There’s some ancient bread as flat and hard as a roof tile. But there’s also a clay jar of fine olive oil, and another sealed vessel that reveals some olives, their black skins wrinkled and coated with herbs. After the slop of the dungeons, it’s a veritable feast. Yet my stomach remains unsettled, and I have to force myself to face the food.
I snap off a piece of bread, dip it in the oil, and begin to chew mechanically. The tripod I’d righted beneath the window catches my attention. With the bread in one hand, I cast about for the star-glass that would have sat in the frame. Esarik had taught me half the constellations I know, but I never knew before now where he sat and observed them from.
There. Beneath a tattered scroll. And the lens is still intact. I return the cylinder to the tripod and stoop so my eye is level, sweeping the focus across the rooftops.
Back up the mountain’s slope, a patrol of city guards marches between the buildings. It’s only a heartbeat before they’ve disappeared from sight again but … is that a Ranger leading them? They’ve never before had any role in keeping the peace inside the walls of the capital.
Has Iddo ordered the Rangers to implement a lockdown of the palace complex? And if he’s been able to do that, what of the Council of Five? Zostar had said they had control of the temple – that Nisai had recovered and that’s where he was holed up.
I train the glass up to the gloss black stone of the imperial complex. The terraces of the temple are fuzzy.
“Adjust the focus,” Ami says from behind me. “Twist the front section until you have clarity.”
I do as she says. The building becomes clear. Dread lances through me. There are guards patrolling as expected. But every one of them is a Ranger.
I pass the star-glass to Ami.
Her lips become a thin line as she gauges my meaning.
“I can’t believe the Council would let Iddo’s Rangers take control. Nisai would have never allowed it.” I begin pacing. “If Iddo’s put a reward on Nisai’s return, I’d wager Nisai is well clear of the city. But is Rakel with him? If he made it out after she healed him, I have to believe she escaped, too.”
“Who’s Rakel?”
“She’s from Aphorai. When I met her, she was working for the Aphorain Scent Keeper.” I figure “work” is an innocent glossing of details. “She was there the night Nisai was poisoned, and the Scent Keeper died. At first I thought one of them was responsible, or both, but it turns out first impressions truly can be deceiving. She was the one who saved him, in the end.”
“She sounds … impressive.”
I find myself genuinely smiling for the first time in moons. “That’s one word to describe her.”
Ami begins pacing the room, rolling up scrolls and re-shelving books as she goes. “I think Aphorai’s our best bet. It’s Nisai’s ancestral Province, for one.”
“It’s a long way to go on a hunch.”
“We can’t stay here. And what is the likelihood your girlfriend has returned home, too?”
“She’s not my—”
“Remember how many turns I’ve known you, Ashradinoran. There’s only one other person I’ve ever heard you speak like that about, and he’s missing as well. If this Rakel did all those things you say, then she’s the kind of person I’d like on our side.”
I nod. “I need to know she’s all right. And even if Nisai’s not with her, she might know where he is.”
“And there’s an Aphorain library I’d like to consult, too.”
“Oh?”
She waves the air as if fanning away anything of consequence. “Just a regional branch I’m interested in.”
Memories of the Library of the Lost, hidden deep within a maze of canyons in the Aphorain desert, come flooding back. “You’re a … Chronicler?”
“An apprentice curator, you mean.”
“No, a Chronicler. Like those at the Library of the Lost.”
“I’m not sure what you’re referring to other than a legend that’s—”
I fold my arms. “I’ve been there, Ami. Rakel and I sought help from the Chroniclers when we were looking for the cure for Nisai.”
Her evasiveness melts into curiosity. “Truly? You’ve seen it?”
“Briefly. Before Rangers caught up with us.”
“Rangers?” Her features pinch in worry. “At the Library?”
“We left in too much of a hurry to confirm, but they were in the vicinity.”
