by Amber Argyle
“I would have preferred Naiba, but you will have to do,” Durux said, his large ears pressed against her cheek.
Cinder cringed but then froze at the sound of shouts rising from the tunnels. A moment later came the sound of swords clanging discordantly.
“Tribesmen!” someone shouted from below. “At least a dozen of them.”
“Darsam!” Cinder cried, hoping against hope it was him.
“Cinder!” he yelled back.
She kicked her heel against Durux, trying to break free. “My mother and grandmother are down there! Don’t let them hurt—”
Durux’s hand clamped down over her mouth as he pinned her to his chest. To his father, he whispered, “Our men are outnumbered two to one—we don’t stand a chance.”
“Hold them off!” Jatar called to those below. “We’ll find another way out and come back for you!” He pushed his son back into the corridor. “We go over the back wall and disappear into the city.”
“And the men?” Durux asked.
“We can always get more.”
Cinder kicked and screamed and fought until Durux punched her in the temple. Her body went limp and he flipped her over his shoulder and ran to the back of the temple, into the priestesses’ private bethel. Lamps burned in the circular channels of oil that surrounded golden pillars.
Ears ringing, Cinder pinched her eyes shut and tried to clear her head. If Jatar got her outside, she would never see her family or Darsam again. But Jatar had made her drop the pickax. Cinder had no other weapons.
Then she remembered the snake. But with her hands tied, she couldn’t reach into her robes. She felt the skin of her wrists tear as she twisted them so they lay crosswise. She reached inside her robes and felt the flickering tongue against her fingers. Hoping the fairy would understand what she needed, Cinder pulled the snake from her robes. Her hands were tied and she was bouncing on Durux’s shoulder. She fumbled the snake, nearly dropping Siseth. But she finally managed to get her fingers in the snake’s mouth and pried it open. The fangs extended, venom dripping. She drove the snake into Durux’s back.
He reared back with a shout, dropping Cinder hard on her backside. He reached behind him, ripped off the snake, and flung it at one of the pillars. Scrambling, Cinder ran back toward the tunnel entrance. There was a rushing sound, and then something solid connected with the back of her head. She collapsed, hitting her face hard. She struggled to push herself up, but her body wasn’t responding. Blood spilled from her nose—she’d broken it. More blood ran through her hair and trickled around her earlobes before dripping off her chin. Distantly she wondered what Durux had thrown at the back of her head. She managed to roll onto her side, but she couldn’t quite get her legs under her.
“A cobra!” Durux gasped. “I’m a dead man.”
Jatar eyed his son. “Get to the healer before the poison sets in. Go!”
“What about you?”
Jatar’s deadly stare fixed on Cinder. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Durux shot her a look of profound regret and took off running. She tried to push herself up, but her hands slipped in her own blood and she fell back. On her second attempt, she lugged herself away from Jatar, dragging her impossibly heavy limbs.
She heard his sword come free from its sheath as he stalked toward her. He grabbed her shoulder and flipped her onto her back, then stood over her, blade in hand. “You’ve cost me my insurrection. You’ve probably cost me my son’s life. And—”
Jatar grunted as a knife grazed his shoulder. He glanced at something behind Cinder, then drove his blade toward her. Another sword caught it and threw it back. Darsam leapt over her, forcing Jatar back. The clanging and screeching of metal made Cinder’s teeth hurt.
She staggered to her feet. Searching for a way to help Darsam, she caught sight of the snake. She made her way toward the creature, which was obviously badly injured but still alive. “Tell the goddess about the secret entrance to the tunnel,” Cinder said to the snake. “Tell her that Darsam needs her help.” Then Cinder crushed the snake’s head beneath her boot, freeing the fairy to find another host body.
She turned back to the fight. Jatar was retreating from Darsam’s furious onslaught. Darsam thrust, Jatar ducked and parried. Darsam took advantage and slid forward, but his foot slipped in Cinder’s blood and he stumbled, his leg giving out beneath him. Jatar struck once, twice, three times.
