The interior is as close and warm as the Ekasya Library after a summer heatwave. Between braziers of banked coals, waist-high baskets of dried and woven grass line the walls.
Ziltish opens one of the baskets and lowers her arm in past the elbow. “If your Prince was bitten in Aphorai, you’ve come to the right place.” She straightens, a slender python now coiled around her wrist.
Rakel takes a hasty step back, hands up in surrender.
“Do not fear,” our host chuckles. “Old Kab was defanged turns ago. She helps train the new diviners.”
“Diviners?”
“Members of the herd who inherited Dallor’s divine blessing. When a tulda can survive a snake’s venom, then their blood can help save the bitten.”
Rakel lowers her hands. “No offence, and not that I’m a temple-goer, but I’ve never heard of a god called Dallor.”
“That’s because there isn’t one,” I say, striving to keep my voice level. Have we wandered into a camp of heretics?
The snake flicks its tongue against Ziltish’s shoulder. “Dallor wasn’t always divine. Before the edge of memory, the god Riker wandered in all his beautiful youth. He came to the Basin and heard a young woman singing beside a stream. He knew such a voice could only come from the purest heart. Disguising himself as a trader, he began to court her, court Dallor.”
Rakel rolls her eyes.
I scowl at her.
Ziltish seems oblivious as she paces the room, her gaze softly focused. “But Dallor was already in love with an Edurshain woman, Trishaw. Riker promised she would regret rejecting his advances, and when she had learned her lesson, she would sing for his return. Turns later, Trishaw was bitten by a river snake. Desperate to save her love, Dallor sang for the god.
“He appeared in his mortal guise as a young man, swaggering because he had won the object of his obsession. But rather than fall into his arms, Dallor begged Riker to save Trishaw. Certain Dallor would refuse, Riker offered to turn her into a tulda, whose blood was able to resist venom, and could save Trishaw. Dallor agreed, willing to do anything for her love, even sacrificing her human life.”
Old Kab slithers its way further up Ziltish’s arm and stretches its head out to nuzzle her cheek. “Thus Dallor became the first of the diviners. The most effective of the anti-venoms we make still honours her name: Dallor’s Sacrifice. And Riker was left to that fate most cruel: unrequited love.”
Rakel’s wearing that contrary expression I’ve come to know too well. I try to signal to her with my eyes, but it’s no use. Here we go.
“But how did a tulda know how to heal a human? And how did she do it? Never heard anything like it.”
Ziltish strokes the snake on her arm, seemingly oblivious. “I wouldn’t have expected you to. It’s as rare as the kind of love Dallor had for Trishaw. So rare that the Losian Eraz has bought all we’ve produced back until the Founding Accord.”
“Why the Losian Eraz?” Rakel enquires.
“So many questions.” Ziltish chuckles. “You could be Edurshain. Why do we sell to our brethren in the far north? Simply because Los is infested with every kind of asp, viper and cobra known in the Empire.”
Rakel sniffs. “I think you’ll find Aphorai has its fair share.”
I shift closer, elbowing her lightly in the ribs.
Her gaze meets mine in confirmation.
This has to be it. Dallor’s Sacrifice. When Riker’s heart faced the eternal plight.
“We have reason to believe this anti-venom could be essential to the First Prince’s recovery.” I say carefully. “If we could just purchase a small amount from you, we’d be most grateful.”
Ziltish shakes her head. “Our contract with Los covers all we produce. Every shipment is measured to the last drop. I’m afraid I couldn’t help you with anything less than an order from the Emperor himself. Even that would … complicate things. Are you sure it’s Dallor’s Sacrifice you need? I can give you all manner of other anti-venom.”
Rakel nods vehemently. “We’re sure.”
Ziltish affects a melancholic expression that wouldn’t be out of place in a courtly acting troupe. “I appreciate your earnestness. I truly wish I could help. Not turning you over to the Rangers is one thing. But risking my family’s livelihood and the Losian Eraz’s retribution? That’s a whole other basket of serpents. One that we cannot afford to open.”