“I’m not a Chronicler. Perhaps with twenty or thirty more turns of service, I would have been tapped on the shoulder. I did want to be one. I do want to be one. I care about knowledge and its preservation. Deeply. But if Rangers have found the Library of the Lost, and now they’re working with Zostar…” She trails off, her eyes darting to her packed bag on the floor between us.
“What is it?
“I have to get to the Library of the Lost. I have to warn them.”
“All right,” I concede. It’s a long shot, but it’s all we’ve got. “Only, I can’t leave yet. I made a promise to the others. Del. Mish. Lark. I can’t go without finding a way out for them, too.”
“You and what army, Ash?”
I want to slam my fist against the wall, but instead rest my forehead on the cool stone. Guilt. Frustration. Fear. Whatever I’m feeling, emotion isn’t going to help us. The only solution is to stay constant. Stay in control.
Ami gathers her bag. “Let’s see what else we can salvage, then be ready to move.”
It’s a sound plan. I’m not surprised. Ami’s always had a smart head on her shoulders. It’s what Esarik always claimed, with one of his secret smiles: it was what he most adored about her.
And here I am, in his treasured hideaway, wearing his clothes, about to leave with the girl he married in defiance of his father. My mind finally forces the image in front of me, the one I’d do anything not to see. The wounds in Esarik’s torso. Deep gouges through flesh and viscera. Grievous injuries. Damage that said he was never getting up again, even if I wasn’t … present enough … to determine the moment of death.
Harm inflicted by the beast.
Inflicted by me.
I draw back from the window.
“Ami,” I begin, voice grave. “Before we go any further, I have to tell you something.”
“Oh?”
“This won’t be easy to hear…” I mentally cast about, searching for the right way to broach my confession.
She squints in the slanted rays of evening, studying my face. “It was real, wasn’t it? In the arena, when Zostar’s men attacked us … the shadows. I fainted, and came to … I thought they … moved. I wasn’t just imagining it, was I?”
I wince, but don’t reply.
Slow horror creeps into her expression. “You’re what Zostar was searching for, aren’t you?”
I steel myself. No going back now. “I’m cursed, yes.”
She gnaws on a cuticle. A nervous gesture I’ve never seen her do before. “This … power. How does it work?”
“I don’t know,” is all I can say, hopeless.
“It could take over at any time? You could… Would it kill me without you knowing?”
“Not exactly. I tend to get a particular feeling when it’s going to…” I reach for the words to explain something I’ve always done my best to avoid examining too closely. “When it’s going to happen. I just… I can’t control it after it releases. It’s only happened three times. Once when I was a boy. Days ago when you were there. And, in the throne room when … when…”
“When what?”
I hang my head. “When Esarik died.”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“I … the shadow killed him. Please believe that I didn’t intend for that to happen. If I could have stopped it, I would have… My curse, it…”
She takes one, two steps back, her hands coming up in front of her. “You should leave.”
“Ami, I’m sorry, I never meant for—”
“Get out!”
Voices
reverberate around the courtyard below. Men’s voices. I rush to the door. Black jerkins. Red sun. Blazers.
“We have to get out of here.”
She’s still got that horrified look on her face, mixed with anger.
“I can get us clear. Please. Let me help you. Then we can talk about this properly. But we have to go now.”
She shakes her head.
Heavy footsteps begin to climb the external stairs.
I press a finger to my lips, signalling silence. I left the children behind. I won’t leave Ami, whatever she now thinks of me.
I grab her hand and drag her from the garret.
We run headlong through the slums, as if my life has come full circle.
It’s familiar and yet alien territory in the gloom of dusk. So much has changed, the lean-to stores have different rudimentary signs, and the shacks have been altered or rebuilt from the city’s detritus so that the lanes carve new thoroughfares. The layout may have changed, but they’re still the alleys I used to zigzag through as a child, running with a group of older boys. They wanted riches, thrills, and the euphoria they’d only ever find in dreamsmoke.
I just wanted to survive.
