The Kinder Poison

by Natalie Mae

“Oh, no,” Sakira says. “Though I did meet someone very interesting last night.” She and Alette share a smirk. “This happened on my birthday.”

  “Her second boy of that day, too,” Alette says, winking. “The first one was prettier, but weirder.”

  “He kept trying to turn me into a poem. Then when I marked him to stop, he had nothing else to say. Great arms, though. Gods, he had great arms.”

  My level of concern for being at the mercy of this team has just elevated. “So . . . you picked a friend as your escort.”

  “Alette and I have been friends since our schooling started,” Sakira says.

  “I prefer the term sisters,” Alette injects.

  “I knew she’d be my First as soon as Father told us about the contest. He only put on the Choosing banquets because he felt sorry for Kasta, who has no friends. Jet already had Marcus in mind, too.”

  “But weren’t you supposed to pick someone who would help you?”

  I realize only after asking that my question came out rather bluntly. Neither girl says anything, but Alette looks like I slapped her.

  “I just mean . . . it takes time for your magic to work. And sometimes the gods don’t answer like you want them to, right? You could pray for us if we run out of food or get lost, but what if we’re attacked?”

  “We’re not going to be attacked,” Sakira says. “Alette is going to pray Kasta away. Even if he gets close, I can ward myself against his filthy Shifter. Then it’s down to him and a sword, and I’m not afraid to play dirty.”

  I blink. “I mean like hyenas or rattlesnakes. Or rabid jackals. Or that bandit hideout you mentioned?”

  This is not a question I wanted answered with complete silence. Not that I’m trying to help Sakira get us closer to the finish by thinking of these things, but my safety is currently entwined with hers.

  “You know, you worry too much.” Alette urges her gelding into a jog. “None of that matters, because no one’s going to catch us. We can see both horizons. The horses will warn us about animals. And the wrath of the gods will come down on anyone who tries to stand in our way.”

  “By ‘wrath of the gods,’ you mean you’re confident they’ll actually interfere, right?” I say hopefully.

  “Alette’s right. Stop worrying.” Sakira pushes the mare back into a jog. “I have everything sorted out.”

  Which is exactly what I would say if I hadn’t actually thought things through yet. I don’t point out that whatever her strategy, she still needs time to paint whatever spells she intends to use, time she may or may not have, depending on the threat. And what will she do if she loses the brush? Or runs out of ink? I don’t really know how trielle spells work, but I know those two things are crucial.

  I’m starting to think I’m not the only one without a plan.

  XI

  SAKIRA makes her first bad decision before twilight.

  There is a moment, when she takes out her glass compass to check the stars and says, “There it is,” to a small, plain outpost in the distance, that I think she’s simply marking an occupied place we need to avoid. I should probably have found it strange we’d otherwise stayed far from other people until this point, and that I’d seen no other towns or roads on the horizon that would force us to choose between moving close to a populous area or this one. It certainly didn’t look like a place for making regrettable decisions. The outpost is small and isolated and, as we move closer, appears to be only two buildings: a high-ceilinged stable flanked by a mudbrick fence, and a long, wide residence behind it, pocketed with dozens of small windows. Brown canopies shade a third of the fenced area, and I surmise this must be a very rich person’s estate, since the barn is nearly the size of the house.

  The buckskin raises her nose to the smell of hay. Friends? she thinks. Rest? Home?

  “We’re switching mounts?” I ask, my throat tightening. Fresh mounts obviously make sense, as we could then ride on through the night. But this is very bad for solidifying my escape plan, which I’d have much more time to prepare if my captors stopped to sleep.

  “Maybe,” Sakira says, drawing her brush from her leg holster. “Bring your horses here,” she says to her team.

  “Maybe?” I echo. “What does that mean?”

  Sakira ignores me and uncaps the third item threaded through her holster: a long glass jar whose liquid contents shimmer gold. She paints a dot beneath an arc on both horses’ shoulders, then adds two crossed arrows before painting the same spells onto the buckskin.

