Chapter 34

34

Quil

Sirsha was gone when Quil awoke. For a moment, he feared she'd left, desperate to escape any awkwardness with him and any bloodshed with her sister. But someone—Sirsha, he assumed—had left a still-hot biscuit atop his pack. He didn't think she'd leave him breakfast if she was planning to abscond.

He found her beside their saddled horses outside, finishing a cup of tea and flipping through his copy of Recollections by Rajin of Serra, frowning in disagreement at something he'd written.

Moments later, when Sirsha turned toward Quil, he lost his breath. Her dark hair was piled high on her head, and something about her expression, haughty and cold, but softening a touch when she looked at him, made his blood heat. He thought of last night, the warmth of her skin, the arch of her neck when she'd thrown her head back, the languor in her body when she sank into his arms, spent.

Everything felt sharper with her, stronger. He marveled at it. It'd been a long time since his body had felt anything but sorrow and exhaustion.

Sirsha's stern demeanor faltered at something on his face, and her brow furrowed.

Probably because you're leering at her.

He looked around, as if taking in the storm's damage, though he didn't give a fig. "R'zwana's gone?"

At that exact moment, the Raan-Ruku appeared at the edge of the forest like a freshly summoned demon.

"Finally finished primping, prince? Let's go."

Quil glanced at Sirsha's storm cloud face. "It might not be the worst idea," he said. "You mentioned that the killer was unlike anything you'd encountered before. R'zwana is useless, but maybe J'yan could help."

"J'yan's a battle Jaduna, prince," Sirsha said. "He'll help in fighting the thing, not tracking it. And I can't pinpoint it. Sometimes it's due east, sometimes south. Sometimes it disappears entirely. We could waste days riding up and down the Thafwan coast looking for that camp. Days we'll have to spend with her ."

"We keep heading east." Quil drew on the reserve of calm that usually came to him when someone dear to him grew agitated. "Keep to the forests. The coast isn't far. But we are short on time. The longer we're out here, the more likely the Kegari are to spot us."

Sirsha glanced at him, head tilted. A slow smile spread across her face.

"Now that," she said, "is an excellent idea."

Four afternoons later, Quil and Sirsha were hidden in a clearing thickly bordered by trees and brush. R'zwana and J'yan had the horses a quarter mile away while Quil and Sirsha built up a fire.

The coast was miles away, and the Thafwan highlands had flattened into low hills and a patchwork of farmland. It was beautiful country, badly marred by burned-out barns and plumes of smoke that smudged the skyline.

The Thafwans, it seemed, had refused to host a Kegari war camp. And like in Jibaut, the Kegari appeared to have insisted.

Sirsha silently dropped a brace of rabbits on a stone next to the fire and prepared them for spitting. Quil glanced at her face, even more beautiful when she was intensely focused, as she had been the past few days. As they'd traveled, she'd stopped for long minutes, her hand to the ground, her head bent, listening to the whispers of the elements, so lost in them that he wanted to reach out and touch her shoulder to make sure she would come back.

But then, at night, she would find him. Usually after he finished his watch, sometimes before.

He always knew what she wanted, because he wanted the same with a surging desire that made his head spin. Last night, she'd led him away from the encampment, shoved him against a tree, and they'd kissed each other senseless. His hands had wandered, so had hers, and in the end, she'd bit his shoulder to keep from waking their companions, sending him over the edge.

Focus, Quil.

He fed the fire patiently as Sirsha set up a spit, and within an hour, they had two rabbits turning and wild onions baking in the fire's ashes.

The smell of roasting meat made Quil's mouth water. He wasn't the only one. The smoke curled thick and white into the sky above. A Sail that had been nothing but a stain on the horizon drew closer, circling them once before winging away.

"He'll be back," Quil said.

Sirsha nodded, brooding, until finally she glanced across the fire at Quil. "While we're waiting, there's something we should discuss. I've been thinking about it for the past few days." She turned the spit, and fat dripped into the fire, sending up a fresh plume of smoke. "Us. Our…trysts."

"Ah. Is that what we're calling them?"

Sirsha lifted her chin, which Quil noticed she did when she thought she was about to get resistance. "I thought we should lay some ground rules."

I'm more interested in the punishments for breaking them, actually. Quil had sense enough not to say it, but Sirsha read whatever passed across his face. Color rose in her cheeks. "Get your head out of the gutter," she said.

"Right, sorry."

He wasn't sorry. He didn't try to hide it. Sirsha looked away, still flushed. Her hand went to their coin.

"The design on our coin is growing too complex," she said. "You're a crown prince who must return to your people. I'm a tracker looking to get as far away from mine as possible. Let's not make this more complicated than it needs to be."

"Fine," Quil said, though it wasn't fine. Not at all. "What else?"

