Live, or die.
But I’d already made my choice, hadn’t I?
I covered my face. The thing inside me was growing. The shameful thing. The thing that didn’t dare speak, not even for her. Because I knew no matter what I said, the Circle would find her guilty. I couldn’t save her.
Maybe not. But I could stand with her nonetheless.
The thought slipped into me like a whisper.
I loved Tala. I loved her. She deserved my faithfulness. I could do that. I could stand with her.
And lose everything.
“You’re overthinking this.”
I glanced up. Breta hovered nearby, arms crossed.
“How could you possibly know—”
She cut me off with a laugh. “You love Tala. I get it. But I know you, Vanya. You won’t confess. You’re not their obedient little Guardian. You’re not about to throw your life away for her mistakes. Not when you see the bigger picture: the possibilities they refuse to acknowledge. You won’t speak—or you would have done it already.”
I frowned out over the wall, towards the emptiness at the heart of the city.
Was she right?
I was needed in the desert. Beyond the desert. I had work to do there. I had to free my people from the Avanir. I had to protect them. Tala herself had made me swear it.
“That’s right,” Breta said, following my gaze. “So stop agonizing about it and just accept the truth already. I know what you want.”
I grunted. “I don’t care about being the head of the third, Breta. I don’t care about being in charge. They could offer to make me Al’kah for all that means to me, but—”
“But that’s not what you want.” She glanced at me, a sly smile on her face. “You want to be E’tuah.”
I laughed. “What?”
“You want to be the man in the desert. Powerful and controlling. Impervious to harm. Needing no one. Able to come and go however you please.” She threw open her arms, as if to embrace the emptiness of the Avanir. “Ruler of the desert! Undying!”
My spine prickled. “Undying? Who told you he was—?”
“I spoke to him again. The night we were attacked. It’s not so surprising, is it? That someone named Undying would still be alive, still hovering on the edge of power.”
“Breta,” I gripped her arm. “Breta, what did he say to you?”
“Things.” She grinned. “Do you want to know what things?”
“Yl’avah’s might, girl. That man is dangerous!”
“Oh, he certainly is.” She pulled away, began to walk back down the wall. I hurried after her.
“Breta . . .”
“What?”
“Breta, he killed Koryn.”
“He did, didn’t he?” She grinned over her shoulder. “Because I asked him to.”
Dread crawled through me with the clawing coldness of Sumadi. “Breta . . .”
“You of all people should understand. He was terrible to you. He would have been jealous of your success, seeking to run you down however he could.”
“Oh no, no, no. Don’t pretend that was for me.”
“But it wasn’t!” She stopped and faced me. “You think you’re the only one Koryn hurt?”
“And you think that’s why he did it?” I hissed. “As if Shatayeth Undying is yours to command? Are you such a fool?”
She shrugged and turned away. “What do I care? It’s done.”
I wondered if Breta was going mad. It was possible. The desert could do that to people, that endless nothing—the real reason no one crept over the walls. No one but me.
I shook my head. “Breta, you have to tell them! Tala is going to suffer for something you started—”
“Oh no, Vanya. You started this. And I’m the one who’s going to help you finish. Tala made her choice; now this is mine. Take me to the Avanir.”
I went cold. My heart rushed to my throat. I could hear it, pulsing against my mind—inevitable.
“No, Breta,” I said, but weakly.
“You’re afraid of it. E’tuah said you would be. But what happens to the Chosen isn’t really the Avanir’s fault. They don’t be becoming Sumadi at the Choosing. They go to her, and she destroys them.”
“The Chorah’dyn,” I muttered.
“Yes. So here’s what I need. E’tuah says you’re the only one alive in Shyandar that can speak with it. So you’re taking me to the Avanir. Tonight. Before Kaprash ends and the Tree fills it again with her power. And you’re going to find out what it needs me to do.”
“You’re mad.” My chest squeezed, my breath struggling like a trapped rat. I couldn’t do it. I wouldn’t.
