by Amber Argyle
“Maran . . .” Nelay growled.
Fire and burning, Cinder thought her family was complicated. At least she wasn’t related to a queen who also happened to be a goddess. Cinder was drenched in sweat, her skin near to blistering.
Another man entered the room and he looked so like Darsam he could only be his father. Ignoring the cluster of people at the door, and the overwhelming heat, he went straight to the bed and asked, “How are you, boy?”
Nelay’s gaze turned to her son. “Mother,” he gasped, and Cinder could see him struggling to breathe. He was dying, she realized. A rush of shame made her stagger back.
The goddess’s fire died out as if it had never been. “Tix, get me the petal!” she ordered.
Five seconds later, a spider crawled across the ceiling and dropped a silk-covered bundle. The queen stretched out her hand and caught it, then tore away the spider silk to reveal a white petal with a burgundy-and-yellow center. She pushed the petal toward her son’s mouth.
Denar turned away. “Only if you promise not to hurt them—any of them.”
Nelay hesitated. “But they deserve to be punished!”
He took her hand, wrapping it in his long, awkward fingers. “That’s the fairy in you talking.”
She softened a fraction. “Very well, I swear not to harm any of them.”
He opened his mouth obediently, and she pushed the flower onto his tongue. Immediately, his eyes slipped closed, his body relaxing against the pain. His skin lost the gray hue, while his breathing went from labored to easy in the space of a few inhales.
Nelay bent forward, her face all gentleness now, and pressed her lips to his forehead. “Sleep well, my Denar.”
Then she lifted stern eyes to the rest of them. “You have some explaining to do.”
They followed the queen into the corridor, through a door, and then up a long series of seemingly neverending steps. While they climbed, Darsam introduced Cinder his father—a man who looked remarkably like his son, right down to the square jaw and wavy hair. And his stepmother, Maran, a woman with a tranquil, wise presence. Studying her rounded belly, Cinder wondered how many siblings Darsam had. She felt ashamed she’d never thought to ask.
A total of 502 steps took her to the top of one of the high towers. Open to the elements, the spot was safer if the queen decided to turn into flames. It was raining again, the drops hissing and steaming if they came anywhere near the queen. The cool, damp breeze felt wonderful against Cinder’s skin as she took a cup from a tray a servant had brought, hoping to steel her resolve.
And she realized that her entire life, she had thought of her life as a “before” and “after.” She’d been living in the “before” while working toward the “after.” After she got a job. After she freed her family. After they left Idara for good. But now, everything had changed. Every beat of her heart, every intake of breath brought her closer to the moment when everything would change into a different after—one she would never truly survive, even if she did manage to escape with her life.
Darsam told the story of how Cinder’s freedom was stolen from her. Of how he’d saved her from Jatar’s compound. He made her sound better, stronger, than she really was. Nelay listened, her arms folded over her chest, her gaze fixed to the north. Cinder faced out over the sleeping city, counting the beats of her heart as the moments of “before” dwindled down to nearly nothing.
When Darsam finished, Nelay took a deep breath and faced Cinder. “You saved him from the river. For that, I thank you.”
Cinder stared at this woman, the enemy of her people. The queen of the land that had held her family in slavery for decades. If Cinder failed, her mother and grandmother’s blood would spill.
Without answering, Cinder set down her now empty cup. Her back to the others, she held the vial in her fis as she stared at the remaining cups. If the queen found out, she would turn her to ash with barely a thought. If Cinder succeeded, she would never see Darsam again.
“Cinder?” he said softly. “Are you well?”
She glanced over her shoulder to where he sat with his legs folded and his wrists resting on his knees, his brow creased with concern. Something hitched within her. Whatever she felt for him, he didn’t deserve her betrayal. But what choice did she have?
“I’m just worried about my mother and grandmother.” She had to choose. Save one—Darsam. Or save two—her mother and grandmother. Cinder couldn’t live with herself if she let her family fall into Durux’s hands.
