Tears stream from my eyes. “I can’t do this.”
“You have no choice if you want to live.”
I know he’s right, but it doesn’t stop me from hating every second of it. I try not to think of the dead boy, but my eyes still sting with sorrow. I strip off my ragged silk trousers and tattered slippers and stiffly pull on the scuffed underleathers, fasten the carbon-plated armor, and buckle the calf-high boots that are a full size too big. As I stare at the ruined teal fabric I think of Laleh. It seems like forever ago that I was celebrating with her, and now here I am, running for my life.
“Take this,” Roshan says, and hands me a sheathed dagger. Not just any blade,myblade, with its golden simurgh pommel. The symbolic irony is not lost on me. It’s hard not to make the connection between my dagger and the creature I’d envisioned inside of me, but I ignore it.
Dumbfounded, I stare at it. “Where did you get this?” I whisper.
“In your chambers after I went to find your friend. All the rooms were empty. She wasn’t there.” My heart sinks at that, but I know Clem is smart. She would have found a way to be safe. Roshan taps my closed fist over the dagger. “You might want to rethink your hiding places next time. Under the mattress was the first place I looked.”
“Thank you,” I say, and he ducks his head with a nod. Although I have no idea why he’d snatched up my dagger, I’m glad. It’s a reminder of home. Of my mother. OfwhoI am. Suraya Saab. Daughterof Hassan and Nasrin Saab. Niece. Bladesmith. Friend. With shaking fingers, I hook it to my belt, its familiar weight an instant comfort.
“Over there,” he says after a few more minutes of hurrying down a series of side streets. He points to a waiting carriage with no small amount of relief.
A plain black open coach sits in the shadow of a building in the distance. The area around the carriage is deserted, but our approach is cautious. The Dahaka are stealthy and deadly, and the last thing we need is to run into any of them. Or any more royal guards, for that matter. But luck is with us, it seems. We make it undetected to the carriage. The soft whinny of the horses inside the nearby stable makes me jump.
“Get in and stay down,” he tells me. “I’ll get a horse.”
Breathing a sigh of numb relief, I do as he says, crouching down and trying to calm my erratic breathing. My head is pounding, and as the seconds tick by, the ache only gets worse. Roshan has been gone only a handful of minutes at most, but it seems like forever.Whereis he?
“Well, well, well, what have we here?” a voice drawls. A voice thatisn’tRoshan’s.
Fuck, I had thanked our sandsdamned luck too soon.
Something sharp jams up against my nape, and I turn slightly to catch the end of a thin blade, held by a man, his face half covered by a dark mask. I wince as the steel bites into my skin.
A second cloaked figure emerges from the gloom of the stables, a similar knife pressed into Roshan’s side. A rush of heat engulfs my body and I fist my hands. But as the prince’s eyes meet mine, he shakes his head imperceptibly.
I bite back a hysterical laugh. Does he assume I have any inkling of control? Because Idon’t. My hands are weapons of unholy destruction and there’s noofflever. There’s no flamingmercylever. No wonder mortal danger had been Javed’s discovery tactic—this magictakes no prisoners in defending itself. And a blade at my throat is definitely a threat.
My breathing accelerates as panic sets in, acting as fuel to the gathering wildfire. I remember how the guards evaporated at the touch of my power, and my heart beats even faster. I think of the fallen guards and the dead boy whose gear I’m wearing and let out a wild sob. I don’t want to hurt anyone else, I don’t, Ican’t...
“Suraya.”
The whispered name filters through the incendiary haze in my brain, and I meet Roshan’s gaze. Desperate, I focus on him—on those steady brown eyes and the measured cadence of his breathing in the slow rise and fall of his chest. I mimic it.
In and out, in and then out again.Slow. Calm.
Closing my eyes, I turn my focus inward. I think about Coban and my workshop. My mother. My father. Amma. Laleh. I think of the warm desert sand between my toes, of breathtaking sunrises and glorious sunsets, of my father’s terrible jokes and my aunt’s cooking. I think of my mother’s hugs, Laleh’s quirky fashions, and nights spent sleeping outdoors under the stars. I think about Clem and her unguarded offer of friendship... a small beacon of light in this hellscape.
And finally,finally,I feel the frenzied energy start to lessen enough for me to tamp it down and rein it in. The old crone from behind the inn suddenly comes to mind, and I shudder as I recall the swipe of her fingertip on my palm. The fortune teller’s words thrum to my slowing heartbeat:Not yet awakened, it slumbers sound. The fates will wait until they are called. Where it walks, death follows.
Well, whateveritis, it’s bloody wide awake now.
Chapter Nine
God of Night
“She is more powerful than we ever imagined.”
My teeth press together as I groan at the unwelcome voice. I knew Vena would come eventually. It was only a matter of time, despite my threats. The guardian is persistent, I’ll give her that. It doesn’t lessen my displeasure, however.
“And that concerns me how?” I growl without turning around.
“Her magic is great but volatile,” the guardian says. “She needs a tether or Oryndhr will be lost. Balance is a necessity, Darrius.”
Clearly, Vena has not lost her flair for the melodramatic. While it was amusing when directed elsewhere, I resent it now, especially as I detect judgment in her tone. As ifIsomehow have been derelict in my duty. “I do not care about a cursed realm that renounced their devotion to the gods. My duty is here not her, my fucking father saw to that,” I bite out with enough force that I can feel the old guardian flinch. “Now begone, crone, my patience is at an end!”
