16

Once again, I stand over destruction.

Broken furniture, broken sword, discarded sword, and three dead sunabi.

She is a danger to you.

Elyn said that, and she’s right. Maford, and now Jadon and Olivia’s cottage.

My breath hitches in my chest as those words swell larger, larger, until they are the only words I hear. Elyn claimed that I turned on her, turned on my family. The sunabi said, “Devour.” If I’m from that region and my people live in one of those villages around the sea, just as Jadon suggested, what happens if I go there? What will happen? Will I receive the same greeting that Elyn would have given me?

Jadon and Olivia are standing near the front door, silent. She’s gaping at the dead sunabi. “Is this for real? Am I looking at sunabi? Who is she?” He’s staring at me. “This didn’t happen, this couldn’t have happened.”

In the congealing pool of sunabi blood, six shrinking ivory horns the length of a child’s hand shimmer against the green-stained floor.

I crawl over and pluck one of the horns from the drying blood.

Olivia is curious enough to slink closer.

I offer her a horn, and I offer Jadon a horn. I take two.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Olivia asks, rolling the horn between her fingers.

“Keep it for good luck,” Jadon says, then turns to me. “Your hands. Wind or something shoots from them. How?”

Olivia pales with fear. “Magic?”

“I don’t know if that’s the right word,” I say, “but I can’t call it anything else.” I meet Olivia’s eyes. “You told me that magic has been banished from the towns. And so far, I’ve met no one else who can do what I can. And now, I’m thinking.” I dip into silence, letting my creaking brain do its job. “If mages have been pushed to the ends of the realm, and people who look like me, who named me after its deity, are in Devour, maybe that’s where I need to go.”

She’ll turn on you just like she’s turned on her family, on me. Elyn said that tonight.

Make amends. Sybel told me that days ago.

I slowly stand. “I need to go to the Sea of Devour.”

“You’re not serious, are you?” Jadon asks. “That’s really, really far. You don’t know how dangerous it is—or even how to get there—”

“No, I don’t.” I straighten my shoulders. “But the sage you mentioned, the one who was kicked out of Maford. He’d know. Where would this sage be? Or any other sages? I need to talk to someone with a deep understanding of Vallendor and its peoples.”

“Outside of Pethorp,” Jadon says. “But I don’t know for sure.”

“I’ll find him,” I say with a nod.

“My book!” Olivia gasps. “It might help you. It had that story about Kaivara. It might have something else. I’ll go get it!” She turns to leave.

“And my clothes,” I shout after her. “I don’t care if they’re damp, if they’re dirty, I need them. Understand?”

Olivia nods, then darts out of the pantry door.

“How do I get to Pethorp?” I ask.

Jadon crosses the room and opens the wardrobe doors. He grabs two tunics, tosses me the white one, keeps the black one. “It’s west of here. We can make it in two days.” He pulls off his filthy shirt. His chest is hard, defined by fighting and forging. Pearly scars crisscross his ribs, like sutures keeping him whole. His belt buckle hangs low, his hip bones exposed and…and…

My pulse bangs from my temples to my toes, tiny explosions everywhere. “You’re coming with me?” I ask, dizzy now as he slips the clean tunic over his head.

“I told you I would.” He pauses, and our gazes lock. “I told you I’d help you find yourself, Kai, and I meant it.”

Come with me.

No.

I exhale, my heart swelling with relief, with hope, with want. “Glad to hear that.”

Jadon continues to stare, and I stare right back. Then his brow furrows and he tilts his head, studying my left shoulder.

“What?” I peek over my shoulder but see nothing.

He reaches toward me but stops before his fingers touch my skin, which vibrates now beneath his hovering hand. “You have a tattoo.”

“I do? What does it look like?”

He bends to study the marking more, and his breath warms my skin.

My knees weaken, his warmth so delicious that I close my eyes to enjoy it.

“Crimson ink,” he whispers. “A circle filled in. A smaller circle connected to it by a tendril? And something else.” He leans in even more.

My knees are almost pulp now—he’s so close to me. “What?” I whisper, my neck tingling. My arms drop, perfectly still, no longer hiding my bandeau from his gaze.

“Letters,” he whispers. “Or symbols? I don’t know what they are. There’s another, but it’s hidden mostly beneath your chest wrap. You’d have to move it down some if you want me to see all of it.”

I reach back to unclasp my bandeau. “Is it ugly?” I ask, my head lolling to the right.

“On you?” His breath teases my shoulder. “I don’t think anything would look ugly on you.”

My heartbeat quickens, my limbs too heavy to move.

