“You’re not rea—” Micha cuts herself off. “Tsst! Silly, stupid girl! You would sell yourself to the Majah for a white veil and spear? At least Iraven took a throne in exchange for his honor.”
“I’m not the one giggling like an idiot at every man that gives me a bracelet,” I growl. “Tonight is Waning. The alagai nearly took the city last month. Am I to abandon my brothers?”
“This is not your fight,” Micha says. “The Majah chose to abandon the Deliverer’s army in Sharak Ka, and this is their punishment.”
She’s wrong. I feel it deep in my bones. “It’s all our fight. You said yourself the demons are hunting me.”
Micha nods. “And the Majah brought their attention here by stealing you from the safety of your mother’s greatwards.”
“What difference does that make, with the sun about to set?” I demand. “Isn’t that the first law of our people? All men are brothers in the night.”
Micha shakes her head. “We are not men, sister.”
But Micha doesn’t understand. I’m still in a box to her. Selen was the only person who ever came close to getting it, and she’s a thousand miles away, safe in Hollow.
“How do you know what I am?” I ask. “How does anyone, when I don’t even know, myself?”
Micha reaches out, taking my hand. “Sister, please. This is what sharaj does. It breaks you and rebuilds you in the image the drillmasters desire. You mustn’t lose yourself.”
She still doesn’t get it. “I’m not losing anything. If anything, I’m finally finding myself. Without you reporting my every move to Mother. Without Grandmum dressing me like a doll, painting my face and calling it armor. Without Mother forcing me to become an herb gathering witch, no matter what I want. While alagai gathered, I was left on a pedestal. Why? Because Mother flipped a klat and decided I was a girl?”
“Tsst!” Micha hisses. “Do not speak of your mother so disrespectfully. You have no idea what she’s done for you. The dice…”
She trails off without saying more, and the omission angers me most of all. Even now, she keeps secrets, nudging me toward some future Mother finds favorable. I see Mother’s condescending face illuminated in the glow of her alagai hora and I want to scream.
“Always the dice.” The words come out in a growl. “No more lies, you swore to me, sister, but you hold Mother’s secrets, still.”
Micha tries to meet my stare, but she cannot hold it long, and drops her eyes. “Of course you are correct, sister, but it is not just your mother’s secret. When you were born, Duchess Paper cast the dice in your birthing blood, but Damaji’ting Amanvah, our eldest sister, attended her and confirmed the throw. The Damajah herself studied their findings. All of them agreed.”
“Agreed. To. What.” I bite off each word, their taste foul in my mouth.
Micha falls into her breath, and her voice goes cold. “That too many of the futures where you presented male were…short.”
“Short?” I ask. “What does that mean?”
“It means you died before reaching adulthood,” Micha says. “They concluded your chances of surviving childhood were higher as a girl.”
“My…chances of survival?” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. My whole identity, my entire upbringing, was a hedged bet? “What do my chances of survival have to do with who I am?”
“We are what life makes us, sister,” Micha says.
Again that word, like a needle stuck through the heart of me.
“Brother!” I snap, and it feels right.
Micha is taken aback for a moment, but she takes a deep breath and immediately her tension eases. She nods. “Brother. Forgive me if it takes some getting used to.”
I’m so ready for a fight it takes a moment for the concession to sink in.
“It changes nothing about our situation,” Micha says. “We are prisoners of the Majah, and have a moral right to escape.”
“We’re not prisoners of the Majah,” I say, “we’re prisoners of the dice.”
“All things serve Everam’s will,” Micha says.
The words only anger me further. I’ve seen no evidence Everam—or the Creator for that matter—even exist, much less speak to folk through dice of demonbone. The foretellings may come to pass, but there is nothing holy about the alagai hora. Just dama’ting ambition.
“Did you know the Watcher who gave you the scar in my nursery wasn’t trying to kill me?” I ask. “He was after blood for a foretelling.”
