The wand at the Damajah’s belt is as powerful as Aunt Leesha’s, and her many rings, bracelets, necklaces, earrings, and headpiece all shine with demonbone magic, glittering about her like stars.
“Darin!” Jardir’s voice is warm as he holds his arms open.
“Bloodfather.” I embrace him gratefully, feeling safe for the first time in months. The sensation makes me choke, and it’s only sheer force of will that keeps me from weeping into his shoulder. Suddenly I am so tired.
I ease back before I lose what remains of my dignity. Jardir lets me go, turning to give Selen a shallow bow. “Welcome, Selen vah Gared am’Cutter am’Hollow. Your father is one of the greatest warriors I have ever met. I am honored to call him friend. He will no doubt be overjoyed to hear you are well.”
Selen hesitates at the mention of her father, but recovers, dipping into a curtsy. “You honor me, Shar’Dama Ka.”
The Damajah sweeps forward, her diaphanous robes swirling around her as if they have life of their own. “Welcome, Darin asu Arlen am’Bales am’Brook, the light born in darkness.” She nods at me, and I suppress a shudder as I return the gesture. I’ve always been uneasy around the Damajah. Somethin’…hungry about her, and I feel like the meal.
“And to you, Selen vah Elona,” Inevera continues. “Your father’s strength is legend, but your mother is no less formidable.”
“Ay, that’s honest word.” Selen curtsies, but she, too, smells wary. Ent just me Inevera unnerves.
“It has been too long since you and your mother last visited,” Jardir says. “It is good to see you grown into a man.”
Standing before him in silk robes of cobalt blue, embroidered with wardwork in silver thread and pants that taper wide as a ball gown, I hardly feel like a grown man. “Ay, maybe not quite there yet.”
“A man is more than his stature,” Jardir says. “Your father was never the largest warrior, nor the strongest. His sharusahk was not the best, nor was he the quickest, or the smartest. But again and again, death came for the Par’chin, and again and again he cast it back. I was honored to be his ajin’pal. His brother in day and night.”
He lays his hands on my shoulders the way Grandda does when he’s got something heavy to say. “I know I am not your true sire, Darin Bales, but if ever you need a boon so great that only a son might ask it of his father, you may ask it of me. Lands. Titles. Riches. Matchmakers and dower to find you wives to give you children. All this I owe the son of Arlen, and more beside.”
“Don’t need any land or riches,” I tell Jardir.
My bloodfather nods. “And yet here you are, arriving on my doorstep unannounced and on foot, dressed in rags, alone save for the daughter of Gared.”
“Don’t tell me you think we’re here to elope, too,” I say.
“It was Rojvah’s guess, but as good as any,” Inevera says. “You had opportunity with your mothers away hunting the demons that attacked the princesses on Solstice.”
“Without so much as consulting me.” Jardir’s fist clenches at his side, and I catch a whiff of his anger before he suppresses it.
“Dice didn’t tell you?” I try to keep bitterness from my tone, but ent sure I succeed. Wouldn’t be in this fix if not for the ripping dice. All the corespawned things do is turn lives upside down.
“The dice have ever been…elusive where you were concerned, Darin Bales.” Something about Inevera’s words makes me profoundly uneasy. “At least, without your blood to focus the casting.”
The Damajah’s face is serene, her breathing deep and even. She does a good job of masking her natural scent in perfume, making it hard to sniff out what she’s feeling. Even her aura is placid. But her eyes and easy grace are…predatory. She will ask for that blood when she hears our tale. Mam always said the blood was all Inevera really cared about, and I should never give her any, but corespawn me, this time I ent got much choice.
“Enough games.” Jardir’s voice deepens, like Mam getting ready to drag me from a puddle. “If it is not to marry the daughter of Gared, why are you here?”
“Demons didn’t just attack Olive and Selen on Solstice,” I say. “Hit me in the Brook, too.”
“On the same night?” Jardir asks.
“Same hour,” I say.
“Tsst!” Inevera hisses. “How could they not inform us of such a portent?”