CHAPTER 31
Rakel
I’m fuming.
After her refusal, as flat as the stare of her pet python, Ziltish invites us to join the camp in their evening song. A night of merry music? As if nothing’s amiss? These people are more brazen than a knock-off incense merchant.
I force myself to unclench my fists and follow Ash from the serpent tent.
Outside, cool evening air whispers against my skin – sweet relief after the stifling closeness. Ziltish goes on ahead, her steps light, as if she has no idea of the weight of what she has just done.
I look back to the tent, not bothering to repress a shudder.
“Don’t care for snakes?” Ash asks as we wander back towards the centre of camp, shoulder-to-shoulder so as not to be overheard.
“Can’t say I’m overly fond of them. And that stink? Ugh. Dust and musk and dead mouse.” I swallow down the mustiness coating my tongue.
“At least we didn’t have Kip with us. Things could have gone even worse in there.”
“Kip?”
“Losian Ranger in the delegation. On the road to Aphorai, she’d pin every single snake she found with a forked stick and slice off their heads with her dagger. Then she’d cook and eat them.” He mimes chewing appreciatively.
“Right now, I wouldn’t stand in her way if she wanted to burn down that whole slithering tent just to warm her hands.”
“Nor would the other Rangers, I’d wager. Used to make them a bit wild about the eyes. I doubt any of them shed a tear when she was reassigned.”
“Oh?” I try to keep my voice light.
“Iddo – the Commander – made her interim Shield to Nisai in my incapacity.”
“Sounds like there could be worse choices.”
Over at the fire, a harpist begins to play. I grimace at the two gaps in the seating on opposite sides of the circle. Seems we’re meant to mingle. “Ready to join in the fun?”
“No.” He sighs. “But it’ll keep us as gracious guests while we figure out how to obtain some of this Dallor’s Sacrifice.”
“I could … collect some once everyone has turned in for the night.” I waggle my eyebrows. The gesture succeeds in drawing a faintly amused smile from Ash.
“It may come to that.” He squares his shoulders and leads us towards the fire.
As soon as we’re seated, we’re handed prettily engraved silver cups of what appears to be some sort of milk drink. I give it a sniff. Rich and sweetly fermented, with notes of sunny meadows. I take a sip. It’s good.
The Edurshain are born entertainers. We listen to several ancient ballads – Tamin’s Five Trials and The Fall of Emarpal among them. The harpist follows up with a solo of Kesnai’s Betrayal, the haunting melody as ethereal as purrath blossom.
My neighbour leans over to refill my cup and I smile my thanks. The drink may smell like goodness, but it’s strong, too. My cheeks feel warmer than they should on a cool night, even with the blaze before us. Even with my frustration at being so close and yet so far from the final ingredient.
Ash meets my eyes across the fire, his expression unreadable. He raises his own cup to his lips. My face flushes even more but I don’t look away.
I take another gulp.
He tilts his cup and drains it, setting it down decisively. Then he stands, shrugs out of his cloak. His black hair has grown in a finger width, hiding the tattoos on his scalp. But in the firelight, the ink running down his neck and trailing along his arms only emphasizes the tendon and muscle. We’ve been in close quarters for so long, yet I’ve never run a hand over those planes and ridges. My fingers b
egin to tingle at the thought of—
I look down into my cup. How strong is this stuff?
Ash moves to speak with the Edurshain harpist, but I can’t hear anything over the happy murmurs of the couple next to me.
What is he playing at?
The harpist nods enthusiastically. Ash straightens and takes one last glance at me over the musicians. He tilts his face to the sky, as if orientating himself.
Then he begins to sing.
I almost choke on my drink.
His singing voice has the depth of his spoken one, warm as the sandalwood he wears and dark as smoke. But there’s something else, too, a raw edge that hooks into me.
I realize I’ve gone completely still.
A quick glance around confirms I’m not alone. Every one of the Edurshain are leaning forward on their woven mats, giving Ash their rapt attention. The tulda beside the stream have stopped their grazing, horned heads lifted in silhouettes against the stars.
