by Ted Dekker
She waited for Johnis, who said something to the guard to draw his attention away. The guard hesitated. Johnis grew persistent. At last the guard grumbled and followed Johnis.
Good. The scrapper was still there, inside his flaking shell—somewhere.
Darsal looked both ways, climbed up, and ducked inside. Incense filled her nose and mouth. She coughed and stumbled over something.
A muffled voice. Far corner. Darsal’s heart nearly stopped. Silvie.
Hating herself, Darsal inched around and started a sweep for the medallion. If Sucrow had left it, she could get it. She’d rather Silvie not know she was here.
Darsal heard a low groan. Silvie was hurting. Time was running out. She heard voices. Rummaged faster.
Love them, Darsal. Love them.
“Stay away from me,” Silvie groaned.
Darsal froze. Silvie was looking straight at her. Darsal started to speak, then thought better of it. What could she say? She climbed over Sucrow’s meager supplies, trying not to gag on the smell of the incense.
She saw a bag, reached for it. Started to dig. “What happened, Silvie?”
Icy silence.
Reaching deep into the bag, Darsal felt something cool and round. The medallion. So the rat had managed to somehow get it from Marak. Interesting. Who took it? Warryn, perhaps?
Or was Sucrow working some magic? If that were the case, he could have made Marak give it to him himself, and Marak wouldn’t necessarily remember a thing.
Frustrated, she shoved it in her pocket and stood. Glanced at Silvie. Her hands and ankles were tied, and she was lying on her stomach on the wood. She was bruised and had a nasty gash on her neck. She glared, then turned her head away.
“Sil—”
Movement. When she turned to the door, two Throaters stood there, torches in one hand, swords in the other. One wore an eye patch.
Warryn.
“Looking for something?” the Throater sneered.
Where was Johnis?
Darsal scanned the tent for a weapon. “Orders,” she snapped.
“Really? Marak’s?” Warryn spat.
“It isn’t your concern.” She raised a brow. “What should be your concern is what will happen when Marak discovers you holding me at sword point.”
A gentle, invisible tug reprimanded her. Love Warryn too? He was Horde, wasn’t he? No. Not Warryn. Marak was one thing, but this monster . . .
Warryn snorted. “What does Marak care about an albino?”
Darsal chose her answer carefully. “I should ask him for you.” She raised a brow. “You want me to ask him?”
The Throater didn’t quite know what to do with that. She got a good look at him. Sucrow had taken his eye. Now the quiet sorrow poured in. Elyon, they were all so deceived . . .
No time.
“Let me pass.” She started forward.
Warryn caught her at the door. Yanked her back by the hair. His sword touched her throat. “What did you take?”
“Kill me and find out.” Darsal lifted her chin. Her heart pounded. Elyon might not want her to harm this Scab, but she was about to have no alternative. “I’m under orders not to talk.
What do you make of that?”
“Whose orders?”
“Are you deaf? Let me pass, or I’ll take your other eye out.”
Warryn hesitated.
Darsal ducked free of the blade. He barely missed her neck. She somersaulted, landed on her feet, and ran for the other tents. Servants scattered. She grabbed one and flung him in Warryn’s direction.
Several more Throaters came after her.
She ran for open desert, slid down the far side of a dune, letting the sand cover her. Darsal held her breath.
“DARSAL! SILVIE!” JOHNIS’S HUSHED WHISPER ECHOED OVER the dunes. Shaeda overpowered him, made him stagger like a drunk.
“The albino betrayed you,” Shaeda kept insisting. “Seek her not . . . Your mate is yet within the priest’s claws; resist no further.”
“Her name is Silvie, you bloody vampire!” Johnis continued his search. Darsal would have hidden out here someplace, away from the chaos their ruse had created.
She’d used him. The bloody albino had used him. He’d find her and—
Darsal, covered in sand, came out of hiding to face him. He drew his sword, ready for the kill, but Shaeda was there . . .
He was vaguely aware of Darsal speaking to him, saying his name. But before his eyes she became Shaeda. Slender fingers with clawlike nails tipped his chin up. He shuddered at the rush of power the contact sent roaring through his veins.
