I still can’t speak, but the memories flood through me now—those nights traveling with Sarsine when I stared up at the stars and prayed Dineas was safe. The times I’d curled my fingers, wishing I could hold his hand. The pain that ripped through me, when I feared he’d died.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Relief floods his face. The air between us thrums with energy. He’s so close.
My entire body aches to touch him, but I gather my resolve and put my fingertips against his chest, pushing him gently away. “Nothing’s changed.” It’s a last desperate reminder that I’m still sick. That anything we start is doomed.
He brushes my hair away from my forehead. Strange that hands so calloused could still feel so feathery soft on my skin. “You know he didn’t care,” he says. “And neither do I.”
I don’t want to resist anymore.
Closing my eyes, I cup the back of his head and bring him to me. The first touch of his lips is a lightning bolt. My legs go soft, but I cling to him, and he tightens his arms around me. As the first jolt fades away, our kiss becomes slow and lingering, a wave of overwhelming relief after a lifetime of waiting. He smells of the forest, of earth, and of battle, and he feels solid, wonderfully real. As I link my hands behind his neck, all I’m aware of, all I want to be aware of, is the gentle weight of his chest against mine, the press of his hand to the small of my back, the cords of his muscles beneath my hands.
A jolt of pain through my temple. A flash of light across my eyes. I cry out.
Dineas catches me as my knees buckle. Why now? I want to scream, but I don’t have it in me.
“Zivah? Zivah!”
The worst of the pain recedes, but its echoes persist in my skull as Dineas lowers me to the ground. I pull away, keeping my face turned toward the ground as I untangle myself from him. It’s as if my body were reminding me what I’d forgotten. No words of love, no gentle touch, can change my fate.
“Zivah.” He’s frantic. “What’s wrong?”
His fear breaks my heart, but I can’t protect him. “My headaches are getting worse.”
It takes a moment for my meaning to dawn on him. And when it does, he closes his eyes. For the second time tonight, grief plays across his face.
“I should have told you,” I say.
He shakes his head. “It wouldn’t have mattered,” he says. “I just wish...” He stops. Turns away and clenches his fists before turning back. “How much time do you have?”
“I don’t know. Weeks or months.”
He looks at me, and I wonder if he might shatter on the spot. “Zivah...” he whispers again. And once more, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me in, holding me as if I might dissolve into mist. I lay my head on his chest and close my eyes, waiting for the pain to subside.
I wake up alone on the cave floor. My head rests on a folded leaf bandage, and my cloak serves as a blanket. I sit up in a panic, and then I see Dineas tending the fire.
“Does it still hurt?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Good,” he says, though he doesn’t take his eyes off me.
The pain’s gone, though I still feel as if I’m moving through a fog. “How long did I sleep?”
“A few hours.”
Hours? I throw off the cloak. “Arxa.”
Dineas moves aside to give me a better view of the general. “He hasn’t stirred.”
I climb unsteadily to my feet and make my way over to my patient. He’s still pale, though he seems to be breathing more easily now. I check his bandages and find blood, but less than I’d feared.
Dineas watches me work without comment. Finally, when I’m satisfied, I join him by the fire. He holds out a hand to help me down. After a moment, I lean my head into his shoulder, and he puts his arm around mine. I’m surprised at how natural it feels. It’s the first time since we left Sehmar City that there’s no wall between us.
“What will you do now?” I ask.
“I haven’t thought that far ahead, to be honest,” he says.
“It will take time to nurse Arxa back to health,” I say. “And then...” I trail off. We’re still stuck where we were. The Amparans still hunt our people.
“The rumors say you’ve been treating Amparans,” says Dineas.
He says it with a mild enough tone that I answer without justifying myself. “I have.”
He nods, his expression again carefully neutral. “The soldiers you’ve healed. Do you let them go back to their battalions?”
“I do. Though it haunts me, the thought that one of them might go on to kill someone I love.” I glance at him, trying to gauge his expression. “You don’t approve.”
He struggles for a moment. “No. I don’t approve. But I don’t know what else you could have done.”
