by Natalie Mae
“Yes. Well. I know it seems early, but I wanted to have a family before . . . you know.”
Oh. Shame heats my cheeks. I’d completely forgotten that, as angry as I am at Fara’s magic for leaving him, the cost of his power is minimal compared to some. Retired Firespinners find it difficult to keep warm; even Mora’s Potionmaking magic will soon fade, leaving her without a sense of smell. Healers who give life do so at the expense of their own. Thus they rarely live past twenty, and I feel another jolt of irritation toward Sakira about the unnecessary magic Kita had to use today. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.” Another smile.
“You’re really not going to leave until I tell you what else I want, are you?”
“No.”
“But you know I’m not the real sacrifice. You don’t have to cater to me.”
Her smile falters. “You’re going through it all the same. Assisting you is the least I can do.”
I sigh. “Fine. I just want water.”
She digs a waterskin out and hands it to me with a nod. I take it and move away from the mare, yielding her the win. This time.
“There you are,” Sakira says, running over and slinging an arm around my shoulders. “We thought you might try to make a break for it. We were taking bets on how far you’d make it before the hyenas found you.”
“Did you already drink that whole flask?” I ask.
“I gave you six kilometers. Alette only gave you two.”
“Two?”
“Where’s your drink?” she asks.
I show her the waterskin.
“Not that one, the real one.”
“Look, I’m already dying at the end of this,” I say, ducking out from under her arm. “I don’t need you pressuring me into all this other stuff.”
“It’s wine, um . . . what was your name again?”
How strong is that stuff? “Zahru.”
“Zahru.” She grins. “It’s wine, Zahru.”
“Yes. You told me.”
“No. You don’t understand.” She shakes her head, the powdered gold on her temples glimmering in the twilight. “Have you ever had palace wine? This isn’t the bile they scrape out of the ditches in your hometown.”
I find that more than a little offensive, but I let it slide. “I’m sure it’s excellent.”
“Just try it.” She produces another flask from gods-know-where. “You don’t have to have more than a sip. But at least give it a chance.”
It does smell divine. Like a breath of a summer orchard and something earthy, like cedar. I consider the emeralds ringing the flask, a new idea forming in my head. If everyone else is drunk, it will be very difficult to race after me in the dark. I just need to play along long enough that they stop caring where I am, and then I’ll make my move.
I take a drink and try not to make a face while Sakira watches me with anxious eyes.
“Well?” she asks.
It’s both sweet and bitter, and after I’ve swallowed I feel like I’ve licked a rug, but there’s something undeniably pleasing about it.
“It’s . . . not bad,” I say.
“See?”
“How strong is it?”
“Stronger than some, weaker than others.” She smiles and takes my hand. “Sit with us, Zahru. It’s time I got to know the girl who got under my brothers’ skin.”
She guides me to sit beside Alette. The fire crackles before us, and Sakira lets go of my hand, but it’s clear from how close she sits she doesn’t entirely trust me. I pray she forgets how long it’s been since she drew the Follow spell. The ink has all but faded from my wrist, and every other piece of my plan is falling into place.
“I want to know you, Zahru,” Sakira says. “What makes you happy, what makes you sad. When people ask about you, I want to do you justice.”
I take a minuscule drink from the flask. “I’m not really that interesting. I’m just a girl with bad judgment and questionable taste in men.”
“And yet you ended up here. Competing with the best magicians in Orkena for a station even nobles dream of.”
I shrug. When I told them my poor-little-stable-girl-becomes-a-human-sacrifice story, I skipped all parts involving Hen or the priest, and basically started with Kasta choosing me out of spite. I was really hoping they wouldn’t think too hard about how a Whisperer was there in the first place. I’ve made it this far without implicating Hen, and I don’t plan to ruin that now.
“You must know someone of influence,” Alette says, sliding her headband free and jostling a hand through her hair. “A count? A captain?”
