“Quickly, you must go.”
I don’t have to be told twice.
We sprint for the entrance, our boots boomingly loud compared to the Chroniclers’ slippers. We run headlong up the winding path, the still-healing wounds in my side protesting as I suck in larger and larger breaths. At the entrance, I throw an arm up to shield my eyes, momentarily blinded in the sunlight.
Rakel edges ahead of me, threading her way along the safe route through the rigged-up flagstones, towards the concealed entrance to this part of the gorge. Back in the main branch of the canyon, she sticks her fingers in her mouth and lets out a shrill whistle. The sound reverberates around the cliffs.
I groan. It would have been heard a mile away.
Then there are hoof beats, and the black mare canters into sight. The three of us work our way along the base of the cliff until we find a path wide enough for the horse to climb out of the canyon. I admire the beast’s courage as its hooves slide in the scree. At the top, I raise my arms over my head, catching my breath from the steep ascent.
Rakel climbs into the saddle and sniffs the air.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Sandstorm.”
I follow her line of sight. Sure enough, the horizon is a blur of yellow-brown. A chill runs through me despite the heat of the midday sun. I’ve never seen a sandstorm, but I’ve heard enough tales of the abrading winds, of travellers blinded and flayed raw by the grit, of whole caravans buried, only to be uncovered a generation later by treasure hunters.
I cast about, realizing I’ve become completely turned around in this gods-forsaken desert. “Which direction is that?”
Rakel grimaces. “South.”
Oh, that’s just priceless. My sense of direction may be off, but I’ve seen enough maps to comprehend that avoiding the storm will take us back towards Aphorai City. Into the path of even more of Iddo’s scouting parties. Just when we might have the hint of a solution for Nisai.
I swallow hard and turn back to Rakel. “You know this land better than me. Got any ideas?”
She points towards the swirling wall of sand moving inexorably towards us. “That way.”
“Have you lost your senses?”
“Maybe. But if you want those Rangers off our tail, that’s your best bet.”
I shake my head. “There’s no way I’m going near that thing.”
“Suit yourself.” She nudges her horse with her heels. “May your gods keep you, Shield.”
Then she’s off, galloping headlong into the storm.
CHAPTER 23
Rakel
He doesn’t know I saw it.
But I did.
Back in the Library. That look on his face when I showed Sephine’s vial to the Chronicler. The suspicion in his eyes. The way it all played out across his features until his hands were twitching, like he wanted to grab me and march us back to Aphorai City, or worse still, to the capital.
So eager to blame. So ready to think ill of my intentions.
So much like Barden.
He can keep his holier-than-holy view of the world. Let him run back to his fancy imperial friends and try to explain why he was even out here with me in the first place. I couldn’t care a whiff.
“I work just fine on my own,” I mutter.
Lil tosses her head.
“Yes girl, I mean we work just fine together.”
This isn’t my first sandstorm. Doesn’t mean my nerves don’t fray as I ride straight into its path. The rumble grows louder and louder – thunder that doesn’t pause for breath. Over that, the wind wails, like the ghosts of a hundred women screaming their frustration and fury.
At least my mood matches the weather.
A rocky outcrop lies ahead, where the dunes rise well clear of the canyon. Couldn’t have asked for a better spot. I steer Lil towards the rock, giving her the reins. My hair begins to tug free of my braid and whip around my face. Overhead, the sun darkens, obscured by the raging clouds of dust and debris.
“Hold!” I call when we reach the rock. Lil’s hooves slide through the sand and come to an abrupt stop. I dismount and undo her saddle straps, willing my fingers to work faster as the first grit of the storm bites.
“Down, girl,” I say as reassuringly as I can. She folds her legs, lying pressed against the rock. I unfurl her saddle cloth and tent it over her back. She shifts her weight to help me tuck it under her bulk. It’s not Lil’s first sandstorm, either.
I’m preparing to crawl in beside her when I see him. The Shield. Running across the dunes on a collision course with the storm.
