by Natalie Mae
I sit up slowly, my core protesting every motion, and yank Melia into a hug.
“Thank you,” I say as she sniffles and curses. She hasn’t dropped her hands from her face. “I don’t even know how to thank you enough. I—what happened?”
“Reckless girl,” she mutters, sagging against me in exhaustion. But soon she drops her hands and hugs me back. “You are lucky we are not close to a river.”
Marcus’s shadow covers us, an unconscious Jet over his shoulder. “He’s still breathing. But I can’t wake him.”
“I’ll tend him outside,” Melia says. “Let’s go. Can you run?”
She helps me to my feet, but aside from an uncomfortable soreness around my ribs, the rest of me feels fine. “Yes. But what—?”
“No!” Kasta snarls. I whirl, pain twinging my chest as I focus on the figures across the room. Kasta stands cornered by a girl covered from head to foot in black, her masked face unreadable. The Illesa’s curved edge smiles in one of her hands. The sacrificial dagger glints in the other, dripping my blood.
“Maia!” I cry.
Melia pulls me toward the exit. The Shifter turns away, and relief floods through me that she’s alive, that she came for me. This was not exactly how I’d hoped we’d meet again, but it gives me hope our brief friendship isn’t over.
Go, Zahru the Silk-Lipped, thinks Maia. Leave the monsters to monsters.
A strange numbness pulls at my heart. “She’s going to kill him.”
“Likely,” Melia says. “And us as well, if we stay.”
I know that isn’t true, but I let her pull me away.
And so we run. Over the smoldering remains of the fire and past the carving of Rie. Past the bleeding sacrifices on the walls. Past Kasta’s shocked cry—something horrible and sad, that grates against me despite my anger—and into the coolness of the night, where I collapse into the ash, exhausted, and look up at the stars while I thank every god in existence for my life. For their grace. For seeing me as someone worth saving.
“Gods, what on earth?”
Jet is awake. Before I can blink he’s at my side, yanking me upright, searching for the wound, the source of all the blood.
“Where are you hurt?” he says. “Melia, what happened? Is she healed?”
I can’t help it. I laugh.
Jet’s shock transforms into firm disapproval as Melia tells him how she and Marcus had run into the caves, alarmed by the commotion, only to find themselves blocked by flames. Melia had sprinted back out to fetch Water spells, and as she was returning, Maia swooped into the caves as a falcon and dove through the fire. She must have gotten there just as Kasta stabbed me. By the time Marcus and Melia dampened the flames, she was human again, and though they hadn’t seen her strike him, she’d kept him cornered while I healed.
Marcus got Kita out in the meantime, and the Healer took the buckskin to the other side of the mountain, where the race officials are waiting to greet the heirs. Marcus says a good portion of the army will be there, too, to protect the heirs on their way home, and so there will also be soldiers who can go looking for Sakira.
“You handed my brother a knife?” Jet says, gripping my shoulders. “Didn’t you promise me you’d never risk yourself like that again?”
I lift a shoulder. “I did, under the condition that you started making better life decisions. Honestly. That’s the third time I’ve had to save you.”
He snickers. “Well. Maybe I fear you’ll run off with someone more interesting otherwise.” His laugh is quiet and pained. “Oh, gods. I’m going to owe you even more apologies now, aren’t I?”
“Oh, far more than that. I want weekly shipments of chocolate, my own horse, salves for the stable, a kitten, a job for my best friend—I’ll make you a list.”
Jet smirks. He drops his hands into mine, his thumb a feather over my knuckles. “Good. Because actually, I wanted to ask you if—”
Marcus shuffles at our side. Melia watches us with a raised brow, and Jet seems to remember where we are, because he laughs at himself and helps me sit.
“Would you rather talk about this when we’re not both covered in blood?” he asks.
I laugh. “Gods, yes.”
“Right.” Jet bolts to his feet and helps me up, his eyes warm and bright. “Let’s get out of this desert, then.”