Darsam managed to block. Barely. Cinder careened toward Jatar, who kicked Darsam’s sword away. She barreled into the slaver, both of them crashing in a tangled heap. Cinder wrenched his knife from its scabbard and drove it toward him. It skittered off his ribs, cutting him badly, but not a killing wound. Dizzy and lightheaded, she scrambled back while Jatar struggled to stand.
Darsam lunged to his feet to meet him, his sword arcing out. Jatar tried to block the blow but moved too slowly. Darsam recovered, his sword flashing and then slashing into Jatar’s middle. Stunned, the man gaped at Darsam. Then Jatar’s gaze slid to Cinder. She forced herself to meet his eyes, her chin up. His legs buckled and he landed face first on the tile floor. Darsam’s sword moved swiftly down toward the slaver’s neck.
Cinder looked away, but she heard the blade cut through flesh and bone to shatter the tile beneath. She stared at the body—no longer a man. Never again a threat. Just a pile of flesh and bones that would molder away. She let out a sob of relief.
“Are you all right?” Darsam asked as he cut her hands free.
Still dizzy, Cinder gave a little nod as she rubbed her bloody wrists. “I’ll live.”
“Stay here. I have to go back for my men.”
But no sooner had he turned around than tribesmen appeared in the bethel, Ash behind their protective formation. “Cinder!” she cried and rushed across the room to throw her arms around her daughter. Storm was a step behind. Cinder held them tight, unable to shake the worry that someone would rip them out of her embrace if she let go for even a moment.
“Come on,” Darsam said. “We have to get the three of you behind the palace walls.” He ordered two of his tribesmen to take up the rear. The rest of the men hurried through the temple to the public bethel. Just as they stepped inside, twelve slavers carrying lanterns rushed in, some fearful, others furious.
Lanterns were set aside, and the two groups clashed in a wave of swinging swords. One of the tribesmen fell—Ashar. He scrambled back, crawling away from the line of battle and slipping in his own blood. Ash dove forward to grab his arm and pull him back to safety. Then she bent over him and pressed against his wounds to staunch the bleeding.
Sweat running down his body, Darsam battled against two men. Cinder took a step toward him, to help him somehow, but her grandmother pulled her back. “You’ll only be in the way, child.”
A flash of heat tore through the building. As one, the slavers tipped their heads back to scream, but they froze in a rictus of horror as their bodies turned red and then black and then gray. Then they collapsed into piles of ash.
On wings of white fire, Nelay flew into the room, a snake on her shoulder. She was dressed from head to toe in golden armor. She looked around at the dead men and raised her face to Darsam. “All the cities of Idara are under attack. Keep Arcina under your control. Keep my son safe. I fly to Thanjavar, to protect the rest of my family.”
She pumped her massive wings, the downstroke sending a blast of heat that singed Cinder’s eyebrows and made the lamps flicker. And then the goddess queen was gone.
“We have to reach the palace, Sam,” Ashar spoke up from where he lay under Ash’s care. She had bandaged his leg and managed to stop the bleeding.
Darsam’s gaze swept the group. Three were too injured to walk. “We can’t risk enough men to carry them. We’ll have to make a stand here and hope we’re not overwhelmed.”
“We can carry them,” Cinder said.
His face half in shadow from the lamplight, Darsam assessed her. He gave a curt nod. “Back into formation.”
Ash, Storm, and Cinder each took an injured man on their backs and fell into line. With lamps held aloft at the front and rear of the group, they moved as fast as they dared through the darkened streets. Thankfully, no one assaulted them, and 602 steps later they reached the palace gates unscathed. Palace guards took Cinder’s burden from her arms.
Darsam hurried over to her. “The palace has remained secure, but I have to go continue through the city—to put an end to this threat so it can never rise up again.”
Cinder shivered as the wind blew across the blood drying on her clothes. “Durux is still out there, though he was bit by a cobra.”
Darsam’s mouth tightened. “Get inside. You’ll be safe.” He started to turn away.
“Yula—Naiba . . . Is she safe?”