Before she could change her mind, she turned her back to Darsam and emptied the vial into the orray. She let the last few drops drip, drip, drip into the cup, the liquid rippling with poison. Hands shaking, she went about handing the drinks out to Darsam and his stepmother and father. They were good people—the kind of people who banished slavery. Cinder was betraying them too.
Averting her gaze in shame, she held out the cup for the queen. Heat radiating from her skin, the woman stretched to take the cup—the seconds of “before” finished—and Cinder saw the “after.” The goddess would grow tired and retire to her rooms. She would not wake again, not ever. Cinder would run back to the slavers. Durux had promised he would free her and her mother and grandmother.
And perhaps he would.
But it wouldn’t end there. His insurgents would rise up and slaughter all the tribesmen in power, including the boy who’d nearly died trying to save Cinder. Including Darsam and his entire family. The slavers and brothels would reopen. More slaves would be bought and sold. More girls like Storm and Yula would be wrenched away from their families. More children would be born into the same position as their mothers. And Idara would go back to conquering every nation in the world and enslaving their people.
If Cinder did this, she was no better than a slaver herself. She couldn’t live with this “after.” Her breath hitching, she tipped the edge of the cup and let the orray dribble onto the stone. A different “after” opened up before her, and she swore she could feel the beats of her heart ticking down to her own death.
“What are you doing?” the queen gasped as the liquid danced and sizzled at her feet.
Staggering, Cinder turned her back on everyone and went to stand at the edge of the tower. She looked out over the city and wondered where her family was—how much longer until the beats of their heart stilled. Grief tore through her, and she almost wished she could take it back. But it was too late now.
“I cannot kill you, Goddess,” she managed to choke out.
Sharp inhales came from all around, and Cinder felt a flare of heat burning into her back, so hot she wondered if her hair would catch fire. She had to close her eyes at the sudden bright light. The wind picked up, rain stinging her skin. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Jatar has my mother and grandmother,” Cinder explained. “If I kill you, they go free. If not, he will give them to Durux to torture and kill.” She said the last bit for Darsam’s sake, so he would understand why she had even considered it.
“The magic is trying to force you to be something you’re not,” Maran said to the queen. “Fight it, Nelay,”
Cinder wiped her tears and slowly turned to face the goddess. The whole tower was steaming, the wind whipping the vapors away as soon as they formed. Lightning flashed. Everyone else had taken shelter behind a column from the blistering heat. Cinder lifted her arm to protect her eyes. “But that is not all,” she continued. “After you are dead, he plans to stage a coup. Coordinated attacks throughout Idara will kill all the tribesmen lords and put the old lords back in their places.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Nelay’s fists were clenched, her body rigid, as if she were trying to keep back the fire by force of will.
The hair on Cinder’s arms withered, curling in on itself. She had a feeling she might already be unconscious if not for the cool rain lashing against her skin. “Because you aren’t my enemy. Slavery is. And one day, you will rid Idara of slavery all together, so that no man, woman, or child shall
ever have to endure as my family has endured.”
Flames skipped across the goddess’s skin in time to the lightning crashing down around the tower. “The slavers hurt my son to maneuver me into a position so that you could kill me,” she said. Flames licked across the floor toward Cinder.
Darsam suddenly stepped before her, his arm raised to shield himself from the heat. “Remember what else she did, Nelay! She saved Denar—she pulled him from the river. And she risked her family’s lives to warn us! Focus on that.”
The queen trembled with heat, her jaw tight, her skin translucent. Flames licked through her veins, and sparks glinted in her eyes.
“You promised Denar you wouldn’t hurt any of us,” Darsam reminded her.
The flames advanced no farther, but the heat didn’t abate. Cinder was starting to feel sick with it.
Maran stepped up in front of her son. “Nelay Arel Mandana ShaBejan, you let the fairy take you once, and you’ve never forgiven yourself for it. Will you do so again?”