Tasty, like copper and salt.
“Johnis.” He knew Darsal was talking to him. Knew she’d come out of the sand dunes and stood in front of him. But he saw the Leedhan.
Her long, white-gold hair spilled over her shoulders like a wedding veil. Perfectly smooth skin, so delicate a scratch might break through to the veins. A seductive smile spread across her face. Her haunting gaze drank him in.
“Johnis, I had to do it,” Darsal was saying. “I had to get the amulet back from Sucrow. I wasn’t trying to cheat you, I promise.”
“Look upon me, my pet.” Shaeda’s fingertips traced his throat, his jaw, his lips.
He found his voice. “You have more than enough power to free her.”
“Power?” Darsal scoffed. “I am a slave, Johnis.” Her eyes widened as she realized he hadn’t meant her. The Leedhan had him in her grasp. “Let him be.”
“All in time. I will not abandon you.” Shaeda stroked his cheek. The heavy, oppressive darkness bore down on his mind. His body tensed. Senses heightened.
Shaeda and he were one.
“She means no harm,” Johnis said. Shaeda said. Did he really believe that? Did it matter? “She guides and protects me. She loves me.”
“She’ll use and kill you,” Darsal warned.
Shaeda embraced him. Her iron grip held him fast. Her scent and gaze overwhelmed him. She kissed him. Hard and long. Needlelike teeth pinched his lip. She . . . bit him. Blood trickled from the small puncture.
“Silvie loves you, Johnis. So does Elyon. Even I do, when you aren’t being foolish.” Darsal, not Shaeda.
The Leedhan nipped him again. Johnis tried to turn his head and pull out of her kiss, but her slender arms and lithe body held him fast. When she finally drew back, a small drop of his blood glittered on her eerie white skin. Johnis licked his lips and tasted salt and iron.
Her mind opened to him once more.
“Johnis!” Darsal slapped him, hard, and grabbed him by the tunic. Her dark eyes met his. “Listen to me.”
Shaeda couldn’t be kissing him, could she? It was just another mirage, another illusion to control him . . .
His lip curled. Shaeda hissed. “Give me the amulet!”
Darsal drew back, scowling. Shaeda grabbed at her. Darsal slashed Johnis’s arm with her fingernails and darted free. Shaeda’s power poured into him. He would kill her.
No, he didn’t want to kill Darsal, did he?
“Grab me like that again,” Darsal warned, “and I’ll give the amulet right back to the priest.”
Shaeda snarled. She—Johnis—lunged for Darsal again. The albino grabbed Johnis’s wrist and slammed him into the sand.
“Johnis, stop it!”
He was on his feet in a second and dove for Darsal’s throat. She dodged. Shaeda pounced.
Johnis struggled hard. He was mad at her, but he didn’t want to kill her, did he? Shaeda squeezed him, breathing threats. His vision went black.
A white wing soared past their heads. Shaeda shrieked and jumped back. Johnis’s gaze shot skyward. A Roush!
She feared Roush as well? His entity slammed the door shut on all thought.
Darsal snatched the amulet from where it had fallen. She turned and ran toward the officers before the Leedhan could recover.
“You fool!” Shaeda snapped.
Embracing Shaeda’s wrath, Johnis bared his teeth. Silvie was st
ill with the priest. He’d kill that albino.
ten
Gabil, thank Elyon,” Darsal whispered as she ran. The Roush darted around her shoulders, soundlessly following her. Torchlight settled over rock and sand, turning both orange and yellow. Smoke drifted around the warriors. Marak and his men were still meeting. She crept forward.
“Try not to do anything foolish,” Gabil whispered back, worried. “There is no sense in you getting killed, although you might have assisted Silvie while you were at it. I daresay you’d be best off destroying that thing.”
“There wasn’t time. And I don’t have a choice. Marak will be in a world of trouble if something happens.” Gabil didn’t answer. “Besides, I can’t love him if I’m dead.”
“You’ve a point.”
Sucrow said something she couldn’t hear. He sounded low and dark, a serpent on the hunt. Darsal’s skin prickled.
