As we drew near Shyandar, I felt the Avanir grow like an open sore in the Unseen. Still Kaprash, then. Which meant we hadn’t missed the Choosing.
I growled to myself. That was the last thing I wanted to do right now. Another Choosing. Another three Kyr’amanu sent off to become Sumadi. The expedition might not have gone perfectly, but Yl’avah’s might, it was our best hope for breaking free of the Avanir. Of course Tala wouldn’t understand—she never had learned the truth about Pol.
But I knew what I had seen. About that, E’tuah had not lied.
We were met at the west gate. We shuffled in, drooped and weary. Umaala was waiting for us, along with Neraia and other members of the Circle. Stable hands hurried forward to give assistance. Guardians watched, curious from the open grounds, and even a few Labourers and Crafters had gathered at the news.
Then a rush of whispers swept through the crowd. I didn’t have to look to know what they had seen: Koryn, shrouded and borne between Adar and Baraaba, held aloft on a makeshift bier.
I dismounted and strode to meet Umaala, forcing my shoulders back, my head high. This was not a defeat. Not. Not.
“Sal’ah,” I greeted him in a loud voice.
“Ishvandu ab’Admundi.”
“We did it.”
His brows furrowed. “You did?”
“Yes, sal’ah. Water in the desert.” I swept a hand back over the crew. “Our lives our proof.”
“But not all, I see.” He nodded darkly at the bier.
I glanced down. “A terrible accident, sal’ah, and the reason for our untimely return. We lost Akkoryn ab’Kindelthu.”
“And?” He was frowning over the crew, studying our numbers.
“And a Labourer and a mason. One to Sumadi, the other missing in the storm.”
“I see.”
I swallowed, trying desperately not to wither under his intimidating stare. “The fact remains, sal’ah. We did it. There is a well in the desert.”
Umaala glanced towards the other members of the Circle. “You completed the well?”
“We dug into the earth and found water, sal’ah. We secured as much as we could and covered the surface. It’s nearly done.”
“Nearly.” He frowned.
“Yes, sal’ah.”
He gazed at me, then at the crew, weighing my words against our bedraggled appearance.
“I’ll give a full report at the Circle’s convenience,” I said. “As promised, I accept responsibility for all losses.”
“Good.” Umaala gave a crisp nod. “I expect you cleaned, fed, and capable of a report by the morning.”
“Yes, sal’ah.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Ishvandu ab’Admundi
I heaved a sack onto the floor of the Circle chamber as I entered. It rolled and bounced at the Al’kah’s feet, full of fresh, clear well-water.
“Proof,” I declared. A bit dramatic, perhaps, but it was important to lead with my strongest point. I would not let them browbeat me into defeat.
The room leaned forward. The Al’kah watched me with his bird-like gaze, one brow lifted.
I was rewarded with a murmur of approval.
“Well done,” said the Al’kah.
I fought off a surge of pride. Not yet. The room was tense, full of pulsing uncertainty despite my success. This was not over yet.
“Atali sai’Neraia confirms your report,” the man continued. “You found water in the desert. You dug a well. You conducted yourself with remarkable poise as a leader.”
I frowned. “Tala? You spoke with her?”
“We did last night, and received a detailed report of events. You did well.”
“Uh . . . thank you, sal’ah Al’kah. But—”
“And we corroborated her reports with Tanadu and Manysha, your first partners.”
“Then . . . then you already have the story?”
“We do.”
“Oh.”
I felt strangely deflated. I had been up all night, going over and over the events of the expedition, struggling with what I should say and what I should leave off, with how to frame the losses. I couldn’t lie about two dead bodies and one lost to the sands, but I could make it seem like the inevitable cost of the expedition’s success. A success. I had to say that over and over again. The well might be unfinished, but it was nevertheless there. Maybe one more expedition, once Kaprash was ended. And, and, and . . .
And now my task had been done for me, and all I could do was stare at the Al’kah, at the faces of the Circle.
“And Koryn?” I finally dared to ask. “Will Kulnethar be pardoned? It . . . it was an accident.”
They exchanged glances. Yes, the tension was definitely there—but for once, it was not directed at me. Almost as if they wanted me to hurry up and go so they could discuss more important matters.
Finally, Neraia nodded. The Guardian Lords shifted, but she leaned forward, inspecting me.
“Concerning that, Ishvandu, we do have some questions for you. Did it come to your attention, at any point, that someone not of your crew was residing in the vicinity?”
“Someone not of my . . . ?” I stopped. The room seemed to bend, twisting around me, while I stood nailed to the centre of the floor. They knew. Yl’avah’s might, it couldn’t be. Tala—
I blinked, hoping I looked more bewildered than terrified. “Sal’ah, do you mean . . . are you implying someone followed us into the desert?”
“We can’t be certain at this point. We were hoping to gather more evidence.”
“I don’t know, sal’ah. I was never aware of this.”
“And do you have any reason to believe Kulnethar ab’Ethanir might be innocent of the crime he confesses?”
“But . . . why would he confess to something he never did?”
“An excellent question. Maybe to protect someone.” Neraia lifted a brow. “A friend.”
