The Kinder Poison

by Natalie Mae

  “Yes, I will miss him, too,” Melia says sadly. Jet is still going on with his sorries. “I would have stayed in Orkena if he would be king. But I do not know if Sakira or Kasta will keep the Mestrah’s agreements in place with Amian. I cannot risk being locked here, in case they decide I owe my services to my schooling country and not my own.”

  I look over in surprise. “Can they even do that? Make you stay?”

  “That was the way of it, until Jet’s father determined it unjust. Orkena has drawn far more scholars since. The Mestrah believes those with magic are the gods’ children no matter where we are born.”

  I can no longer make sense of the Mestrah. I had revered him before we met, but I can’t forget what he said in the throne room to Kasta, or how he turned his sons against each other. And yet he’s the same god who has provided for Fara and me over all these years. The same who believes Melia should be free to return to her family, and did not force Jet to take the crown even when he believed him the best choice. The same who loves Sakira so dearly he fears letting her rule at all.

  “I don’t understand,” I say. “Does the Mestrah put one face on for the public and another for his family? You know what he did to Kasta and Jet, right?”

  Melia frowns. “What he did?”

  “He turned them against each other. He made them compete for his love.”

  “No.” Melia shakes her head. “He made them compete for the throne, and Kasta could not separate his father’s love from his lessons. The Mestrah wanted the brothers to work together. To learn from each other. I heard him say it more than once.”

  “He never thought maybe he’d gone too far?”

  Melia looks over her shoulder and swats at Jet. “Aya! Stop that noise! I can’t hear myself think.” She turns back, eyes wide with annoyance. I stifle a laugh. “Even gods are not perfect, Zahru. But I think he did something right if he raised this one. As annoying as he can be.”

  “Was that an actual compliment?” Jet asks.

  “Yes, but this one is running away,” I remind Melia.

  “For now. We will see—”

  “Hey, I’m talking to you!” comes a man’s voice. We must be passing the inn, for it’s the longest building on the road, its many small windows shaded with threadbare curtains. Three armored men stand outside the main door, their skin tanned and weathered, their bodies well muscled. The largest one crosses his formidable arms.

  “What, too good to come over and say hello?”

  “Gods, he’s talking to us,” I say.

  “Keep walking,” Melia says.

  “Finest mead on the river here,” the man tries. “Come on, give us a minute or two. I have stories that’ll make your heads spin.”

  “I have something else that’ll make your head spin,” another snickers.

  “Shut up, Des,” the man snaps. “Ladies—”

  “We are not interested,” Melia says, lacing her arm through mine.

  “I’m a Stormshrike.” He starts to follow, and Melia closes her hand around something beneath her cloak. He leaves it at that for a moment, as if his power alone might make us run into his arms. “Do you like rainbows? Or maybe you girls are waiting for lightning—”

  “I believe she said she wasn’t interested,” Jet snaps.

  “And I believe this is none of your business,” the man jeers, reaching for me. “Come on, adel. One drink, and if we haven’t charmed you by then—”

  He goes suddenly stiff, his head jerking as if listening to something behind him, though neither of his comrades has spoken. He winces, jaw clenched in pain, and brings his fingers to his head.

  “Kale?” the shorter one says, his gaze darting to us.

  “My . . . head!” the man gasps, dropping to his knees. “I can hear them screaming!”

  “Jet,” Melia mutters. “Is this wise?”

  “Make it stop!” the man wails. “Apos have mercy!”

  “What’s happening?” I ask.

  “Keep moving,” Jet says, and Melia pulls me quickly along.

  The man yelps again, then falls into the sand as if released, his hands dropping from his head. His eyes roll wildly toward us, and he scrapes back toward his comrades, panting.

  “Saxou,” the man curses. “Was that them?”

  “You should not have done that,” Melia says as we hurry away. “You have as good as announced yourself.”

  “And if you’d used blight powder on him, his friends would have stepped in. That was the least confrontation possible.” Jet grunts. “Besides, I’m not sure they’re the sharpest swords in the stack. Who knows if they’ll ever sort out what happened.”

  “What did you do?” I ask.

  “Just a little sound trick,” Jet says, and for a moment the pressure in my ears flickers in and out, like a ghost moving through my head. “With just enough intensity to make a point.”

  “Oh,” I say, shivering. Now I understand why the gods believe sound a fitting power for a possible king, if that was a little trick.

  “Still, I do not like this,” Melia says. “We need to get Zahru out of here before someone realizes what happened. They may accept a prince wanting to keep a low profile on his journey through, but they will know exactly what you’re doing if they see you send her home.”

  We quicken our pace. The road stays mercifully clear as we go, save for a fisherman pulling a heavy wagon of fish, who nods politely as we pass. Something about the way he watches us bothers me in a way I can’t place, but maybe I’m doomed to be overly paranoid from now on.

  “There are the docks,” Jet says.

  The road curves and drops, and the houses end where the sand meets the mud. The smell of fish here is as thick as the wet air. But I’d call docks a relative term. There are no planks or special alcoves for boats. Instead, a smattering of wooden posts lines the shore, where ropes tether small trading canoes and mid-sized fishing vessels. Aging planks connect the bigger boats to the shore so people can carry barrels of goods up and down.