“Already on her way home.” He whirled back and pressed his mouth to Cinder’s in a hard kiss. Calling for his men, he slipped out the gate without a backward glance.
Cinder woke in the middle of the night to the rumbling of thunder and the incessant flash of lightning. Moving carefully so as not to hurt her head, she looked over at her slumbering mother and grandmother. Outside, the rain started coming down again. Cinder tried to go back to sleep, but the events of the last few weeks kept playing in her head.
Finally, she gave up. Careful not to wake her family, she pushed herself out of the silken covers. She opened a chest at the foot of the bed, cringing as it groaned, but her family didn’t stir. She took out a simple but finely made robe and wrapped it around herself, then tied it off. She stepped onto the balcony to retrieve her sandals as lightning skipped across the base of the clouds.
“He drew my attention.”
Cinder started and followed the voice to find what had to be a fairy crouching on the railing. Lightning flickered, revealing her features—almond-shaped eyes, flat face, slitted nose. Thick coils of hair gathered atop her head. Her scaly wings were folded at her back and matched the scales that covered most of her torso.
Cinder gasped. “Siseth?”
The fairy cocked her head to the side. “So I killed him.”
Cinder was struggling to understand, to get her sleepy mind to put everything together, when something dropped down in front of her and dangled before her face. Another fairy, upside down. In addition to the eyes on its face, six bulbous eyes protruded from a mane of coarse, spiky hair. Her wings were woven of spider silk, and she wore what looked like a fur collar and a short, thick fur skirt. “We were angry. We wanted to hurt him. So we did. For a long time. We are not angry anymore.”
“Durux,” Cinder said.
Both fairies grinned, revealing glistening fangs. “It is an honor that we allow you to see us, mortal woman,” Siseth said.
Cinder found it hard to keep calm in their otherworldly, feral presence. “What have I done to deserve such an honor?”
“You saved our queen,” Siseth said.
With that, both fairies blurred and were gone. Disturbed, Cinder walked as calmly as she could back into her room and locked the balcony doors. Not that she thought that would keep any fairies out, but it made her feel better.
She leaned against the doors, her eyes slipping closed in relief. He was dead. Durux was dead, and he would never be able to hurt anyone again.
Knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep for a long while, Cinder left the room and walked the palace halls. Even at this late hour, servants were about, rushing down the halls with bandages, bowls of water, and food to tend to the wounded. Used to the sight of Cinder, who had been in the palace for nearly two weeks, they paid her no mind as she wandered into Darsam’s dark room. She closed her eyes as the smell of him enveloped her. She’d come here many times over the last few weeks—it was one of the only places she felt truly safe.
She shut the door soundlessly, and her practiced feet slipped across the stone floor. She stood at the window, looking down into the bailey in hopes he would be there. He was working to uproot any insurrectionist who still remained, and Cinder tried not to worry about him. Just then she realized she had walked the halls for at least an hour and hadn’t counted any of her steps. Since meeting Darsam, she’d been counting less and less, maybe because she didn’t need the numbers as much anymore.
Lightning flashed again, burning into her retinas. Shivering, she eased into Darsam’s bed and wrapped herself up in his blankets.
She nearly screamed when an arm wrapped around her.
“Cinder, do you often slip into men’s beds in the middle of the night?”
“Darsam?” she squealed. She rolled over and took his face in her hands, her fingers skimming over him to make sure he was really all right. When she got to his chest and found he wasn’t wearing a shirt, her search stumbled to a halt and she breathed in a silent gasp.
“I’m fine.”
Cinder threw her arms around him. “I’ve been so worried about you.”
“I can tell.” He winced a little, so she released him.
“You are hurt,” she accused.
“Just bruised and cut up a bit.” He chuckled softly. “I thought my bed smelled a little like you. I decided it must just be wishful thinking.”
She bit her lip, suddenly aware that she was in Darsam’s bed. It wasn’t the first time she had been beside him like this, but that was before. “Are you back for good now?”