“Take me,” she continued softly. “Or I’ll tell Tala our little secret.”
I stared at her. “Tala knows everything.”
“And does she know you kissed me?” Breta leaned a little closer. “Does she know about that single, intimate moment?”
I swallowed, uncomfortable with her nearness, the memories. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Then it won’t matter if I tell her, will it? After all, it was just a kiss. Nothing important. Just one stolen little moment.” She shrugged.
I saw Tala brandishing a finger at the desert, defying E’tuah against all reason, refusing to believe I would betray her. All it would take was one whispered word from Breta—and what would she think?
I shook my head. “I can’t let you do that.”
“No, you can’t.” Breta smiled. “So why not? Let’s go talk to the Avanir. Let’s go find out what it knows, what power it holds, what secrets. I know you want to, Vanya. I know it’s calling you.”
Calling. I refused to look at it. I refused to be drawn in.
“No, Breta,” I whispered. “I . . . I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“And if it gave you what you wanted? The ability to be like him?” She smiled. “I think it might. I think that’s what the Undying were: people like us, but blessed with something . . . more. And what then? You could stand with Tala all you wanted. Speak the truth for everyone to hear. Absolve her. And fear nothing.”
I shut my eyes. It sounded terrifyingly plausible. The Chosen were given power—power to face the desert, to heal the Lifewater, to live, perhaps even beyond death. Like the shadows that haunted us. Like Shatayeth Undying, that huge presence in the Unseen. So similar to the Avanir. Could it be? Was there really a connection?
Power like the Undying.
I shook my head. “You don’t understand. Our duty is here, on this wall.”
“Then I’m telling her.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I am!” she laughed. “And you know why? I won’t lose anything, and you’ll lose her. And maybe not right away, but eventually—maybe next Kaprash—you’ll come to me. Your desires will be in turmoil. You’ll be alone, without anyone who understands you. Fearful of the Circle. Fearful of E’tuah. Fearful of everything you were supposed to be. And then maybe you’ll be ready.”
She shot me a knowing look, and then pulled away. She began to walk towards the ladder.
“Wait! Where are you going?”
“To talk to Tala.”
“Now?”
“Of course now. If I wait too long, I’ll miss my chance. You never know. She could be executed tomorrow.”
She laughed and turned to grasp the ladder.
Something cold fell over me. I strode forward. I yanked her away. “Stop.”
“Or what?”
I gripped harder. “I won’t let you do this.”
“You can’t stop me.”
“I can.”
She tried to pull out of my grasp. I pulled back, fingers digging in, feeling the coldness rise in me, coursing through every limb—as if I were no longer in control.
“You won’t,” I said.
Doubt flickered in her eyes. She grimaced, trying to pry off my fingers. “Let go,” she said.
I didn’t.
“Ishvandu, let go.” She squi
rmed, twisting, but I was implacable. Until she seized my injured wrist and pulled.
I roared and shoved her away—hard. I watched her stumble. I watched her teeter for a moment on the edge of the wall, limbs wheeling in panic, eyes wide.
Stop her! Grab her!
I didn’t.
An instant later, the coldness vanished with a click. I gasped and leapt forward, reaching. My fingers brushed the front of her robes.
Too late. She plummeted off the wall into the dark. Her shriek—
Cut off. A thud and a crack. Then silence.
I blinked into the shadows. My hand groped weakly at the spot where she had been. It hovered there, uncomprehending. What had just happened? What . . . ?
Murmurs echoed from the yard, then footsteps, rushing.
“Ishvandu?” A voice called up at me.
“She . . . fell . . .” My voice was a whisper.
“Ab’Admundi is that you? What happened?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know . . . I . . .”
The Guardian clattered up the steps, throwing himself onto the narrow ledge. He found me, seized my shoulders, spinning me to face him.
It was ab’Tanadu.
“Ishvandu, is it them?”
“Sumadi,” I whispered.
“Is it them?”
