Chapter Eighteen

Lost in my thoughts as I polish the sword I’d let sit in sand overnight, I whirl to see one of the young boys from the market square running toward us, his face red with exertion.

“Sir!”

a small voice calls.

Roshan pokes his head out from the other side of the forge, a smudge of ash smearing his jaw. I wipe it away with my thumb when he comes to stand beside me.

We didn’t get into trouble for the secret jaunt to the aqueduct, and I still haven’t been able to wheedle out of Roshan just how he’d managed it. He must have made another deal or traded valuable information with the commander. Nothing gets approved without his say-so. Reward for good behavior perhaps?

“How did you do it?”

I’d begged him.

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

I’d glared at him. Technically, we’d done a lot more than kiss. But I’d let it go. Some surprises were good ones, so I’d let him keep his secrets. But now, working in close proximity to Roshan without being able to act on my desires has been even more excruciating.

“Sir,”

the boy squeaks. “Sri Aran sent this.”

He glances at me before shoving a piece of parchment at Roshan. “There’s trouble.”

Roshan scans the paper, his brows drawing ominously down. “Has he returned?”

“No, but you must get to the portal.”

I’m shocked by the look of alarm on the prince’s face. “What’s happening?”

“Aran left yesterday to get supplies from the Indraloka. Apparently, there’s a reward out for you and mercenaries are coming.”

“Here?”

I gasp. If Javed has put out a reward for my capture, mercenaries will be swarming from every corner of the realm. And we can’t let them discover the city, even by accident. Nyriell is a refuge to many, and if I stay here, I’ll put them all in danger.

A muscle flexes in the prince’s jaw. “They won’t find the city, don’t worry.”

Then, as if reading my mind, he adds, “But still, we can’t put the people at risk by remaining here.”

With that, he begins to move toward the square, pulling me behind him. “He writes there’s a secondary reward for the capture of your family. They’re in danger, too. And that we can’t trust anyone.”

His eyes scan the area around us, and then he gives a tense look back to see if we’re being followed. My stomach drops. I had been lulled into a false sense of security here, had forgotten how dangerous things were beyond the city walls. And it had been a foolish mistake, and I couldn’t let my family pay the price.

“We have to warn them!”

He nods. “Yes.”

For a moment, I feel a strange, bone-deep sense of loss for the aqueduct, for Ro and Sura, whose existence was so heartbreakingly fleeting and free. But we both knew what would happen once we left the cave. Life was going to resume . . . reality was going to crash down . . . as surely as the sun was going to rise.

We dash through the crowds, making our way to the lift as quickly as we can.

Clenching my fists, I stand quietly on the platform as we rise to the surface—until the sound of a pained scream pierces the silence.

The scene at the top is horrific. Several dead bodies litter the ground, including those of the soldiers who had been on duty and what looks like several mercenaries. Two rough-looking armed men are still standing, one over the runecaster clutching his chest that has a sword protruding from it and one on horseback. The pieces of jādū fall from his hand as the merc kicks him off his blade.

I glance up at Roshan, whose eyes are slitted with rage.

One of the men looks right at us and I freeze.

“Don’t make a sound,”

Roshan whispers into my ear, and I realize belatedly that they can’t see us because of Aran’s illusion.

He tenses, and the next thing I know, he’s leaped across the platform, slashing the closest man with a silent swipe of his dagger. He whirls, and sparks fly as their blades collide, though Roshan is at a disadvantage with his shorter weapon. My lungs squeeze as he levels a savage right hook to the man’s stomach, making him double over, and before he can recover, the prince grabs him by the scruff of his neck and smashes his knee upward into his head.

The second man climbs off his horse and swings his sword wildly—a jādū sword that is more than capable of killing Roshan—anger rippling across his face. The rune etched at the base of the fuller is air, and a frisson of worry takes hold. Air is the most temperamental element for jādū. I once forged a sword with that rune that split in half from the sheer pressure of the charged element.

I charge forward, unsheathing my dagger as I run. “Roshan, look out!”

But it’s too late. I’m too slow. The blade kisses the prince’s neck.

The man leers at me as Roshan goes still. “You! Don’t fucking move, or I’ll slit his throat.”

At the threat, my vision narrows to a haze of red, and visceral heat spikes through my veins. My palms feel like they are on fire as a tsunami of wild, fractious energy crashes over me. Roshan’s gaze collides into mine, and I can see my own alarm reflected in it as he glances down to my hands. I don’t need to look to know they’re glowing and ready to do damage. Weeks of practice, and my magic has never felt this white-hot. This angry.

“What the fuck are you?”

the mercenary snarls.

Your death, my simurgh snarls.

Roshan takes advantage of the man’s distraction with an elbow to his gut, followed by a vicious fist into his temple, and the man slumps to the ground. I fight to control the white light arcing between my fingers and stare dumbly at Roshan when he snatches the horse’s bridle and turns toward me.