  “Mirage spells,” she explains. “And Silence. Can’t have the horses alerting our position, can we?”

  As if on cue, the buckskin raises her head and whistles a greeting—or she would have, if the spell let her make any sound. She snaps her ears to her skull in annoyance. Rude, she thinks. Why? Rest.

  She paws the sand, and Sakira slides off behind me.

  “Why does it seem like they don’t know we’re coming?” I ask as Kita and Alette dismount in turn.

  “Because they don’t.” Sakira grins. “Here.”

  She grips my hand in a way I think is meant to help me to the ground, until she flips my wrist over and marks it with a broken line.

  “Gods,” I say, jerking away. The memory of Elin’s grooming spell is still too fresh. “I thought I was sacred and holy. Don’t you warn sacred and holy people before you mark them?”

  Sakira snickers. “Relax, it’s just a Follow spell. Means you can’t be more than a few hundred meters from me. One less thing to worry about while we’re here.”

  One less opportunity to sneak away. I rub the ink hard, but the gold sinks into my skin, thankfully leaving behind no more than a cold prickle. Judging by how fast the Ice spells on the horses fade, this one should be gone by tonight. But I’m going to have to be more careful around Sakira and that brush.

  “And why are we here?” I grumble.

  “To make history.”

  I don’t like the look in Sakira’s eyes. It’s not too unlike the expression Hen wears before sabotaging someone, and I have a feeling I’m about to experience firsthand one of Sakira’s infamous exploits.

  “Let’s go, Your Holiness,” she says, and to Kita, “If you need us, or you see Kasta, wet this.” She hands Kita a paper spell with a double loop on its face, then marks the Healer’s hand with the same arc and dot as the horses. “It’ll burn a symbol on my arm. But remember, unless someone gets close, they can’t see you. We shouldn’t be long.”

  “Yes, aera,” Kita says, bowing her head.

  Sakira marks herself and Alette with Mirage, and I sigh and dismount as she adds the symbol to my shoulder. And then we’re walking toward an unsuspecting building, our cloak hoods around our heads like we’re miscreants, shattering every expectation I had about liars and thieves. Maybe grisly vagabonds exist in better stories, but in mine the criminals are Materialists and princesses.

  “Do I really need to come?” I ask. “Can’t I stay with Kita?”

  Sakira loops her arm through mine. “Now, I know that’s not something you would have asked yesterday. You’re still the same girl who snuck into a palace banquet, yes?”

  I groan. “Yes. And look where it landed me.”

  “Forget what happens at the end of this week. Right now it’s just you and us, and an entire desert full of opportunities. I have a lot planned for us over the next few days. It’s going to be the time of your life.”

  I look pointedly over. “Seriously? The time of my life?”

  “Until you die honorably and painlessly.” But despite the cavalier way she says it, I catch a flash of sadness in her eyes. “A queen must obey the gods first and foremost. But let’s not think about that. Let’s think about . . . presents.”

  “Presents?”

  We’re within shouting distance of the stable now. The familiar shape of its dome, despite the canopies sheltering t
he paddocks, pulls at something in me so hard I almost can’t breathe. Someone whistles a song within the aisle of the stable, and I hear the familiar scrape of a broom against straw. The stable Whisperer, probably. Though I wouldn’t be surprised if there was more than one, considering the size of the place.

  My heart pinches thinking about Fara being alone without me, and I remind myself that even if someone discovers his magic is gone, at least he won’t be cast out like the Forsaken. I still need to get back quickly, because all lower class magicians are required to serve Orkena until their sixtieth summer, and if I’m not there to say I need Fara to help me, he’ll be sent wherever the Mestrah needs him. To harvest crops in a neighboring town, or to assist a rich Earthmover halfway across the country. He wouldn’t have a choice in what he was assigned to, and we certainly couldn’t regain the stable once that’s done. But at least I wouldn’t have to wonder where he’d gone.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Sakira says.

