“Whose Daughter are you?” he asked instead. It was the Kemeiran way of saying,Who are you?
“Kemeira’s,” Linn replied steadily. “Daughter of Hu’kian, born to Ko Innen.”
It felt strange to say her village name, her mother’s name, as normally as though this were an exchange on her way to the fish market. Never mind that there was an eight-year gap in between.
“Then why,” the old man said, “do you wear foreign clothes?”
How was she to condense a decade of her life into a single sentence? “It is complicated.”
His eyes narrowed. “You know why this old man didn’t die back there, when the roof caved in, Daughter?”
A sliver of impatience bit at her. The sky had grown dark; Kaïs would be worrying about her. She needed to find a way to send word to him—or even better, find a chi. She needed to understand why the Cyrilians had burned down an entire village, ransacked its bookhouse. And she needed medicine for her wound, which had begun throbbing in pain again.
But Linn looked at the elder and swallowed her fretfulness. “Pray tell.”
“This old man wields flesh and specializes in the art of healing. He kept himself alive by regenerating his own organs.” He bared his teeth. His hands stopped moving in circles over his wound. Linn suddenly noticed that the bleeding had stopped; there was only a faint trace of blood on the palm of his hand. “And he could just as easily take yours if he finds you dishonest or a traitor to the kingdom.”
The shock of his words froze her for a moment. A Temple Master—he was aTemple Master.The order of elite warriors that protected Kemeira—the ones her Wind Masters had belonged to. The position that most wielders in their lives sought to achieve. When she was growing up, the Temple Masters had governed her village, tasked with ensuring stability and prosperity across all aspects of societal life and serving as the representative liaisons between their local village and the central government.
Linn dropped to her knees. Her hands shook as she splayed them out on the ground, pressing her cheeks to the mud. “Shi’sen,” she gasped.Master.“Forgive me for my disrespect. Eight years ago, my brother was taken by Cyrilian traffickers, and I boarded their ships in hopes of finding him.” Her voice cracked. “I have returned home.”
There was a long silence as her words hung in the air. Linn might have remained like this, prostrated before the Temple Master for an entire night, as was custom for some apprentices in other Temples.
She felt him stir, the movement coursing through her winds. His hand, steady and strong, came to rest on her head. “Rise, Daughter.”
She did; his eyes remained on her for several moments until, at last, he clasped his hands together in a salute. “A Daughter of the Wind, it seems.” Her eyes widened; his face broke into a smile that wasn’t unkind. “Well met, Ko Linnet. This old man is Gen Fusann. He suggests taking a look at that leg first—and that old injury on your right arm. Come.”
She stretched out her left leg and right arm—the one Kerlan had broken, which had still not healed properly. Now that she’d gotten over the emotion of meeting a Temple Master, the pain had returned: a constant feeling that the flesh of her calf was aflame.
Gen’s hands were gentle, and each touch of his fingers—quick, light, like a dragonfly skimming over water—sent ripples of relief through her nerves. Barely a minute had passed when he nodded and folded his hands over each other. “The leg wound is gone. Your arm should feel better. Best to rest for the moment.”
With incredulity, she realized that the laceration across her calf was utterly sealed, the skin over it nearly as smooth as it had been, bearing the tiny stitch marks that Kaïs had sewn for her. And her arm…Linn held it up to the moonlight, her mouth dropping open as she flexed her fingers. Slowly, she removed her cast. The bandages fell in strips onto the ground.
The Temple Master gave a rough chuckle. “Ever heard of the expression ‘a peasant girl sees gold for the first time’?”
Linn blushed, lowering her arm to her side. Still, she tapped her fingers against her legs, marveling at the return of their dexterity. “I left in search of my brother before I finished my training. I have heard of the prowess of the other Temples, but I have never seen it.”
Something like sympathy flickered in the man’s eyes. “TheTemple Masters became aware of the Cyrilian traffickers and began to fight back. But the Kemeiran way is to harmonize, to heal. Kemeirans are fierce fighters, yet their values teach them forgiveness and restraint.” His lips thinned. “That is not the Cyrilian way, it appears.”
Linn straightened. “Please,” she said. “Do you know why they are here?”
“This old man believes they seek knowledge. They ransacked the local bookhouse, kidnapped the Temple Masters. Gen faked his own death…and they left him here.”
“Knowledge?” Linn repeated. “What kind of knowledge?”
“Only the gods know, Daughter. But word must be sent to warn the next villages…if that is not already too late. Word must be sent to Bei’kin, before they arrive.”
She swallowed her excitement. “Shi’sen, you make for Bei’kin?”
“Indeed. Old Gen shall walk. And he must start now. It is two weeks and a few days’ journey away.”
One week.If these Cyrilian ships were the same ones that had attacked hers…then they must have just docked. Linn wasn’t far behind.
And yet…
Kaïs.
A small bud of panic bloomed inside her as she thought of him, standing over the bluffs, watching the skies for her. Would he still be waiting for her? Or would he have gotten worried, and left to search for her?