“I really don’t. I just got lucky.”
“How lucky?” Sakira says, her grin widening. “I think you’re holding back on your story. On what happened after the Choosing?”
My skin prickles. There’s something calculating beneath her curiosity, and I wonder what she’s really asking. Would Jet have mentioned the protection gem to her? Panic flushes through me at the thought. Gods, I hope not. If she suspects I still have it, I’ll lose my best chance of staying alive.
I clear my throat. “I told you, there was this pool—”
“Enough about the pool!” calls Kita from somewhere in the dark.
“After the pool. After the bath.” Sakira’s watching me carefully now, her smile sharp. “Doesn’t it seem strange Jet would come to your rescue when you’d only just met? And to say hardly anything to me after! That’s not like him at all.”
I bristle. “He thought Kasta was going to kill me. He was just doing what anyone would.”
Sakira laughs. “Was he? Have another drink. And think about that. You’re telling me a boy who was eager to be your hero one night won’t even look at you the next morning . . .”
And here’s where I realize there’s a strategic side to Sakira’s charm. She definitely has an honest interest in people—the way she spoke of wanting to connect with others, and her planning an entire week of adventures for me when she could drag me straight across the desert—she’s reckless and doesn’t think about consequences, but she wants to make me happy. But I don’t think that’s the only reason she goes through this effort. Even now I can feel the wine loosening my tongue, my worries softening under the warmth in her smile. I wonder how many people have let their guard down after a few drinks, spilling information about themselves or their countries without thinking of how she might use it. Regrets. Fears. Desires.
Secrets.
“Look,” I say, “I don’t know what Jet’s deal is—”
“You kissed him, didn’t you?” Sakira asks.
“What?” Alette says.
“What?” I say.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Sakira laughs. “That’s why he’s being so weird when I write him about you. I mean, he’s weird about courting in general, but you must have been irresistible. And that’s what happened. You and Jet were getting serious, and then Kasta walked in—”
“That is—!” I want to say that’s not how fast I move, but this is the perfect opportunity to bury all thoughts of the protection gem, and I groan. “Yes,” I say slowly. “That’s exactly what happened.”
“Wow,” Alette says, straightening. “I didn’t think him that forward. He courted a Pe heiress for an entire summer, and I can’t even remember now if I ever saw them kiss.”
“Oh, no, it wasn’t him!” I say, panicking that they’re already unraveling my lie. “I . . .” Gods help me. “It was me. I get a little carried away sometimes.”
Alette bursts out laughing. Sakira joins in, and even Kita, who’s still doing something with the tent, snickers.
“Stop it,” Sakira says, taking another drink. “I’m going to start really liking you, and I can’t be thinking about that in the caves.”
“Yup, it’s just one of those things.” I shrug. “Quiet stable g
irl on the outside, lioness on the inside.”
Alette is now rolling in the sand from laughing so hard. I can’t help but grin, too, because anyone who knows me would know how ludicrous this all sounds, but if I fail to make it out of here, I feel like I should be remembered for something. This isn’t exactly what I had in mind, but I’ll take what I can get.
“Oh gods,” Sakira says, wiping her eyes. It smears her liner on one side, smudging her knuckle in gold. “I hope I’m drunk enough to forget you said that in the morning.”
“So how about you two?” I ask, eager to change the subject. “Any dark, hopefully embarrassing secrets that will make me feel better about myself?”
“Nothing like that,” Alette says, giggling.
“Plenty,” Sakira says, tapping my flask. “Finish this one. You’ll feel like a child when we’re done.”
XIII
IN retrospect, there was a fundamental flaw with my plan.
I discover this as I sway before the buckskin, as the world tilts under me and I have to catch my balance on the mare’s shoulder. Behind me, the fire burns low where Sakira lies asleep in the sand, her head resting on Alette’s stomach. Kita is singing an old lullaby beside them, but she hasn’t opened her eyes in a long time. She didn’t even twitch when I rose, and as I command the world to stop tilting, her hand relaxes into the sand and the last notes die on her lips.
