Bakshi nodded, his expression impossible to read. Frustrated? Irate? Bored? I struggled to pin down the flash in his eyes before it vanished. He was an exceptional actor. I wouldn’thave known the little tells were there if I hadn’t been warned of him first.
“I’ll escort ummi and my sisters to the palace, then send you my recommendations for the post.”
The king was barely listening; he strode the last few steps to the messenger and clasped his shoulders. “I want you to tell me everything, every last story you heard. Leave out no detail.”
The messenger’s throat bobbed but he nodded.
Daurith attacked, in the same week Tourlestyn had been. It wasn’t a coincidence; the attacks were increasing. Those black-clad monsters were stretching their shadow across the empire.
I needed to get to the great library in the palace. In my search for information about the lightning soul, and how to remove and contain it, or at least dim its presence in a person, I’d encountered passages dedicated to the darkness it had warred with. Light against dark, in every single book. But that darkness had been the Zalaam queen and her araethawn soldiers.
And yet… the lightning soul was back. Old legends, reborn in Ithanys’s new age. It made the back of my neck prickle, a warning I hadn’t yet translated. Daurith was mentioned in those old tales, too. It had been one of the first targets of the dark ones.
I looked up when Kamaal strode over to me, his expression combative.
“I’m not leaving Raheema. I don’t trust anyone with her,” I said firmly, forcing my voice to hold steady even as the ruination of Daurith had shaken me. Was Varidian there? And if he was, why had the messenger not spoken of him?
A shadow crossed Kamaal’s eyes. Chocolate brown with a ring of silver, not quite as eerie as mine but remarkable still. “Leave it with me,” he said so only I could hear, and while I didn’t trust a single person in this city… I trusted Varidian’s word that Kamaal wasn’t a danger. So I nodded.
“There’s something else,” I said quietly, glancing over my shoulder. “My handmaiden—”
But the place where Xiu had been watching me with fiery hatred in her eyes was empty. She was gone.
“Nothing,” I sighed, shaking my head. “Let’s return to the palace.”
CHAPTER 12
VARIDIAN
It was against my best interests, the wishes of my legion, and all damned common sense to fly beside the Torn Isle leaders to their island off the southern coast of Ithanys. And yet.
Our fates depend upon it,Chakir had said. Chakir, who was a man of learning and stern commands, not dreams and whimsy.Our fates depend upon it—upon you accompanying these people and meeting the Kaldic emissary on the Torn Isle. Hear what they have to say. Make your own decisions. Then if you choose to turn your back on them, you do it informed.
We flew in formation over the tree-covered hills between Daurith and the coast, and sailed over the rich blue waters until the Torn Isle’s red terraced houses and silver minarets came into view. So many buildings and rooftops had been crammed onto the landmass that no greenery remained. What native forests had lived here were felled centuries ago, but the island’s bustlingcity seemed to have swallowed even more of the land than the last time I was here.
The largest of the ten southwestern islands, the Torn Isle had been a hub of trade, riches, and noise for longer than I’d been alive. As long as the Marrakchi family had existed, the Torn Isle had controlled the flow of spices, gold, jewels, and minerals into Ithanys. Seafood, weapons, and animals, too, found their way off the plethora of boats gathered in the Torn Isle’s main port, through the warehouses and factories owned by the island’s leaders itself, and into the mainland.
As a result of the thousands of people who flowed through daily, the island had a certain energy and feeling to it.
“It stinks of fish guts and vomit,” Shula said the moment we landed.
A certain miasma, too. The stench, the shimmering heat, the overcrowded bustle of it were unavoidable. Riches, it seemed, weren’t possible without an aroma of trout.
“Fear not, darling Shula. It’s easier to breathe the closer you get to the Isle’s heart,” Zaarib said, throwing his arm over her broad shoulders in an attempt to cheer her up. But it was difficult to feel even an iota of cheer when Nabil had flown with Shula, a constant reminder that Buchra was dead.
When Zaarib draped his other arm over Nabil’s stiff shoulders, I strode to the sleek, muscular wyvern beside Mak. Habiba narrowed bright eyes on me but didn’t stop my approach. Her protectiveness set me on alert, and I was already heightened enough by the shadow in my room that tried to kill me—and the second person who snuck into Aliah’s chamber. She’d drawn their blood, but her attacker evaded her as mine had.
“Aliah,” I murmured, my stomach swooping when I saw her standing dead-still against Habiba’s side, her golden face blank, eyes distant. “If you’re in pain, I want to know now. If thatbastard managed to injure you,tell me.I can’t do my job as your commander if you keep secrets from me.”
Hypocrite. Cursed, bastard hypocrite.
Aliah shook her head, her face a shade or two paler than usual, grey-brown eyes blinking three times before they focused on my face. “I’m not hiding an injury. I saw… actually, I don’t know what I saw. Wyverns flying through a colourful window.Throughthe window. As if it carried them somewhere else. No glass shattered, and the wyverns were unharmed.”
“Did they have riders?” I asked, my mind spinning rapidly.
She nodded. “Each one. But I’m not sure… there was a darkness to them, but they didn’t feel the same as those wyverns. The araethawn,” she corrected with a shake of her head.
I knew the exact feeling—disbelief and dread, that the old stories were now part of real life. They felt like a myth left centuries in the past, but I believed Chakir. Maybe not the Torn Isle’s leaders, but I trusted the guardian of Daurith. I trusted my own instincts too, and the word of the lightning soul.