“Mam wanted to, but Aunt Leesha wasn’t…comfortable reaching out.” My eyes flick to the Damajah, but she says nothing. “They cast the dice, and think they found some kind of nest.”
Again Bloodfather’s aura turns briefly stormy, then blows away. I can smell his fear, and concern, even if his words try to hide them. “Nevertheless, I am certain they are well. Leesha Paper is even more formidable than her mother, and Renna am’Bales put a spear in a demon queen’s eye.”
“Thought so, too, till we found this.” I reach into my robe, producing Mam’s knife.
“Tsst!” Inevera hisses.
Jardir’s eyes widen, and this time when his aura turns stormy, it does not calm. “Where did you find that?”
“In a field of blood and burning bodies,” I say. “Hundreds of Wooden Soldiers and Warded Children. No sign of survivors. Looked like they were bushwhacked.”
I have never seen my bloodfather angry, but he is angry now. He lifts an arm and the Spear of Kaji flies from the dais to his hand, the wards along its length burning with power.
“When?” Jardir demands.
“Two moons ago,” I say.
Inevera lays a hand on Jardir’s wrist, just above the hand that holds the spear. “Peace, husband. If it has been so long, we must learn all we can before taking action.”
Jardir grimaces, but he nods, breathing away his fear and anger as I relate the attack near my grandda’s farm, and Selen retells what happened on the borough tour. Their faces are calm, but even the Damajah’s aura begins to boil at having been kept in the dark about the danger to Olive and me.
“Aunt Leesha’s bones pointed to a city in the eastern mountains,” I say. “She left with five hundred Hollow Lancers, Mam, and all the Warded Children.”
“Such a force should have been a match for any demon ambush,” Jardir says.
“The prophecy,” Inevera presses. “Do you recall Leesha vah Elona’s precise words?”
Inevera turns to me, and I shift uncomfortably. Even Mam never trusted the Damajah fully, but we need help, and they’re the only ones who can give it to us.
“A mimic demon hungers beneath a city in an eastern mountain valley,” I say. “She showed us an area that was once part of the country of Rusk. I can mark it on a map.”
“Immediately,” Jardir says. “But still, that does not explain why you, Darin asu Arlen am’Bales am’Brook, are here in Krasia. I will not ask a third time.”
“Olive is missing, too,” Selen says. “We think she was kidnapped the night after Leesha and Mrs. Bales left Hollow.”
“Kidnapped?” Jardir asks. “By whom?”
“We don’t know for sure, but I have a suspicion,” Selen says. “It happened not long after your wife tried to buy Olive.”
Jardir turns to Inevera, but the Damajah is aghast. “I did no such thing!”
“Your other wife,” Selen says. “Belina.”
Both eyes snap back to Selen. “Belina was in Hollow?” Inevera’s voice is low and dangerous. This time, it is her aura that will not calm.
“Belina and Iraven came to negotiate joining the Pact of Free Cities,” Selen said. “Wanted to seal the deal with a wedding. Olive and prince…Chad.”
“Chadan asu Maroch,” Inevera advises. “Aleverak’s great-grandson. Barely out of swaddling when the Majah returned to Desert Spear.” She snorts in derision. “Belina came with a purse full of sand and tried to bargain for the sun.”
“Leesha saw it that way, too,” S
elen says. “Shut it down so hard they left town the next day.”
“They could have left spies behind,” Jardir says.
I shake my head. “Whoever took Olive was Krasian, but I don’t think they were Majah.”
Everyone gives me the look of confusion I’ve seen so many times.
“I smelled it in Lord Arther’s room, where we found Olive’s note. Krasians. Thought it was Micha at the time, but it was too spread out, and there were male scents.”
Selen looks at me. “You can smell what country folk are from?”
“Country?” I huff. “I can smell what part of town they’re from.”
“You can…smell tribe?” Jardir asks.