“Leave her out of this,” Marak barked back. “My private life is not your concern.”
Sucrow laughed. Spoke clearly. “You’re still in love with a dead albino, aren’t you?”
Metal sang from a scabbard.
“Put that away, General.”
“If I can execute my brother, Priest,” Marak said evenly, “what do you think I can do to you?” Technicality. Marak gave the order. Cassak carried it out. Marak, true to his word, had stood watch. But giving the order was the same thing as doing it, really.
Seconds ticked by. Then Sucrow stormed away, seething.
Darsal ducked behind him. She pressed her hands along the rock. Gabil flapped off before anyone could spot him. Marak still stood with his sword half-drawn.
The general let it slide back into its scabbard when he saw her. “What did you do? Warryn came barging over here and—”
Darsal reached into her pocket. “I stole something.” She held the medallion where he could see it.
His scowl deepened. Brow furrowed. His foul mood from the meeting with Sucrow was souring fast. “Priest and his magic,” he grumbled. “Where was it?” he asked Darsal.
“Sucrow’s things. He lied to you.”
“Sucrow’s . . .” He glared. Reached for the medallion.
His big, calloused fingers brushed hers. Warm and rough.
Electrifying.
He paused there, with the medallion half in his hand, half in hers. He was glowering at her, but behind the anger was something else . . .
The spell broke. He took the amulet. “I told you to stay out of this,” he snapped.
“It was worth the risk, don’t you think?” She raised a brow. “Or don’t you want that? You know, maybe I should have given it back to Josef. He’d like that.” She reached for the medallion. He pulled it out of her reach.
“That was careless.” Marak shut his eyes and took several breaths.
“He’d like Arya back too. Or would you rob him of his lover as the priest did you?”
The general grew still for a long moment. Then tried to brush past her. She was pushing. Too far and she would run counter to her own mission.
“Move.”
“Marak.” Darsal put her hand on his wrist and drew closer. “Josef won’t rest until Arya is as far away from Sucrow as possible. I would think you of all people would know what the priest can do.”
“My duty is to Qurong, Darsal.” He tried to go around her again, but she planted herself in front of him. “What makes you think Sucrow will hurt Josef ’s girl?”
“What makes you think he won’t?” She wound her hands around each of his wrists. “Why are you being so bullheaded?”
Marak stared at her, half-irritated, half-relenting. He didn’t trust the priest, and they both knew it. “She was part of the deal.”
She threw him a dirty look.
He drew a heavy breath and pulled his arms out of her grasp.
“Dars—” He’d started to yell, but caught himself. “I’ll handle the priest.”
“Thank you. Josef and I would appreciate that.”
He gave her a long look. “Do you really think I want that girl hurt?”
“I think your sense of duty overpowers your common sense.” Darsal quirked a brow. “I think Jordan likely thought the same.”
“Why do you keep bringing him up?”
She glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “Because sometimes I think that’s the only way I can get through to you.”
Marak slid past her and went back to the expedition party. Darsal watched him, panged with guilt. Elyon wouldn’t like her being this way with him, losing the ground she’d already gained. Even losing his heart. She drew a breath, knew she had to . . .
“Well, that didn’t go well.”
She turned. Gabil was perched on the rock.
“You’re going to let him leave like that?”
“I was on my way.” She glared at him. “I swear he’s going to be the death of me.”
Gabil fell quiet a second. “Hopefully not. He’s deceived, though. You have to remember that.”
“Deceived, not stupid.” Darsal crossed her arms.
“He’s killed his brother and his lover, and he isn’t allowed to even mourn them, daughter.”
She softened. “So what do I do? Now he and Johnis are both mad at me.”
“Surely you didn’t need Johnis to steal the amulet from Sucrow.”
A pang of guilt. “It was easier. And I thought . . . I thought it would help him see things properly.”
“Did you?”
Darsal looked to the side. No, she hadn’t. She just knew she had to get the amulet from Sucrow, and Johnis would help her get it if Silvie were involved.
“Love comes naturally for humans. Stop making it difficult.”
