Chapter 24

24

Sirsha

Guilt, Sirsha decided the next morning as she saddled her horse, was a useless emotion. All it did was rob her of sleep that she richly deserved after riding like a jinn for a week straight without complaint.

Well. With minimal complaint.

She'd felt guilt too frequently of late. It was Quil's fault. Now she was finished with guilt, and him.

Her fingers were numb and clumsy in the predawn chill of the inn's stables, and she cursed when the buckles to her saddlebags kept slipping. She should have known that someone who was so sinfully skilled with his hands would be awful in every other way.

Quil had hidden it well, certainly. Acting noble and princely. Making that damned poultice for her and applying it every day. Looking at her in that way he had, like he felt nothing and everything and that he might want her the way she wanted him.

Ugh. There. She'd admitted it to herself.

But he was like every other man. Blaming his problems on others and too petty and narcissistic to realize that perhaps he, too, was occasionally at fault. It was insulting, really. Unforgivably rude.

Sirsha didn't need him anymore. Curse the bleeding oath coin. She'd take discomfort and pain over a single moment more with that—

"Sirsha."

She jumped, and glared at Quil, further irritated that he'd managed to sneak up on her.

"Don't worry," she snarled. "I'm heading out. No need to concern yourself with Sirsha, the awful, horrible liar—"

She glanced up at him and— was that a bleeding smile on his face?

"Stop." He put his hands on hers, and she went still. Not because his touch sent a thrill up her spine, but because his skin was lovely and warm and she wanted to leech his heat away.

"Sirsha, I owe you an apology."

"Oh" was all that Sirsha could think to say.

She looked down at his hands, which was distracting, because they were strong and quite beautiful, and they reminded her of how he'd pulled her close last night with more interest than seemed strictly necessary to drive R'zwana away.

"I shouldn't have gotten so angry," he said. "Usually, I'm in better control of my feelings, but I—" His hair fell into his face as he looked down. "I hate what they've done to us." His voice was low, but she felt the anger thrumming through it. "The Kegari. I hate that I'm not with my aunt, fighting. I hate that I ran."

He pulled his hands away, and Sirsha had to fight herself not to take them back. "Right before the Kegari came, I wanted to abdicate," he said. "My father was a terrible emperor—cruel and selfish and violent, and I suppose I feared that I'd end up the same."

"You won't," Sirsha said. "Enigmatic and bossy, perhaps. But vicious—that's not your style."

Quil smiled at that. "Doesn't matter now. I'd been reluctant to rule my whole life, but when the chance was taken from me—" He sighed. "I felt lost. I feel lost."

Sirsha's breath caught at the honesty of what he was saying. The familiarity. She knew what it was to be unmoored.

"None of that excuses me getting upset with you," Quil went on, and the words made her feel safe. Valued. As if she was worthy of the truth.

"I wish I'd known about the magic, but that's my problem. Not yours." He glanced behind him at Sufiyan and Arelia, who were not-so-surreptitiously eavesdropping.

"We chatted," Quil said. "We think it would be helpful to meet your friend—the one you suggested we speak to."

"On one condition," Sufiyan spoke up. "We don't keep secrets from one another. Not important ones, anyway. Obviously if you fantasize about becoming a Nevennes sheepdog and running howling into the woods, you can keep that to yourself."

"So, Sirsha," Quil said. "Is there anything else we should know before we get back on the road with you?"

Sirsha looked between the three of them, her irritation rising. She felt waylaid.

"We like you." Arelia cut into her thoughts. "A lot. But we must be able to count on each other."

At Arelia's frank words, Sirsha's anger fizzled. She didn't know how to explain the shadow in her head, the sense of being watched.

It must be R'zwana. Maybe her sister had simply changed her methods.

"No more secrets," Sirsha said. "Truly. And it's a dragon." At the trio's confused glance, she smiled. "I fantasize about transforming into a dragon. And flying howling into the wilderness, after crisping my enemies."

"I can support that," Arelia murmured. Sirsha laughed and looked Quil full in the face because she didn't want him to think she had anything to hide. Immediately, she regretted it because his gaze sharpened. For a moment, she thought he'd accuse her of deception. But he only shrugged.

"Alas that you aren't a dragon. We could use one. Let's get moving." He made for his horse, Sufiyan and Arelia following.

"A Nevennes sheepdog, really?" Arelia said to Sufiyan as they walked out of the stable. "Quite limited, wouldn't you say?"

"I wasn't saying I fantasize about it!"