“Hurry, Suraya. More will come!”

His urgency snaps me out of the shaking haze of rage. I glance around, and sure enough, a dust cloud rises in the distance, indicating more riders. I clench my fists together, trying to control the visceral tingling of my palms and the sparking light.

Calm, breathe, calm.

I swing up onto the saddle, and Roshan mounts behind me, clamping me into place between his thighs. His arms surround me, the side of his chin grazing my temple as his fingers grasp the reins. With a grunt, he urges the stallion into motion.

“They’re getting closer,”

I shout, leaning to peer over my shoulder and around Roshan’s side. Relief fills me as they ride completely past the hidden platform, but it doesn’t last when I see the glint of weapons. “They’re going to shoot us!”

We are still in their range.

As my eyes scan the sands for a way out, the shadows around us seem to move, pouring across the surface like a pool of inky darkness toward the dozen men riding hell-for-leather toward us. I look down at my hands in confusion. Is this my magic? But my skin looks normal now, the power subsided. And I don’t control the shadows, only starlight . . .

But something about that shimmering darkness and the sinuous way it unfolds strikes me as oddly familiar. I can feel the immense power of it breaking like an unforgiving wave of viscous ink over our pursuers, the echo of a vengeful satisfaction invading my mind.

I shake my head and tear my gaze away as I’m jolted in the saddle, Roshan urging the horse to go faster.

“Keep your head down,”

he says, his breath gusting against my ear.

The stallion whinnies as we race across the dunes away from the outcropping.

“Hold on,”

Roshan says.

“I am.”

I hold my breath, too, as he gives the horse its head and it runs into a full gallop. If we fall, we’ll break our necks.

“Brace yourself,”

Roshan says as dust flies up around us. “They won’t let us go without a fight.”

Sure enough, I hear the sharp thwack of a weapon firing in the distance, and flames dance in a streak across the dark sky. One hits the ground with a boom, and the tremor reaches all the way to us, the earth shuddering.

“What the fuck is that?”

I shout, thankful our horse hasn’t faltered.

He peeks over his shoulder. “If I had to guess, jādū arrows inscribed with earth runes.”

My heart lurches. “Jādū?”

I don’t know why I’m surprised. I’d seen arrowheads in Vasha’s forge, but my brain hadn’t put the two together.

We’re almost to the caves; another arrow hits the ground behind us, but as the earth quakes, we reach the hollows, slipping into the welcoming darkness.

The trip into the cavern seems endless, but it’s only a handful of terrifying minutes before we’re well out of sight of the men shooting at us. It’s nighttime, and the light of the bloodred moon casts an eerie, disturbing glow on the gravelly earth.

“They’re going to chase us, you know,”

I say, relief choking me.

“I know. We have to keep moving. Our only choice is to get to Aran.”

I stare up at Roshan in horror. “The Indraloka? Have you lost your mind? That’s the first place those mercs will go! And what if others want to claim the bounty? We can’t trust anyone.”

“No, we can’t. But if we need a portal to Coban to make sure your family is safe, that’s the only place I know with jādū to spare.”

He exhales a harsh breath. “There’s another Dahaka outpost not far, just on the other side of this basin that will have access to a portal. But we have to be careful. Aran is literally the only one I trust not to sell us out to Javed. Anyone else might.”

Roshan shifts, and I feel the day-old scrub of his beard scraping against my neck. As if he can’t help himself, his lips grace the sensitive spot below my ear. I ignore the flare of warmth at his soft touch. “Are we going to need to bypass the guards then? There has to be security there, right? Otherwise, anyone would be able to waltz in.”

“No one would be that stupid.”

His lips dance over my skin one more time, and then he straightens. “Don’t worry. I know what to do.”

I don’t point out the fact that we’re clearly that stupid, and we ride on for a few minutes in silence. As the adrenaline recedes, I feel the dull ache in my thighs and back at the horse’s movement; riding is not something my body is used to.

Roshan shifts against me when I squirm trying to get comfortable, and I freeze at the press of rock-hard thighs beneath my bottom. “I’m sorry,”

I say, swallowing. “It’s difficult to get used to the horse’s gait.”

“No, you’re fine. And it’s not safe yet for us to slow,”

he says, his own tone strained. “Anything could happen. Sit tight, try to balance, and we’ll be there before you know it.”

I try to do as he says. “How long will it take us to cross the basin?”

“Altogether, with him carrying the weight of both of us, a few hours. Unless we run into a storm, which is possible. The weather patterns are unpredictable out here.”

I suddenly think about the shadows that had appeared out of nowhere, helping us escape our attackers. Had that been a trick of the atmosphere? Or some other strange magic? I glance around, but the landscape arounds us seems normal, and I decide not to say anything to Roshan. Surely it was just an oddity of the area.