Of all the putrid, fuming stenches under the stars, what is that boy thinking?
Guess he isn’t. He grew up in the imperial capital, surrounded by green fields, without enough desert experience to even know not to eat akrol melon.
He hasn’t spotted us. Part of me wants to let him keep going, the part of me that only wants to see him as a cog in the imperial machine.
But no matter what he thinks of me, I need him. It only took one glance at the scents-be-damned parchment in my satchel to realize I couldn’t read it. Even if I did manage to put this antidote together, I don’t know how to get it to the Prince without landing straight back in the dungeons.
And if I’m trapped in some dark hole under someone’s palace, what then? If I never made it home, how long would Luz keep her side of the bargain? An image of Father comes to mind, his flesh rotting higher and higher, past the point anything can halt. Would our neighbours prepare his body to be sent to the sky like he’d wish? Or would they be too scared to go anywhere near a corpse consumed by Rot?
Sand lashes around the outcrop, hard enough to sting me from my thoughts, though not with enough force to scour the skin from my flesh.
Yet.
I have to get the Shield’s attention.
There’s no way I’ll be able to shout loud enough to be heard over the storm bearing down on us – the only thing I’d gain is a gob full of grit.
I pull the last scraps of my old nightdress from my satchel. Wetting them from my water-skin, one gets tied around my forehead in case I need to swiftly cover my eyes, the other over my nose and mouth. I retrieve the yeb balm I’d used for a torch at the Library, and push another strip of cloth deep into the jar of flammable paste.
This could go wrong. So wrong.
Crouched in the shelter of the outcrop, I use my flint to shoot sparks on to the cloth. The moment it catches alight, I toss it to the top of the outcrop and dive for cover.
I wait one, two, three breaths.
Nothing.
Stink on a stick. Did the wind blow out the flame?
Boom!
The explosion makes the storm a background hum. Lil rears. I lunge for her bridle. She snorts and paws the ground as shards of rock rain down on us. I catch the briefest scent of tangy smoke before the wind snatches it away.
If the Shield didn’t notice that, he’s beyond saving.
I peer around the side of the outcrop. Oh, he noticed. He sprints towards the promise of shelter, one arm up to shield his eyes.
Then we’re both scrambling for cover.
Inside the makeshift tent, everything is black. Lil’s head rests in my lap. I wrap one hand around her bridle while the other strokes her neck.
I’m all too aware of Ash pressed against my side, his scent a mix of sandalwood and the cedar I oiled his armour with back in Aphorai. Underneath, there’s an annoyingly appealing hint of something akin to galbanum – earthy and green and musky in equal measure. Thankfully the essential oils infusing his prayer band have faded to a murmur. I’ve never understood how anyone could stand wearing the scent of every god at once – they clash so badly it makes my stomach churn.
I can’t see his face in the darkness, but his tense muscles tell me all I need to know. The last thing I can afford is his anxiousness agitating Lil.
“We’ll be all right,” I say, half to my horse, half to Ash. “It’ll pass.”
And
it does. It just takes half the day.
When the wind leaves, it’s as quick as an ungrateful guest. Lil rolls to her feet – eager to leave the stifling tent and straighten her neck. Her movement drags the saddlecloth down on Ash and me, and we’re all flailing arms and clumsy feet as we try to fight our way free.
I muster what dignity I can, shaking out the cloth and throwing it over Lil’s back. “Let’s put some distance between us and them, eh?”
Ash nods grimly. “Let’s.”
We continue south, heading away from Aphorai and the main caravan routes. Not long before evening, I catch the scent of water. Sure enough, several dunes later I spot the green smudge of rock figs in the distance.
We make camp at the oasis. The pool at its centre is smaller than the one at my village, and there isn’t a dwelling in sight. Still, it’s the closest thing I’ve seen to home in almost a moon, and I find myself equal parts heartsick and comforted as I feed Lil a handful of dried figs.