“Ay,” I say. “Ent hard. Northerners might think all your food’s alike, but each tribe has its differences, and it changes how they smell. Never smelled Majah before they came to Hollow, but they were just leaving when we arrived, and their scent was all over the keep. Spice mixed with a dust that just smelled…dead.”
“Desert dust,” Jardir says.
I nod. “Whoever kidnapped Olive didn’t smell like that.”
“Spies use alomom powder to hide their scents,” Inevera says.
Something clicks into place. That dust that deadened the scents in Arther’s office. Now that I have a name for it, I can filter it in the future. Still, I shake my head. “Powder didn’t hide as much as they think. Whoever they were, they didn’t smell like Majah.”
“Watchers, then,” Jardir says. “Not the Krevakh, surely. It would have to be the Nanji. Their tribe served the Majah for centuries. The blood debts run deep.”
Again, I relate everything I can recall, as my bloodfather listens impassively.
“You did the right thing, coming to me, Darin,” he says at last.
He turns to Selen. “As for you, Selen vah Gared, it is time we called your father.”
36
THE CORE TO PAY
“Because you wouldn’t listen!” Selen shouts. “Olive was kidnapped and you wouldn’t even listen. What were we supposed to do?”
“Sure as the Core wern’t supposed to run off to rippin’ Krasia!” the general’s voice roars back through the resonance stone at the center of the Damajah’s casting chamber. It glowed brightly with magic when contact began, but already it is dimming. The power needed to communicate over such distance is enormous.
“Got no one but yourself to blame if I din’t trust you!” the general goes on. That one strikes home. I can smell Selen’s sudden shame.
But it ent fair. I take a step forward, even though he is hundreds of miles away. “What about me, Uncle Gared?”
“Ay, what’s that, Darin?” he says.
I make my voice innocent as one of Aunt Selia’s butter cookies. “What did I do, to earn your mistrust?”
The general isn’t having it, but he stops yelling, and that’s a start. “You’re a good boy, Darin, but those girls’ve always had you wrapped around their fingers. Ent your fault.”
I swallow a lump of fear and press. “Is. I wasn’t going to let Olive’s trail go cold because you wouldn’t listen. Asked Selen to steal some food and a spear to come with me.”
“And what did that get you?” Uncle Gared demands. “Ent found Olive any more than we did, and you took a forest full of stupid chances along the way. Lucky you din’t end up like…”
He trails off, unwilling to finish the sentence.
“Indeed, where has any of this deception gotten us?” Jardir demands. “The adults of Hollow were no less foolish than its children. I should have been informed before your forces left, and shouldn’t have to hear of their destruction from a child, moons after the fact.”
“I had my orders to keep it quiet, from Leesha herself,” the general says.
“And who gives orders in Hollow now, with your duchess and her heir both missing?” the Damajah asks.
“Me, for now,” Gared concedes. “But if Olive ent back here soon, it’s going to end up being Elona, and ent a soul in the world wants that.”
Selen draws a ward in the air in front of her. “Creator forbid.”
“All the more reason you should have trusted me,” Jardir says.
“Ay, don’t act like you don’t know why that is,” Gared says. “Can’t throw a rock in Hollow without hittin’ someone whose home you took.”
“Those who fled our advance are welcome to return, son of Steave,” Jardir says tightly, but I can tell he ent used to being spoken to like this.
“Oh, ay?” the general presses. “Gonna give them their land back? Unkill their sons?”
“Enough,” Jardir growls. “Whatever disputes our people have in the day is irrelevant. These are blood matters. Leesha am’Paper and Renna am’Bales are as sisters to me. I would never have allowed harm to come to them. And by Everam, when my daughter disappeared, honor demanded I be informed, as I have informed you when I found yours shivering in my doorstep.”
“Wasn’t shivering,” Selen notes, but a tsst! from Inevera quiets her.
“Ay, fair and true,” the general concedes at last. “But when Leesha didn’t come back…”
“You thought it might have been me who stole her away?” Jardir asks.
“Thought crossed my mind,” Uncle Gared admits. “Sorry about that. But now that we know you din’t, it narrows the list.”