  “There,” Melia says, pointing to a trio of merchant canoes. “I will go ask about their destinations, and if they would take someone up the river.” A glance at Jet. “No more showing off while I’m gone.”

  Jet crosses his arms. “I wasn’t—” Melia gives him a look, and he scowls. “He deserved it either way.”

  Melia leaves for the merchants. Jet turns his back on the village, and I fidget with the sleeve of my cooling cloak, listening to the quiet lap of the water, the clicking cries of the storks wading through it. A crocodile slides away from the shore where we’ve stopped, a deadly log slinking through the reeds.

  “Well,” Jet says. “Took me long enough, but we’re finally here.” A sad smile pulls his lips. “I’m sorry again. A thousand times more than I can ever say.”

  His hood has fallen back from his eyes. The river’s reflection flecks his irises with green, and I try to take in every detail of his face, this prince who will soon be no more than a legend, a rumor children will talk about like a ghost. They will know him only as a swordsman, a bastard prince, a talent lost far too soon to the desert. They will never know of the sacrifices he endured. They will never know how great a difference he made in one lying, buffet-sampling Whisperer’s life, or the risks he took to help me.

  For this, finally, is enough for me to believe him. I’m not sure how much closer I could be to freedom than actually on one of those boats, and despite what happened before, everything else he promised has come true. Somehow he’s managed to fulfill his dying father’s wishes, save his brother from condemnation, and rescue me, all without anyone the wiser. If I were feeling clever, I might have pointed out how this, too, is the mark of a good leader. But I can at least give him what his brother never did.

  “I forgive you,” I say, meeting his gaze.

  My favorite smile crosses his mouth, and my
heart twists knowing I’ll never see it again. He reaches into his cloak and offers me a heavy leather pouch.

  “Here,” he says. “This should be more than enough to secure your way home, and for a little extra once you get there. Don’t show it to anyone all at once. Take a single piece for your passage, and another anytime you need something.”

  I take it and peer inside—and almost drop it when I see the first wink of gold.

  “Gods, how much is this?” I don’t even think I saw this much at one time in the palace. Sapphire earrings, golden spiders with rubies for bodies, and more shining chains and precious gems than I could dream of glint in the noon sun, a small fortune in my hands. Half of this would buy Fara and me a house.

  “Consider part of it my attempt to make up for what you’ve endured,” Jet says, glancing at Melia. She’s moved on to the second merchant now. “It’s not nearly enough, but I don’t know what else to do.”

  “This is more than enough,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “You have more, right? For your new life?”

  “I have plenty.” But the way he says it, I have a feeling it’s not much more than what he’s given me. Which is still considerable, but seeing as this is all the wealth he’ll have to live on from here forward, it’s an incredibly generous gift.

  “You can’t give me all of this.” I dip my fingers into the bag, freeing a few gold chains. “You have to take some back.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I want you to have it.”

  “No, apparently what you want is for me to have a small panic attack on the ride home, thinking about you living in the streets of some faraway town because you were five gold chains short of paying your rent! Take these.”

  He grabs my hand when I pull the chains out. “Leave those in there. You deserve them.”

  “You have to take them. I don’t even know how to value these. I’ll use them to pay for bread or something irresponsible if you don’t.”

  “Zahru—”

  “Jet.”

  His mouth quirks. “I want you to use them on something irresponsible. Gods, you snuck into a palace to get a bite of chocolate! Buy all the chocolate you want.” He looks down at our hands, where my sleeve has slipped away from the scar on my wrist. “Buy anything you want. And let that be the greater memory of this.”

  Warmth spreads from his fingers, and something restless stirs in my chest, until I remember I’m leaving and gently pull away. It’s just gratitude, I tell myself as I carefully tie the pouch to the belt of Melia’s brown tunic. It’s just the overwhelming feeling of this finally being finished, because under any other circumstance I wouldn’t be talking with him at all. It’s foolish to think it means anything else. Certainly not that he might be helping me for reasons other than wanting to clear his conscience, or that I’m just realizing he will be the greater memory I’ll have of this.

  “All right,” I say, praying the heat I feel in my face isn’t showing under my skin. “I can do that. I can spend all of this on ridiculous things.”

  He chuckles. “Thank you. I’m going to—” He clears his throat. “I’m going to miss the way you can be so agreeable and demeaning at the same time.”

  “And I’m going to miss the way you never actually act like a prince.”

  “Ah. There it is again.”

  I blink. “There what is?”

  “Oh, Zahru.” He rubs a hand over his face, and when he looks at me again, his eyes are sad. “You make me wish I could stay.”

  If I wasn’t reddening before, I certainly am now. I struggle to think of something clever to reply, or something honest or wise, but I take too long and soon Melia’s footsteps sound to our side, relieving me from saying anything at all. She pauses a little away and looks between us, one perfect eyebrow rising.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  “No!” I say, not wanting to embarrass Jet, or myself, for whatever Melia thinks she sees. “We were just discussing . . . chocolate.” Gods, Zahru, stop talking. “I get really intense about chocolate.”