A year ago, Dineas would have condemned me on the spot. I marvel at this change. “You told Walgash you were still Shidadi, even though they exiled you. Why?”
He’s silent for a long time. “I still fight like a Shidadi,” he says. “I still speak and think like one. It’d be better if I could hate them all, but it’d be like hating the bones in my hand.”
“Our hearts are not so easily changed,” I say. “Nor what runs through our veins.”
“No.” He plants a kiss on my eyebrow. For a long moment we sit side by side, watching the flames. Though the truth of my illness remains, there’s relief in finally being together.
“Did you find Kione?” he asks.
“We did. She worked in the kitchens when Arxa’s battalion was infected. They were given special flour rations with which to cook for the troops, and she thinks the rations were infected with rose plague.”
“Do you have evidence?”
“No.” It still hurts to say it.
Dineas can’t quite hide his disappointment. “It’s all right,” he says. “We’ll find another way.” But I know we’re both thinking the same thing. We’re running out of time.
I can feel him gathering himself to ask another question.
“How did Sarsine die?”
Sarsine. Once more, a twinge in my chest. “She was killed after we returned to Monyar.”
“On the beach?”
“No, we didn’t land at that beach. We turned around when we saw that something wasn’t right. There were soldiers on the beach, and a strange Amparan ship. It was too small to be a warship but larger than a rowboat, and it was simply floating out on the ocean.”
Dineas sits straighter. “A ship, waiting in the ocean? Did it have a purple flag, or any kind of seal?”
“I looked for markings on the ship. I didn’t see any.” But the mention of purple and a seal tugs at my memory. I remember then, the men who’d killed Sarsine and the ring they’d carried. “I did see a strange seal.” I slide out from under his arm and fetch my bag. It takes me a bit of rummaging but I find the ring and hand it to Dineas.
Dineas rolls the seal between his fingers. “This is Kiran’s seal. The boat you described is his personal vessel. Where did you—”
“It was on the body of one of the men who killed Sarsine.” And slowly it sinks in. “Kiran wants us dead. Baruva must have told him we’re trying to find evidence against him.”
Dineas calls down a dozen curses on Kiran. “This tells us, at least,” he says when he runs out of breath, “that we’re on the right track.”
There’s a shuffling sound behind us. Arxa moans, and I rush to his side. The commander is hot to the touch, and sweat runs down his face.
“It’s too hot in here,” I tell Dineas. “Help me get his clothes off.”
Arxa’s tunic is already slashed open from when we bandaged his wounds. Now we pull off what’s left of it, and his trousers as well, leaving him in his loincloth. It’s a strange feeling, seeing the almost naked commander lying comatose on the ground.
“Here,” I say, holding my hand out for Arxa’s tunic. It’s caked with so much blood that I doubt it’ll be usable again, but I fold it just in case. One corner of
the tunic is particularly stiff. At first, I think it’s just dried blood, but then my hand runs across a seam—there’s a hidden pocket. I pull out what looks like half of a blue handkerchief sewn together with a white handkerchief.
“Do you know what this is?” I ask Dineas.
“It’s a cloth used to command messenger pigeons. Arxa had this?”
He examines the cloth, frowning, as I pull out something else. It’s a parchment which turns out to be a map of Monyar Peninsula. Trails are marked, as well as a circle around a spot far north near the mountains. Several areas midforest are shaded in as well.
“What about this?” I ask Dineas.
He takes the map and scans it briefly. Then he stares, disbelieving. “This was on Arxa’s person?” he asks.
“Yes. In the same pocket.”
Dineas grips the map as if it were an enemy that might flee. “This is a diagram of our fighters’ positions,” he says. “And that’s the location of the Dara camp.”
My stomach plummets. “Where my family is.”
He rolls the parchment back up, and I can tell the effort it takes him not to crush it. “I have to go,” he says. “There’s a traitor in the Shidadi camp, and I know who it is.”