As we ride, the air grows warmer. The sky above us remains cloudless, thank the stars twinkling above. Their glimmer, and the glow of a third quarter moon, is the only light in the gloom, and the rolling hillside and rocky crags throw odd shapes across the ground, making me feel like we’re riding through a dream.

I relax against Roshan’s chest a little more. “How do you know we’re going the right way?”

Roshan shifts, releasing the reins with one hand to point upward to a shining pinpoint of light. “We follow that star.”

“How do you know this . . . ?”

I begin, but my voice trails away as I feel the warmth of his breath on my sensitive nape, making my skin prickle and goose bumps rise everywhere. His head leans into mine as the tip of his nose grazes the exposed skin above my mesh collar, as if he is craving the contact, as if he needs the touch just as badly. But he doesn’t do more than inhale deeply before settling his cheek into the curve of my neck and shoulder as we ride through the darkness.

“Roshan?”

I ask shakily. “Why are you doing this? Putting your life on the line for me. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I can’t just leave you—it wouldn’t be the honorable thing to do. My mother would turn in her grave if I abandoned a woman in mortal danger.”

“It wouldn’t be abandonment if I told you to let me go,” I say.

Roshan says nothing to that, and we ride in silence for a while, preoccupied with our own thoughts. Something between us has irrevocably shifted. Our bond feels deeper, more intimate. It feels like trust. I twist in his lap, tilting my head up to his.

“Use me at the bunker,”

I whisper. “We can leverage my magic.”

His entire body stiffens. “No.”

“Why not?”

“You ask me why I’m helping you? It’s for two reasons. One, I will never let Javed use you for what you can do. Too many people have lost their lives in the cross fire of his hunger for power. And two, I could not stand it if anything happened to you. And if I take what you’re offering, I’m just as selfish and corrupt as he is.”

“Not if I give it freely.”

I can practically hear his molars grinding. “No.”

“Why?”

“It was because of me that Javed set his sights on you in the first place at the ball. I refuse to put you in any more danger.”

I shake my head at once, hating the guilt that laces his words. “No, Roshan. Javed knew what I was the moment Helena told him about the arena. It had nothing to do with you.”

I force a lighthearted note into my words. “Plus, let’s be realistic—the only thing you’re guilty of is feeling sorry for the sad, food-loving wallflower.”

Roshan exhales a puff of laughter. “You think I felt sorry for you?”

“Didn’t you? It’s not like there weren’t six dozen other ladies far better than me, waiting to swoon at your princely feet.”

His voice is quiet when he responds. “You are oblivious, Suraya. None of those other women could ever hope to hold a candle to you.”

I fight back an indecent rush of pleasure at his words. “If you’re trying to seduce me, my prince, flattery’s not going to work. I’m made of sterner stuff.”

His hips give an infinitesimal shift against me. “What will it take then?”

“Fawning. Lots and lots of groveling and fawning.”

He presses a teasing kiss to the side of my neck. “When this is over and you’re safe, I promise to drop to my knees for as long as you like.”

Seriously . . . damn being on this horse, damn having to be on the run, damn everything that isn’t the image he just put into my brain! We fall into silence again. The only sounds in the night are the measures of our dissonant breaths and the constant thump of the horse’s hooves on the rough earth. The feel of Roshan’s chest rising and falling behind me is steady, the rhythmic cadence unexpectedly comforting.

We’re in this together.

Even if we have no real future beyond what comes next.

I have no illusions about what is in store for us. Even if he thwarts his brother, Roshan belongs in Kaldari and I belong in Coban. Whatever this is will have to end, either in distance or . . . in death.

The crone’s words about the war that will end all wars haunt me and swirl in my mind, and I shudder. At once, Roshan’s arms tighten slightly around me. “What’s wrong?”

he asks, so in tune with me that he can sense my spiking unrest.

I want to tell him about Vena’s prophecy, desperately. But another part is afraid of what he will say. I inhale a breath and start before I can change my mind. “In the inn back in Coban once, there was a man from the House of Fomalhaut who attributed Eloni’s vast wealth to the will of the Royal Stars. I knew he was arcanist, but it always stuck with me.”

I flex my hands against his forearms. “They’re the same gods that granted me this magic. The old gods from Aran’s stories.”

“Do you believe they exist?”

“I don’t know what I believe,”

I say, lifting my palms between his holding the reins. “But how would I be able to wield this kind of magic if they didn’t? As much as I wish it to be true, there’s no power in the realm that can give me the ability to incinerate people with starfire from my hands. Unless I’m high as a kite.”

I laugh dully. “Actually, I haven’t given up hope that this might all be a delirious Jade-induced fantasy or Droonish brain fever.”