  I look over. “I really doubt that.”

  “You’re thinking this is a careless mistake. That I’m not staying focused. But see, that’s where you and my father are wrong. A good leader doesn’t have to be business all the time.” She pokes my shoulder, like I’m about to disagree. “All Father ever worries about are taxes and trade contracts, and I’m not saying he hasn’t done well with that, but he’s the world’s worst conversationalist. People pull away from him because he doesn’t seem real, you know?” She nudges me. “Think about it. Who do you want to be sitting next to during a boring realm meeting? The stuffy prince who spends his days locked away or the princess who stole a priceless magical horse?”

  I would note she should be paying attention during a “boring realm meeting,” but I’m a little too caught up on that last part. “I’m sorry, we’re going to steal a what?”

  The gold lining Sakira’s eyes crinkles. “This will be so much fun!”

  “You do know you need a special license to keep an animal with magic?” I say, stopping. Not like it’s a typical issue—animals born with magic are about as common as blood moons—but I remember Fara warning me about treating them, even though we never have. A fearful animal might bite, but a fearful magical animal might flood a town. “What if it levels the stable?”

  “Now you’re sounding like Jet. ‘But laws, and consequences!’” Sakira releases me and walks backward, her edges already blurring with the sand and the plaster sides of the building behind her. In two more steps, I can’t see her at all. “Relax. An experienced Whisperer has been working with this mare since she was a foal. She’s well-trained.”

  Of which I’m sure, considering the grandeur of this estate, but somehow I doubt that control extends to being stolen by a loud, thrill-seeking stranger. But I don’t see Sakira listening to that reasoning any more than she’s listened to anything else, and with a sigh I start forward until she and Alette flash back into view.

  “Wait,” Sakira says as we near the stable’s open archway. The person who’d been sweeping and whistling turns out to be a young man dressed in a simple working tunic, who looks toward the back of the stable when we stop. The thoughts of the animals within reach me in a murmured buzz. Like it’s a distant conversation, I’m not close enough to make out full phrases, but I catch snippets of warm and food and out.

  The man pauses his work, and snickers. “Yeah, food is coming. Hold on.”

  Definitely a Whisperer. He sets the reed-headed broom against the aisle wall and disappears into a room on the side.

  “All right, this is the plan,” Sakira whispers. “Alette is lookout. If whistler-boy gets suspicious, she’ll get close enough for him to see her, and provide a distraction.”

  Alette grins and pulls the neckline of her jole a bit lower, which honestly is even distracting for me right now.

  “We’re going to sneak in and find the mare,” Sakira continues. “I’m going to mark her with Mirage, and we’re going to walk her right out of here.”

  I wait for her to expand on that. When she doesn’t, I blink. “Just like that? Aren’t there guards?”

  Sakira grins. “Just like that, because I happen to have a friend who’s a Whisperer.” She slings an arm around me. “You worked your charms on the buckskin. I know this will be just as easy for you.”

  Even though I’m sure she’s only saying that to win my cooperation, I can’t stop the stir of pride in my chest. I have worked with a lot of different animals, and in far more stressful situations. Maybe this will even help Sakira see I’d be far more valuable to her alive.

  It’s not like things could end any worse than yesterday, anyway.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I say. “But fine.”

  Sakira beams. “That’s my girl. Now, let’s get this done quickly. The stable’s enchanted to alert the barracks if Ashra’s stall opens without permission. We won’t have much time after that.”

  And my prior confidence dies. “That building is a barracks?”

  We must be at one of the cavalry reserves. Not that I’m familiar with the Mestrah’s military, but I remember a traveler talking about “secret stables” across Orkena, places soldiers and horses were kept in case the capital was taken by surprise.

  Another realization hits me. “You’re stealing from your father?”

