I heard Lo’s voice again, shouting to someone I couldn’t see. He disappeared for a moment, and then indigo cloth draped over me, covering my eyes. He pushed it behind my head. The snow and sand fell away from me, and I floated, cradled in someone’s arms. I bobbed and swayed in a sea of black, swallowed by the intoxicating scents of cardamom and sandalwood.
Again I woke up coughing.
Strength outside my own helped me sit up, and I choked and rasped through a cold and raw throat, as though I had swallowed briars. My head spun.
“She’s awake?” A female voice.
“Here, it’s hot.” Another.
Trying to swallow, I glanced up and saw two women I did not recognize: one in her midthirties with a heavy braid over her shoulder and a white head scarf, the other much older, with deep wrinkles and more gray hairs than black. I stared at them for a long moment, picking at my memories. Where was I?
My cavern, my bed, though the fire near the door burned brightly now, as did the oil lamp. What time was it?
I tried to ask my visitors what had happened, but my words were too hoarse.
The older woman held a tin cup in a towel, steam rising from its lip. She handed it to someone beside me—the one who had helped me sit up.
Lo.
I gaped, but he pressed the hot cup into my hands. It smelled like flowers—rose water—and still bubbled. They had boiled it for me.
“Drink,” he said.
I lifted the cup to my lips and drank quickly, the liquid filling my mouth and running down my throat. The last swallow went down the wrong pipe, and I coughed again, covering my mouth with a gloved hand.
“Slowly!” Lo said, exasperated. He handed the cup back to the woman.
I cleared my throat enough to manage an “I’m sorry.”
“You should be,” he snapped. “You have proved yourself a fool, Smeesa.”
Those words stung me more than they should have. I glanced at him, at his hard eyes, his mouth set in a firm line.
Then I remembered. The desert, my fall. Lo. Lo had saved me.
Oh, how wildly I would have blushed if the curse had not hidden it.
The younger of the two women asked, “Can you eat?”
I nodded, and she handed me a steaming bowl of some sort of bland mush, but I hardly complained. Despite her warning to eat slowly, I shoveled the goop into my mouth as quickly as I could, partially due to hunger, partially because I did not want the food to freeze. Lo stood from his chair and ran a hand through his hair before pacing to the back of the cavern. The older woman set a mug of hot coffee in his place.
The last few bites of the meal froze to the bottom of the bowl, but I scraped them off with my spoon and crunched the almost milky ice between my teeth before reaching for the coffee. It was a different blend than what Lo had given me—spicier and less sweet. I coughed a little as I swallowed it, liquid, and then slush. My stomach turned into a rock inside me, and I winced at the nausea.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You should not eat so quickly,” scolded the older woman.
“There was no food in the cavern,” Lo murmured, low and quiet. “I found your supplies nearly a mile away.”
Biting my lip, I glanced over at him. His bronze arms were folded against his chest, and he glowered at me with a face that could curdle fresh milk.
The younger of the two women said, “Perhaps now is not the time—”
“You are excused,” Lo quipped, not taking his stony glare off me. I shrank under his scrutiny and wished I could disappear into the mattress.
The two women frowned, but they gathered their things and stepped outside into the calm falling snow. Judging from the light, it looked to be midday.
“Why were your supplies so far out?”
I looked away, not wanting to answer.
Lo slammed his fist on the table, making me jump. “Why were your supplies so far out?”
“Rhono left them there, but it’s not her fault,” I said, twisting the index finger of my left glove. “I scared her.”
Lo snorted. “And Havid? Aamina?”
“Aamina’s sister just had a baby.” I hoped everything had gone all right with the birth. What if it hadn’t? What if that was why Aamina had not been back to see me? A new sickness bloomed in my gut at the thought.
“Havid?”
“I don’t know.”
Lo released a long breath that ended in something like a growl. “Why didn’t you pick up the supplies? Half the food was spoiled! How long did you leave it sitting there?”
I didn’t answer.
“Khuso, Smeesa!” he swore, pacing to the front of the cavern. He pushed both hands into his hair, ready to rip it out. “Why did you leave the cavern? Alha knows how far out you were before I noticed the clouds were gone!”
I shivered and glanced up to the canvas roof, heavy with snow. That was how he had found me—the clouds. Of course.
“The desert would claim you as quickly as it does anyone else,” he almost shouted, pointing a finger at me. “Do you think you’re immortal?”
“No,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for the trouble.”
“For the trouble,” he repeated, scoffing. He took a deep breath and asked again, “Why did you leave?”
I stared at the bedcovers.
He stalked closer to me. “Why did you leave?”
“I just . . . ,” I started, forcing down a sudden lump in my throat. “I needed to stretch my legs.”
“Stretch your legs for thirteen miles?”
I shook my head and rested it in my hands. “I needed . . . to get out. To do something.”
“You couldn’t weave? You couldn’t read?”
“How many times can a person read the same books?” I asked. Tears threatened my eyes, and I blinked them back. “I’ve read the Dideh Bab volume thirty-six times, alone! I ran out of yarn, out of paper. I just . . .”
