I nodded. “In the valley. He spoke to her, and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t.”
“He spoke to Breta.”
I nodded.
“No.” Tala shook her head. “You have to tell her who he is, that he can’t be trusted. You have to stop this.”
“I tried. She won’t listen to me, Tala.”
“Then I’ll speak with her.”
I snorted. “I doubt that will help.”
“This is dangerous, Vanya. His words are powerful, do you understand? We have to stand together against this. Together.” She drew close. The door had opened again, and she was reaching for me. Searching my face. “Are you with me?”
I had kissed her.
I felt myself pulling away. I had already failed her.
“Vanya?”
Her voice was tinged with worry. She was reaching for me, waiting for me. But she didn’t know. She didn’t know . . .
“What aren’t you telling me? Why won’t you trust me? Please, Vanya.” She lifted a hand to my face. “Tell me.”
“I . . .” I stared at the ground. My face had gone hot. My heart was pounding. “I’m not . . .”
“It’s okay,” Tala urged. “You can tell me.”
“I’m not a Guardian.”
She shook her head, confused. “Of course you’re a Guardian.”
“No. He . . . he took it from me.”
“Shatayeth?”
“He took my keshu. He took my oath. I’m not a Guardian, Tala.”
Her hand tightened around the back of my neck. “That’s nonsense,” she said. “Do you hear? Lies. Those are lies, Ishvandu. You are a Guardian.”
“But I broke my oath. Honour. Honour unto death. He offered the hilt or the blade. Live or die, Tala. I didn’t make the right choice.”
“Sands take him!” she hissed. “No. No. He doesn’t get to say what you are and aren’t. Look at me.”
I looked at her. I drank in her flashing eyes. Her tight lips. “You are Ishvandu ab’Admundi, Guardian of Shyandar, and my husband. Not because of some stupid sword. Because no matter what, you will protect them. Do you understand? You will protect the people of Shyandar with your life. Now say it with me.”
“Tala . . .”
“Ishvandu, say it!”
“I will protect them.” I almost choked on the words.
“Say it again.”
“I will protect the people of Shyandar with my life.”
“Wisdom that comes with age . . .” she said.
My voice was heavy, but I spoke. “Justice that comes with law.” She joined me. “Strength against darkness. Honour unto death.”
She leaned her forehead against mine. “I accept your oath. Let no one take it from you again.”
Protect the people of Shyandar. I could do that. I could be that.
I stood there, bowed and weary—yet like a weight had lifted: the barest loosening of the ropes lashed around me. The barest sliver of hope.
I had told her. I had spoken my shame aloud. And she had not despised me.
I took slow, steady breaths as I held her. My chest began to swell with love for her, with gratitude.
“I don’t deserve you.”
She smiled. “Of course not, my love. But are you with me?”
What else could I say? The answer was yes. Always yes.
“I’m with you,” I said, voice hoarse.
She kissed me lightly on the cheek. “Now we have a well to build, and the Last of the Undying to thwart. Are you up to it?”
I nodded.
“Good. Go get some sleep.”
I woke refreshed for the first time in months. The sun’s heat dripped through the roof of the tent. I stretched and groaned, feeling like I’d slept for a day.
Then my predicament struck through the hazy contentment. I was in the desert, camped next to Shatayeth himself, with men and women under my command, including a rebel leader, a spy, and a woman who knew about E’tuah, who might possibly be nursing a grudge against me and could get me executed with the barest whisper of my activities.
I couldn’t go back to the valley again, and I certainly couldn’t let Breta go. Tala would volunteer quickly enough, but the thought of her anywhere near E’tuah was enough to make me shudder. No. If E’tuah had a chance, he would kill her. Which meant we were going to have to dig fast.
But I had an idea.
I rose quickly and dressed, then ducked out of the tent. The heat was punishing despite the shelter offered by the cliffs, and a quick glance around confirmed my suspicions.