I can feel Zivah’s eyes following me as I leave her cave. It’s hard to go. To have had those few moments with her, to actually hold her in my arms, only to have to abandon her again...But I need to warn my tribe. The Amparans know where they are and could be marching already. Curse them. Curse this war.
Zivah’s voice echoes in my mind, and the memory of holding her teases my skin. The silky softness of her hair, the touch of her lips. But mixed with those are other images: her eyes squeezing shut as the headache took hold, the press of her forehead against my cheek, warmer than it should be. I want to yell at the heavens, shake my fist at Hefana. Haven’t we been through enough?
But Hefana doesn’t answer. She never does.
I follow Arxa’s map north. What bothers me is how specific it is. Whoever drew the map marked out the locations of all our fighters, from the main camp, to the small group that shuttles supplies between the Dara and the Shidadi, to our raiding parties roaming the southern stretches. The location of the main Shidadi camp is close to what it was when I was exiled, but it’s not quite the same. Which means, either the map is out of date, or it’s very, very current. And somehow, I don’t think it’s the former.
For all that time I’ve spent wandering, the Shidadi camp is only a day’s hard march away, according to the map. That’s plenty of time, though, for a whole host of feelings to vie for attention in my head. Why am I risking my life to save a tribe that’s turned me out? And that’s assuming they even listen to me. Perhaps they’ll simply kill me on sight.
I slow down as I get within scouting range of the camp. As much as I’d like to charge in with an accusation, that plan would almost certainly get me killed. I need to talk to Gatha. The question is, will she talk to me? After some thought, I tear an edge off Arxa’s map and scrawl a message on the back with a sharpened charcoal from Zivah’s fire.
I have evidence of the real traitor. Please talk to me tonight. Bring fighters from our tribe if you don’t trust me, but don’t tell the other tribes. Please come.—Dineas
“Find Gatha,” I tell Slicewing. She flies off, and I settle down to wait.
As evening falls, Slicewing still hasn’t returned, which is actually a good sign. Slicewing doesn’t like wandering around in the dark, so if she hadn’t found Gatha, she would have come back to me soon after sunset. As insects start to sing, I rehearse what I’ll say in my head. Gatha must believe me, after I show her the evidence. She must.
There’s a flutter of wings, and Slicewing lands on my shoulder.
Gatha’s voice comes out of the darkness. “Don’t move, Dineas. You have arrows on you.”
I freeze, imagining the archers I can’t see in the bamboo around me. “I’m alone.”
“I have scouts making sure of that.” She steps out where I can see her. There’s no longer a visible bandage around her chest, though she still moves a bit stiffly. She fixes me with a humorless gaze. “I’ll admit I’m glad to see you alive, Dineas, and your note intrigues me. But I have to be careful. Lay down your weapons.”
Asking a Shidadi to lay down his weapons is like asking him to strip naked, but I do what she says. My arrow and quiver comes off my back, followed by my swords off my belt. Then come the daggers in my boots and at the small of my back. I toss my belt pouch to the ground as well.
“Hands in the air,” says Gatha.
All I can think, as she pats me down, is that I used to be one of her elite fighters.
Finally, Gatha steps back. “What do you have to say? Don’t disappoint me, Dineas.”
Here goes. “You’re in danger. The Amparans know where we are, and they know where the Dara are.”
“Explain.”
Where do I even start? “When I left the camp, I wandered the mountain.” I find myself unwilling to tell her all of what actually happened on the mountain. “I’d planned to leave the Shidadi behind, but then I crossed paths with a raiding party led by Taja.”
That gets Gatha’s attention. The party must have returned by now, and she must know of their failure.
“Did you see their attack?” she asks.
“I didn’t warn Arxa,” I say, answering her unspoken question. “I followed the raiding party, and I watched the fight. When Arxa ran, I chased after him. And when he jumped off a cliff, I intercepted him farther down the river and stabbed him through his ribs.”
Gatha leans forward. “You killed Arxa?”
“No. I took him to Zivah, who bandaged him up.”
“You told us you didn’t know Zivah’s whereabouts,” she says.
“Slicewing found her.”