The song’s words are in a dialect I don’t wholly understand. Some words are familiar, some unknown. But after a few bars, the tune begins to tug at my memory.
I’ve never heard it sung with such anguish in the Aphorain streets. There, the chorus was a signal of dusk, a farewell to the day, when the servants of the less grand houses collected water from the plaza fountains.
It’s a song of longing despite knowing you’ll never be able to be with the person you love. Thoughts of Barden flit through my head, of how I continually brushed his affections aside. But the thought is fleeting. Because this is a song about falling for someone beyond your reach, about wrestling with duty and forsaking your heart.
Ash’s notes soar, his features sorrowful in the light of the fire. And that’s when it occurs to me who he is singing for. Who he’s thinking of when his voice takes wing into the night.
Duty.
Love.
Nisai.
Ash is in love with Nisai.
He looks over to me. It’s a look of complete vulnerability.
I flinch. He knows that I know.
Scrabbling for my satchel, I lurch to my feet, legs unsteady.
Everyone else is still intent on Ash. Small mercy. I take a couple of tentative paces backwards, but Ash just watches me retreat, not skipping a note, his gaze searing into me.
I escape into the welcome embrace of the dark.
My feet take me along the stream, past the tulda, beyond the camp. It’s not until the heather rises to shoulder height on either side of me, that I realize I can only barely hear the final notes of Ash’s song. I slump down on to the bank, not caring that one of my boots splashes into the water.
Why didn’t he just tell me? After all we’ve been through, does he not trust me? Why keep me in the dark?
Then I’m suddenly furious with myself. How could I have not seen this? He wouldn’t be the first Shield to have fallen for their charge, if the sagas hold even a whiff of truth.
I take a deep breath and concentrate on singling out scents. The campfire, the tulda and hoof-crushed heather leaves and berries, the faintest hint of the blue flowers. I lay back on the cool earth and trace the stars with my eyes. They’re the same stars, if slightly differently placed to the Aphorain sky. I wonder if Father is gazing up at them right now, sitting outside our house with bergamot incense curling around him.
A pang of longing for home, the strongest since setting out on this smoke-brained quest, throbs in my chest. I close my eyes, letting myself imagine I’m small again, and Father is stronger than anything the world can throw at me. Strong enough to bear me on his shoulders through the streets. Strong enough to tell me the truth.
A tear slips down my cheek.
I wipe it away.
Father lied to me. And whoever is behind Luz and Zakkurus and this Order of Asmudtag business, to them I’m just a tiny piece on a vast game board.
Still, Ash didn’t lie to me. He told me who he is, despite the risk. And now he’s trying to tell me who he loves.
Just as quick as my anger arrived, it’s replaced with shame. Why wouldn’t Ash love Nisai? If I had just looked beyond my own nose, I would have seen it.
Slowly, the burning in my cheeks begins to subside. Definitely enough party milk for me tonight.
I realize my absence will be getting noticeable. I heave myself to my feet and start back towards camp, cursing my squelching boot.
Ash finds me along the way.
Thumb hooked in my satchel strap, I try to appear nonchalant. “A singer, hey? You never mentioned that.”
He plucks a stalk of heather and begins to tear off the spines one by one. “There are still a few things you don’t know about me.”
“Is Ash even your real name?”
“It’s the one I was given.” He doesn’t look at me when he speaks. “Well, part of it.”
“Then it’s short for…?”
“Ashradinoran.”
I burst into laughter. I laugh so hard I clutch my hands to my stomach to ward off a cramp. “Sorry,” I manage. “Mustn’t have heard you right. I thought you said Ashradinoran. Legendary warrior of old. Giant of mythical strength and prowess. Wooer of fair maidens and goddesses alike.”
“That’s the one.” He plucks another stalk. “And you should be thanking this mythical hero, not mocking him.”
“Thanking you? For what?”
“Hold out your hand.”
I hesitate.
“No snakes, promise.”
I do as he asks, and he places a small vial in my palm.
“Is this…?”