Koryn, Nolaan, and Jil were lazing in the shade of the supplies tent, Mani and ab’Tanadu were playing jik’u, Benji was watching, and Breta was nowhere to be found. The only Guardians doing their blasted job were Tala and Arkaya.
Tala was head to head with Adar, looking over the well, while Labourers sweated beneath mounds of sand and dirt. Adar had organized them into teams of three, and while one recovered under a nearby shelter, another was digging and hauling and grunting. Arkaya was working alongside them, and I was reminded of how little time stood between her Labouring days and her new life as a Guardian Novice.
True to his plans, Baraaba had already braced the walls with netting to avoid collapse, and as the well went deeper, the netting was pegged lower and lower into the ground. Now the mason was crouched with the third team of Labourers and they appeared to be pounding chalk into gravel.
Work was progressing excellently, but it was time to push this to the next level.
“Alright everybody, form up!” I shouted as I marched towards the well.
The Guardians glanced up in surprise, but when Mani calmly rose, the others followed. Soon, everyone had gathered under the shade tent by the well, some flushed with work.
“Adar, report,” I said.
The foreman nodded. “The work is speeding up. At first, we were hitting hard ground, but Atali sai’Neraia reminded us the hole had already been dug once. The ground should be pretty loose. So we started shifting around, looking for sand—not clay and rock. Sure enough, we found the spot, and now it’s just a matter of hauling the sand out. We’ve done a man’s height just this afternoon.”
Thank you, Tala! Of course it would be faster digging the second time around. “Excellent,” I said. “Good work, all of you. Do you think you’ll be finished by tomorrow evening?”
Adar’s eyes widened. “Tomorrow? That’s a bit ambitious, ab’Admundi.”
“And what if you worked all night?”
“Forgive me, but my people do need to sleep.”
“Of course. But if—would it finish the job?”
Adar frowned at me. “Perhaps, young blade, though I don’t know how far down we’ve yet to go.”
“Good. Then we’ll start cycling five shifts instead of three.”
“That won’t work; I need at least two to a—”
“Yes, Adar, I know.” I shot him a look. “Koryn, Nolaan, Arkaya, and Jil—you’ll take the first quarter after the evening meal. Then Breta, Mani, Benji, and ab’Tanadu, you’ll take the second quarter. Adar, you can continue to oversee, and let Tala relieve you when you need to rest.”
The man grunted, but nodded in satisfaction.
“Good,” I said, and we shared a knowing smile.
“What?” Nolaan cried, once he figured out what had just happened. “You can’t send us to do Labourers’ work!”
“Why not? You think we dragged our sand-shitting asses out here to play jik’u? We’ll sweat the same from here on out, every one of us.”
“You too?” Koryn jutted his chin out.
I smiled. “Me first. And if I hear a word of complaint from any man or woman, Guardian or Labourer, for having to pull their own blasted weight, they’ll taste double shifts. We came out here to work, and digging is the first step. I want that done by tomorrow. Any questions?”
I got dark looks from Koryn and Nolaan, but the other Guardians just nodded.
“Sounds fair to me,” ab
’Tanadu said.
“Good. Back to work, and night shifters, you might want to get a bit of sleep while you can.”
The crew dispersed, and true to my word, I followed Adar and his team back to the well. The boy Karta was there, too, and he stared openly at me. I noticed the water skin was still hanging off his belt like a trophy.
“How can I help?” I asked.
Adar pointed to my injured arm. “I hate to say this, ab’Admundi, but you’re rather worthless to me right now, leastwise for your physical labour. Making those blasted-ass Guardians work is the finest gift you could give me.”
“Don’t get too excited. Remember you’ll have to face them back in Shyandar, so don’t do anything you might later regret. You of all people don’t want your name passed to the Circle.”
He grunted. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t you know?” I tried to say it lightly, yet we shared a glance, a quick flash of understanding.
He pasted on a smile. “Warning taken. Though if I might be so bold—it sounds like you could take it yourself.”