Actually, there were two flaws. One: Sakira kept checking my flask, making sure I kept drinking, making sure I always had more. Two: this is the first time I’ve ever drunk, which is resulting in unexpected consequences. Which brings me to three: I can’t hear what the horses are thinking.
I think I started that off by saying there were only two things.
“Pull yourself together,” I mutter, gripping the mare’s mane to stay upright. Fara’s and Hen’s faces flit through my mind like fish, colorful flashes that slip away as fast as they appear. My muscles feel as heavy as clay. Sleep, my body says. It would be so good to lie down, to rest . . .
I puff my hair out of my eyes and start for the saddles. I’m not far enough gone to believe anything good would come of sleeping right now; though, as I fall in the sand before the first saddle, I’m not sure much good will come of me being awake, either. I breathe out and push back to my knees. The stars slip and reset in my vision. I grab Kita’s saddle, its tall leather pommel crisscrossed with strips of scarlet, and heave it back to the buckskin. I miss her back the first time I raise it but center it the second. The mare rumbles in her throat. I don’t need a translation to know she thinks this is a bad idea.
“I know,” I say, hoping she can understand me even if I can’t understand her. “But I can’t stay. She may seem like fun, but she’s still going to kill me.”
She snorts. I check the girth—I think I check the girth—and go back to the side of the tent, where the bridles hang from hooks in the fabric. It occurs to me Kita went through a lot of unnecessary effort to raise the tent when all of them are sleeping outside, and I have a feeling I’m looking at a small-scale model of how Sakira would rule: dangerous missions, wine and excess, parties and secrets. Things built and labored over but not put to use. While the most important things—like me—are left to their own devices.
In this case, thank the gods.
Sakira mumbles and turns in her sleep, and I grab the bridle and stumble to the mare in haste. I lift it onto her head with an apology and promise we’ll go easy. An annoyed flick of her tail is my response. I pull myself into the saddle—
And realize I did not check the girth.
The entire thing comes off in my hands. I land hard on my back, pain slamming through my lungs as the fall knocks the air from me. A gasp escapes my mouth before I can stop it—
Except it makes no noise. I cover my mouth with my hands as I cough, my lungs demanding air, but this makes no noise, either. Neither does the saddle sliding off me into the sand. My panicked movements as I jump to my feet and look at the fire. A stumble to the side as I take in gulps of air, both to recover and for the feeling of dread closing around me like a tomb.
I drank myself deaf. Gods, I drank myself deaf.
“Zahru?”
A whisper in my ear. I shriek and spin (luckily neither of these make noise, either), but when I strike at the person who should be behind me, I meet air and fall back to the sand. A horse and a rider cloaked in deep blue stand several paces away. Far too far for someone to have dismounted, whispered, and mounted again.
I decide this is the last time I’m ever drinking.
I should also possibly be more concerned about who this person is.
“Thank Numet,” the boy whispers, dismounting. He glances at the sleeping figures around the fire and strides for me, the light dancing in a familiar pair of worried eyes.
“Jet!”
I almost sob in relief. Of course it’s him—Soundbenders control noise, and Jet can redirect the commotion I’m making as easily as an oar shifts water. But more than that, he came. I’d hoped he would, I wanted so badly to believe he would, and here he is, proving good people do still exist in the world—
And then I remember he’s half the reason I’m here. And there was an entire morning he could have told me what was going on.
“Go away,” I say, knowing—hoping—he’s keeping our conversation contained. I turn and lift the saddle again. “You’re the last person I want to see right now.” I think of Kasta. “The second-to-last person.”
“I can explain.”
“What, so you can lie to me again about how you’ll get me out of this? Well, I’ve heard enough. I’m escaping on my own now.”