"I don't know, Suf, it was rather too specific for you not to have at least considered it." Quil's voice faded as the three led their beasts away. Sirsha put her face in her horse's coat to get ahold of herself, because quite suddenly she felt overcome with emotion.

"I don't deserve this," she whispered into the soft brown fur.

"No," a voice said behind her. "You don't."

Sirsha whirled to find J'yan in the shadows. His face was guarded as it never had been when they were children.

"That was quite a performance you and your fiancé put on."

"If you're going to tell R'z, get it over with."

J'yan grasped Sirsha's shoulder, and she had a hand wrapped around his throat before he could move another inch. But his magic surged so quickly her fingers went numb and she dropped her arm.

"I'm not trying to hurt you, Sirsh."

"Piss off!" She shoved him and he backed away, hands up, staring at Elias's coin.

"Who did you swear that oath to?" he asked her.

Sirsha tucked her coins into her shirt. "R'zwana sending you to do her dirty work, now that you're her dog?"

"I kept her from killing you."

"Quil kept her from killing me," Sirsha snapped. Her horse whinnied in irritation, and she stroked the mare's head, trying to calm her. "You were going to make sure no one disturbed my bones, remember? What's wrong with her, anyway? She didn't become extra murderous overnight. Something happened."

J'yan's face tightened. He said nothing, which told Sirsha she'd hit on something. She thought of Quil's words the night they'd left Jibaut. The older and more set in her ways she gets, the worse she probably is at it .

"Holy hells," she whispered. "R'z is losing her magic."

It happened sometimes. Jaduna who began life with a reasonable amount of power found that it faded with age. There was still a place for them in Jaduna society.

But not as a Raan-Ruku.

"Whoever hired you to track the killer bound you." J'yan resolutely ignored her assertion about R'zwana. "That's the only reason you'd come so close to Jaduna lands. How could you be so reckless, Sirsha? Do you even know what we hunt?"

"Do you?" she shot back.

J'yan eyed her with the same knowing he'd had when they were kids. They'd hunted together, after all. The perfect pair. "I don't," he said. "That's the problem. We've been on this trail for six months now, Sirsh. Whoever this killer is, he's like no one we've dealt with before. You don't seem to understand that."

"I understand I have a better chance of catching the killer than you and R'z." Sirsha led her mount away. "Which is the entire reason you're following me."

"Does your fiancé know what will happen to you if you don't catch this murderer?" J'yan said. "Didn't you think that was worth sharing?"

Sirsha walked away and didn't turn back.

For the next few days, Sirsha couldn't escape the feeling of being watched, however desperately she wanted to. Her oath coin had stopped burning because she was fixated on the killer again and fulfilling her vow. But that did not ease the itch in her mind.

Bleeding R'zwana. Perhaps her power was altered, but it was still oppressive. Sirsha jerked awake at night, certain that something malevolent was hovering over her, only to find the massive pines of the Devanese forest serene, the camp asleep, and one of her companions keeping guard.

Sufiyan spent most of his watches pacing and scouting materials for the medic bag he'd been pulling together. Arelia lit a blue-fire lamp and worked on her self-loading slingshot, shivering in the cold night air.

Quil was the only one who appeared to solely keep watch, walking the perimeter of the camp in concentric circles, ever vigilant.

He was also the only one who noticed Sirsha jerking awake, night after night.

One evening, after they'd made their way out of the Devanese forests and into the scrubland that rolled south into Thafwa, Sirsha shot into wakefulness, bolting upright. Her heart thundered, and she had her dagger in hand before realizing she was safe.

Quil walked over from the edge of camp, a tin mug of tea steaming in his hands. He offered it silently, and after taking it, she joined him for the rest of his watch. The next night, he made her a warm bowl of khiram and she ate it almost reverently, marveling at the balance of sweet and spice.

It became an odd nightly tradition. Nightmare. Wake. Drink or eat. Sit watch.

Sometimes they'd talk, or argue, but only about things that felt unimportant. Quil was intrigued by the politics in the Southern Continent, the way each country governed. Sirsha wanted to know what life with the Tribes was like. Once, she told him of her desire to buy an inn in the Southern Isles.

They didn't talk about killers or sisters or magic. Sirsha was happy to educate him—and to smugly correct his misconceptions about the south. Sometimes, they didn't talk at all. Usually, Sirsha felt a need to fill silence, but not with Quil. Not with the stars overhead, and the forest around them buzzing with life.

They spent hours together, and he even started chuckling when she inevitably linked the shapes of constellations to various carnal acts. But other than the moment their hands brushed as she took a mug or bowl from him, he kept his distance physically.