"No…romance, or poetry or flowers on bedrolls. No tokens of affection. No cuddling."

"What about when it's cold?" Quil couldn't help saying, and at the ire in her expression, he held up his hands. "Joking!"

"Nicknames are fine," she said. "They sell our Adah oath to R'zwana, at least. The occasional casual physical contact is acceptable. But nothing…sweet. No lingering touches or gentle pecks, or brushing my hair out of my face, or—"

Quil got up to kneel beside her. She fixed her dark gaze on him and opened her mouth to protest. Nothing came out.

He held her stare, tangling one hand in her dark hair and flicking up her shirt with the other so his palm was flush against her warm skin.

"So," he said quietly. "Nothing like this."

"I know what you're doing."

The flare of need in her eyes sent blood rushing to inconvenient places, and he pulled her closer slowly, until his lips were a hairsbreadth from hers.

"Do you?" he whispered. "Tell me, Sirsha, how am I supposed to know when you want me if you never touch me?"

"Assume I always want you," she murmured, and he couldn't help the curse that slipped from his mouth into hers as their lips met. She wrapped a leg around his waist and pulled him tight against her—

A whoosh overhead. Quil wrenched himself away. The Kegari Sail had returned. Too fast, the bastard. It circled again and then dropped onto a nearby stretch of flat land.

Quil brushed her hair back and kissed her lightly—in direct defiance of her orders. "I'll be close by."

He disappeared into the woods, heart still thundering, Sirsha's scent permeating his senses. Sails. Kegari. Interrogation. He made his way up to a copse of trees a dozen yards from Sirsha, stilling his body until he felt a part of the night sounds—cricket song and rustling leaves and the fire crackling. He'd need a clear shot at the Kegari if they gave her trouble. But that meant getting close while making sure they didn't see him.

Sirsha began to hum—rather hypnotically, Quil noted with a smile, unsurprised that there was yet another skill Sirsha Westering excelled at.

His neck prickled and he turned, scim at the ready—to find J'yan walking through the trees. He glanced up—a second Sail circled.

"I don't like this plan," J'yan whispered.

Quil turned back to the clearing. "Next time come up with a better one, then."

J'yan settled in beside Quil. They could just make out Sirsha's hair piled atop her head.

"She likes you," J'yan said. "More than she'll let on."

"Good to know, what with being her fiancé."

"You're no more her fiancé than I am." J'yan rolled his eyes. "Your secret is safe with me. Whatever you might think, I care about Sirsha. And I want to understand what lies between you. Why did you agree to speak the words of fidelity?" His voice was low and quiet. This was a man used to controlling his anger. Quil recognized a kindred spirit.

"Because R'zwana was going to kill her."

"An Adah oath is no small thing. Why save her?" J'yan leaned forward, and Quil realized then that it wasn't jealousy he was sensing from the man. It was fear. "Her other oath coin—to hunt this creature—is it you she made that ridiculous bargain with? You know what will happen if—"

Below, branches and twigs snapped. The Kegari pilot wasn't bothering to hide her approach. She emerged into the clearing, as heavily armed as the monsters who'd rained down the hells on Navium.

"Angh ot ma?"

Sirsha shook her head. "I speak Ankanese," she said.

The pilot nodded. "Greetings," she said to Sirsha. "May I join your fire?"

Sirsha nodded, and the woman folded her legs beneath her, holding her hands up to the flames.

"A lot of meat for one girl."

"My family will join me this evening," Sirsha said.

"A party, then." The Kegari woman smiled widely, revealing a mouth of rotting teeth. There was no joy in that smile—only a tired sort of bitterness. Something flashed in her hand—a whistle. She blew one long note.

In moments, another Sail appeared. And another. Until a small squadron of them spun down like circling crows.

Sirsha, to her credit, looked only mildly interested as eight more Kegari—all heavily armed—joined their compatriot in the clearing.

"We do love a party," the first woman said as the others gathered behind her. "Don't worry, girl. We'll make sure to leave a bit for your family."

One of the others chortled. Sirsha only smiled.

"From where do you travel?"

"Jaduna," Sirsha said. The Kegari exchanged glances. But instead of wariness, some other emotion passed between them. "I have a job in Farth."

"A Jaduna headed to the Thafwan capital," the woman said. "Fascinating. You know, we heard the most interesting story, up in Jibaut, didn't we?"

A few of the other Kegari rumbled their agreement.

"We heard there's a Jaduna traveling with—if you can believe it—a Martial prince. You wouldn't know anything about that?"

Sirsha shrugged. "You see any princes around here?"

"No," the Kegari woman said. "But that doesn't mean you don't know of any."