I swallowed. I felt the brightness of the Al’kah’s gaze, as if he were trying to read the thoughts behind my eyes. “Even for him,” I said, “that’s a hefty sacrifice.”
“I agree.”
“Besides, he’s a terrible liar.”
“This is pointless,” Jarethyn exclaimed. “Do we honestly think he’d say something to condemn her?”
“She insists he didn’t know,” Umaala said.
“Well, of course she would! But if she’s guilty, then he is too, I’d bet my keshu on it.”
“Hush,” Umaala growled. “We have no evidence to support that.”
I glanced between them, a terrible feeling beginning to churn somewhere under my stomach.
“Sal’ahs . . . who . . . who’s she?”
“That’s none of your concern,” Neraia replied stiffly.
“But . . .”
“Boy,” the Al’kah stood. “You were commended by all involved. You performed admirably. One sand-shitting thing cracked, but I told you to find water, and you did. Good for you. But there’s still work to do. You’re going back into the desert to finish that well and bring back as much sand-blasted water as you can carry. Understood?”
“Back into the desert? Yes, Sal’ah Al’kah, of course, but . . . but you’re talking about Tala, aren’t you?” The feeling began to swell. “Are you saying she did something wrong?”
“Ishvandu,” Umaala said. “Atali is no longer your concern.”
“But she’s—”
“One week. You need some distance from the situation, and Shyandar is in dire need of water. From now on, both the sixth and the third kiyahs will answer to you. You will divide duties between watch here and regular trips into the desert to fetch water. We’re going to build a new cistern by the north gate. This will be—”
“Wait.” I shook my head. “Umaala’sal, are you saying . . . are you saying I’m in the charge of the third kiyah?”
“And the sixth. Possibly more, depending on the . . . risks involved.”
I blinked, mouth hanging open for a moment like a limp sack.
“Yes, Ishvandu. You heard correctly. The Al’kah is pleased. Just don’t do anything stupid, got it? Now go.”
The third and the sixth!
They wanted me back in the desert. They wanted to send me away. Away from Tala.
Yl’avah’s might, what had she said?
I sucked in a breath. “Umaala’sal, Tala is innocent. She would never do anything wrong. It was her own brother who died. Do you really believe she could be at fault for that? No, she watched over us, protected us—”
“Enough!” Umaala rumbled. “I understand you’ve been in a position of leadership in a place far from here, but this isn’t the desert anymore. Now you were asked to leave. Obey.”
I hesitated, then found myself stumbling out of the Circle chamber, pursued by the Al’kah’s gaze until the door boomed against its frame, leaving me powerless—outside. Yl’avah’s might, what now?
I had to speak to Tala. I had to find her. Light and all, what had she told them?
I moved numbly down the stairs, processing events. Tala had never come to me last night, and I’d been too preoccupied to give it much thought. I’d assumed she’d gone to report to her own kiyah, or to mourn her brother, or to help prepare his burial. But no. She’d gone straight to the Circle. She’d told them about somebody in the desert. Somebody powerful. Somebody capable of killing a Guardian.
And what would they do then? They would ask her how she knew. And she would have to explain her involvement. She would have to explain something. And until they decided what to do about that information, she would be held in connection with Koryn’s death. In the holds.
I stopped near the bottom of the stairs. I considered veering to the left, following the stairwell down—but two sentries stood in the doorway, bodies turned to face each other, guarding within and without. They caught sight of me, and I recognized that tightening stance, that edge. They were just waiting for me to try it.
Very well.
There were more ways to speak to Tala than one.
The thrust of the Sending stone sent me stumbling into the silent dark.
I crouched, holding my breath in case the sentries at the top of the stairs had heard. Then I crept to the edge of the nearest hole.
“Tala?”
I peered through the shadows, seeing nothing.
“Vanya? Is that you?”
“Of course it’s me,” I whispered. I fumbled for the rope ladder.
“Are you—?”
“Yes.”
“Vanya, no! You shouldn’t—”
“Too bad. I’m coming down.”
I heard her sigh of frustration. “Vanya, this isn’t helping. If someone catches you—”
“They won’t.” I had to shimmy down one-handed, hugging my body as close to the wall as I could. At least my wrist had stopped twisting in pain every time I jostled it.
“Look,” she said. “I know why you’re here. I’m sorry, my love, but it’s done. I can’t take back my words.”
I didn’t answer.
“They need the truth. This is too dangerous to keep to ourselves.”
I leapt off the ladder, landing in the dark beside her. The tight, cloying dark. Even after all these years, this place still shot panic through me.
“Tala?” I reached for her. I felt her hesitate, then her fingers twined through mine. I pulled her close. I wrapped my arm around her, relishing the scent of her, even stronger in the holds.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I shook my head. A part of me wanted to be furious, to shout and rail at her. Why had she placed herself in such a precarious place? And didn’t she realize it would affect me too? Didn’t she see? Weren’t we in this together?
But the way she leaned into my embrace, holding me—the determination in her grasp beneath a tremble of uncertainty . . .
“You should have told me,” I said quietly.
“No. They would have seen it in on your face, Vanya. Besides, you would never have agreed. This was my decision.”