“Yes, but when I get back, I’ll still be a Guardian.”
“And I’ll still be a mudfoot digger—is that it?”
“Something like that.” We grinned at each other, though I sensed the tension behind his eyes. I leaned close. “Don’t worry, I’m on your side, Adar. Just don’t do anything stupid. Right?”
I held his gaze. I watched his eyes narrow. His mouth twitched. “Right,” he finally said.
“Good. Now give me something to do. I’ve got appearances to keep up, got it?”
“Can you haul a rope one-handed?”
“Sure thing.”
“Then relieve Karta and help get that sand out of the hole.”
“Right.” I winked at the boy. “Go take a rest.”
Karta swallowed, hesitating by the side of the well.
“What is it? What’s on your mind, kid?”
Karta glanced between me and Adar, mouth working. “Maybe I could . . .” he finally forced out. “Maybe I could stay and help. You know. Work . . . together. I don’t want . . . I don’t want it easy. You know? I want to do my share, same as you. Not that we’re the same. I just . . . sands. Sorry. Just don’t make me sit out.”
He was breathless by the time he finished, a slight tremble running through his hands.
I laughed. How could I be so stupid? I knew exactly what he meant. “Seeing as I’ve only one good hand, you’ve saved me a great deal of embarrassment. We’ll haul together.”
I was sweating and flushed by the time the sun started its descent, but I felt good. My muscles ached, my hand was raw, and my stomach was tight with hunger, but the work reminded me of simpler days. It wasn’t long before the Labourers and I were laughing against the desert. Soon the well had grown to a neat, round hole going straight down into the earth about eight or nine feet.
“Alright, crew,” Adar called at last. “Let’s switch off.”
I mopped my brow and limped gratefully towards the shade tent. Kulnethar was waiting with fresh water and some evening rations, and he went between the Labourers, giving them cool, damp cloths for their heads, checking pulses, asking questions.
I smiled. This was actually going to work. We were going to do it. Kulnethar came last to me and I let the damp cloth cool my brow as I flopped over onto the sand.
Kulnethar hovered for a moment, but when I glanced at him, he wasn’t meeting my eye.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He frowned, pensive. “I’m surprised,” he said at last.
“And why is that?”
“Bringing water got their attention, and now you’re giving orders, delegating, sweating along next to them and demonstrating your own tenacity.” He hesitated. “When did you go and start becoming a leader?”
“When I had to.”
Kulnethar nodded and started unslinging my arm. “Just don’t push them too far.” He lowered his voice. “Some are close to exhaustion already. They’ve been at it all day.”
“I know. But we have to strike water tomorrow, Kylan. It’s not an option.”
He grunted and said nothing, but I knew we were both thinking the same thing. Shatayeth’s valley.
Kulnethar stretched out my arm, massaging the tight muscles, checking the wrist for signs of undue swelling.
“I noticed Breta went along,” he said at last. He spoke casually, but shot me a worried glance.
I rolled my eyes. “Breta followed me.”
“And . . . ?”
“And what?” I felt a prickle of irritation.
Kulnethar looked uncomfortable. He pursed his lips, frowning over my arm. “You said an oath,” he finally whispered, “with Tala. I witnessed it. I feel . . . responsible.”
“Really?” I bristled. “Is that what you think of me?”
“Breta hasn’t exactly been . . . subtle.” He winced. “I know. I know. I’m sorry, Vanya. But it’s painfully obvious what she wants from you. I just . . . I know things between you and Tala have been difficult lately, and—”
“Stop.” I pulled my arm away. “Whatever you think you know, you don’t, and this is all I’m going to say about it: my oath is for Tala and her alone. That’s the end of it.”
Kulnethar swallowed. “Glad to hear it.”
“Good.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Kulnethar handed me something to drink and then readjusted the sling. I drank.
“Ugh. This isn’t water.”