I chomp on one of the sweet fruits and regard Ash in the slanting rays of early evening. He’s said barely a word since high sun.
I sigh. Better to lance this wound, otherwise it’s just going to fester.
“I didn’t do it,” I say.
“Excuse me?”
“At the Library, all it took was a sniff of doubt about the vial of Scent Keeper elixir, and you were ready to condemn me.”
“I didn’t say—”
“No point in denying you thought it, that smoke’s already gone to the sky. You need to make a choice. Either you believe me, or you don’t. I had no part in what happened that night. I’ll admit I had no warm feelings about … that woman, but I didn’t want her dead. I don’t want anyone dead. I don’t want anyone even hurt. It’s not who I am.”
Ash leans back against the trunk of a palm, his face cast a deeper bronze by the sunset. “Back at the canyon, you said something about me being cosseted by palace life, of having no idea what it is to fear.”
“And?”
He draws his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs, seeming younger as he looks out over the oasis. “I didn’t always live in the palace. There was a time, turns ago, when I didn’t know where my next meal would come from, or if I’d survive to find out. Nisai saved me from that.”
Huh. So this is as much loyalty as duty. Father always told me to remember the difference between the two – one is earned, the other is demanded.
“The Empire needs him. His father is dying. If Nisai dies too, can you imagine the unrest that would follow? The provinces are already on the edge. You’ve seen it; Aphorai spares no love for the capital. But the thing is: nobody wins a war. Some people survive it, that’s all. That’s why I am afraid of something. Afraid of this,” he gestures around our camp, “whatever you call this thing we’re doing. My fear is that this will be all for naught. That we won’t find what we’re looking for. That we’ll be too late. That Nisai, at this very moment, is already lost to us.”
His lips curl into a self-mocking expression, more snarl than smile. There’s pain there. Raw, open pain. “You may not want to harm anyone, but I’m trained to kill. Back in Aphorai, I could have killed that lion. I should have killed it. If I’d fulfilled my duty, I wouldn’t have been wounded; I’d have been by Nisai’s side the night of the fire. Whoever poisoned him wouldn’t have been able to get near him. Then none of us – Nisai, you, me – would be in this mess.
“When you produced that vial, I did suspect you,” he continues. Then he faces me, gaze locking to mine. “I was wrong. Whatever my apology is worth to you – I’m sorry.”
My chest tightens with long-held grief. “I … I know what it’s like to feel responsible for someone close to you to be… to be hurt.”
Hurt? Hurt doesn’t come close to the truth. My mother died from bringing me into this world. I can’t do this. Not here, not now.
I clear my throat. “I’ll tell you what else I know.”
Ash raises his eyebrows, waiting.
“There’s only one way out of this mess.”
“And that is?”
“Through.”
He nods in solemn agreement. “Through.”
I hand him the scrunched scroll I’d stowed in my satchel. “Read me this formula again? It’s written so flowery I can’t tell sniffer from sitter.”
CHAPTER 24
Ash
“No wonder you couldn’t read this,” I tell Rakel. “It’s Old Imperial.”
I smooth the parchment and hold it up to the fading light. It isn’t the work of a single scribe. There are subtle differences in the hand, as if each line were written by someone new. I can decipher most of it, but I’m not as good at this as Nisai or Esarik.
I clear my throat and read aloud: “When Riker’s heart faced the eternal plight—”
Rakel bursts into laughter.
“What?”
“Stop it already.”
I raise a questioning eyebrow.
“Why are you putting on a Hagmiri accent?”
“I’m not.”
“You are! Swallowing all your vowels like you left the mountains yesterday.”
“That’s how Old Imperial is spoken,” I say tritely.
She has the decency to look abashed. “Oh.”
“May I continue, supreme arbiter of all pronunciation?”
“You may,” she sniffs.
