The Kinder Poison

by Natalie Mae

  The Speaker grins. “That, finally, is the right question. Farewell, young Whisperer. Remember what I said. Remember where your true power lies.”

  “True power?” I ask. “But I don’t—”

  The torches extinguish. The gold and glitter vanish into pitch-black, and suddenly I’m outside beneath a night sky brilliant with stars, the dunes as dark and endless as an unmoving sea. The abandoned town is nowhere in sight. I spin in the sand, panicking that the Speaker miscalculated and sent me into the middle of the desert, when hoofbeats fill my ears. I freeze, hardly daring to hope.

  A gray horse and hooded rider break the closest dune, flanked by two more horses, one of whom is twice as thick as the others. The leader pulls his horse up so hard it nearly rears. His partners do the same. He jumps off the saddle and pulls back his hood, revealing a shadow of close-shaved hair and a look so troubled, so hopeful, that I sob in relief.

  “Zahru?” Jet says.

  XXVIII

  “JET!” I cry.

  He runs for me and we crash together, his arms tight around my back and mine clutched around his neck, worried that if I even think too hard he’ll disappear. But he’s warm and he’s real and we hold on to each other, me trying very hard not to cry again, him apologizing over and over.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I should have been paying attention, I should have been watching for Kasta—we tried to find you.” Jet pulls back, his lovely eyes stricken. “We paid some mercenaries to tell us where you’d gone, but they lied and I—I thought we could never catch up . . . I’m sorry. I’ll never be able to say it enough.”

  “I’m here,” I say, squeezing his shoulders. “It’s all right. I’m here.”

  “How?” he says, threading a lock of my hair through his fingers. “Are you real? Am I dreaming?”

  “The Speaker. They couldn’t send me home, but they could send me to another team, and . . .” I shrug and smile. “Here I am.”

  “Numet thank you,” Jet says, embracing me again. “I won’t forget this second chance.”

  I hold him as long as I dare, gratitude for the gods flooding my heart for my second chance as well. I may not have the power to get myself out of this alone, but the gods are helping me all the same. Guiding me to the right people. To good people, who believe I’m someone worth saving.

  And whether the Speaker intended this or not, they’re helping me face yet another of my fears. Because maybe it took bounty hunters and mild heatstroke and getting way too close with the wrong prince, but at least now I realize how unfairly I judged Jet. He’s been attacked and poisoned; beaten and nearly kidnapped. If he truly believed I was “just a Whisperer,” he wouldn’t dare risk his life for me in so many ways. He may not understand what I do, but until we talked about the coming war, I had no idea what he had to deal with, either.

  He just wanted to find a way I could break free, too.

  And so I won’t be afraid anymore of what the future holds for us. I won’t worry about how it will end, because then I’ll miss out on this. On the chance to enjoy someone selfless and wonderful; someone who’s practically given up the world for me, who puts me above himself no matter the cost. This is how the good stories are supposed to go. This is how they’re supposed to end.

  Melia moves her mare up beside us, looking as flawless as ever.

  “I am very glad to see you, Zahru,” she says. Marcus grunts, and though clouds veil the moon, I’m certain I see him wipe a finger under his eye.

  “Don’t mind him,” she says. “He took losing you very hard.”

  “Yes, well.” Marcus clears his throat. “I’m the most decorated soldier in the capital. I should be able to protect a single person in my care.”

  “Thank you for coming after me,” I say, looking between them, and finally at Jet. “Again.”

  “Just remember where I’m putting you if you risk your life again for us,” Melia says, but she smiles.

  “New plan this time,” Jet says, ushering me toward his horse. “We’re going to take you all the way home, and if anyone reports us, I’m going to stand up to my father.”

  My heart jerks, and I look at Marcus and Melia. “But they’ll try you for treason.” They nod. “No, I can’t let you do that for me. We’ll do the same plan as before. Get to a town, stay hidden, and I’ll find my own way back.”

  “This is not just about you, Zahru,” Melia says. “Though it is very much about your safety.”