Her general called out to her.
She glanced back, conceded the Roush’s point. “When will I see you again?”
Gabil smiled. “When Elyon pleases.”
She grabbed the torch and hurried back, caught Marak’s tunic before he’d gone far. He stopped, but didn’t turn.
“Marak, I’m . . . I’m sorry.” Darsal came around in front of him, still holding the torch. The light caught his eyes, and suddenly she wondered what color they would be. What color his skin would be.
He looked so haggard, so worn by all of this. The general was exhausted, physically, emotionally, mentally. Her heart ached for him.
Marak gave her a long look, eyes softening. He started to answer; then his gaze shot over her shoulder. Darsal looked. Cassak was coming. She could almost feel the captain and general turning cold.
Something had definitely happened.
“General,” Cassak said with a curt nod. His eyes looked strange. Darsal studied him. Funny, she thought she saw the snake tattoo on his neck, with a star-shaped eye.
“Eyes to see,” Gabil whispered from somewhere.
Her eyes widened. Elyon was showing her something. Someone had gotten to the captain—and changed him.
Marak folded his arms. “Captain. The priest somehow got ahold of the amulet. I’d like to know how.”
Cassak’s eyes narrowed. He responded slowly. “I’ll find out.
The commanders are ready to move out when you are.”
“I’m ready now.”
Cassak saluted and turned to leave. Marak grabbed Cassak’s forearm and brought his face close to the side of his captain’s head.
“Provided nothing else goes missing.”
The captain’s expression hardened. “I’ll see to it, General.” Marak let him go, and Cassak was dismissed.
Darsal studied Marak, who was staring after his childhood friend. “You think he took it?”
Marak answered slowly. “I think I put nothing past the priest.”
“The priest, no . . . but . . .” She barely knew the man and could barely fathom the thought. Still, she saw what she saw, and her heart ached all the more for her general.
“Nothing is for certain, Darsal. Nothing.” Marak’s voice was cool. “Let’s go.”
&
nbsp; A THOUSAND POSSIBILITIES FOR RESCUING SILVIE PRESENTED themselves, and Shaeda denied him every one. Her presence settled hard over Johnis, the blue-purple haze tinting the torches held by the warriors’ servants.
The commanders rode and ordered the questing party to fall in line. Once more a ring of torches surrounded the main party. Beyond, Cassak and his hundred men guarded them from Eramites, jackals, albinos, and anything else they might encounter.
Marak loped back to the head alongside Johnis. “Ride.”
Johnis glowered, prepared to invoke Shaeda. Then he saw Sucrow sneering at him, and his blood ran cold. Silvie . . .
He scanned the group. He glimpsed Silvie by one of the horses, bound, face bloody and whiter than usual. Something clear oozed between the cracks in her skin.
“What did you do to Arya?”
Shaeda’s talons dug into him.
“That’s for me to know.” Sucrow leered and licked his lips.
Shaeda, through Johnis, stared down Sucrow.
“Priest.” Marak’s harsh voice interrupted, an edge in it not present before. “Enough.”
He couldn’t get Silvie’s attention . . . or she wasn’t going to look at him. Shaeda’s mind opened to him, honing his focus on baiting the Shataiki guardian queen. This was the final stretch.
A stray thought: Why are they called “queens”? There’s no gender with Shataiki. It’s confusing.
Shaeda turned coy. “Shataiki thrive on confusion, my pet.”
“Josef?” Darsal spoke to him from his right. Why couldn’t she just let him be? She probed him with deceptively warm brown eyes.
“Mind your own business.” Johnis tried to mount.
She grabbed the reins.
Johnis pushed past her. “We finish the mission.”
A long stare. “Sucrow doesn’t care either.” She let him go and went to catch up to the general before Johnis could shove her in the dirt.
Johnis took his place at the head of the group, Shaeda guiding them with him as mediator.
Never in a million years will I be like that inhuman priest.
eleven
Dawn broke over the horizon, turning the desert pink and orange. On and on south they rode, past carrion birds and cacti. She’d heard jackals through the night, but thankfully, never saw them.