I know just how convenient that sounds, but Gatha motions for me to keep talking.
“Arxa was badly wounded, but Zivah is a skilled healer. He may yet survive. When we removed Arxa’s clothes, we found something.” Slowly, I motion that I need to get something from my belt pouch. Gatha nods, and I pull out the map. “The camp is marked here, along with our current positions.”
I hand it to Gatha, who holds it to the moonlight. “This is everything,” she murmurs. “They know everything.”
“There’s more. I also found this.” I take out the handkerchief. Any Shidadi would recognize it as a signal for messenger pigeons.
Gatha is silent a long time. “What are you saying, Dineas?”
“You know what I’m saying. The Amparans don’t train their messenger pigeons with colored cloth, but Shidadi do. Vidarna does.”
“There are others in his tribe who use pigeons.”
“But they wouldn’t know our locations in this much detail. It explains why he’s so particular about other people working with his pigeons. And do you remember Vidarna saying something once about Kiran watching the war from his ship?”
Gatha frowns. “I may.”
“I thought it was just a turn of phrase at the time, but Kiran is actually at sea right now, commanding from a ship. Nush of the Rovenni told me, and Zivah’s seen it in her travels. Vidarna knew where Kiran was, and he slipped up.”
Gatha rubs at her temples. “The evidence is slim.”
“You kicked me out of the tribe on less,” I say, and I can’t help the bitterness.
“You’re right,” says Gatha. “If what you say is true, then we have wronged you greatly. But you’re not a warlord. We need more evidence, if we’re to discredit someone of his stature.”
“I’ll get you more evidence,” I say. “But I need your help.”
Soon after Dineas leaves, the headache returns. I’m standing by the fire when it happens, and I crumple, clutching my forehead and backing away from the flames until I’m leaning against the cave wall. Flashes dance in front of my eyes. The pain makes me clench my jaw, which in turn makes the headache worse. I take deep breaths, willing myself to relax,
but it just goes on and on. Finally, after what seems like hours, the throbbing dies away, and I slump against the stone. Everything—my arms, my head, my eyelids—feels heavy.
Sluggishly, I take stock of my surroundings. Arxa is still unconscious. I don’t think he’s moved, though it’s possible that I simply hadn’t noticed. Over the next hours, the skin around his chest wound becomes redder, which worries me. Soon, a putrid fluid starts draining from the lesions, and he starts to run a fever. I do my best to clean his wounds. When I feel well enough to leave the cave, I hike the mountainside for nadat root, which I pulverize for juice to squeeze onto his wound. The redness subsides somewhat, but not enough. He continues to drift in and out of consciousness.
The sleep herbs I give Arxa keep him from full clarity, and he’s confused when he wakes. When he sees me, sometimes he thinks he’s ill again with the rose plague. Other times, he seems to realize that he shouldn’t be here with me, and he yells for his troops.
Even as I care for him, I worry about Dineas. I don’t know what his people will do when he returns. Will they listen to him? Attack him as a traitor? Will the Shidadi muster up a defense in time? Whenever a shadow darkens the mouth of my cave, I look, hoping it’s Slicewing.
On the third day, I hear footsteps outside the cave. Though I wish for Dineas, it’s unlikely to be him. Even if he delivered his message unscathed, he’ll need to stay and help prepare for battle. More likely, it’s Amparan soldiers. I stay quiet, hoping that they’ll pass on by, but the footsteps come steadily closer.
“Is this it?” The voice is female, and very familiar.
I rush to the front of the cave, disbelieving, and peek out the entrance. Sure enough, Mehtap stands outside, surveying the surroundings. With her is Sisson from her caravan and Walgash.
What is she doing here? As Walgash leads her to the cave entrance, I step outside. “Mehtap?”
Her eyes land on me. “Zivah,” she says. “I spoke to Kione.”
Mehtap turns bone pale at the sight of her father. She covers her mouth with her hands, and it takes her a moment before she can gain enough composure to speak. “Can he hear me?”
Umbertouched Page 22
