*
We threw Fertig’s body into the gorge first. It disappeared into the rocky ravine. No one would ever spot it. I told Mason and Tiago not to say anything to the others, including Samuel, about what we had discovered.
As far as we knew, Fertig didn’t work with any of the leagues. He was a groom at one of the arena stables. Tiago said Fertig liked the gaming tables and had a weakness for dice. Maybe someone had taken advantage of that and paid him to keep his ear to the ground. Was that what his interest in Jalaine had been all along? She managed the arena office and was usually discreet, but there was no better source of news than her.
We pieced it together. She had bragged about the queen’s letter, and then mentioned Gunner’s message telling us to come home.
That was how Fertig and his gang knew we would be here.
Jalaine had told him.
Strangely, racing side-by-side with my rage was a sense of relief. I already knew there were conspirators, but at least now we had a clue. And one clue always unveiled more. They had a habit of leaving messy trails. Now, we had one to follow.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
KAZI
This time, I thought.
This time I am going to die.
My knife was gone, lost in the tumble from the wagon.
His weight had crushed me, his hands crazed steel rings around my neck. My nails scratched at flesh, face, arms. Sound blurred. I had no more air, the deckled edges of the world ruffled away, disappearing, my fingers doing a last desperate dance.
I saw Death standing behind him, smiling. You are next.
My fingers pulled, searched.
Make a wish, Kazi, make a wish for tomorrow.
No breaths.
Make a wish for the next day, and the next.
No air.
One will always come true.
And then my hand knocked against something hard. His knife. His knife was still sheathed at his side.
*
I sat on the wagon seat beside Jase, his arm around me, and everything about it seemed right and easy and blessedly calm. My clothes were still drenched in blood, and his knuckles were bruised and swollen. Mije followed behind, tethered to the back. The raiders’ horses were tethered behind other wagons. I leaned into Jase, sometimes closing my eyes. Sometimes dreaming. Sometimes feeling his lips brush my temple.
Tomorrow.
The next day and the next.
The ghosts, they never go away. They call to you in unexpected moments.
Because if I could believe in tomorrow or the next day, maybe that would give the magic time to come true.
There was a time when I wondered if it was all a dream. A nightmare. That she had never existed at all. That I was sprung from a fevered sleep and had always been a hungry shadow on the street. Her face faded, her touch faded, the same way a dream does no matter how hard you try to hold on to all its parts. But her voice remained clear as if she had never left me. The memory was bittersweet, saving me, when she couldn’t save herself.
You must find the magic, my chiadrah.
I nestled closer to Jase.
Maybe I had.
Maybe there could be tomorrows.
It didn’t seem like such a dangerous thought anymore.
*
The main house exploded with activity. We had rolled in the back way through Greyson Tunnel so we wouldn’t parade our injuries and bloodstained clothes through town and create a panic. The news raced through the tunnel, and by the time we reached the front steps of the main house, Vairlyn was already out there shouting orders. Fetch the healer! Call Gunner and Jalaine home! More bandages from the stockroom! Set out supplies in the dining room! Buckets of ice from the icehouse! She walked from Tiago to Samuel to Wren, examining them for injuries, grabbing chins and turning heads from side to side. Go to the dining room! Inside! Though Synové tried to flinch away, she couldn’t escape Vairlyn’s clutches, and Vairlyn examined her bloody, bandaged head. More orders were shouted. Draw baths! Prepare guest rooms! It was clear she had done this before. Maybe too many times.
At the bottom of the steps, Jase pulled me aside before she made her way down to us.
His fingers gently skimmed the bruises on my neck, and he shook his head. “I don’t want to say you shouldn’t have come, but if you hadn’t—”
“No thanks necessary, Jase Ballenger. I did it for an entirely selfish reason.”
His brows lifted. “Which is?”
“You still owe me a riddle. A good one. You’re not getting out of it that easy.”
He smiled. “I always make good on my word, Kazi of Brightmist. You’ll get your riddle.” He bent to kiss me, but a hand suddenly pushed him away.
“Time for that later,” Vairlyn said. She looked at my neck. “Dear gods, I hope the animal who did this is dead.” She touched the welts gently. “We’ll ice it. Inside.”
She looked at Jase’s cut cheekbone first, then grabbed his hand and looked at his knuckles. “Broken.”
Jase pulled his hand free. “They’re not broken—”
“I know broken when I see it! Go to the dining room with the others.”
“Not now,” Jase said firmly, his tone changed in an instant. “I have to talk to Jalaine first. Send her to the study as soon as she gets here.”
Vairlyn slowed, her eyes studying him, a wordless exchange between them, and she nodded. “Come when you’re finished.” And then I understood. This was not her son. This was the Patrei.
*
Sounds of healing—bandages being cut, hot water being wrung from rags, winces and moans as scrapes, cuts, and wounds were cleaned—filled the dining room. Tiago had the stature of a bull but was the most vocal as Vairlyn tweezed splinters from his arm. He mewed like a forlorn cat.
At the other end of the long dining table, Oleez applied a tincture to Wren’s elbow, scraped and bloody from a roll, and then she washed and examined my neck. She gave me a bag of ice to apply to the bruises. While Priya dabbed Mason’s cut lip with ointment, he watched Synové squirm as the healer examined the cut on her scalp. It had stopped bleeding, but her hair was caked with blood. The healer gave her a balm and new bandage to apply once she had bathed. Then we were free to leave.
Wren glanced back at Samuel as we left. His arm was tensed, the muscles and veins bulging and his eyes were squeezed shut while the healer stitched his palm. He didn’t say a word, but his chest rose in careful measured breaths. “He’ll have a scar,” Wren said. “Now I won’t be the only one who can tell him apart from Aram.”
We had almost reached our rooms, all of us eager to bathe and change, when a breathless servant hurried after us. She held out a plate that was topped with a delicate napkin. “From the new cook,” she said. “She wanted you to have this.”
I took the dish from her and she hurried away again, the house still busy with new chores. Before I even lifted the napkin, the aromatic smell bloomed around us. Sage. Synové snatched the cloth away. Three small sage cakes lay snug together in the middle of the plate. A message was tucked to the side.
The Patrei informed me about your love of sage cake. I have other vagabond specialties if you’d like to come sample them in the kitchen. I’ll be there throughout the evening as the regular cook has taken ill. I even have a bit of thannis tea you might enjoy.
“Thannis?” Synové squeaked.
“Holy demons,” Wren whispered, “do you think…” But she didn’t dare say the thought aloud.
We walked back down the stairs, nibbling our cakes, nodding at servants, straza, no one concerned about our passing anymore. We had fought side-by-side with the Patrei and his brothers. We were bandaged and bruised, and our stained clothes bore the evidence of our battle. We were above suspicion.