“As you say, my lords,” said Eshara. “We’ll go.”
But of course, they couldn’t go. Not yet.
Arwa raised her head and looked at them properly, tracing their faces with her eyes.
There was no evil living in them, not that she could see. Nothing unnatural rooted inside them, nothing like what had haunted Darez Fort. Their eyes were clear, their faces burnished by the sun; Sohal’s nose was faintly peeling. They were just boys. No more.
But the nightmare was here.
There was a trick to this: to being soft enough to arouse sympathy, sweet enough to reel them in. But Arwa used none of it, only stared at them, demureness forgotten, and said, “Darez Fort.”
Eshara hissed through gritted teeth.
The men stared at her with wide eyes. She’d spoken the name of a tragedy and pinned them with it. Good.
“My lords, in Darez Fort a commander serving the Governor of Chand and all his men and all their servants perished. Behind barred doors a curse consumed them, and they died, to the last man.” A slow inhalation. The two men waited, silent before her. “Some say the Empire is cursed. That our crops die and our people sicken. But in Darez Fort, the curse wore a face. It made them murder one another. Every one.”
She took a step closer.
“I am afraid something similar will happen here. Don’t you feel it? The fear? Don’t you feel something terrible growing within your skull with no way to leave it?”
She drew the memory of the dream close around her. The storm. The face of white bone. Kamran’s dust—and all the memories his death brought with it—hovering half-formed in the air before her.
“I know you do,” she said, letting her voice soften not with the gentleness expected of a noblewoman, but with the rasp Zahir’s voice sometimes held when he showed the sharp edge of his curiosity. “Please, my lords, you must help us.”
Sohal leaned forward. Like a tree swayed by a great wind.
“Your eyes,” he whispered.
Her eyes. Panic clamored up within her. Had she reached for the ash? Were her eyes full of gray-white light? She blinked, breathed, hoping it would fade away.
Sohal cleared his throat, and turned away. “By the Maha’s blessing,” he said, “you believe we need to warn our captain? That everyone will die?”
“I know it.”
“You can’t,” said the soft-faced guard. He lowered his voice. “That’s heresy.”
“I’m no heretic,” Arwa said, even though it was a lie. She stared at him full in the face, holding her knowledge around herself like a fierce armor all of her own. “Iknowit.”
Sohal shook his head. Took a step back. The spell was shattered.
“Go,” Sohal said abruptly. “Go now, lady. And keep your foolish thoughts to yourself.”
“Come on, sister. Let’s obey,” Eshara said tightly. Arwa could hear the fear tucked in her voice.
She felt Eshara grip her tight and knew her time had run out.
“Sohal.” A voice, deep from within the storefront. “He heard voices. He’s asked for you to bring him the women at the door.”
Sohal closed his eyes. Opened them. There was sweat on his forehead.
“My apologies, young widow,” he said. “You have your wish after all.”
They stepped into the store. Arwa assumed it must have been used for selling medicine, once. The air smelled of spices and herbs; jars of turmeric and honey and stoppered clay containers lined the walls, on cramped shelves. Some of the jars were broken, their contents spilled across the floor. Seated slumped against the wall, surrounded by shattered jars, a carafe of wine before him, sat the captain.
His helm was on the floor, but he wore his status in the fine fabric of his tunic, visible through his half-assembled armor, and the bands of decorated metal encircling his wrists. He had a cluster of men with him. One, old and grizzled, helm still on his head, was kneeling and speaking to the captain in a low voice. The older soldier rose when Eshara and Arwa entered, gave them a grim look, and stepped back into the shadows, where the captain’s other palmful of men stood in uneasy silence.
Captain Argeb raised his head. He gave them a smile that was unexpected in its openness: mouth curling, teeth faintly bared, eyes crinkling with joy.