I read:
When Riker’s heart faced the eternal plight
The sky was devoured and the Twins’ lives sown
When Azered’s bones danced in the breath of blight
Esiku’s first children were turned to stone
When the darkness bloomed across Kaismap’s night…
There’s another line scrawled between the two stanzas. The ink is smudged in parts, as if whoever wrote it was rushed, or careless. But the surviving script is one I’ve never seen. That’s if it even is script.
I stare down at the characters, my brow tightening. They’re almost picture-like, at once foreign and strangely familiar. Perhaps they’re just decoration? Some kind of illumination technique I’ve seen over Nisai’s shoulder? Whatever they are, they’re obviously not part of the main verse.
But the longer I scrutinize them, the more the designs seem to shift and swirl, as if they’re smoke.
I blink once, twice.
The smoke returns to ancient ink on crumbling parchment.
Azered’s breath, I must be tired.
It’s then I realize I’ve gone more than a day without a dose. I retrieve the nondescript bottle from my pack and measure three drops on to my tongue. It’s hideous enough in water, but straight up it tastes so vile I almost gag.
Thankfully, Rakel’s not paying attention. She sits cross-legged, staring up into the rock figs, mumbling the first line of verse over and over. “When the darkness bloomed in Kaismap’s night. When the darkness bloomed.” Then she jerks to her feet.
“What is it?”
“The last thing Sephine said to me was ‘the darkness will bloom again’. I figured she meant the dahkai plantation. That it could be saved.”
“The dahkai?”
“The darkest bloom. It’s what we call it in Aphorai.”
“Because it only comes out on the Flower Moon – when both moons go dark at the same time?”
“Ah, mainly because it’s black?”
I kick sand in the air. “Is everything going to lead us back to that gods-forsaken city of yours?”
“It’s not my city. And there’s no point going back there. Maybe one or two of the bulbs survived, but the next Flower Moon is a generation away.”
“Surely it grows somewhere else.” But I already know the truth, I just don’t want to believe it. Because that would mean the slimmest chance of saving Nisai went up in smoke before he even needed saving. “And if they are ingredients? How is that going to change the fact we’ve failed before we’ve begun?”
“Humour me.”
I read out
the section of the passage again.
“Bloomed,” Rakel muses. “It’s talking of something that’s already happened. So if this an ingredient list, it’s not talking about the flower itself. Those must be harvested and processed immediately. They start rotting almost as soon as they’ve unfurled.”
I double-check the scroll. “Past tense. That’s correct.”
“Right. Next line, then!”
“In case it had slipped your mind, the text suggests we need every single one of these things,” I say, bitterness lacing my voice.
She rummages in her satchel and holds out a tiny blue bottle. “Good thing I had the presence of mind to bring this then, wasn’t it?” She waggles her hand in front of me, clearly proud of herself.
I gape at her. “Is that…?”
“Indeed. Dahkai essence.”
“How did you get it?”
She shakes her head, expression wry. “It’s a long story.”
“We’ve got a long trip ahead of us.”
“Then maybe I’ll tell you. But first – is there anything else on the scroll?”
“There’s a second stanza:
All must be pure and in sequence blown,
If they are to serve both the dark and light,
Only clouds will end what clouds have begun,
The will of Asmudtag be ever done.”
“It sort of makes sense,” she muses. “I’ve seen perfume formulae laid out line by line before. Ingredients, then method. ‘Pure’ is always a challenge, but if you’re careful, a repeat distiliation can usually do the trick. And then I guess ‘clouds’ means it needs to be evaporated? I don’t know. I’ll have to chew it over. In the meantime, though, we’ve at least got our list of ingredients, so let’s focus on the next clue.”
“‘The sky was devoured and the Twins’ lives sown.’” Reading it aloud again triggers a memory – Nisai and Esarik debating points of history on the river barge. Thinking of their incessant intellectual sparring makes something akin to grief swell in my chest. I shove it back down. “The Old Imperial name for the Hagmiri mountains translates to something like ‘the peaks that devour the sky’.”
Rakel’s eyebrows shoot up. “Truly?”
The Darkest Bloom Page 17