  Sakira does not answer, nor does she seem concerned by the possibility of a small army coming down on us. She’s already crept into the sand-dusted aisle, past the columned doorway where the Whisperer is mixing feed, where she vanishes beside the first stall. I suppose she has no true reason to worry. Once her father’s guards recognize her, they’ll still try to stop her, but they won’t hurt her. Of course, they certainly won’t recognize me.

  I swear under my breath and dart forward. The horse in the first stall jerks his head up as Sakira flashes into my vision—and as I flash into his. He lets out a long whinny, and I wince.

  Food? he thinks. You, give food?

  “I’m working on it,” yells the man in the feed room.

  Thank the gods for horses and their appetites.

  “There she is,” Sakira whispers, pointing to a stall across from us. The entire stable is ridiculously lavish considering its tenants, but this one especially looks more like a suite. Polished stone frames the walls, and a spout pours a trickling stream of water into a porcelain trough. The iron gates that bar both the stall entry and the opening to the paddock are shaped in intricate gods’ symbols.

  And still, all of this pales in comparison to the horse inside.

  The mare is a deep, blood-red bay, and where the dying sun stripes her back, her coat shimmers like a living ember. Black colors her mane and legs from the knees down, small flames running their edges as if looking for tinder to catch. But her eyes make it hardest to look away. Flames crawl within them, burning green then blue then red, like a shifting sunset.

  A Firespinner. She’s the most incredible creature I’ve ever seen, and I get the impression I’m looking at something much older and more sacred than even her magic would indicate.

  “Ashra,” Sakira whispers, drawing closer. The mare jerks her head when we come into sight, her golden halter jingling, and I’m not sure whether to be impressed or alarmed she doesn’t otherwise move.

  Hidden ones, she thinks, reaching her nose over the polished wall. Devious ones.

  I snicker that she already knows we’re up to no good, until I remember there’s another Whisperer here who could hear her. But when I look toward the far aisle, the man is leaning against the wall, a jar of grain under one arm and his head tilted toward someone I can’t see. Alette appears to be succeeding at her part in this. A pulse of nerves runs through me, but I press them down, turning back to the stunning creature.

  “Ashra,” I say. Animals always feel more comfortable when someone knows their name. The mare stretches her nose to me, and after a moment’s h
esitation, I push my fingers up the bridge of her silken face. Her fur is soft and cool. I’d half expected it to burn. Instead, relief and familiarity warm my blood, like being reunited with an old friend.

  Whisperer, Ashra rumbles. She looks young, but in my head her voice sounds old. You do not belong.

  I swallow. “I feel like you don’t belong here, either. Do they not let you out?”

  The mare swings her head to see the gate barring the paddock. A shiver runs under her skin that I take to be longing, until red fire flashes across her shoulder, and the unfortunate fly that dared land on her drops to the ground with a sizzle.

  It occurs to me riding her is going to be a little more complicated than Sakira anticipates.

  Others, she thinks. Afraid.

  “They don’t like your magic.” I suddenly feel sorry for her. I mean, fear was also my reaction when Sakira told me about her, but a wave of her loneliness floods through me, and I consider what it must be like to be so different. In her lifetime, she will not meet another like her.

  “Hurry it up, Your Holiness,” Sakira says, her eyes on the Whisperer.

  “Will you come with us?” I ask. “Out somewhere you can run. No more walls.”

  Out? There’s an eagerness in her tone that I don’t like. She’s been kept inside too long. Yes, she thinks, pawing the straw near the gate. Out. After food.

  Curse horses and their appetites.

  “What’s taking so long?” Sakira grumbles.

  “She wants dinner,” I say.

  “I have dinner for you,” Sakira says, turning to the mare. “It’s out there.”

  The mare doesn’t even glance her way. She nickers to the man, who ignores her for whatever Alette is saying.

  I shake my head. “She can’t understand you.”

  Sakira frowns. “Why not? I’m doing the same thing as you.”

  “Look, you may think my magic is ‘lesser,’ but it works the same way as yours. I could pick up your brush and draw a spell, but it’s not going to do anything. You need me to translate.” Emphasis on the need me.