A statement that would have had much more credibility if, when I set the saddle on the buckskin for the second time, it didn’t slide right off the other side.
It falls soundlessly to the sand, and the mare, tired of humoring me, moves away.
“Are you . . . drunk?”
I whirl on him. “Yes, actually. Do you want to know why? Because after you left me to become a human sacrifice, I had to walk out in front of the entire country dressed in this, then be forced onto the back of a panicking animal and taken hours away from my home, into a guarded barracks to steal a horse who almost set me on fire, only to realize that at the end of the day, do I get to rest? No! I get a flask of wine, Jet. Your sister, who knows Kasta cut me and is going to kill me anyway, gave me a flask of wine.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Gods. I’m so sorry, Zahru. I know it’s been terrible—”
“Oh, terrible doesn’t even skim the surface. ‘Terrible’ is when you find yourself in a fight between two strangers that almost costs your life. But this . . .” I open my arms to the desert, to the horses and the dying fire, and laugh. The sound is both sad and wild, and whether it’s too loud for Jet to contain or he doesn’t like the sound of it, it’s soon silenced. “This is worse,” I say. “This is so much worse.”
“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”
“By making my death painless and easy? I’d rather stay with Sakira.”
He flinches. “No. Gods, no. If you believe nothing else about me, believe that even if I had an interest in the crown, which I do not, I would never hurt anyone to win it.”
“Then what is it you want, Jet? Because I’m a little busy right now.”
I turn to look for the saddle, but he moves in front of it.
“Forgiveness,” he says, his eyes anguished. “At least, eventually. I know things got out of hand, but I also have a plan to get you out of here.”
“Is it as good as the one you had to secure my release?”
He winces. “Admittedly, that one failed. But this one won’t. We only need to ride a day east, and we’ll be back at the main river. We’ll sneak you onto a boat. It’ll take a day or two for my siblings to realize what’s happened, and by then it will be too la
te. The race will default, and they’ll have to start over. This time, without you.”
He sounds earnest. Like he’s thought this through and truly feels guilty, and I feel myself wanting to believe him again, even if my heart twists at the mention of someone else taking my place.
But as lovely as his plan sounds, I can’t help but feel it’s too familiar.
“Which would be amazing, except I’ve heard this all before,” I say, shaking my head. “You lied to me, Jet. You said you’d get me out, that you’d protect me, but when the priests asked you to confirm my story, you acted as if we’d never met! How do I know this isn’t another lie? How do I know you aren’t saying this so I’ll go quietly, and tomorrow we’ll wake up at the caves?”
“Because I—” His jaw clenches, and pain works itself across his brow. His gaze cuts to the fire. “I told you, if I wanted the throne, I could have had it. My father would have given it to me without this race.”
“Maybe that was a lie, too.”
“Except I told you that in confidence, before I knew you being marked as a sacrifice was even possible.” He looks over again, eyes steady. “I had nothing to gain then by freeing you, and I have nothing to gain now but a clear conscience. I’ll let you choose which town. You’ll have your own horse. You can take a boat, or a merchant’s caravan, or whatever you’re most comfortable with. I have more than enough to cover your expenses.” His shoulders drop. If he’s lying, he’s very good at it. “I truly never meant to deceive you. If you don’t believe me, you can stay with Sakira. With the express warning that I don’t know if the next opportunity to leave will be so peaceful.”
I blink, wondering if he phrased that right. “So, if I stayed, instead of heading for Nadessa, you would keep following us in case I changed my mind?”
He nods, and I want to tell myself that of course he’d keep following us if he intended to kill me in the caves, but there’s something in his expression that looks too raw to be false. But then I felt that same honesty after we subdued Kasta, too.
My mind aches trying to make sense of him, and I press my fingers into my temples. “I don’t understand you at all. If this is really how you feel, then what happened at the palace? You sided with Kasta! Why didn’t you tell the Mestrah what he did? Or the priest, when he asked you right in front of me!”