  She nods to Jet, who exhales. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about what you said. About what all of you have been saying.” Marcus gives him a look, and a guilty grin pulls Jet’s lips. “You were right. We’re each born for something, for a duty our skills are meant to serve. I’ve been afraid of mine. But that’s a part of any job worth doing.” He takes my hands, pressing them in his. “And if it means I can save even one more person like you, it’ll be worth it.”

  I gasp. “You’re going to try to win?”

  Whatever he sees on my face makes him smile. “When the race restarts, yes.”

  “Jet!” I yell, laughing. I can’t help it. I throw my arms around him and squeeze, so proud of him that tears brim my eyes, that he’s already becoming the person he wants to be and not the person he thinks the station entails. He will be all the good parts of his father . . . and so much more. “Gods, I’m so happy to hear it. You’re going to be a phenomenal king. And you’ll know what to do if the war comes. You’ll do the right thing, like you are now.”

  The smile those words inspires is both shy and genuine, and if my dratted mind wasn’t already latching on to new worries, I would have kissed it.

  “But you don’t have the advantage,” I say. “And we know Wyrim will make another move to kidnap someone, and this time they’ll be more careful, and you’d have to come all this way again . . .”

  I stare out at the endless Barren, at the sweat drying on the horses’ sides.

  “Don’t worry about us,” Jet says. “We know better what to expect now. All that matters is getting you home.”

  Which are the words I should have wanted to hear most. It’s exactly what I pleaded for from the Speaker . . . exactly what I hoped to hear when they sent me to Jet. Fara must be worried sick. Mora and Hen might have already been arrested for attempting to come after me, and I ache to be back in the stable again, tucked away with the quiet sounds of the animals, enjoying the safe, predictable routine of home.

  And gods, I still want that. I want to tell Jet that yes, absolutely, let’s go before anything else happens, because haven’t I been through enough?

  But I think of the bounty hunters and their strange metal. The blackened puppet from Quadra. The war crouching on our borders like a hungry lion, waiting to spring on the new Mestrah, its mouth open for the thousands Sakira and Kasta would send at it. All to prove they’re hard enough; that they’re not afraid.

  And looking at Jet now, at the grim determination in his eyes, I’m reminded that sometimes what we want isn’t as important as what we need to do. Melia’s right: this isn’t just about me. This isn’t about helping Jet see who he could be, or going where I’m most comfortable, or doing what I’d rather be doing. This is about ensuring Orkena stays out of harmful hands. This is about the fate of thousands of people . . . people like Kita, like Maia. Like my father and Hen.

  “I don’t want to go home,” I say.

  Jet gives me the same look he did when I first told him he should rule. “What?”

  “Too much could happen if you restart the race. We’re almost to the caves. You have me. Let’s finish it.”

  “Zahru—” Marcus starts.

  “You said there was a way to win without killing me, right?”

  Melia looks to Marcus. “Yes, but—”

  “Then let’s go. This is the best chance you have.” I turn to Jet. “I want you to win. Don’t even try to argue with
me, because you know it won’t work.”

  Jet snickers, but his smile quickly fades. “And I’m absolutely honored to have your support. But I can’t let you risk this for me, either. Yes, I can refuse the sacrifice, but I don’t know what will happen when I do. I don’t know what will happen if Kasta or Sakira is there. There’s still too great a risk to you.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I care. And as your prince—”

  And that’s as long as I can resist. I kiss him, my hands twisted into his hood and his surprised hands at the curve of my spine, just long enough to feel him press back, even though pulling away is like taking only the smallest bite of cake. But I’m sure Melia and Marcus would appreciate me expressing some restraint, and besides, I have an argument to win.

  “You’re taking me there,” I say, our faces still centimeters apart. “Aera,” I add, with a smirk.

  Jet swallows, his gaze flickering from my eyes to my lips. “I feel adamantly like that was cheating.”

  “You do remember I’m the same girl who snuck into a palace banquet?”