With a piercing scream, Nelay turned away from them. Fire jettisoned out from her body, shooting harmlessly out over the palace. Night turned to day. Just as suddenly, everything went dark. There was only the pounding of the rain, the hiss of the steam, and the panting of the queen.
Footsteps moved toward Nelay. “Can you manage a little light?” Maran asked her gently.
A gleaming blue nimbus appeared in the center of the tower, revealing Nelay crumpled to the floor, Maran beside her with her arms on the queen’s shoulders. The columns around them had turned black.
Nelay dragged a hand through her hair. “I’m sorry.”
“You beat it back,” Maran said. “That’s what matters.”
The queen slowly pushed herself to her feet and turned to face Cinder. The otherworldly aura was gone, leaving behind a woman who seemed tired. “We goddesses always have to fight to keep the fairy from taking over. It’s especially hard for me as a fire goddess, which comes with all the passion and impulsivity of summer, you see.”
Cinder blinked—one, two, three times. It almost sounded like the goddess had just apologized to her. Not sure how to react, Cinder simply nodded.
It seemed to be enough, for Nelay looked away. “Jatar must be dealt with. Tix!”
A blur appeared at Nelay’s side, and then an enormous spider landed on her shoulder. “How did your spies not know about this threat?”
The spider made a whispery, scratchy sound with a structure that made it almost sound like a language. “I want them all found,” Nelay said with fervor. “Everyone who had any part of this. Jatar first. I will burn him and all his men to the ground.”
“No!” Cinder pushed in front of Darsam. “My mother and grandmother are mixed in with him. As well as dozens and dozens of slaves. If you burn Jatar and his men, you kill them too!”
When the goddess met her gaze, Cinder felt as if the heat would scorch her from the inside out. “They are already dead,” Nelay declared. “As soon as you poured out the poison, Jatar would have killed them.”
Cinder felt herself crumpling from the inside out. “But there’s no way Jatar could know yet.”
“Do you honestly think he failed to notice my display earlier?”
“A mother can lose her temper when her son is nearly murdered,” Maran said quietly.
Darsam stepped up beside Cinder. “How was he supposed to find out that the queen was dead?”
Cinder shook her head. “All I know is I was supposed to sneak out after it was done. He said he’d find me.”
“There’s no way Jatar could know. We’re the only ones on this tower.” Bahar went to the forgotten tray and picked up a cup of orray. “Here, drink it. He will have men watching the palace.”
Nelay eyed the cup and then shot a distrustful look at Cinder, who shifted uncomfortably and said, “I poured out the poisoned one.”
The goddess tipped this cup and drank the liquid, then made a face. “Uck. Still making it too strong.”
Bahar smiled, and something seemed to pass between them. “A strong drink for strong warriors,” he said.
Nelay took another drink. “If what you say is true, Cinder, I’ll have to go into hiding. Otherwise, Jatar will kill your mother and grandmother when he learns we’ve betrayed him.”
“My men and I could sneak in,” Darsam said. He looked at Cinder. “If you could just manage to get them out of his reach for a little while.”
“I can try,” she replied.
They made plans into the night. Even with the orray, Cinder fell asleep halfway through the preparations. When she woke, she was lying on the cushions in a library, a blanket thrown over her shoulders. It was still the middle of the night, so she had slept for an hour or two at most.
She started when she saw the goddess crouching before her. Nelay looked so normal—curvy, with dark hair and eyes. Intricate, colorful tattoos along the sides of her scalp spilled onto her cheeks. Cunning sparked in her eyes.
“It’s really very clever, you know.”
Six words that made no sense. “Goddess?”
“Using my child to maneuver me into a position of weakness. Very clever indeed. I might just have to use it myself. But it will take years and careful planning. A warrior must be found. One with the strength to survive such a formidable place.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
Nelay shook herself. “It is of no importance at present. I have gifts for you.” She held out her palm, revealing an enormous, furry spider. Cinder gasped and scrambled back. The queen watched her impassively. “It is not what it appears.”