“You’re pushing yourself too hard, Vanya. First dragging all those sacks back over the cliffs, then digging and hauling sand. Your wrist is swollen and sore. It hurts, doesn’t it?”
“Of course it blasted well hurts.”
“The drink will help. But you might be a bit groggy.” He softened. “Go and rest.”
“I’ve got watch tonight, Kylan. I can’t!”
“The Guardians will all be on duty tonight, won’t they? You can’t be the only one to protect us from the Sumadi. Join them when you’re ready.”
I grumbled, but saw the wisdom in his words. Besides, rest didn’t have to mean sleep, and I would still be able to sense them coming.
I tilted my head. “Do you know where Tala went?”
I slowed when I approached. Tala was walking with Lidyana behind the tents, and they were speaking softly. Smiling. Smiling was good.
They noticed me, then Tala leaned close and said something.
Lidyana nodded. They exchanged a few parting words, and the Labourer woman hurried off in the other direction.
“How’s it going?” I asked Tala, voice low as I drew near.
She watched until Lidyana was gone. “You’re right. I think Adar is their leader. She all but admitted it. She was impressed with your little display this afternoon, and I think she’s starting to hope.”
“For what?”
“I’m not exactly sure. But these rebels . . . they don’t want violence, Vanya. They’re smart. It would be Labourer blood spilled if it came to that.”
“So what do they want?”
“A voice—to start.”
“Like a hearing?”
“No. I mean judicial protection. They think it’s too easy to be convicted and executed, and if there were non-Guardians who sat in judgment next to Guardians, it might be more fair.”
“What, Labourers on the Circle?”
“No,” she smiled. “A separate judicial council, given a voice in the conviction of non-Guardians.”
I snorted. “That’s never going to happen.”
“Why not? Today, she saw a Labourer delegated to oversee Guardians.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
I felt a flutter of doubt. “Do . . . do you think I made a mistake?”
“You certainly set an unusual precedent. It’s a fine line, Ishvandu, and I doubt the Circle would approve. Koryn certainly doesn’t.”
“But what do you think?”
>
“I think we’re in unusual circumstances. Getting Guardians to dig was smart, but putting them under a Labourer is risky. To be honest, I’m not sure if we should give Adar so much trust.”
“I want him on my side.”
“And what if he needs to be dealt with publicly? Do you really want to be associated with him?”
“Maybe it won’t come to that.”
Tala sighed and looked away. “I was thinking about what you said, after . . . after we found you injured.”
“I shouldn’t have said those things,” I muttered. “You’re right. If we expose the rebels, the Circle will rope them up without a thought, and that’s not right. Like you said, they don’t want violence. We just need to be careful about this. One step at a time. I think Adar trusts me, and maybe I can talk him out of doing anything drastic. Isn’t that what you made me swear to this morning? Protect them, Tala. That’s our oath. That’s our job. Even if it means saving them from—”
I stopped as I realized what I was going to say.
“From us?” Tala finished for me.
“Maybe.”
“But if we fail, or if the Circle finds out . . .”
“That won’t happen.” I leaned close. “Look what you’re accomplishing with Lidyana! I’ll start working on Adar. Maybe we’ll save a whole host of lives. A whole rebellion that we stopped, just us. Because we were willing to take risks, to hope for something better than cold, brutal justice.”
Tala smiled and leaned against me, resting her head on my chest. “There’s my Guardian.”
I wrapped an arm around her. I could feel the gentle pulse of her heart, the intake of her breath. I closed my eyes and let myself relish the nearness of her body.
“You know,” I said. “Kulnethar made it very clear I should go rest.”
“Is that so?”
“Uh huh. And right now, I’m looking and I see a very nice little place to do something similar to resting, just beyond those cliffs. It’s all soft and sandy and sheltered, and there’s even a few bushes.”
Tala laughed. “Sounds romantic.”
“It’s better than the supply shed at the back of the Hall.”
“I don’t know. I have some pretty vivid memories of that shed.”
“And you think we can’t do better?”
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