Just like the rest of us, right?Ziva doesn’t even try to disguise her accusation.According to you, we’re all untrustworthy.
I squirm with discomfort, glad Ziva can’t actually see me through the threads of night.
Yatindra is my family,Ziva continues with such ardent hope, I feel sorry for her.
That doesn’t always mean as much as it should,I warn.
Maybe not in your family, but it means something in mine. Yatindra is with us. Stop meddling.
But—
Good night, Enebish.
Ziva releases the darkness and the threads of night collapse, pouring over me like a bucket of filthy brown swamp water.
At long last, King Minoak wakes.
Though, I don’t know if or when we would’ve been informed had I not been dutifully keeping watch from the branch outside the infirmary window.
The moment I climb into the tree, I hear voices. And not just the bored chatter of the guards. There’s an entire choir’s worth of noise, ranging from sobbing to laughing to shrieking and giving thanks.
Minoak is propped up in bed, haggard and dull-eyed, but alert enough to brush Yatindra’s fussing hands away. “Enough! You’re my sister, not my mother,” he says, voice scratchy with disuse and tinged with annoyance. Though, a broad smile overtakes his bearded face.
“We both know Mother would have wrapped you head to toe in eucalyptus leaves and forced the entire country to kneel in prayer until you arose. My ministrations are mild by comparison.” Yatindra reaches out and smooths a lock of graying hair behind his ear. Minoak grumbles but his smile grows.
“The Namagaan look suits you.” He tugs on one of her long cattail braids. “I’ve always meant to visit.”
“Don’t lie. Ziva had to drag you here—literally.”
“When did you get so strong?” He turns to Ziva, who’s sitting on the bed beside him, tucked beneath his arm. Minoak’s gaze is the definition of tenderness, and tears glisten in his eyes as he gazes down at his daughter. “You saved me, my brave, beautiful girl.”
Ziva bursts into tears and lays her head in his lap. The jostling makes him flinch, but when Ziva tries to pull away, he holds her there. His big, weathered fingers skim across her cheek.
“On behalf of Namaag, welcome back to the land of the living,” King Ihsan says. He stands at the foot of the bed with Murtaugh. Behind them, Ruya and five soldiers, as well as a handful of dignitaries, line the wall.
So much for only permitting the royal family to visit.
“We have much to discuss,” the Marsh King continues. “I’ve received some very interesting reports from my scouts.”
My stomach drops as if the branch snapped beneath my feet. When did his scouts return? What did they report? And why weren’t we informed? It takes all of my restraint not to fling myself through the window and interrogate him.
“King Ihsan is going to help us seize Lutaar City from the imperial governor,” Ziva cuts in.
Murtaugh turns so pale, it looks like he should be laid out on one of the sickbeds, but Ihsan laughs heartily. “Your daughter is quite the politician, Minoak.”
“Skies, Zivana!” Yatindra scolds. “Don’t pester your father about marching into battle when he isn’t even well enough to stand. There will be plenty of time for our kings to discuss these things and form a plan. You needn’t worry yourself over such heavy matters any longer.”
Her smooth dismissal of Ziva makes me bristle, but I don’t know if it’s because her comments warrant suspicion, because I simply don’t like Yatindra, or becauseIam suspicious and distrustful, looking for betrayal in every little word.
Ziva doesn’t seem troubled in the slightest. She smiles and rolls her eyes as Yatindra ruffles her curls. Making me doubt myself more than ever. Prompting me not to breathe a word about Minoak’s revival to Serik or the shepherds, lest I look like a paranoid spy. Which is feeling more accurate every minute.
When King Ihsan finally announces the good news two days later, I act as surprised and overjoyed as the rest of the shepherds—hugging and toasting with sap wine at the celebration held in Minoak’s honor. The cooks prepare both Namagaan and Verdenese delicacies, and a trio of our very own shepherds, including Serik, play lively dance songs on fiddles.
Halfway through the revelry, King Minoak shuffles out onto a high platform overlooking the chaos. He still requires the aid of two healers and a cane, but when he takes his place beside Ihsan, you’d think he was an illustrious warrior marching across the battlefield, the way the crowd roars.
“We are celebrating more than the recovery of this great man,” Ihsan booms. “Today also marks the birth of an even deeper alliance between Namaag and Verdenet.”
Serik takes my hand and squeezes, his eyes as bright as the lightning bugs buzzing in the jars overhead. “It’s really happening.”