Then he says, “Do you know what it means?” His breath licks the nape of my neck.

I shudder and shake my head. “No.” Eyes closed, I imagine his hand coaxing me back…back…until I’m firm against him, immovable. I draw in a shaking breath, and just as I prepare to drop my bandeau to let him see everything, he takes a step back and then another step back.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, confusion replacing heat.

“The sunabi—” He’s looking down at the corpses on the floor.

Desire no longer floods my veins because, across the sitting room, the sunabi have begun to shrivel. I pull on Jadon’s white tunic and wander over to the drying pools of sunabi blood. Cold, damp air pushes up from the hole the creatures dug to breach the parlor floor. I crouch and swipe a finger through the clotted green goop.

With a rush, a vision flashes behind my eyes. A white sunabi, its birch-branch skin luminescent, bares its jagged teeth, glares at me even without eyes. A lake behind it, its glassy surface still and glowing a malignant green. Devour . It must be. I look beyond that glowing sunabi and see waves of sunabi and waves of cursuflies. I spin around, and behind me, rising in a red ash sky, high in the clouds, are mountains of silver rock. I turn back, wanting to rush forward and begin my assault of the attacking otherworldly, but smoky tendrils drifting from that mountain hold me back.

“What is it?” Jadon whispers from behind me.

“I’m remembering something,” I say, staring at my soiled fingers, “but I can’t quite describe it out loud. I don’t think it would make sense.” It seemed unreal, but my trembling is not.

“I’ll listen when you’re ready,” Jadon says. “I’ll always listen. Know that.”

I nod, pulling my attention from the blood on my finger to his sincere gaze, and my trembling fades.

“How’s that cut?” He touches his own collarbone.

I look down at the wound made by that shard of steel. “It doesn’t hurt that much.”

“You sure?” He stares at the bloody mark, then takes a step toward me.

My muscles tighten and heat—my body remembers. Come closer. I want him near. I want his touch. I want his comfort. I want more.

He doesn’t come closer, but he doesn’t move away, either, as the air between us sizzles.

As if on cue, Olivia hurries back into the cottage, Philia in tow. “If I’m coming with you,” she says, “Phily needs to come, too.”

“I didn’t know you were coming,” I say, pulling my gaze from Jadon’s face.

“Of course I am.” Olivia produces her precious book from where it was hidden beneath her shirt. “You’ll need this. It could give us some clues about what’s happening. And I don’t go anywhere without it.” She dashes to the back rooms.

“Are you sure about coming?” I ask Philia. “We’re heading west, toward Pethorp. And we’ll be moving fast. It won’t be easy.”

The young woman’s lip quivers. “I-I have no one now. My brothers and my mother—” A strangled noise comes from her throat, and she whispers, “They’re dead now. And my uncle…” She clamps her lips, shrugs, and shakes her head.

I pause, then touch my heart. “I’m sorry. Really, I am.”

Copperhair nods, relief in her relaxing facial muscles. “I know it wasn’t all your fault,” she says. “That woman, Elyn—she was terrifying. I don’t blame you for hiding from her.”

“Take this and let’s go.” Jadon hands me a sword and the bag he’s prepared for me. He slings his knapsack over his shoulders as well as a sack full of other weaponry.

“I’ve never in my life seen things like that before,” Olivia calls from the bedroom as she finishes packing. “But she flicked them away like fleas, Phily.” She returns to the sitting room with two bags filled with who-knows-what and puffs of tulle. She tosses me a bag.

My clothes! My still-muddy clothes that she said she’d wash.

She catches me looking and says, “There was a lot of mud. They probably need to be washed two more times.” She blushes. “Looks like Jadon’s given you another shirt to wear. So, I’ll clean your clothes once we get to Pethorp. But you have them now. Happy?”

“We need to leave now!” Jadon shouts from the pantry door. “Right now.”

Olivia surveys the destroyed sitting room and near-empty pantry. Her eyes glisten with tears, but her posture remains proud, almost regal. “Goodbye, little cottage. Thank you for protecting us.” With that, she and Philia brush past me, disappearing into the night with Jadon.

I take in the cottage as I pull on another pair of borrowed breeches. The room smells sour, like turned stew and animal hides. But the odor isn’t causing the worry gnawing at my stomach.

It’s too many things . That woman. Those sunabi. Their warnings.

But I’m not planning to be captured—by Elyn, by birch-skinned creatures, by whatever it is that now waits for me in that dark night. I might not know much, but I know that .

“I need to check on Jamart before I leave Maford.”

“Why?” my three companions ask, scowls on their faces.