Cinder held a hand over her racing heart for five beats and then sucked in a breath. “It’s a fairy?” Idarans were both fascinated and terrified of them. She wasn’t sure what to think of the fairies—her grandmother had always stubbornly insisted they weren’t real. Cinder figured if there were fairy queens, there must be fairies.
Nelay held the spider close and stroked its back. “Her name is Tix, and she is the master of my spies. Wherever this Jatar is, he’s evaded her notice. Take her with you. When you have found his lair, let her go.”
Cinder steeled herself and took the spider. It stared up at her, far too much intelligence in its eight eyes. “And if it’s a place even a fairy can’t escape from?”
“Then kill her. She will reincarnate into the body of another spider and find me.”
Cinder shuddered. “Am I just supposed to put it in my robes or something?”
As if offended, the spider made a scritchity noise and scurried up Cinder’s arm, then tucked itself into the fold at the front of her robes. She had to stop herself from squealing and smashing the spider flat. “Just hold still,” she pleaded. “I don’t think I can stand it if you move.”
In answer, the spider held perfectly still and stared at Cinder with baleful eyes.
With a smile touching the corners of her mouth, Nelay held out her other hand. Inside it was a small snake with tan skin and a black tongue. Cinder scrambled back. “A cobra!”
“Her name is Siseth. She will defend you if need be.”
A fairy, obviously. But it didn’t look like a fairy. It looked like a deadly snake. Cinder held out her hand and shivered as the snake slithered under her sleeve and wound around her upper arm.
Nelay turned without a word and left.
Darsam strode toward Cinder, his shoulders stiff. “It’s time for you to go,” he told her.
The night’s shadows seemed to deepen, becoming a thing alive. And that thing was hungry and full of teeth. “Darsam—”
“Not here, Cinder. Come with me.”
They moved down the spiraling stairs. At another door, he pulled her inside.
She needed to apologize, to try to explain. But what came out of her mouth was “How is Denar?”
“The elice blossom will heal him.” Darsam nodded to a wall bristling with weapons. “What do you need?”
Cinder sighed. “I lost my tension wrench and rake pin. An
y chance you could get me another?” He opened a drawer and handed her a full set of pins. Cinder stuck them in her breast wrap for safekeeping. “What else?”
She surveyed the weapons, resisting the urge to count them. “I don’t know how to handle anything else.” She dropped her head. “Darsam, I’m sorry. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“You should have.” His voice was hard. “I thought you trusted me.”
She shuffled her feet. “Durux tortured that watchmen—Grez. He held a knife to my grandmother’s face. Jatar knew everything about you. Knew everything about me. And Durux—” A wave of terror tore through Cinder. “I’m gambling my family’s lives to save yours. I thought I was going to die for telling the truth.”
“Promise me that next time, you’ll trust me.” Darsam’s voice was softer now.
She nodded.
“I’m sorry I was angry,” he said. “That wasn’t fair.”
She nodded again.
He pulled down a dagger, hesitated, and put it back. Then he grabbed two small knives, no longer than his hand, and pushed them into Cinder’s palms. Feeling the weight of them, solid and steady, she said, “I don’t know how to use these.”
Darsam circled her fingers around the hilts. “Hold it like this and thrust or slash.” She stared at the knife in her shaking hand. He gripped her wrist. “A fight isn’t won with a blade, Cinder. It’s won here, in your mind.” He touched her temple. “You hold nothing back and you don’t stop.”
She met his gaze. “What if I can’t win?”
“Dying isn’t something to fear—it comes to us all. If it comes to you, you will meet it knowing you did the right thing.”
His steadiness settled the chaotic tumbling inside her. “Thank you for not lying to me, for not telling me it’s going to be all right.” She pushed the knives back into his hands. “Jatar will suspect me when he finds these.”
Darsam gave a frustrated sigh and put the knives back on the shelf. Then he stepped closer and pressed a kiss to her brow. “I’m coming for you. Just as fast as I can. Hold out until then.”