Maybe because of that girl he'd loved. Ilar. Sirsha shuddered when she thought of how Ilar died, of the bleakness in Quil's voice as he described coming upon her and Ruh.

Quil probably felt guilty developing an attraction to someone else. He was the type.

Just as well. Sirsha didn't need distractions. Still, she thought of his palms against her skin, the hard press of his muscled arm along her hip. The way he'd looked at her that night in the inn, not with his usual cool regard, but something heated and curious and wanting .

She relived that moment far more than was healthy. He had to have enjoyed it. She felt it in the fizz of her blood. What would be the harm if she led him away from the camp one of these nights? It wouldn't mean anything.

Then she heard J'yan in her head. Does your fiancé know what will happen to you if you don't catch this murderer? Skies, what would she even say? Quil, if I don't find the killer, the need to hunt her down will take over my mind, driving me insane. Not exactly teatime conversation.

The problem was, Sirsha did not entirely dislike Quil. He was hard to read and spent far too much time in his own head. He was irritatingly graceful for someone so big. But she liked the low thrum of his voice and the way he loved his friends and his people, and how he never did anything halfway. She liked how he was thoughtful without needing praise for it, and his quiet, unflappable confidence when giving orders.

He didn't deserve to be hurt. But she could tell he wouldn't take intimacy lightly. Which meant that she would hurt him, eventually.

So, she accepted his culinary offerings, accompanied him on rounds, and appreciated having a friend, for however long it lasted.

After ten days, they'd reached the border with Thafwa. The weather grew warm, the landscape lush, until they were making their way across roads that were unnaturally immaculate, despite running through miles of jungle.

The going should have gotten easier. Instead, Sirsha felt awful. Her skin burned. Her brain rattled with every step her mare took.

"The village isn't far." Sirsha focused on the task at hand to distract herself. "This person who can help us—her name is Loli Temba—"

" Daughter of the Vine , in Ankanese," Arelia translated. "She's not Thafwan, then?"

"Ah—" Sirsha knew she'd have to explain where Loli was from eventually, but hoped they could meet her first. "Not exactly."

"Are you sure there are bandits in the woods?" Sufiyan said, regarding the docile travelers passing them, the neatly cleared squares of grazing land, the bucolic village a quarter mile ahead. "This place is much nicer than Devan."

"The Thafwans are ruled by the army, and the army keeps a tight leash on the populace." Sirsha nudged her horse onto a narrow path that curved through the trees and up a densely forested hill. "Mostly by taxing them so they can't afford to stop working. If you don't pay in gold, you pay in labor."

The trees they passed under were thick-trunked and mossy. It was blessedly cool in their shade, something Sirsha only realized when she felt sweat trickling down her face. Strange, it wasn't very hot yet. Skies, her head hurt. She swayed in her saddle, lightheaded, and slowed her horse.

"Go—go on up the hill about a half mile," she called to the others. Or was it a mile? She didn't remember. "You'll pass a waterfall and—I'll be a minute."

Her mouth filled with water. Maybe it was the porridge Sufiyan made this morning. Should have checked the supplies they'd picked up in the last town. Bleeding Devanese selling secondhand grain—

"Sirsha?"

Quil knelt beside her, which was when she realized that she must have staggered off her horse—and that the others hadn't gone on but were arrayed around her. A brilliant green snake hung off a nearby tree, its color so bright that Sirsha's eyes hurt and she had to look away.

"Do you all really want to see me retch that badly?"

"You're gray." Sufiyan pulled something from his pack. Lilangia stick. "Chew on this. Arelia, canteen, please."

The Martial girl handed it over, then gasped. "Sufiyan—her eyes—"

The world spun. Sirsha felt a great weight pressing down on her chest. A sound then, wings slicing the air. It reminded her of the Sails, and she wanted to scream a warning. She should have told her friends to beware, but she couldn't explain what she felt and now Quil would think she was deceiving him, and she didn't know why that upset her so much, but it did.

A wave of pain slammed Sirsha in the stomach so hard that at first, she grappled for her knife. Why was Quil looking at her in horror, instead of at whoever punched her? R'zwana. Had her sister discovered a way to become invisible? Sirsha wanted to shout at them all that they were under attack.

But the pain doubled her over and she couldn't speak through her gasps. She caught a glimpse of something enormous—something that blocked out the sun. The world exploded in a burst of red.

She tried to grab for Quil, Arelia. Anything. But the last thing she heard was a voice out of her past, soft and paper-thin, creased with sadness and worry. Loli Temba.

"Sirsha, child, I told you not to return. Do you know what you have brought with you?"