“Kai.” Jadon shifts his bag of gear on his shoulder. “We can’t go back. I’m trying to get you out of here.”

“Jamart’s one of the few people here who treated me like a person instead of an outcast,” I say. “I have to say goodbye. Any more questions?”

Silence for a moment—embarrassment for all three—until Jadon says, “Meet us at Gery’s barn. We’ll grab some horses and go from there.” He points at me with concern in his eyes. “Stay in the shadows. Don’t get caught.”

I set off back to the town square. The fire still lights up the night, and the smoke makes the dark sky white. Survivors either try to douse the flames or comb through houses and shops in search of the living. Some wrap bandages around their injuries while others drink wine and water straight from casks and barrels. The white wooden doors of the chapel still stand, that bloody message— GIVE US KAI —bright as the flames around it.

I’m relieved to find Jamart alive. The candlemaker sits on his porch, his head in his hands and tears streaking down his dirty face. The candles in his shop have survived, but now their wicks flicker with flame. The air around him smells of beeswax and lilac.

“This town,” Jamart says, weeping. “What has happened to this town?”

Jamart and I sat back in that garden not long ago, dipping wicks into wax. Not long ago, this Mafordian treated me with respect and kindness. While the straw-basket beehives have survived, no bees dart in and out of those holes. Melting wax and honey pool in the dirt. This place of quiet respite is now destroyed.

“Lady Kai,” Jamart says between sobs when he sees me, “it’s all gone.” He drops his head, and his tears darken the ashen ground.

“But your house and shop,” I say, looking at the still-standing structure behind him. “It hasn’t burned down. Your candles may have melted some, but—”

“Who is around to buy anything?” he says. “I don’t know who’s still alive, but I know plenty are dead.”

“Your daughter?” I ask.

He nods and swipes his eyes. “She’s here. At least I got my girl back.” He meets my eyes. “Thank you for rescuing her, but now…”

I tilt my head. “Now, what?”

He swipes at his mouth. “Every time they look at her, they’ll see Narder dead, all because she was spared.” He tries to smile. “Guess that’s why they say be careful what you pray for.”

I step away from him, disappointed that he’s disappointed.

“I am grateful for your blessing,” he says. “I am.” His glazed eyes take in the destruction, and he whispers, “I am.” He keeps his gaze on the town.

A breeze whispers across my cheeks. “I need to go,” I say, dropping to my knees to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss but I’m happy that you lived. Would you rather have what so many are dealing with right now? No home? No family? Sickness?”

He bites his lips, his eyebrows crumple, and he whispers, “I don’t know.” He pauses, then says, “I don’t know what to believe. Who to believe in. I thought you…you…” His gaze dips, and he wrings his hands. “But I think, I think I believe the white-haired one.”

I stare at him—for ages, it seems. The muscles around my face feel like they’re all twitching, and I touch my cheek as a comfort. I will no longer find any here. I step away from Jamart, back, back, back until he’s lost in the smoke and I can no longer see him. Grief swells in my throat, and it cinches the sobs threatening to overwhelm me.

Holding my breath, I hurry back toward Gery’s barn. Just as I reach the edge of town, where the woods border the road to the barn, I slow my step, shivering, but not from the chill in the air. Something isn’t right. The reek of decay and rot wafts around me, a worse odor than cow manure and anxious sheep. I take a few steps before stopping again. That smell . It’s drawing closer. Like it’s following me. I whip around.

“Lucky me.” Johny the guard sidles out of the shadows of the trees. He’s been injured in the skirmish, and the wounds on his neck and bared stomach glisten with pus and poison.

“What do you want?” My voice is steady, but I touch my amulet for reassurance. My itching shoulder blades and burning fingers alert me. I’m ready.

Johny grins. “Just enjoying the night out with some friends.”

That’s when a colossus of a man tromps beside him. He already smells dead, like mud and rancid meat. The knots on his thick arms are not all muscle. No, his body is revolting against him, making little boils that might explode.

“My favorite prisoner,” Johny says, coming closer now. “Maford’s own troublemaking mudscraper. Coming here, destroying our town, killing our people. Life was perfect before you came and fucked it all up.”

“I’d like some private time with her before the end,” another man says.

But not the giant standing with Johny. No, another monster lurks behind me.

I smell him. A pigsty smells better.

“I’ve been thinking, girl,” Johny says. “You burned down this town, and now you got a bunch of fines to work off. This time, you can work off your offenses in a different kind of way.”

Fingertips buzzing and pulse hammering, I take a step back.

“What’s your hurry, Gorga sweetie?” Pigsty creeps toward me.