“But Kulnethar could have—”
“No. We’re better than that, Vanya. Don’t you see? We can’t keep lying to the Circle. People will suffer for it. Innocent people.”
“And if the truth only makes it worse?”
She shook her head. “By withholding, aren’t we saying the Circle is wrong? That we know better? That we don’t trust them to do what’s right?”
“Maybe we don’t.”
She sighed. “That’s what I’m afraid of. How does that make us any better than them?”
“Them?”
“Rebels,” she whispered. “Traitors.”
I frowned into her beautiful, thick hair. How indeed? “So you told them the truth.”
“Whatever was mine to share.”
“Which is?”
“I was responsible for my brother’s death. I led him out to the desert to face an enemy he didn’t comprehend. I kept it from others. I took matters into my own hands, and in the end, Shatayeth killed him.”
I yanked her out to arm’s length, staring at the dim outline of her. “What?”
“That’s the truth, Vanya.”
“And you said it was Shatayeth? Not some nameless stranger in the desert?”
“Of course I did.”
“Tala!”
“Why are you surprised? That was our mistake, wasn’t it? We underestimated him. He sent those Sumadi after us. He can control them. Don’t you think the Circle should be aware of that?”
“But the well!”
“Yes, Ishvandu. The well. What of it?”
“If they think Shatayeth is out there . . .”
“They might not finish it?”
I groaned and fell against the wall, covering my face.
“Listen, Vanya,” she continued. “Shatayeth has lived in hiding, isolating those he interacts with, like you. He gave you the Sending stone because he wanted you to have something to hide. He made you think you could never let anyone know the truth. Why? Why, unless he’s afraid of it?”
I stared at her. “You didn’t tell them about the stone, did you?”
“Can’t you hear yourself? This is exactly what I mean. That’s all you care about.”
“But Tala, you can’t! They’ll think I stole it from the High Elder and—”
“Vanya,” she sighed. “I didn’t tell them about the stone.”
I sagged in relief. “Thank you.”
“Because that’s for you to explain.”
“Me?”
“Yes, Vanya. You.”
“But . . .” I trailed off. “But I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’ll get me killed!”
“Maybe that’s not our choice to make.”
My mouth worked, but I could think of no reply.
She drew close, taking my hand. “Let me ask you, Vanya: these secrets we’ve held, do they free us to protect others—or do they keep our focus trapped on ourselves?”
“But how can we be free to do anything if they hang us from the ropes?”
“Kulnethar could have asked the same thing.”
I fell silent. Her words cut too close to the truth. I would have done exactly that. I would have protected myself, and let him suffer.
“I will never force you to speak, my love,” she said. “Never. I want you to know that. I want you to be free to make your own choice. But if I speak first,” I heard the smile in her voice as she squeezed my hand. “I hope the truth will be easier for you.”
Her tremble of uncertainty was gone. She spoke with quiet confidence. And that’s when I realized it: I was losing her. Tala had decided her own path, and I didn’t need to be on it. She would face the consequences of the truth, alone if need be. There was nothing I could do to change that.
“We . . . we don’t have to stay,” I said at last, voice rough with emotion. “We could run.”
“Where?”
“Into the desert. On our own.”
“An
d what good would that do?”
“We would be alive. Together.”
“But cut off from our purpose,” she said. “These are the people we swore to protect. This is our place.”
Maybe for you.
I didn’t speak the words aloud, but she sighed as if I had. She drew my head down towards her. “You don’t have to stand with me,” she said. “Even if you don’t, I will always love you.” Then she kissed me. It was gentle and sweet. It filled me, rushing through me with a powerful longing.
“Now go,” she whispered, and with a shove, she sent me tumbling through the Unseen.
I was on watch that night. Another ploy to keep me busy. To distract me from Tala’s fate.
It wasn’t working.
Head of the third and the sixth.
I turned, pacing down the length of the wall, trying to ignore Breta’s looks every time I passed.
Head of the third and the sixth. Regular trips into the desert. A new cistern at the north gate. Head of the third—over ab’Tanadu and Mani and the others. Head of the sixth.
I had the uncomfortable realization I was being bribed. Right now, they needed me. They needed the well. And they knew the only way to get me to accept Tala’s fate was to offer me a powerful distraction. A high position. A task with purpose and importance. A dangerous job, venturing into the desert. Everything I had ever wanted.
But not with Tala.
I groaned and paced back the way I had come.
“Yl’avah’s might,” Breta rolled her eyes as I passed. “Being head of the third isn’t a death sentence.”
“You don’t understand,” I snapped.
“I know, I know. Tala.”
I stopped, fists clenched, then forced myself to turn away, to pace back without being drawn into a meaningless argument.
So would I take the bait? Never being trapped by brutes like Koryn again? Making my own decisions? And the desert. Because it was more than a kiyah—in the desert, I was Umaala. I was the Al’kah.
I was a coward.
I growled to a stop. The agony of defeat welled up inside me. Of tasting blood and snot as I stared down the cold length of a keshu—my keshu.
Live, or die.
A Guardian would speak the truth. A Guardian would do anything to protect Tala. Even if his own words condemned him.
Shadows of Blood Page 52