Ami’s breath comes ragged behind me. She slipped my grip as soon as we escaped the courtyard ahead of the Blazers, flicking her fingers as if something foul clung to her. At least she’s following. Back at Esarik’s garret, I feared she would let herself be caught rather than follow her husband’s murderer. The awful truth is I couldn’t have blamed her if she had.
Perhaps she should run in a different direction. Perhaps she’s better off without me.
We round a corner into a blind alley and skid to a stop. Ami’s hands go to her knees, as she gasps for air. She can’t keep this up much longer.
I point to a pile of refuse up ahead. “We’ll take the roofs for a bit. Here. I’ll help you up.”
Ami balks for a heartbeat, then looks behind us. There’s nobody there, but there soon will be. We climb on to the pile and she hitches her foot into my interlocked hands. I boost her over the lip of the roof and hoist myself up after.
A strange melancholy pangs in my chest. It would be full dark by now if both moons weren’t cresting the horizon. It’s the only time the slums resemble anything close to beauty, a sprawl of makeshift dwellings and broken dreams cast in silver. I wonder how many loved ones of Zostar’s Ekasyan captives lie awake out there, not knowing if they’ll ever see their child or sibling again.
I have to find a way to get those kids home.
To do that, I have to find Nisai and Rakel.
Ami looks out across the patchwork of reed-and-daub roofs uncertainly.
“Keep near to the edges,” I instruct. “About where the walls are. We don’t want to crash through.”
We set out, skirting crumbling chimneys and leaping precarious gaps, my heart in my throat each time Ami’s footsteps falter.
I feel the heat and smell the metallic steam before I catch sight of the first forge – the smith working through the night. My parents’ workshop was not far from here. We’ll pass it soon.
I signal to Ami and help lower her to the lane below. She puts space between us as soon as her feet find solid ground, backing away and clutching her bag in front of her like a shield. I drop down after her, maintaining my distance.
The sign for my father’s shop is no longer hanging over the door. It’s propped against the boarded-up storefront, rusted. Is he too old now to work? Or did some injury befall him?
I don’t have the time – or the inclination – to find out. What would I even say if I faced him? You were right, father. I’m cursed. An abomination. You should have thrown away the key when you locked me in the cellar.
I give myself an inward shake. There’s no time for this. Even if it seems like we’ve evaded pursuit for now, Zostar’s Blazers won’t give up. If they’re anything like the ones who found Nisai and me when we were young, they’ll know the slums like the backs of their hands. Slums that I’ve been a stranger to for ten turns.
We keep moving through this disconcerting mix of familiar and foreign, landmarks of old mixed with new layers, all of it barnacles clinging to the side of Ekasya Mountain between the mudflats of the river and the city walls.
The one thing that hasn’t changed is the way to the water.
There’s no light other than the moons; nobody wastes candles or coals on these streets. At a time like this the darkness is welcome, because I’m about to do something I haven’t done since last living in these parts – steal.
The banks of the great river are a motley mix of sheds and makeshift moorings, driftwood driven into the silty shores. Weed-festooned ropes hold dinghies at bay. I inspect each of them, looking for the shine of water in the moonslight that indicates they’re leaking.
The first one is a death trap. The second not much better.
Panic tries to sink its claws, but I shove it back down.
The third has a slow leak.
The fourth looks sound but is moored with an intricate security knot.
Fifth vessel lucky, I gesture to Ami.
“You expect me to get in that? With you?”
“Consider the odds that our Blazer friends will treat you more kindly. You’re a scholar. Make an evidence-based decision.”
Behind us, Ekasya Mountain looms out of the plain, like the entire city is glaring down, judging, condemning. I look towards the east, where in a few hours dawn will streak the sky. I need to be far from the capital by then, need to be on my way to finding the people I love, and return to fulfil my promise to Zostar’s captives.
I unhook the sodden rope from its peg.
Ami doesn’t move.
It would be easier to leave her here. Cast off, and not look back. But I owe it to Esarik to see her to safety. Safely to the Library, if that’s what she wants.