He nods. “Dallor’s Sacrifice.”
I stare at my palm, blinking. After this, the only ingredient left to find is Losian amber. This seemed an impossible quest. But is this the first whiff of the victory to come?
I throw my arms around him. “You did it!”
He embraces me in return. “We did it,” he whispers, lips brushing my ear, sending a shiver through me. I’m suddenly aware of his hands against my back, strong but gentle. I haven’t been held since I last saw Barden. Back then, I was captive to his desire for more than I could give, and to my need for reassurance in the only place I could find it.
This embrace means something else.
And I bet Ash is thinking of someone else. Thinking of the Prince.
I step back, the scent of sandalwood and galbanum quickly fading. But cedar still clings to me. I wish I hadn’t started him using one of my favourite oils on his armour.
I hold up the vial. What could have made Ziltish and her lot change their mind? “How did you get this?”
He grins. “If I knew one thing about the Edurshain, it’s that they’re romantics. Seems my, ah, performance convinced them that our need outweighed their risk.”
Our need. Our need to save Nisai. The only thing we both share.
I force a bright tone into my voice. “So it’s onwards tomorrow, then?”
He nods.
Not knowing what else to say, I stow the anti-venom in my satchel. We head back to camp and are shown to our quarters for the night. Two bedrolls of beautifully embroidered blankets have been set up in the same tent, though a curtain of heavy felt, imbued with the balsam of vetiver to aid, er, relaxation, can be drawn between them.
We’ve been on the road long enough that privacy is a novelty. And after this evening’s revelations, I’m glad I’ll be able to have some space to myself.
I set down my satchel and reach to draw the divider. “Goodnight, Ash.”
“Rakel, I…” He looks at me, at the floor, at me again.
“Yes?”
“Do you…”
“Do I what?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Goodnight. Call if you need anything.”
With the curtain closed, I strip off and climb under my blanket.
I lie still, listening to Ash’s nightly routine. His quiet footsteps circling the tent like he’s staking out the perimeter of our camp. The telltale sounds of him checking and stowing
each blade – one always under his blanket. The waft of Linod’s Elixir as he takes his evening dose. The long, slow sigh he lets out when he first lays back.
Outside, the camp grows quiet, and a hush descends across the Basin, with only the occasional stir of breeze through heather. It seems like half the night before Ash’s breathing falls into the evenness of sleep on the other side of the curtain.
It’s even longer before mine does the same.
We leave the Edurshain camp at dawn.
Once we’re clear of the Basin, we’ll strike out towards the Great River Junction where the major rivers of Aramtesh meet. There, we’ll need to make a choice. Ekasya, where we’ll risk immediate arrest but Esarik may have been able to source the final ingredient – true amber. Or Lostras – more likely to provide amber without incident, but so far away we might not make it back within the moon. Nisai’s last moon, if we don’t succeed.
I turn the options over as I ride. I’ve heard stories of Ekasya. If they bear truth, I’d be lost in a city that size. I wouldn’t know where to start searching for the equipment I’ll need to make and test the formula – and asking questions would only attract attention in the home city of the ailing Prince. And what if Esarik hasn’t yet returned?
And Lostras? It may as well be on a moon.
Ash is surlier than normal. Walking ahead, he’s barely said a word all morning, and when he does turn around, his expression is as sour as vinegar fumes. He shaved his head before dawn. Maybe he was trying to clear it. Truth be told, mine’s a little foggy after last night’s Edurshain hospitality. Still, I expected him to be happier now we’re one step closer to healing Nisai.
The thought makes me curious, and I rummage in my satchel for the vial of anti-venom. It’s blood red, and I expect it to smell of copper and whatever scent the venom holds. Instead, it smells of … berries?
A picture of the Edurshain camp springs back to mind. The lower heather surrounding the tents, laden with ripe red fruit. For all their love of heroic sagas, the Edurshain sure lack for a sense of honour. Have they sent us on our way with a vial of berry juice?
Ash halts, cocking his head to the side. “What stink got up your nose?”
The Darkest Bloom Page 25