XXXII
DESPITE my fear that we’ll have to journey a week back across the desert to the palace, we follow the buckskin’s hoofprints around the mountain of ash to three glass carriages waiting at the temporary camp. There, we’re given fresh clothes, an inspection by one of the palace Healers, and all the fruit, fish, and honeyed breads we can eat. But the luxury that brings tears to my eyes, alarming Marcus so much he draws his bow, is that they also have a bath. I spend hours in it, soaking in the warmth and the smell of jasmine, enjoying the feel of water and weightlessness and clean. I scrub away every mistake I made in the desert, every regret. A soft golden jole awaits me at the end of it, and I emerge feeling like an entirely new person.
But our joy at surviving Kasta is cut short by the lack of news from the recovery team. Jet paces the edge of camp, waiting for the soldiers to return, but hours later, the listening scroll they gave him still reads the same: no sign of Sakira. Kita has miserably tried to convey where Kasta ambushed them, but the Barren is merciless in that way. There are no landmarks or towns she can give them for reference.
It’s only with much prodding that one of the captains convinces Jet there’s nothing more he can do, and we must return home before our own safety is at stake. The captain promises to send for reinforcements, and soon I find myself on a cushioned red seat within the grandest of the carriages, Marcus and Melia crammed in across from me and our future king at my side, looking uncomfortable every time a servant addresses him as dõmmel—Divine One.
“That’s excessive, isn’t it?” he grumbles. “Can’t they just call me by my name?”
“Ah, the burdens of being a future god,” Melia says, examining manicured nails. The boys look immeasurably improved in fresh sets of armor, and though I know Melia must have been as weatherworn as all of us, she looks practically the same. Save that she’s no longer covered in my blood.
“That’s not confirmed,” Jet says. “Kasta was the one who completed the sacrifice, not me.”
“Not really,” I say. “I’m still here, and he skipped a checkpoint.”
“And the recovery team did not find him,” Marcus says. “If he was alive, you know he’d be here.”
Jet chews his cheek. I feel the same pull in my chest as when I realized what Maia was there for, and I know Jet feels the same. In each of our ways, we tried. In each of our ways, we failed.
“I just wish there was more I could do for Sakira,” Jet says quietly.
He drops his head to his hands, and I put an arm around his back, offering what little comfort I can. I pray Sakira is resourceful enough to make her way out, even without her team. We may not have met under the best circumstances, but I would never wish this on her.
“Maybe the Speaker told her something we don’t know about,” I say. “Maybe they gave her something that will help.”
Melia nods. “She is trielle. Even if Kasta broke her brush and spilled her ink, she will find a way. Magic is drawn to her as a river to the sea.”
Jet gives us a weak smile, a sign of thanks more than agreement.
“And you can do more when you’re home,” I add, resting my chin on his shoulder. “That can be your first order: finding Sakira and bringing her back.”
He smiles and looks over, and the sadness in his face shifts as he takes me in. “Actually,” he says, “I have my first order planned already.”
* * *
Jet could have gone straight to the palace. It’s an entire day closer than Atera, and with his father ailing, his sister missing, and an entire
city waiting to welcome their new crown prince, it would have made sense to see to his affairs first. Even I wouldn’t have minded pausing on solid ground after the days it takes an even bigger glass boat to parade us past the southern towns. But we must drift by the palace and the waiting crowds in the dead of night, because when I wake on the fourth day, it’s to the light of dawn atop the thatched roofs of a humble little town.
“Oh!” I say, bursting out of the cabin and clutching the rail. My heart swells at the sight of Fara’s stable on the closest hill. I’m desperate to catch a glimpse of him working, and I fly to the front of the boat, where Jet leans against the rail, watching us come in.
I settle next to him, my shoulder against his.
“Thank you,” I say. “I thought I’d never see it again.”
