If we don’t do something—”

  “None of this is my problem anymore,” she says, sauntering to the door. “It was good to see you, mostly. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a party to get back to.”

  “Seriously? What happened to the girl who loved her country? Who would do anything to protect it?”

  Sakira turns, tapping her cheek. “Speaking of protection, you might want to check on your guard. Alette’s been using Forgetting spells on anyone who starts to recognize us, so by now your guard isn’t so sure where she is anymore, and she definitely won’t remember the little encounter we had here.” She winks. “See that it stays that way. Because you know, if they drag us back to the palace after this, I’ll make your life even more painful than it already is.”

  She casts me a feline smile and turns for the door. I stare after her in shock. I can’t believe that the girl who never backed down from a challenge, who used her charm as both a weapon and a shield and strove to make our allies see us as friends and not gods, is now going to just hide away in a corner of the desert, partying herself into oblivion. I might not have appreciated being in her possession as a human sacrifice, but I know she was made for more than this.

  “You’re right,” I say as she yanks open the barn door. “Sakira must be dead. The one I knew never gave up this easily.”

  She pauses, and for a moment I dare to believe she’ll change her mind.

  Then she steps into the night and slams the door.

  XVII

  I’M in a bad mood when I return to the boat, not only at losing Sakira’s help, but also due to the guard I had to find wandering toward the dunes, who keeps asking me where someone named Gereth is. I do not know a Gereth, and I have no energy to make up a story for my guard about why she’s out in the middle of this random town when she last remembers eating dinner on the boat. I tell her she must have had a bad reaction to the cucumber soup, hand her off to the Wraiths, and look for Yashi, who informs me with a cheeky grin that Kasta hasn’t left his room at all.