“We have yet to cast the dice,” Jardir says, “but we are not without suspicion.”
“The Majah,” Uncle Gared guesses. “Leesha was spittin’ fire after they tried to bid on Olive like a horse.”
“There is no shame in bargaining properly over a match,” the Damajah says, “but the Majah were flies attempting to haggle a spider.”
“We will seek Leesha and Darin’s mother first,” Jardir says, “while we investigate the Majah.”
“Got men searching those hills now,” the general says.
“Either they will find nothing,” Bloodfather says, “or they will die. Anything powerful enough to defeat my intended’s forces will make short work of your scouts.”
“Maybe,” Gared agrees, “but I can’t just sit on my hands about it, either.”
“Of course not,” Jardir says. “You are a man of honor, and will do what must be done. When the dice are cast, I can fly to the scene and investigate properly.”
“So you’ll let us know what the dice tell you?” Gared asks.
“Tsst!” Inevera’s hiss cuts off Jardir’s response. “The mysteries of the alagai hora are not to be bandied about.”
Jardir nods. “We will conduct our investigations, and inform you when we find something.”
“Ent gonna be good enough.” Some of the boom returns to the general’s voice. “I’m sending an escort for Selen and Darin, now. Be there in a fortnight, and I want them packed up and ready to go.”
My bloodfather’s nostrils flare, but he keeps his temper in check. “The pact is clear, and you will have them. I forgive your rudeness and disrespect for suggesting it might be otherwise. I know you are a man of honor, and this is a father’s fear affecting your manners.”
“Got that right,” Gared says. “And if there ent news of Olive when I get there, we’re gonna see if that sand fort you’re all so proud of can stand when a hundred thousand Cutters come to knock it down.”
“I will not allow a force that size to pass through Krasian lands,” Jardir says. “We will consider it an act of war.”
The general growls. “Then we’ll go around.”
“That will add weeks to your journey,” Jardir says. “If attempting to move so many men across the sands doesn’t kill you, you will break against Desert Spear’s walls like waves against a cliff.”
“I won’t abandon Princess Olive,” the general says, and I catch a whiff of pride from Selen at the words.
“She may be y
our princess,” Jardir says, “but she is my daughter. I will see to her safety. If we discover she is with the Majah, we will…ask them to return her.”
Gared snorts. “And if they say no?”
“Then you may accompany me when I knock down their walls and take her,” Jardir says.
“Tsst!” Inevera removes one of the wardstones on the resonance table, breaking the connection. She and Jardir glare at each other but say nothing more.
* * *
—
I stare at the hanzhar on Inevera’s belt as she kneels before her white casting cloth. Long as Mam’s knife, the curved dagger is hot with magic. Hanzhar are reputed to be sharp as razors. I wonder if I will even feel it slicing my flesh as she draws blood for the dice.
But the Damajah never reaches for the blade, instead producing a surgical needle, tubing, and several stoppered vials—enough for multiple castings.
I shift uneasily. Mam warned me never to do this. Your aunt Leesha’s bad enough, but I know where her head is at. Ent a body that knows what’s in Inevera’s head ’cept Inevera.
“Hold out your arm.” The Damajah does not look at me, seemingly focused on the tubing she will tie around my arm, but it’s an act. I can smell her hunger.
I hesitate. Been around enough magic users to know the power of blood. Even one vial would allow Inevera to target any number of spells at me, some up close and others at a distance. More, they allow her dice to look into my past and present to predict my future. Who I am. Where I come from. Who I am meant to be. What I am meant to do.
How I will die.
Does anyone have a right to know secrets like that?
I steal a glance at her, thankful for the curls of hair over my eyes that keep us from locking stares. She waits patiently, seeing my indecision.
“I cannot take the blood from you, son of Arlen,” she says quietly. “You must give it willingly for the prophecy to be strong. Your blood is something I have desired for many years, though your mother would not allow it since…”
The Desert Prince Page 42