He looks over, and the sight of him hurts my chest. He’s dressed in a vibrant blue tunic, a crown of Numet’s swirling suns encircling his head, his deep brown skin gleaming with fresh oil. Never has he looked so much like his father, and while the thought brings me incredible pride, it also reminds me we each have a duty to attend. No matter what we feel for each other, he’s going to be king. I have no regrets about anything we’ve been through.
But I wish I didn’t have to lose him.
“It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me,” Jet says. He tries, and fails, to smile. “I only wish I could have spared you the journey.”
“Me too. I’m never leaving home again.”
“Ever?”
There’s a playful tone in his voice, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He knows this moment has been coming, too. But I will cherish every small memory we’ve made. I will never forget what he did for me, what he sacrificed when he had nothing to gain from it, just the conviction in his heart that I deserved better. I will never forget how he helped me see I could be both a Whisperer and a girl worth dying for.
But even a girl worth dying for knows when she’s met her limit. I’ve lived the story of all stories, and while I’m glad I had the chance—mostly glad, anyway—that’s more than enough to last my lifetime. Now it’s time to enjoy what I have here. Good work, a safe place to sleep, food and water when I need it. Fara and his wisdom. Mora and her grudges. Hen, when she’s home from her assignments. This is what I was made for.
And it’s more than enough.
I shrug. “At this point, I wouldn’t even leave for chocolate.”
“Now, that’s extremely serious. Not even chocolate crème?”
I shake my head.
“With raspberries?”
Another shake.
“How about a cake that melts when you bite into it, with this delicious strawberry drizzle—”
“Not even if an entire palace was made from it,” I say, though my traitorous stomach growls in disagreement.
Jet chuckles, and a deep sadness nestles into my bones. His smile fades as he looks over, but his eyes still glitter with mischief.
“What about for a coronation?” he asks.
“Absolutely not.”
He laughs in surprise. “My coronation, Zahru.”
I almost reply that after everything I’ve been through, it better be his coronation, but the look on his face stops me. He isn’t looking at me like someone saying goodbye. He’s looking at me like he did at the starlit pond. Like I’m the answer to a hundred questions; like I could make or destroy him with what I say next.
“I just thought . . .” He covers my hand on the railing, his eyes gold with my reflection. “Well. I thought, that was a terrible first impression. You were kidnapped, you were stabbed; we’ve yet to do anything together without being covered in dirt or blood . . . maybe you’d give me a second chance?”
My heart jerks. “But is that . . . I mean, can we? I know your father wouldn’t approve. And I’m just—”
“A stable girl, I know.” He smiles and traces my knuckles, his face now close to mine. “And the fiercest, bravest, most incredible woman I know. I would be so lucky that you’d consider me.”
Joy bursts through me. Of course this will mean leaving Atera again, but I remind myself of what the Speaker said. Just as with Gallus, no two adventures are alike. One can cut and sting, and the next can be wonderful and glorious. This is definitely one I don’t want to miss.
“Of course,” I whisper. “Yes.”
“Thank you,” he says, squeezing my hand. “There are some formal processes to go through, but the ceremony should be in a moon or so. I’ll come for you.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
His smile quirks, and he looks very close to saying something cheeky when his gaze flickers over my shoulder, and he stiffens. The stench of smoke reaches me just before I turn.
I’d been so excited to see my home, so focused on Fara’s stable, I hadn’t looked at the town. Unlike the other river cities we passed, no one lines the shores here to greet us. No one fishes in the canoes that bob, scattered and half sunken, across the river. Certainly no one comes down from the market, where the buildings are caved in and black.
“No,” I whisper, dread plucking my ribs as I look toward the two-story estates, where the crumbled remnants of a house lean against the broken bones of Mora’s haven.
“Hen!” I yell. “Mora!”
I grip the railing, not caring how high we are, but Jet grabs me around the stomach before I can jump. “Gods, Zahru, the river.”