I turned away from him and tried to swallow the stinging lump in my throat, willing myself not to cry. I clenched my jaw to keep my teeth still.
“Smeesa—”
“I’ve been alone,” I said, trying not to let the words choke, “for so long. What you . . . Imad, and Aamina . . . have done for me has meant . . . so much.” I swallowed, but the lump still refused to budge. I waited a moment, urging it down. Whispering, I said, “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
Lo stood near the foot of my bed, staring at something I could not see, his lips pursed.
“I’m sorry,” I managed. I wiped my eyes with the back of my glove. It was dirty from my trek and my fall.
After a long silence, Lo said, “No, I am sorry, for not coming.”
“You have no obligation to me. And the prince—”
“Prince Imad has more guards than spiders have eggs,” Lo said. There was something else he was not telling me, though—I could see it in the way his eyes shifted away from me, in the tenseness of his broad shoulders. He seemed to be deep in thought, and I did not interrupt, content to sit in silent companionship with him. Content to have someone here with me.
After several minutes he pulled up a chair and sat, leveling his face with mine. “I will see you taken care of, Smeesa. Zareed needs you.”
I nodded, truly feeling the fool. Had I forgotten all the people my snowfall had helped, even saved? Would I really forget the thousands for fear of hurting the few? Had I really been willing to throw away everything I’d achieved in this land because I could not wait just a little longer for companionship?
The guilt of the situation struck me like a blizzard’s gale, and cold tears wet my eyes once more. How could I have been so selfish . . . and after everything I had thought I’d learned.
“You are right,” Lo said, the anger gone from his voice. “I have no obligation to you. But I come because I enjoy your company.” He touched my swathed shoulder, and a chill colder than ice rushed into my collar and down my arm, raising gooseflesh on gooseflesh. My slow heart quick
ened, and I desperately hoped he did not notice.
“I will come again,” he said, pulling back his hand. It had been such a fleeting touch, and through layers of fabric, yet he still needed to rub his fingers together to warm them. “Our sheikh is no doubt worried about you, so I must return to the city. And you must rest.”
I did not think all the gold and fine things in the world could have coaxed me to sleep at that moment, but I nodded anyway.
Lo paused halfway to the door and looked over his shoulder. “I will see if I can’t help you ‘stretch your legs.’ Prince Imad speaks of you often, and he will listen to any pleas made on your behalf.”
“Thank you.”
The smallest smile touched his lips, and he left, closing the door quietly behind him.
I touched my shoulder, still feeling his fingertips there, but it was the look in his eyes that had left me in a stupor. When was the last time someone had looked at me like that, with genuine concern? Years. It had been years. And his eyes . . . They were so much different than Sadriel’s.
The thought of Death made me stiffen, and I half expected him to appear from the carpets. He had not spoken with me since our . . . argument . . . but I did not think him gone for a moment. I wondered if Death could take the life of someone free from age or sickness, if he could force them into the underworld, or if such a thing broke the laws by which he operated.
Regardless, I would not let him take me, for my life belonged to me, and I would only put it on the line one more time, and then of my own will and choice.
CHAPTER 20
To my surprise, the next morning Qisam and Eyan arrived at my door, wearing their full soldier’s gear, including a leopard helmet on Qisam and the scorpion helmet for Eyan. I invited them inside, but they declined.
“Got it backwards,” Eyan said with a grin. “We’re here to take you to the city.”
I stared at him, thinking for a moment I must have misheard his Hraric.
Qisam pulled a tightly rolled scroll from his belt and read it, perhaps double-checking his instructions. “Prince Imad has granted you access to his city, though your stays must be brief.”
“You know,” Eyan added, “so you don’t freeze our crops or children.”
“And we’re here to escort you for your first visit. Captain said you didn’t like dogs.” Qisam shoved the scroll back into his belt.
My astonishment hindered my words. “Lo?” Had Lo spoken to Imad on my behalf? I felt both embarrassed and rejuvenated, a strange combination of emotions that left me light-headed.
Eyan said, “We can come back, if—”
“No, now, I’d like to go now!” I exclaimed, clasping my hands together. I half stumbled into my cavern, tripping over the upturned corner of a rug. I snagged my mustard-colored head scarf, draped it over my hair the way Aamina wore hers, and hurried out the door.
“Feels like I’m taking my daughter to the storm festival!” Eyan exclaimed with a laugh. He brushed snow off his shoulders. “We’ll take you through the market if you’d like.”
Qisam handed me a small money pouch filled with gold coins. I tried to hand it back, but he refused to take it.
“Our sheikh says it is your share for the water, from the snow catchers’ harvest,” the young soldier explained. “Do with it what you will.”
“I . . . thank you,” I said, tucking the pouch into my bodice. I didn’t know how to count Zareedian coin then, but I got the impression that the amount was more than generous.
Qisam and Eyan had brought a third, blanket-laden camel with them, and I recognized her as the beast I had ridden in from the Unclaimed Lands and through Kittat, Ir, and Shi’wanara. I decided then that the animal deserved a name for its loyalty, so I called it Leikah, the Hraric word for faithful. Eyan joked that I should have instead named it Leipo, which meant unfortunate.
