I’d thought my time concealing the caravan across the continent was behind me. We should be storming Lutaar City, reinstating King Minoak, then freeing the other Protected Territories to make a stand against the Zemyans and the Sky King. But here we are. Trekking to Namaag with a half-dead king and a group of “rebels” who are ready to abandon our cause after a few weeks of hardship.
I peer up into the undulating darkness, desperate to find the Lady’s face in the ever-shifting shadows.
Can’t you lighten my load, even a little?
“You should sit down,” Ziva says. “You look like you’re going to collapse.” She pushes away from the opposite cave wall and offers me a hand.
I ignore it and brace myself against the slippery rocks. “I’m fine. Just tired from chasing you across the desert last night.” I spear her with an accusatory glare. “Unfortunately, I won’t be sleeping tonight, either—or any night—since you convinced the shepherds we have to leave immediately, and it’s safer to travel when my power is strongest.” I flip my hand at the ambling group, my right eye already twitching at the straying sheep and uneven pace, and we’re mere steps outside the cave.
It’s going to be a long week.
“You could let me help.” Ziva’s voice is tentative but her eyes are hopeful.
“Don’t you need to look after your father or something?” I nod to the litter in the middle of the group, balanced on the shoulders of our six strongest men.
“There’s nothing I can do for him until we reach Namaag, and I’ll follow your orders with exactness. I know I’m new to all of this.” She waves a hand, sending the tendrils of darkness swirling, which makes it even more difficult to keep the net taut and steady over the group. “But I did manage to conceal myself and my father for almost two months.”
I give my head a terse shake. “Concealing an entire caravan is far more difficult than concealing two people. You can’t just toss the darkness at random. There must be order and discipline so that the tendrils lie flat and move seamlessly with a group this large.”
“So teach me.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. “It isn’t something I can teach in a minute or two. It takes years. A lifetime of training.”
And I don’t want to be a mentor.
My own mentor, Tuva, was so patient and encouraging. I remember her cooing-dove voice and graceful artist’s hands, swirling through the darkness with the ease of a paintbrush. For the longest time, I thought she was too timid and fragile to be a good warrior—or a respectable mentor. Especially after my childhood with Ghoa. But now I see how strong and humble she had to be, entrusting me with her knowledge and assuming I would do right by it.
Tuva would have agreed to train Ziva without hesitation. But I’m not half the Night Spinner, orperson,that Tuva was. The wreckage I made of the Grand Courtyard is proof of that. Sheneverwould have been so thoroughly deceived by Temujin and Kartok.
“No,” I say in case Ziva mistook my silence for consideration.
“But youclearlyneed me. And Serik said—”
“Serik doesn’t know the first thing about wielding the darkness, so he doesn’t get to dictate who can and can’t be trusted with it.”
“Is this about trust or ability? Because before you said—”
“It’s about both!” I snap.
“I trustedyouenough to follow you back to these caves.” Ziva’s voice grows shriller by the second. “Don’t I deserve the same courtesy?”
“You only came because you had no choice. And youcanhelp by keeping up and keeping quiet.” I point to the back of the caravan.
Ziva grumbles something I can’t decipher and stomps ahead. I’m positive she’s cursing me, but that’s fine. Better than fine. My life will be much easier if she despises me enough to stop pestering me.
I seal the blanket of darkness behind us and take up the rear of the wagon train. Far ahead, at the front of the group, there’s a flash of gold in the blackness. My breath automatically catches, even though I know it isn’t Orbai—it’s only Serik’s goldwork cloak. But my heart can’t stop hoping, and breaking, all over again. I’d give anything under the skies to have her here with me.
Gold sparkles again as Serik mounts a wagon and squints for me at the end of the procession. During the arduous trek to the caves, he was forced to trail the group and melt the snow to remove our tracks. He never once complained, even though I know he felt alone and unappreciated back here. Now it’s my turn, since we don’t have to worry about tracks in the sand, and it’s easier to manage the net of darkness, where I can adjust for the shepherds’ obnoxious wandering.
Secretly, I’d hoped Serik would decline to lead the march to Namaag so he could walk with me, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. The shepherds trust him and, more important, they listen to him. As they should—he works so hard to be a good leader. I just wish I could be up there with him instead of stuck back here eating dust with the seething princess.
Serik waves when he spots me, but when he sees Ziva walking ahead, his smile falters. Shame drags at my shoulders. I know what he’s thinking:This isn’t you. Don’t let Ghoa and Temujin turn you into a cynic. We need Minoak. Which means we need Ziva. Which means you need to play nice.
You know you’ve hit rock bottom when Serik has become the voice of moral reason in your head.
I look away and turn my focus to the shadowy dunes. Where Temujin and his Shoniin are undoubtedly lying in wait.
For the first few leagues, I jump at every sound. My fingers grasp for the darkness with every flicker of movement on the horizon. But two days pass and the Shoniin never come. No one does; the roads are all but abandoned. I don’t know if it’s due to the terrible weather—the wind is still cold and punishing, pelting our cheeks with sand and whipping the animals into a frenzy—or because we only travel at night, but we encounter one solitary man leading a sorry-looking llama.