Micha’s face hardens. “That is little better. Do not weep for his death. Chavis and Belina have no right to steal blood without consent.”
“How is that different from casting in my birthing blood?” I ask. “I didn’t consent to that, either.”
Micha looks aghast. “Because one was done by your enemies, and one by your mother.”
There’s a sour taste in my mouth. Have Mother’s foretellings served me better? “It doesn’t matter if what Belina saw was true. The Majah are losing ground to the alagai, and without me, it will only worsen.”
“You cannot possibly know that,” Micha says. “If you leave Desert Spear, the demons may turn their attention elsewhere.”
I shake my head, reciting Belina’s prophecy:
“The storms will end when the heir of Hollow joins blood with the Majah, and the princess stands in the eye.”
“That could mean many things,” Micha says.
I nod. “Even Belina did not fully understand, because she and Chavis believed me a girl when they cast the dice.”
“Why does that matter?” Micha asks.
“It’s not ‘princess,’ it’s princes,” I say. “Chadan and I command the Princes Unit, and it is Waning. I am meant to be here, sister. If such a thing exists, it is inevera.”
“Princes.” Micha lifts her jaw like she finally understands. “So this is about Chadan.”
I glare at her. “What about him?”
“Harem gossip has the two of you inseparable.” She pokes a finger into the spear and olive patch on my breast. “Is that what this means? Has he put his spear into you?”
I smack her hand away. “Of course not! How dare you!” I raise a hand as if to strike her, and she eyes it with a single raised brow. Even now, after months of training and fighting in the Maze, I do not know if I am anything close to a match for my sister. I lower my hand, but it does little to defuse my sudden anger.
“He is Majah,” Micha says. “He cannot be trusted.”
“Nor can your judgment,” I snap, “when you lay it equally upon thirty thousand people, to justify walking away when they have demons at the walls. Chadan is my ajin’pal. I trust him with my life.”
“What am I, then?” Micha demands. “Did we not bleed together in the night, months before your Majah rebirth? Have you forgotten that you would be dead on alagai talons if not for me?”
“No,” I say. “But I might not have been in danger in the first place if you hadn’t lied to me for my entire life. If you’d prepared me for the night as you were bade. Instead I was sent to Herb Lore and given a sewing kit.”
I straighten my back. “You and Mother were so fixated on protecting me, you never gave me the means to protect myself. The Majah have.”
“They care nothing for you,” Micha says.
“They came back for me!” I snap. “Chadan came back. Last Waning, the demons recognized me. They came for me as one—every demon on the streets. But Chadan…”
Micha tilts her head. “You love him.”
“What? Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What is ridiculous?” Micha asks. “I have seen Prince Chadan. He is Majah, but there is no denying he is beautiful. I hope he is who you think he is. I hope he is what you think he is. But in the end, the Majah will do what is best for the Majah. You are still a prisoner here. We both are.”
“I wa
s,” I say. “But no longer. I will not abandon my spear brother as storms gather. I have seen Majah honor, and it is not what you told me. Why should I believe you now?”
Micha shrugs. “If you think me wrong, ask Belina to unlock your armlet.”
I scowl. She’s right, of course, but deliberately missing the point.
It’s not yet highsun. I am allowed hours yet with my sister, but I’ve had enough for one day. I turn to go.
Micha lays a hand on my arm. “Olive.”
“If you want to go home, sister, then go.” I pull myself free and start walking. “I don’t need you to rescue me anymore.”
* * *
—
For three nights, we patrol the walls and city, ready for the storm, but all is quiet this Waning. Not even the night’s usual scattering of demons to lure into the Maze.
The idle time is not what I need. I would rather be holding back the jaws and talons of a pack of demons than wallowing in my own anguish. I cannot turn my back on my spear brothers, on Chadan, but is turning my back on Micha any better? Regardless of how I feel about her secrets, I cannot deny she has devoted her life to protecting me, and in return I am leaving her stranded. I know her well enough to understand she will never leave without me.