My mile-wide storm cloud followed us back into Mac’Hliah snowless, perhaps just as eager as I was to see the winding roads, clustered homes, and real, living people. My insides twisted as we neared the city, making me almost sick with anxiety. Not for the fear of dogs, but for the regard of the people—what they might think of me and what accidents might befall them because of my presence. But my trip into the city would be short. With any luck, not a single crystal would fall from my pale clouds.
The people of Mac’Hliah watched our approach from a distance. As before, I saw some of them cross their chests and tap their shoulders. Others regarded me with curious or unreadable expressions. I held the greatest unspoken gratitude for those few who simply glanced my way for a moment before continuing with their own work, for I did not want to be a spectacle. More than anything, I wanted to be normal. Almost a year had passed since I first came to Zareed, and I wanted to feel some semblance of belonging here.
I asked Eyan if we could dismount, for I desired the exercise and did not want to ride so high above the others. Perhaps, though it was wishful thinking given the cloud that followed me everywhere, it would allow me to blend in. He helped coax Leikah down and took her reins, then fell in step behind me. Qisam walked ahead of us, scanning the streets with disinterest. I suppose even a city as grand as Mac’Hliah would seem commonplace to someone who had lived in Zareed all his life.
But it was not to me.
I marveled at the people who filled the streets, though they gave me and my companions a wide berth. Men carried yokes laden with clay water jugs. Women balanced baskets atop their heads with one hand. Children played with tops and buttons on strings and small clay flutes in the shapes of animals. They all talked freely among themselves, the chatter filling the air and tumbling over itself, like the city was breathing. Scents of cinnamon and curry flooded my nose as we passed a few round tents, one of which had a small cook fire outside its door with the leg of a goat roasting over it.
I heard the whispers, of course. Hands shielded mouths as we walked past. I assured myself that the prattle did not concern me—or if it did, it didn’t matter—and did my best to smile at those we passed, which seemed to unnerve quite a few.
We came to the market. Comparing it to the market I had seen last spring was like comparing a snake to a snakeskin. So many people filled the street we could barely pass in most places, even with the wide berth. I pulled up my gloves and wrapped the ends of my head scarf around my neck to ensure I covered all my skin, save for my face. I did not want to accidentally bump into someone and hurt them, though in the jubilance of the market, I almost forgot about the cold.
Swaths of green, scarlet, maroon, white, gold . . . every possible color of fabric draped merchant shops and a few stationary wagons. The barrels of dates, nuts, and spices were still not full, but they were considerably fuller, and the prices were lower than what I remembered. The boldest of sellers even called out to me, Qisam, and Eyan, trying to sell wares of dishes, beads, even daggers and leatherworks. I began to feel I should buy something, for I wanted to be part of the city, not just a bystander, but there were so many people bartering and dealing, and so many items on display, I hardly knew what.
Halfway through the market I spied a coffee seller. Thinking of Lo, I chose a paler bean on Qisam’s recommendation, enough for four cups. Perhaps, if I put on an extra pair of gloves, I could successfully brew the drink without freezing it the next time Lo came by.
A man in a mashadah tapped his shoulders at me as we turned the corner, and I waved at him, which made his hands move all the faster. I couldn’t help but laugh. Who would have thought a simple girl from Euwan could drive such fear into a grown man, and a Zareedian at that?
Qisam, in front of me, suddenly veered to the far right side of the street. I was about to ask why when I saw a cluster of guards up ahead, surrounding the bright tangerine tent of what appeared to be a silk merchant. A few civilians hovered close by, standing on their toes for a better look. I heard the word sheikh as we passed, and when I peered between the armored guards—a few of whom I recognized—I saw Imad comparing belts at a table.
I signed Thank you, and then, I named my camel Leikah. I did not have a sign for faithful, so I spelled the word out.
Lo laughed, startling the merchant beside him.
We turned the corner and lost sight of the prince and his entourage, but how my cold, slow-beating heart fluttered at the distant sound of Lo’s laugh. I felt I had swallowed a bird—a very lively one. A strange feeling, reminiscent of ones I had experienced before, yet . . . unique. And undeniable, despite how I might have tried to mask or discredit it.
I knew then that Lo’s kindness was more than just kindness to me. His laughter made me laugh, his thoughts made me think, and his silence made me listen to each intake of his breath. It seemed absurd, as I mounted Leikah and started back for my cave in the Finger Mountains, that I had once been so fearful of him. He was beautiful.
And no matter how I tried to reason my way out of it, I was falling for him.
CHAPTER 21
Humming a child’s song my mother had often sung while doing housework, I mixed rice and water in a pan and set it on a small metal rack over my fire, a little away from the flame so I would not burn the bottom, as I was prone to do. Rice was an easy food for me to eat if I cooked it myself—so long as I continued to add water, I could scoop it out of the hot pan and swallow it before it froze in my mouth, and it required little chewing. True, my last bites were often little more than mush, but with a little pepper it tasted more or less like breakfast porridge.
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