“For a little while. But Nelay’s spies keep finding more rebels that need put down. It may take a few weeks more before we’ve rooted them all out.” Darsam was silent for a time. “Cinder, I’m so sorry, but we haven’t found Durux yet.”
“He’s dead.”
“How can you be sure?”
“The fairies told me.”
Darsam sucked in a breath. “It’s a dangerous thing to anger a fairy. But I can’t say he didn’t have it coming to him.”
Cinder tucked her forehead into Darsam’s chest, grateful to him in ways she could never repay. “When did you get back?” she asked.
“A few hours ago.”
“And I woke you.”
“I don’t mind.”
She hesitated. “Darsam, when I left the palace that night, the guards called me ‘one of Darsam’s girls’, like you have girls with you all the time.”
He nuzzled against her. “It’s easier than explaining that they’re my spies.”
Cinder relaxed against him, reveling in the feeling of his arms around her. He stroked her head, pausing when he felt the growth on the sides of her scalp. “You’re letting it grow in?”
“They changed my tattoo to that of a slave. I’m still not sure who owns me now.”
“No one owns you, Cinder. No one ever did.”
She closed her eyes, feeling herself opening up to this selfless, beautiful man. “My grandmother wants to go back to the clanlands.” Darsam didn’t reply, and Cinder wished it was light so she could read his expression. “My mother isn’t so keen,” she continued. “She’s been visiting Ashar every day. And she’s started to smile with her whole body whenever she’s around him.”
“Ash and Ashar. You couldn’t have planned that.”
Cinder paused. “I don’t . . .I don’t know what to do.”
“You don’t have to decide anything tonight,” Darsam told her. “You’re alive. I’m alive. For now, that is enough.”
Cinder awoke to the door creaking open and a startled gasp. Her eyes shot open to find her mother and grandmother at the threshold. It wasn’t the first time they had found Cinder curled up in Darsam’s bed. She became aware of the weight of his arm around her. He pushed himself up on the crook of his arm, and Cinder blushed as she remembered he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“He was here when I came in last night,” Cinder blurted. “I was so happy he was all right that we talked for half the night. I fell asleep.”
“How dare you take advantage of her!” Storm said.
Ash laid a hand on her mother’s arm and said, “You’ve been summoned by the goddess.”
Darsam flipped off the covers a
nd got out of bed. “She’s in the city? Did she say why?”
“Not you,” Ash corrected. “She wants to see Cinder.”
Darsam froze for a moment before he moved to grab a medium-sized chest at the end of the bed. “Here, I retrieved these for you.” He placed the trunk at the foot of the bed and then moved to kiss Cinder’s forehead. “Clean yourself up, eat something. I’ll see you there.” She took a shaky breath and nodded. “It’s going to be fine, Cinder. You saved her life and the life of her family. There’s no reason to be afraid.”
She nodded again, took the trunk, and turned to follow her mother, as her grandmother had already stormed down the hall. Back in their shared room, her grandmother was pacing. The moment they stepped in, she started gesturing wildly. “He’s an Idaran, Cinder! He’s no different than the men who have killed, enslaved, and raped our people for the last three generations!”
“He risked his life to save us,” Cinder reminded her grandmother as she set the chest on a small table.
Storm snorted. “Risked his life? He’s the lord’s son. He was never in any danger from the city watchmen.”
“What of the risk he took with Jatar?” Ash said quietly.
Storm turned angry eyes to her daughter. “You’re no better. You spend all your time with that tribesman. Aren’t you sick of men possessing you?”
Ash blanched. “Evil resides in the hearts of men and women. Ashar is one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.”
Storm worked her jaw. “We’re free—all of us. We’re going back to the clanlands to be with my family. That’s the end of it.” She left, slamming the door behind her so hard Cinder jumped.
Cinder opened the chest, which held the dresses she’d made so long ago. As she let her hand trail across the golden silk, her eyes filled with tears to think she hadn’t told Darsam she had wanted to be a seamstress with her whole heart. That she’d spent hours making her dresses. And yet he’d known. Gone to Zura’s to fetch them for her.