Two of the Kegari circled behind Sirsha, a big blond man and a dona'i, the latter pulling a whip from their belt. All the Kegari here were pilots, so they'd all be able to harness the wind—but Quil didn't know how strong they were. He drew his weapons, nodding to J'yan. Then he took a breath and let the thin, light throwing knives fly. The first took the blond down, the second sank into the gut of the dona'i. The third met a wall of wind, which would have knocked Quil back, but J'yan quelled it so Quil could get to Sirsha.

He wasn't far—a matter of seconds. But this was the risk, because in the time it took him and J'yan to get there, Sirsha had to stay alive.

Quil burst into the clearing, blades out, tearing through a Kegari woman coming at him, knocking away the arrows flying from the pilots who'd fled toward the woods. It was easy, infuriatingly easy. These were the great warriors who'd brought the Empire to its knees? Quil wished he could tell his aunt right now that without their Sails and bombs and their damned liquid metal, the Kegari were nothing.

Sirsha cried out in warning. "Quil!"

A heavy body slammed into his back, knocking the air out of him. He almost laughed, for he was eight when Elias had trained him to roll away from a blow, to move while he caught his breath. Quil was on his feet moments later, his fist flying into the face of the man who'd attacked him, knocking him to his knees. A moment later, Sirsha had buried a blade in the attacker's back.

The clearing was quieter now, the only sounds Sirsha's and Quil's heavy breaths, the pop of the fire, and the moans of the Kegari who lay on the ground dying.

A scream echoed from the woods—and was abruptly cut off.

R'zwana emerged a few seconds later, dragging a limp Kegari man by his hair, frowning in disgust. J'yan appeared from where he'd hidden with Quil, looking dispassionately at the bodies scattered around him.

"This one will talk." R'zwana tied up her prisoner. "J'yan, wake him up."

"That's it?" Quil said, and looked over R'zwana's shoulder, hoping he'd counted wrong. "You were supposed to grab two."

"If you wanted them alive," R'zwana snarled, "you shouldn't have killed so many, Martial."

J'yan knelt beside the man but shook his head. "I can't wake him. I'd need a Khind to heal him first," he said. "We'll have to wait for him to wake up on his own."

R'zwana took out a pair of brass beaters from the pack slung across her chest. "Stand aside."

"No." Quil turned his body so she couldn't get at the Kegari man. If they didn't get answers out of this pilot about the war camp and the Tel Ilessi, this entire operation would have been for nothing. Quil didn't have time to argue with her about interrogation methods.

His magic, quiet for so many weeks, stirred. It's the only way , it seemed to whisper.

"I need you to leave." He looked at the three of them. "All of you. Burn the Sails."

"You don't tell me what to do out here, Martial—"

"Go," Sirsha snapped at her sister. "Or I'm going on without you. You can't track. You won't be able to find us."

R'zwana looked at Sirsha with revulsion, but something else, too. Fear, perhaps. She took a branch from the fire and stalked off, J'yan and Sirsha following.

Quil settled himself in front of the unconscious pilot, considering. He could ponder every consequence of what he was about to do. Or he could just do it.

He lifted his hand to the man's forehead and let a trickle of magic flow through him, hoping Sirsha was too distracted to sense it. Show me the camp.

Quil had never made a request like this of his magic. But all Sirsha's talk of emotion and element had made him wonder in the past few weeks if he'd been asking the magic for memories without even realizing it.

Please , he added.

His magic flared, and images filled his head. The man walking out to a flat expanse of earth, the ocean crashing in the distance. Getting into the seat of a large Sail as crewmen loaded the weapons chutes.

The man pushed his arms through two sleeves, the fingers of his right hand dipping into a bowl with a hunk of hard white metal at its center.

As soon as he touched it, it turned to liquid, shooting along the pilot's skin and through the hollow reeds of the Sail, bringing it to life. The liquid seemed to bond with the man, becoming not just part of the Sail's structure but part of the pilot's.

An engine hummed, and the pilot was aloft, spiraling up, the ground dropping away. Quil caught a glance of coastline, a large inlet with a huge arch formation beyond the beach, and an estuary splayed to the south of it.

Now , Quil thought, the Tel Ilessi.

Abruptly, he was shoved out of the man's mind. He found himself back in the ravine, his blade loose in his hand. The Kegari man's eyes were open, bloodshot.

"Rue la ba Tel Ilessi!" The man thrust out his jaw, as if even the name of his leader gave him strength. "Kill me if you must, Martial," he growled in Ankanese. "Kill us all. But we will not betray our Tel Ilessi."

The pilot lunged forward. R'zwana had failed to tie him up properly, and Quil had been too enamored with his magic to check. He snatched the dagger at Quil's belt and plunged it into his own throat. Quil pressed his hands against the wound to stanch the bleeding. But it was useless. The man was dead—along with any chance of learning more about the Tel Ilessi.