I nodded. “Breta. She . . . It came out of nowhere. It just flew at her. I couldn’t get there in time. I couldn’t . . .” I clutched my stomach. “She . . . she . . . she fell.”
Ab’Tanadu followed my gaze over the wall. “The Sumadi pulled her over the wall?”
“Y-yes.”
“Then what in the sands are you waiting for? Sound the alarm! Go. Go!” He shoved me toward the sounding horns. “Guardian down!” he hollered. “Breta’s over the wall! Someone go. Hurry, hurry . . .”
I stumbled as I went. I wasn’t sure what I was doing, or why. But soon I was gripping the wheel. It turned and turned. The horns began to wail. The night woke. Shouts peppered the Hall, rose over the Labourer’s Quarter, the Craftsquarter, spreading to every corner of Shyandar.
I killed her.
The thought struck like a blow.
Breta had threatened me, threatened Tala’s trust, laughed at her. I had been furious. I wasn’t thinking . . .
No excuse.
The wheel groaned under my grasp. The horns spun and wailed.
I killed her. I killed her. I killed her.
The horns died. I crumpled to the ground. I couldn’t breathe. I was sobbing for air. My hand tightened over the wheel. Distantly, I was aware of shouts, of keshu ringing to life, of questions lashing across the night.
“Where are they?”
“Do you see them?”
“Formations!”
“I don’t see them!”
“But they sounded the alarm. Hurry!”
“Ishvandu?”
That last one was nearer. Ab’Tanadu. I was muttering to myself. Saying something. What was I saying? I glanced up.
“I killed her.”
The old Guardian seized my arm. “What?”
“It killed her. The Sumadi killed her. Drove her over the wall. I couldn’t stop her. I couldn’t . . .”
“You said that already. They’ve gone to recover her.”
I found his eyes. “Is she . . . is she . . . ?”
“Ishvandu, I need you to focus. Can you hear them? Are they close?”
I shook my head.
“Ishvandu, are the Sumadi close?”
“Gone,” I whispered. “Here—and then gone.”
He frowned. “Are you sure?”
I closed my eyes. A shameful dread was beginning to fall over me. I groaned and clutched my face. “Ab’Tanadu,” I whispered.
“What?”
“Help me off the wall.”
He nodded. “I can do that.”
I moved stiffly. My head felt light. I glanced over the wall, into darkness. Dimly, I saw a shape at the bottom, lying twisted in the dust. Lying still.
An accident. It was just an accident. I hadn’t meant to . . . But now she couldn’t hurt Tala. She couldn’t make me speak to it. An accident. A mistake. A terrible and fortunate mistake.
Chapter Forty-Six
Ishvandu ab’Admundi
“Why didn’t you hear them coming?” Umaala demanded the next morning.
“I don’t know, sal’ah,” I replied.
“That’s your job. You’re supposed to warn us before something happens.”
“I know, sal’ah.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I know.” Every word hurt. “I was preoccupied, sal’ah. I was . . . I was worried about Tala.”
“That is no excuse for negligence, ab’Admundi. A Guardian has died. Another one.”
“I know, sal’ah.” I looked down. “No excuse. I couldn’t catch her in time. I couldn’t . . .”
Umaala sighed. “Yl’avah’s might, your kiyah is growing sparser every day. Your numbers are down, you’ve lost two good fighters. The Al’kah wants you back in the desert, but I’m not so sure anymore.”
I opened my mouth. The words hovered on my tongue, desperate to be spoken. It’s Shatayeth. He killed Koryn. I’ve known all along and Tala is innocent.
I faltered. My instant of courage on the wall had withered.
Speak the truth for everyone to hear. Absolve her. And fear nothing.
Breta, E’tuah, my own desperate longings—and this new shame, burning inside me.
Speak.
How could I move forward now? It was a nightmare. I kept seeing her, over and over. Could I absorb this, fold it into the other losses of my life? Just an accident. An accident. Nothing more. Nothing.
“Ishvandu?” Umaala was looking at me, brows furrowed.
“I . . . I’m not ready, sal’ah.”