“What is it?” Chadan asks for the thousandth time. He knows something is bothering me, but he cannot discern what.
I deflect the question. “Where are they?”
Chadan casts his gaze out into the night and sighs. “Perhaps the storm is passed. Perhaps we broke them when their assault failed last month.”
I can see in his eyes he doesn’t believe that any more than I do. There is no fighting in the city, yet I feel no safer. Something is still in the air, a tension I cannot name, infecting everyone. The entire unit shifts its feet uneasily.
This isn’t safety. It is the silence before the strike.
39
A SILK PRISON
My elation at seeing my bloodfather fly off to search for Mam and Aunt Leesha dampens quickly when I realize he’s left us alone with the Damajah, and she is not pleased. Selen senses it, too. She smells like a trapped hare.
Inevera touches one of the charms on her bracelet, activating a ward. A moment later, the doors open and a pair of her eunuch servants appear. The men are thick with muscle, clad in loose black pants and black vests. The golden bands around their wrists and ankles are meant to symbolize subservience, but they glow with magic, empowering the men to enforce her will.
Rojvah once told me the dama’ting cut the tongues from their eunuchs, but I couldn’t tell if she was serious or just telling ale stories. All I know is I’ve never heard one speak, and I hear everything.
“Escort the children to the family residence to await the girl’s father and his honor guard.”
The children. I ent one for long goodbyes, but the coldness of her dismissal is striking now that Jardir is gone. She doesn’t even look at us.
I glance at Selen and am relieved to see her tip her head toward the door. We count our blessings and hustle out of the room quick as dignity allows.
* * *
—
The twins are waiting when we return to our chambers.
Rojvah strides up to me, smelling so angry I instinctively turn slippery before I even see the slap, too quick to dodge.
“Ay!” Selen barks.
Rojvah ignores her. The blow slides off my slippery cheek, but she keeps advancing. I stumble back until I sense the wall behind me. Slippery and quick, I could still escape, but Selen is moving our way, and it won’t end well if I give her a clear path.
I flinch as Rojvah raises her arms, but then she throws them around me, and pulls me into an embrace. “Tsst, Darin! Why didn’t you tell us about your mother?!”
Night. How did she find out already? “Might as well have, since nobody in this palace can keep a rippin’ secret.”
“Do not be a fool,” Rojvah snaps. “Grandmother spoke the news into my earring because I have a right to know. We are family.”
She means it. She smells protective, like Selen whenever anyone other than her or Olive tries to bully me. I’ve never smelled that on Rojvah, and instinctively I go solid, returning the embrace. “I’m to tell honest word, I always got the impression you and Arick didn’t like me.”
“Of course we don’t like you,” Arick says. “You’re family.”
Rojvah laughs, Selen snorts, and for once even I get the joke. All my cousins on Grandda’s farm, I don’t much like any of them, and the feeling’s mutual. But if someone hurt one of them, or the twins…
My throat tightens. “You’re right. I should have told you. I’m sorry.”
“We forgive you.” Rojvah gives me a last squeeze before letting go. “Family does that, too. And do not fear. Grandmother told us so that we could provide for you in your time of need. No one else knows.”
Arick looms at her shoulder. There is no scent of challenge on him now, only sadness. “It will be all right. The Shar’Dama Ka will find them.”
I want to believe it, but remembering the field of dead where we found Mam’s knife, it’s hard to hold on to hope.
The quarters we’ve been given are fancy, full of silk and velvet and servants to cater to our needs, but even with their wards of silence and alomom powder, I can sense the Damajah’s eunuch guards outside the doors. They’ll call it protection, but we all know they’re to keep us from goin’ anywhere before Uncle Gared comes to fetch us. Ent the Bunker, but even a silk prison is a prison.
And what of Olive? Is she truly captive in Desert Spear, across countless miles of sunburnt waste? Once Uncle Gared gets here, we may never find out.