A snake twists through my ribs as I see what he means. It’s not just canoes broken and bobbing in the water. Our boat drifts forward, and bodies stir beneath it, bumping against the hull. Crocodiles scatter as we interrupt them, and horror needles into me as I realize what I nearly jumped into.
“Hold the boat!” someone orders. “About face! Guards alert!”
In an instant, the guards around the railings double. The boat jerks to a stop and starts pivoting the way we came. We’re not going to dock.
“Dõmmel,” the captain says, his many amulets glittering on his biceps. “I realize you wanted no one to know our destination so we wouldn’t be interrupted, but I desperately request permission to contact the Mestrah about this.”
“Yes,” Jet says, swallowing. “Right away.”
“But we’re still stopping, right?” I ask, clutching the rail. “The stable’s intact. There must still be people here.”
“The threat may be here, too,” the captain says. “I’m sorry. I don’t feel safe letting anyone go to land.”
“But my father—!” I whirl on Jet. “I can’t just leave. We have to check.”
“Stop the boat,” Jet says.
“Dõmmel—”
“Does the Mestrah know about this?” Jet asks.
The captain consults his listening scroll. We stand for a few harrowing moments, me trying not to picture my family bobbing beneath the water, Jet gaping at the broken remnants of my home. Melia and Marcus soon join us, rubbing sleep from their eyes, but the sight of Atera snaps them awake.
“No . . .” Marcus says.
“Gods have mercy,” Melia mutters, rubbing her thumb over her Healer’s amulet.
“The Mestrah says they received word an hour ago of the attack,” the captain says, with a pitying look at me. “He can only surmise Wyrim wanted to coordinate it with your return.”
“Gods,” Jet says, pressing his fingers around his eyes.
“Please tell me there were survivors,” I say.
“There were,” the captain assures me. “This is the worst area, as most took to the river to flee. Two-thirds of the city evacuated safely. They’re taking survivors in Kystlin and Apolis.”
Two-thirds. I close my eyes, begging the gods that my family is among them. Grieving for those whose families are not.
“We have to find them, Jet,” I whisper, as he folds his arms around me. “Please tell me this isn’t ho
w it ends.”
His arms tighten, his troubled eyes on the shore. “It won’t be, Zahru.” There’s an angry promise in his tone. “It won’t be.”
EPILOGUE
—Maia—
BEFORE my parents disowned me, my mother used to sit with me each night by lamplight and read to me the stories of the gods. I would be High Priest one day, and I needed to understand them. But as much as she insisted these sessions were for educational purposes, she never moved away when I curled under her arm or begged her to read one scroll more, and at times she would even lean her chin against my hair, the scent of rosewater drifting around us. My mother was first and foremost a servant of the gods, and to covet me was to dishonor her duties. During the day, I addressed her as adel and kept my eyes on her careful hands, her gossamer-covered shoulders, mimicking the smooth way she lit incense for Rachella and knelt before the goddess with bread and wine. Those who saw us in the temple knew me only to be her apprentice and nothing more.
Perhaps she dreamed of my fate when I was still a child. Perhaps that is why she always looked upon me with sad eyes, and turned me toward the gods anytime I craved her arms. So that on the day I would betray everything I was meant to be, she would not miss me.
It was over the distance of our parents that Kasta and I found each other. We were eight when we met, and I was gathering soft mums from the royal gardens to honor Sabil, the god of magic, and the prince was cursing him. His anger fascinated me. Here was more emotion than my mother had ever shown, and it was not the only one Kasta had. He felt everything intensely—joy, excitement, sorrow, pain—and so being with him was like living inside a dream, where everything burned brighter and sharper. In me he found an anchor, the stone to his fire. I would hold him when he was upset, and he would make me things: small wooden carvings of gods and birds, as real as if they might come to life when I touched them. He was always calmest with a knife in his hands. At first I thought it was because of his siblings, but once I realized Jet and Sakira would never do him true harm, I came to understand it was for something else. For a shadow he could sense but not see; a shadow that thrived on his fear.