  “I think we need to argue about this a little more.”

  Marcus loudly clears his throat. Jet and I look over, my hands still grasping his hood and his on my back. Marcus and Melia watch us with raised brows, looking both amused and slightly uncomfortable.

  “I’m going to call the lady the victor,” Marcus says. “With the note that I, too, would prefer Zahru go home, but”—he raises a hand when I start to protest—“we all made a choice to be here, and you deserve to make that choice as well.” The war horse dances beneath him, and he pulls him steady. “But if we are going to try for a victory, we need to get moving. We only have one more day to bring Zahru to the second checkpoint.”

  “Are you sure?” Jet says, turning to me. “I know it’s been worse than terrible, and your family must miss you dreadfully—”

  “Jet.” I slip my hands to his shoulders. “This is more important. You’re more important.”

  His smile tugs at the edge, and he folds his arms around me with a sigh. I swallow and hold him, turning my head into his neck, letting the steadiness of his arms and the calming smell of leather and sage burn into my memory. For now there’s certainly no chance of us traveling the world together. Not for a short time, not even with my father’s blessing. After the race is through, I won’t see Jet again. He will be the Mestrah, and I will be a girl from Atera. But despite the ache that pushes through me, despite how I assumed such a thought would break me after all my hoping, I know it’s the right thing.

  Until then, I’ll just make the most of the time we have.

  I wonder if Jet is thinking the same, because when I lift my head, his eyes are sad.

  “You’re an amazing person, Zahru,” he says. “You make me believe the gods could be out there after all.”

  I swallow and drop my hands to his chest. I’d just told the Speaker how I thought the gods had abandoned me, and looking at Jet now, I’m ashamed of even thinking it. But some part of me holds back from admitting it. I may be resigned to losing him, but I don’t want to make this harder than it already is.

  I smile weakly. “Now let’s go get your crown.”

  * * *

  After I fill the team in on Sakira’s and Kasta’s last whereabouts, Melia decides the best chance for arriving at the caves first would be to travel without a break, as we could reach them within a day at such a pace. She will heal the horses’ fatigue, hunger, and thirst as needed, and ours as well. It’s a lot of magic to use, but Melia insists we allow her to do it. Much of our success depends on reaching the caves and refusing the sacrifice before the other teams have a chance to get there.

  The only caveat is that Jet still needs to visit the Speaker.

  They hadn’t been far from the second checkpoint when the Speaker relocated me. (More concerning is how an entire afternoon passed in what I thought was my short visit with the Speaker, but Jet says time always moves strangely around them, and there’s nothing we can do about it.) The moon has only sunk the distance of my hand when its white buildings come into view like low clouds. We slow the horses, all of us on a knife’s edge as we look for evidence of Sakira’s team, but nothing shifts between the shadows. The horses are gone from the well. Melia and Marcus go ahead to scout the buildings while Jet and I wait a distance off, until Marcus waves his saddlebag in the air, signaling the path is clear.

  Jet urges our gelding forward, the horse’s hooves beating a comfortable rhythm in the sand.

  We haven’t spoken of the moment we just shared, but we don’t need to to know we’ve reached the same conclusion. Jet has sat behind me with a different ease than before, and I’ve leaned against him, enjoying his warmth and the sound of his laugh when I admit I was almost conned by a mouse at the second checkpoint. At least I know now what to look for in the future. Not for the heat of a fast-burning candle, but for the ordinary moments, for how easy it is to imagine myself with Jet every day, saying things to make him smile, seeing myself in eyes that reflect me and nothing else.

  “Did the Speaker make you solve riddles or anything?” Jet asks, tensing for the first time since we started riding.

  “No,” I say. “But anything you want to ask you should think of now. You only have a set amount of time.”

  His fingers shift on the reins. “I have no idea what to ask.”

  I place my hands over those fingers, steadying them. “That’s all right. I didn’t, either, but the Speaker knew what I wanted anyway.”