* * *
—
I’m sound asleep when the world fills with fire. Stinging light blazes through my eyelids, and my skin feels like someone emptied a boiling kettle on me. I shriek, curling up with my arms over my head as I reach out with my other senses. A rustle of heavy cloth. Slippered feet. Familiar scents. The serving women have come with breakfast and drawn the morning curtains.
“Ay, what in the Core’s the matter with you?!” Selen barks.
“Apologies, Highness,” one of the women says. “We only thought to—”
“Shut the damn curtain!” I hear the rush of air as Selen throws a pillow clear across the room to thump against the cloth beside the woman. “Can’t you see it’s hurting him?!”
“Of course, Highness.” Curtains rustle and the light recedes as the women hurry to comply.
“What kind of man is hurt by the sun?” one of them whispers, thinking her voice too low to hear.
“They say Shar’Dama Ka’s greenland bloodson was born in the abyss,” the other whispers back. “He has alagai blood.”
“Everam preserve us.”
I’m not surprised. I heard a palace servant call me “alagai blood” once before. Asked Mam about it, and she dragged me back to the Brook that same day. Ent been back since. I hoped the rumors had died away, but in my heart I knew better.
The light winks out, and it’s like cool water on my skin. I crack my eyes open just as the women pass my bed of pillows. They draw wards in the air as they pass.
“Ay, you’ve got cheek!” Selen sounds more like Elona berating a servant than herself. She leaps from her own bed of pillows, shouting curses at the women’s backs as they scurry out the door.
As soon as it closes she comes over to sit beside me, but she knows me well enough not to touch. “You all right, Darin?”
“Ay.” I groan, but already I’m cooling off, eyes readjusting. “Just surprised, is all.”
“Don’t pay those women any mind, Darin. They don’t know you like we do.”
“Who’s we?” I ask. “Mam and Leesha are gone, Jardir with them. For all we know, Olive’s on the other side of the desert. Ent no one
else who knows me.”
Slowly, she slides her hand over mine. Not grabbing. Not squeezing. Just a gentle, soothing weight, like a warm blanket.
“Why does it burn?” she asks quietly.
If anyone else had asked, I would have gotten defensive, but she has that protective smell, and I know I can trust her.
I shrug. “Reckon it’s my demon blood.”
“That ent funny, Darin,” she says. “Dangerous, having folk spread a lie like that.”
“Ent a lie,” I say. “Mam and Da both ate demon meat. It’s why they had powers other folk din’t. Gatherers say you are what you eat.”
“Folk in Hollow ate a lot of rabbit stew during the war,” Selen says. “Mum and Da love the stuff, but I never touch it. You reckon that makes me part bunny?”
“Always thought you had long ears,” I say.
Selen smiles. “And a nose that twitches when someone avoids a question.”
“Whatever the reason,” I allow, “magic clings to the air around me like a stink. Sunlight burns magic away. When the light hits me too sudden, it feels like I’m on fire. If I keep to the shadows and let it burn off gradually, it doesn’t hurt as much.”
“As much?” Selen asks.
I shrug again. “Used to it.”
Selen squeezes my hand once and gets to her feet. “That mean it’s all right if I crack the drapes enough so I don’t trip and break my neck?”
She’s exaggerating, but not by much. The palace curtains are thick, blotting out light almost entirely to aid with hora magic. It’s why I was so deep asleep I didn’t feel the dawn coming.
“Ay, go ahead.” I squint my eyes and put up a hand as she sends a sliver of hot sunlight slicing across the room.
There is a knock at the door soon after, and we open it to find Rojvah, Arick, and Abban. The khaffit merchant pushes a cart of food with his ample belly as he walks on his crutches. When the twins make no effort to help him, I hurry over, taking the cart from him.
“I am afraid Princess Selen scared away your servants before they could lay breakfast,” Abban says.
The Desert Prince Page 45