With a contemplative noise, Roshan adjusts his fingers on the reins. “Morvarid was very vocal about punishing those who didn’t venerate the king, even though the House of Fomalhaut has been known for its secret practices. I’ve always wondered why my mother never returned to Eloni. I think my aunt might have thought her an arcanist. A believer, if not a practitioner, of magic.”

My jaw falls open in surprise. “Was she?”

“Maybe. She knew the stories, like the ones of the Starkeeper, but that’s all they were to me—stories.”

I’d never thought much about arcanism, but the Elonian mystics in the House of Fomalhaut had always been suspected of continued devotion to the old gods. I suppose if secret cities like Nyriell exist, then pockets of arcanism must still exist as well, of those who believe that magic will return one day to Oryndhr when the gods reawaken and akasha flows once more.

“Do you think the commander of the Dahaka is arcanist?” I ask.

Roshan tilts his chin down. “Why do you ask?”

“Because the Dahaka seem so focused on destroying the crown and Kaldari.”

He shrugs, his muscles bunching beneath mine. “Part of restoring balance is allowing people to have freedom of choice in how they live. How they feed their families. Where and what they choose to worship. Why and who they love.”

I can’t help the ripple of sensation at the word love. In the version of the world he’s talking about, maybe there’s a chance for a prince and a commoner to find happiness.

* * *

I’m in a state of not quite dozing, lulled by the rhythm of the movement, when Roshan makes a clicking noise with his tongue. The horse instantly slows to a walk, and my sore behind immediately wakes me. The outpost must be close.

“Get ready,”

Roshan tells me. He slows the horse even more with a soft sound and brackets his arms on either side of me as a small garrison looms into view ahead of us.

He settles his fingers on the reins as he directs the stallion toward the rear of the fort. Predictably, as we approach, a small unit of armed soldiers snap into position, loaded crossbows pointed right at us. I can’t see if there are runes on the arrows in the darkness, but it would be foolish to assume there aren’t.

“Who goes there?”

a voice shouts. “Identify yourself.”

Roshan clears his throat. “Ro Sattari, first division.”

I blink at the ease with which he offers the false name.

“Approach,”

the voice replies after a protracted beat, and the men at the speaker’s back shift into a nonlethal stance. Roshan exhales audibly into my ear.

I keep my face neutral but say under my breath, “How do they know we’re not a threat?”

“Aran vouched for us. Sattari is his last name.”

My thoughts are whirling in confusion. Why would Aran speak on our behalf? And here at a random outpost of all places? Suddenly, the ease with which Roshan navigates the Dahaka nags at me, not just here, but also in Nyriell. “Roshan, why would he do that? When did he do that? What aren’t you telling me?”

Behind me, I feel his chest expand and contract with a deep breath, and then another, before he answers. “Aran is my cousin.”

I freeze and jerk my head around. “He’s what?”

“My cousin.”

He rakes a hand through his hair. “That’s why I’m known to some of them as Ro Sattari. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

My stomach dives. Did he not confide in me because he doesn’t trust me? That hurts more than it should. I frown, wanting to ask more, but he’s dismounting, easily swinging to the ground and holding a hand up toward me. My legs feel like jelly as I slide down and stumble, steadied by Roshan’s arm. Wincing, I rub my knuckles against my thighs, attempting to return some feeling to them.

Roshan peers at me, and I shove the tangled snarls out of my face and attempt to tame the escaping strands.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

He hands me a low-brimmed cap purloined from the saddlebag. “Wear this. You’re too noticeable.”

Without argument, I tuck my hair into a bun under the proffered cadet’s cap and pull the brim low. Once it’s in place, Roshan walks toward the men, leading the horse and keeping me slightly behind him. At the checkpoint, he hands the reins to one of the guards, but not before patting the stallion’s foam-streaked neck with affection. “See that he’s well fed and watered.”

“Yes, sir,”

the man replies.

Roshan pulls a medallion from his pocket. It’s different from the ones we were both given before, but I don’t have a chance to study it as he passes it to a second guard and then slips it back into his cloak when it’s returned. The guards move aside, and I let out the tiniest breath of relief when no one asks me to identify myself. Feigning confidence, we walk toward the entrance.

Standing there is a portal runecaster—one who doesn’t look friendly, even if he’s on the side of the Dahaka. But Roshan doesn’t speak, so I don’t, either. He simply nods briskly to the man, and the runecaster begins to chant, the jādū shard in his palm brightening as a pool of iridescence forms. I can’t keep the awe from my face—I’ll never get over how beautiful portals are up close.

And now, I see there’s a similarity between its blinding glow and mine. For a moment, I wonder if I can direct the shard’s magic to portal us to Coban instead. If the power inside of me and the power of these crystals are one and the same, theoretically, I could. But as I’ve learned the hard way with Aran, theoretical knowledge isn’t always practical action. I could incinerate everyone here in a moment. And I’d rather not have more blood on my hands.

Silently, I follow Roshan through the portal.