  He gives me an appreciative smile and laces his fingers through mine until we reach the well. Melia frets about leaving the horses, but I have a feeling the Speaker is someone I’m only meant to see once, and when I say I’ll watch them, Marcus immediately volunteers to stay with me. The plan makes Melia grumble—she’d rather we stay together—but there’s a new fire in Marcus’s eyes that Jet doesn’t dare challenge.

  “Numet’s speed,” I wish them as Jet starts down the well.

  “Be here when we come back,” he says.

  “We will,” Marcus promises.

  Jet disappears beneath the well’s rim. The light potion he wears illuminates the stone in a ring, and we watch him sink until it vanishes beneath some impenetrable darkness, where only the scuff of his sandals against the brick remains. A thud vibrates up the walls—Melia must have landed. A second thump sounds, and just as the silence is worrying me, a voice travels up.

  “We’ve found the symbol,” Jet yells.

  “Ammon,” Melia curses. “It’s glowing.”

  Silence. Then, from Jet: “Is the floor supposed to be moving?”

  “Yes,” I yell. “You’ll drop into a pool.”

  “Of course we will. I hate water,” Melia grumbles.

  “Good luck!” I call.

  No reply. The well has gone as quiet as the buildings around us, and I strain to hear a splash or the grinding of the trapdoor, but it must be enchanted for silence. Marcus exhales and turns his gaze to the desert, his fingers tight around his crossbow. I think he could take out an entire army right now, the way he glares at the sand.

  I miss his smile.

  Marcus’s tension makes me feel safe but also anxious, and I gravitate toward the horses, finding comfort in their quiet company. Jet’s gelding nudges me for water, and I draw the horses’ waterskin from the saddlebag. He closes his lips around the nozzle and drinks, tossing his head to keep the Water spell active.

  Good human, he thinks.

  I smile and stroke his silver neck.

  The night stretches on around us. I want to ask Marcus more about his family, about why he enlisted in Orkena’s army and how his magic works, but I don’t want to distract him from his watch. I spend the hours with the horses instead, watering them and sprinkling the strange grass-growing potion into the sand, brushing their sleek coats with my finger
s. These would have been bothersome chores if I was at home, but here I feel full. Transported, however briefly, back to the stable and its comforts, the smell of hay and dust wrapping me like a shawl.

  I stare off into the horizon, imagining Fara at work in the stalls, speaking gently to his charges. I’ll be home soon, I promise, convinced that if I think hard enough, my words can travel the distance between us and find him.

  * * *

  Dawn is breaking—day eight; gods watch over Fara—when voices stir Marcus and me from a breakfast of dried lamb and beans. They drift from the center of the ruins, and Marcus raises the crossbow, a bolt poised as Jet and Melia jog into view.

  “How long has it been?” Jet asks as Marcus jerks the bow down.

  “A few hours,” Marcus says. “Numet has just risen.”

  “We have to go. We need to leave now.”

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, packing the food. “What did the Speaker say?”

  “More than I can repeat. But that’s not it.” He holds up his listening scroll. “Sakira’s scroll has been destroyed. My writing won’t sink in anymore.”

  My heart lurches. “Do you think she destroyed it because she’s upset?”

  “She wouldn’t. I haven’t told her I’m back in the race, or that I have you. I’d planned to beg her forgiveness later.” He strides to the gray, and I follow in haste, stuffing our breakfast in the saddlebag and pulling myself onto the gelding’s back. Jet swings in behind me. “Last she wrote, she mentioned the Speaker gave her interesting information, and she’d write again when she’d won the crown. If the scroll is destroyed, something else destroyed it.”

  I think of Sakira keeping the scroll on her thigh, and cringe to think how close the threat would have to be to crush it. But I’m a little surprised at what else he’s revealed.

  “She’s going to try to win without me?” Maybe something I said finally sank in with her, too.

  “I don’t know. She didn’t mention having lost you. She’s understandably a bit less trusting of me now.” He sighs, and turns the horse south. “Whatever the case, we need to find her as soon as possible.”