“What do you mean?”
“Being head of the third. I . . . I can’t. Koryn, Tala—now this.”
Umaala softened. “Ishvandu, death is inevitable in your kiyah. You will face more risk than others. But we wouldn’t have chosen you if we didn’t think you could handle it. You have much to learn. Yes. And you will do it in the midst of adversity. You would do it no other way.”
“Sal’ah?” My voice cracked. “What’s going to happen to her? I . . . I need to know. Please. Has the Circle decided? Is she safe?”
Umaala frowned, thinking, then levelled his gaze. “Ishvandu, what I’m about to share must be kept in confidence. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“Atali sai’Neraia shared extremely sensitive information with us about the circumstances of Akkoryn’s death. She claims he was killed by someone else. Someone not from Shyandar.”
I swallowed. “Is that possible, sal’ah?”
“If the claimed identity is true—yes.”
“Then she’s not guilty?”
“It’s not that simple. She knew this person was a threat, even before going into the desert. She claims to have met him face to face and confirmed his identity. She claims he can control Sumadi.” He frowned at me. “She claims you had no knowledge of any of this.”
I looked away. My chest constricted. I could only shake my head, not daring to speak. Umaala waited. Waited. But how could I say anything now? It was impossible. I had nothing to stand on. Everything I was—everything—was a lie.
“I’m sorry, sal’ah,” I finally said. “I . . . I don’t know.”
He sighed. “I was hoping you would know more. As things stand, I’m sorry, Ishvandu, but I think Atali sai’Neraia might be convicted of treason. A Guardian was killed. An entire mission put at risk. Crucial information withheld.”
“And you think I can intervene?”
“I think you have the Al’kah’s favour, ab’Admundi.”
The Al’kah’s favour. Would that extend to cover the Sending stone, to all my dealings with Shatayeth, to my secrets, to Breta?
“I don’t know, sal’ah.” I swallowed.<
br />
Umaala was looking at me, almost holding his breath. “About what?”
“I . . . I . . . I mean, I was on watch. I led the expedition.”
Blasted coward, just tell him!
I shook my head, shame hammering into me, stronger than before, like a wound in my side, hidden and festering.
“She shouldn’t be made to carry the guilt of a stranger. If someone else killed Koryn—”
“Do you think you’re in the best position to judge? You think you could assess this with an objective mind? It’s not just about Akkoryn, and you know it. Now if you have no further information for us, then you will accept the Circle’s decision.”
“But—”
“I need your word, Ishvandu.” He lowered his brows. “You will acknowledge the Circle’s right to judge. I won’t have a Guardian who thinks he—or anyone he associates with—is above the law.”
I swallowed and looked away. I couldn’t save Tala. If I spoke, I would be condemned next to her. And what good would that do? Better I was free. Free to use the Sending stone. Free to help her escape.
“Ishvandu.”
“I’m sorry, sal’ah. I . . . I will accept the judgment of the Circle.”
“Good.” He sighed. He looked deflated, weary. “And if I can save Atali sai’Neraia, I will. But regardless, I am sorry, Ishvandu. This hasn’t been an easy time for you. Go. Take two days off. Mourn your companions. And then we’ll discuss your return to the well.”
The Guardian Lord patted my shoulder—almost affectionately—then left me alone in the Task Hall.
We met Breta and Koryn at the Resting House at the foot of the Temple. It was near dusk. They were shrouded and cold. We studied their faces one last time before Kulnethar covered them—and they were gone. Just like Pol and Bray. There was no life left in those corpses, already decaying towards dust.
I was still groggy from my dreams. They had been dark and unpleasant: flashes of a twisted body, and Tala standing alone and naked on a wall, looking away from me. Her back freshly scarred with a whip.
When everyone had gathered—Neraia sai’Kalysa, the Al’kah, the third—we began. My wrist was still too weak, so Mani and Jil took their places next to Breta’s body, while Nolaan and ab’Tanadu made to carry Koryn’s.
Shadows of Blood Page 53