  What is wrong with me? Melia’s suspicion turns to concern, so I suppose it worked, but I quickly look down before I can say anything else.

  “All right,” Melia says slowly. She turns and points behind her. “Here are your choices. The charm maker is going to Ziti, then stopping in the capital for more supplies. Though I would not suggest being seen in the capital.” She points to a woman in a yellow jole. “The fortune-teller plans to hit every town on the way up, but she is willing to go straight to Atera for the right price. The potter was here to visit her nephew.” She points to an older woman in a plain tunic. “She lives north of Atera and would be glad to take you.”

  So this is it, then. Time to say goodbye and to finally go home. I exhale as I consider the three merchants, anticipation buzzing beneath my skin. Two days, and the shore I’ll be standing on will be Atera’s. Two days, and I won’t even remember the moment I was standing here, overwhelmed by the possibility of it, still not believing I was free.

  “So I . . . I can just go?” I ask, looking to Jet. Why am I even asking? I should be running for the shore, throwing every piece of jewelry I have at whoever will get me home fastest.

  “Yes,” Jet says, that same strange sadness in his eyes. “And may Numet be with you.”

  “Numet be with you,” Melia echoes. “Go live the life you are meant for.”

  I swallow and return their parting blessing, and turn slowly for the boats. It’s so easy, it feels like a trick. I head for the potter, the woman who was visiting family, looking tentatively over my shoulder. Jet and Melia watch me like I’m something dear they’re setting into the wild. I square my shoulders and shake off the last of my suspicions, letting the reality of it sink in. I’m going home. I’m going home.

  “Hail, child,” the older woman says, smiling as I approach. “Your friend told me you need passage to Atera?”

  “Yes,” I say, slipping a jade earring from the pouch. “Will this be enough?”

  “More than.” Her brown eyes widen. “Are you sure? I only need enough to cover our food. I already have the spell that will move the boat.”

  “I’m sure. I insist on it, for your kindness.”

  The woman lifts the earring, inspecting the detailed face of the jade cat. She casts a curious look at me, and I’m sure she’s seeing the contrast of my sand-coated hair and Melia’s plain tunic with such riches, but she only shrugs and gestures to a few large baskets waiting on the shore.

  “All right. Help an old lady with these and we can be on our way.”

  I cast a glance over my shoulder for Jet, but he and Melia are no longer by the far houses. Of course. They would want to leave quickly, before anyone has a chance to recognize them. I’m reaching for one of the baskets when I hear a familiar, cringe-inducing laugh.

  I turn to see an entire group of armored men filing into the clearing between the shoreline and the houses, led by the Stormshrike.

  Jet and Melia stand at their center, hands raised.

  XVI

  HE’S a prince, I remind myself. He’s a prince, and once they recognize that, everything will be fine.

  The men stalk closer, a collection of varying skin tones and muscles, and tighten their circle. The fortune-teller takes one look at them and hurries to finish packing her boat. The fishing boats are taking note, too, shoving their planks onto the shore, pushing out into the river.

  The old woman waddles past me with a heavy jar. “We should go, too.”

  “Who are they?” I ask, not moving.

  “Bounty hunters. If you leave them alone, they’ll leave you.”

  This does not make me feel better. I remember the Mestrah asking Kasta what he’d do if he met bandits who wanted to hold him for ransom, and the sinking feeling in my chest pulls tighter as Jet jerks his hood back, and the men only smile in response. Surely they�
��ll just talk. Surely the Stormshrike will remember what Jet did to him—what Jet’s power could do to all of them—and back off.

  “Make haste, girl!” the woman says. I shake myself and lift the last of her baskets, following her to the canoe. The river water swirls around my feet, cool and tempting. I place the basket beside the others at the front and pause in gripping the thick river reeds that bind its sides.

  The armored men have put some kind of strange metal device over their ears. One of them lurches for Melia.

  “No,” I breathe as he yanks Melia to his chest, locking a knife close to her throat. The metal must be blocking Jet’s magic. There’s no way he would have let them near her otherwise.

  “Hurry!” the woman says.

  The man holding Melia shrieks as she turns her head and throws something into his face. He releases her, and Jet draws his dagger, and the circle of men converge—

  “Girl, I am not waiting around to be leftovers,” the woman snaps. “Get in, or I’m leaving you!”

  I clench the reeds, tensing to get in. But can I go? How can I go? If Jet had left me with Sakira, he and Melia wouldn’t be here. If they’d insisted on visiting the western cities and not cared how long it would take me to get home, they wouldn’t be here. If they did not feel compelled to escort me through town to ensure this very thing didn’t happen to me, they wouldn’t be here.

  They can handle themselves, the logical part of my mind argues. They could have encountered this anywhere, with or without you. Go!

  But it doesn’t look like they’re handling themselves. The men have captured Melia again, and one drags her toward the buildings while another binds her hands. Jet holds five more at bay with his dagger and sword. Without his magic, it will take only one lucky strike, and he’ll be theirs.