I gesture to the tiny boat. “You’re free to hate me. Free to strike out on your own later. But please, for now, let me get you out of here.”
CHAPTER 10
RAKEL
My eyes sting from too much smoke and steam and too little sleep. I resist the urge to rub them, knowing the traces of various experimental ingredients on my leather work gloves would make it like setting my face on fire.
It’s late, the entire compound quiet. Even the Magister has sought her bed, though I know she’ll rise again hours before dawn – her best research hours.
Mine are now, with nobody watching over my shoulder. I wouldn’t be able to make any progress towards the cure both my and Nisai’s father need if I were fumbling with nerves.
There’s a polite knock at the door, a clearing of a throat.
Think of the Prince and he appears.
Kip and Barden file in behind him.
Unusual. I straighten from where I’d been leaning over the bench, painstakingly measuring out doses of the Magister’s salve – the temporary solution to the Rot. After giving the Prince the nod that has become our customary greeting, I stretch my arms above my head, fingers interlaced. I’m rewarded with a satisfying series of pops.
Nisai winces at the sound of my cracking knuckles. “Can I talk to you?”
“Must be important if it’s kept you from your bed.” It’s more a comment to Barden – he’d never pass up the chance for a bit of shut-eye, whereas Nisai has been burning many a candle in the Order’s archives. Then again, I’ve often seen Barden there with him of late.
Kip closes the door behind them. Then she bolts it.
“Is that needed? Nobody comes in here other than the researchers.”
She gives a single, grim nod.
A flask of diluted dahkai simmers over the oil burner in the background and unease begins to bubble in me to match.
Nisai props his crutches against the bench and gestures to one of the stools. “May I?”
I wave him on. “Sniff yourself senseless.”
Stenches, Rakel. After his headaches, his concerns about memory, after the poison
that caused them, you say something like that? To a Prince?
“I’d feel more comfortable if you would also sit.” He looks to Barden, who gives him a firm nod and places a leather-bound notebook in front of the Prince.
It’s not his usual journal.
“All right.” I say, carefully stripping off my gloves and setting them on the bench. “Out with it.”
The Prince takes a deep breath, seeming to steady himself. “There’s something about the Affliction that you should know.”
Ah. I knew this would come to light eventually. When the Magister had asked me not to share the origins of the Rot with Nisai, I’d been dubious. It felt like a betrayal, however small. But now, seeing his furrowed brow and dark eyes grave, I can see exactly why she made that request.
“Go on,” I say.
“There’s a way to combat the Rot.”
A relieved laugh escapes my lips.
Nisai and Barden exchange a worried glance.
“I know,” I tell them. “When you were poisoned, they gave my father medicine to halt the progression while Ash and I were trying to find the antidote. Figured it’s the same stuff that’s been keeping your father alive.” I gesture to the measures of topical salve I’d been working on.
“I’m not talking about a treatment.” Nisai places his hand gently over mine. I can’t recall him ever volunteering physical contact. The touch itself isn’t unpleasant. It’s how unusual it is that makes it worrying. “Rakel, I think there’s already a cure.”
I shake my head. “Impossible. Nobody else could have enough dahkai.”
“Nobody else has, as far as I can tell. I found this,” he says, handing me the book.
Now that I’m looking at it up close, I can see it’s not too dissimilar from the Magister’s research notes. Though it’s more yellowed and scuffed than that, and it has that almost-sweet vanilla and leather aroma I’ve come to associate with older documents. It must be from turns ago.
I flick through the pages. I can’t read everything, but it’s fairly clear these are indeed research notes.
“It’s just some old experiments.”
“Whose experiments?”
“The Magister’s, I expect. Looks like her writing. It’d make sense. She was working on the cure with Sephine for turns before she left for the Sanctuary.” The part of me that’s a daughter may not be able to forgive that, but the healer in me can come to terms with it. Maybe even admire it.
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