My blood fizzes, and my breath leaves my chest. I hold up my hands, ready to blast wind again. “I’m not in the mood to do anything else with you tonight.”

“That’s too bad. Cuz I am.” Johny’s gaze turns from regular angry to leering angry.

The three men close in on me, their stench heavy on the wind that’s kicked up around us.

I keep my hands raised.

The trees of the forest behind us tremble, and the high grass rustles.

Johny grabs for me.

I hop back and slam into his accomplice.

The wind now shrieks around us, bringing with it sounds from the forest. Hissing. And a heartbeat. Sss-ba-bum… Sss-ba-bum…

Johny’s accomplice clamps a hand on my shoulder, but my attention is directed at the thing inching through the forest.

Do these men hear what I hear? Do they see what I see?

They must not, because they continue in their assault. Boil Man digs his fingers into my shoulder while Johny grabs for the fabric of my borrowed shirt. I throw my elbow into Boil Man’s gut, still watching what they cannot see: slithery amber slipping out of the forest, out of the woods, closer to us, closer, through the grasses, swaying, waiting, hungry.

“I’m pleading with you,” I say, breathing heavy now, “please go home.”

The creature in the grass slips closer still. Its giant head rises above the high grass. Its eyes are dark and deep, and suddenly, my fear is replaced by something else.

Knowing .

My jaw drops.

“What are you staring at?” Pigsty jeers.

“See for yourself.” Wrenching away, I drop to the dirt just as the giant snake, taller and wider than any tree, lunges at the three men. I roll out of their way and take a moment to behold the otherworldly creature before me.

Black bands, red bands, white scales; a head as big as a boulder; a tongue longer than the longest creek. And though this snake may be a giant, its scales look dull and ashen, and its belly doesn’t bulge with food.

“I’m hungry, so hungry.” The snake’s voice sounds hoarse, weak.

“Here’s dinner, then,” I say to the creature, not sure if I’m hearing what I’m hearing or imagining what a snake would say. “Go ahead. Enjoy.”

The snake snaps its jaw around the head of Boil Man.

The third man, Pigsty, squeaks and squeals and stumbles as he runs back to town.

“Coward!” Johny calls after him and pulls his dual blades from their sheaths. He glares at the snake. “C’mon, you fucker.”

Bad idea. But Johny doesn’t know a bad idea from a hole in the ground, and he thrusts one blade at a spot near the snake’s neck.

The blade hits its mark, and the snake hisses and thrashes.

“Not so tough, are you?” Johny taunts.

My blood begins to bubble again, in anger this time. I push myself to stand as the injured snake recoils in pain from the wound on its neck.

Johny lunges forward to thrust his dagger in the snake a second time.

I shriek, “No,” and my blood flares. I throw out my hands, and— Whoosh! Like with the sunabi, Johny flies into the sky.

He screams, eyes wide with terror, as he dangles in the air.

Yes!

I creep over to the snake, drawn to see its injury up close. “Oh no. You poor thing.” I reach to touch it with my free hand, and the wound heats under my fingers. The snake closes the transparent lids over its eyes, then opens them again.

“Please,” Johny shrieks from up high. “Lemme go. I won’t hurt you. I swear it.”

The snake twists around, recovered now from its injury. The beast stares eye to eye with Johny, nudging the guard’s grimy legs with its snout.

“Is it true that you and Narder hurt the people in your custody?” I ask, still holding out the hand locking him in place.

“It meant nothing,” he says. “Just a little fun. No one got hurt. I swear it.”

I slam Johny into the ground. “No one got hurt?” I slowly circle him as he squirms in the dirt. “Well, then, I’ll take that into consideration. When my friend here swallows you whole, you won’t feel a thing. It won’t hurt. I swear it.” I snort, then say, “Finish him,” yielding to the snake and watching as it wraps its mouth around Johny’s head. The snake closes its eyes as it gulps and gulps, working toward the guard’s torso.

Why isn’t this otherworldly attacking me like the sunabi and cursuflies did? Other than its size, though, nothing else seems off with this snake. Perhaps it’s because I’ve offered it a meal. Assuaged its hunger.

“I’m leaving now,” I tell my serpent friend. “Thank you for coming to my aid. Help yourself to all of this.” I gesture to the rotting town. “Except for the candlemaker, his kin, the Gerys, and the little dog, Milo. Don’t make yourself sick on it, though.”

I remember those who do right by me—and those who did me wrong.

The snake’s eyes glow in the darkness, winking in thanks. “You are a blessing, Lady.”

Now where have I heard that before?