“And keep pressure on the wound,” Doctor Moyaka called after her.
Everything moved as if through water. Tané broke into a loose-footed run, but it felt like she was wading.
The bridge was within sight of Vane Hall. She was closing on it when a shadow winged above her. Heat flared against her back. She tried to go faster, but exhaustion made her blunder and, with every step, the incision wept more blood. Pain beat at the padded armor the drug had wrapped around her.
The bridge crossed the ravine near the Falls of Kwiriki. An elder was already shepherding a cluster of scholars over it. Tané stumbled after them, one hand pressed to her side.
Beneath the bridge was a fatal drop to the Path of the Elder. Treetops rose from a bowl of fog.
Another shadow fell from above. She tried to shout a warning to the other scholars, but her tongue was a wad of cloth in her mouth. A fireball slammed into the roof of the bridge. Seconds later, a spiked tail turned it to an explosion of splinters. Wood groaned and split underfoot. Tané almost fell as she stopped herself running on to it. Powerless, she watched as the structure trembled, a gaping hole ripped through its middle. A third fire-breather smashed one of the pillars that anchored it. Faceless silhouettes cried out as they slid off the edge and plummeted.
Flame ripped through flesh and timber alike. Another section of the bridge crumbled away, like a log that had been ablaze for too long. Wind howled in the wake of wings.
There was no choice. She would have to jump. Tané ran onto the bridge, eyes stinging in the smoke, as the fire-breathers wheeled for a second attack.
Before she could reach the gap, her knees folded. She rolled to break her fall, and her skin ripped open like wet paper. Sobbing in agony, she reached for her side—and the lump, the thing she had carried for years, slipped from the burst seam in her body. Shuddering, she looked at it.
A jewel. Slick with her blood, and no larger than a chestnut. A star imprisoned in a stone.
There was no time to be bewildered. More fire-breathers were flocking. Weak with pain, Tané closed her hand around the jewel. As she struggled across the bridge, dizzier by the moment, something crashed through the roof and landed in front of her.
She found herself face to face with a nightmare.
It looked and smelled like the remnant of a volcanic eruption. Burning coals where there ought to be eyes. Scales as black as cinder. Steam hissed where rain stippled its hide. Two muscular legs took most of its weight, and the joints of its wings ended in cruel hooks—and those wings. The wings of a bat. A lizard tail whipped behind. Even with its head lowered, it towered over her, teeth bared and bloodstained.
Tané shivered under its gaze. She had no sword or halberd. Not even a dagger to put out its eye. Once she might have prayed, but no god would hearken to a rider in disgrace.
The fire-breather screamed a challenge. Light scorched in its throat, and Tané came to the detached realization that she was about to die. Elder Vara would find her smoking ruins, and that would be the end of it.
She did not fear death. Dragonriders put themselves in mortal danger every day, and since she was a child, she had known the risks she would face when she joined Clan Miduchi. An hour ago, she might even have embraced this end. Better than the spun-out rot of shame.
Yet when instinct told her to hold out the jewel—to fight to the last with whatever she had—she obeyed.
It burned white-cold against her palm as she thrust it at the beast. Blinding light erupted from inside it.
She held a moonrise in her hand.
With a scream, the fire-breather recoiled from the glare. Throwing up its wing to shield its face, it let out a rasping call, over and over, like a crow greeting the dusk.
The sky came alive with echoing answers.
She stepped closer, still holding out the jewel. With a final look of hatred, the fire-breather roared once more, whipping her hair back from her face, and flung itself skyward. As it veered toward the sea, its kin swerved after it and disappeared into the night.
The other side of the bridge crumbled into the ravine, throwing up a cloud of cinders. Her eyes filled. Weak with pain, she crawled back toward Vane Hall. One half of her tunic was red through.
She buried the jewel in the soil of the courtyard. Whatever it was, she had to keep it hidden. As she had all her life.
The roof of the healing room was staved in. She searched the wet mats for Moyaka’s case and found it upturned in the corner. Close to the bottom was a coil of gut-string and a bent needle.
The drugging pipe had been shattered. When she lifted her hand from the wound, blood pulsed out.
With clumsy fingers, she threaded the needle. She cleaned the cut as best she could, but dirt clung to its edges. Touching it made darkness blotch her vision. Head spinning, mouth dry, she groped in the case of oddities again and found an amber bottle.
The worst was yet to come. She had to stay awake, just for a little longer. Nayimathun and Susa had suffered because of her. Now it was her turn.
The needle pierced her skin.
46
South
The kitchens were behind the waterfall, just below the sunrooms. As a child, Ead had loved to sneak in with Jondu and purloin rose candies from Tulgus, the head cook.
The scullery was sun-dappled and always smelled of spices. The servants were preparing jeweled rice, scallions, and chicken in a lime marinade for the evening meal.
She found Loth arranging a platter of fruit with Tulgus. His eyelids looked heavy.
Dreamroot. They must be trying to make him forget.
“Good afternoon, sister,” said the white-haired cook.
Ead smiled, trying not to look at Loth. “Do you remember me, Tulgus?”
“I do, sister.” He returned the smile. “I certainly remember how much of my food you stole.”
His eyes were the pale yellow of groundnut oil. Perhaps he was the one who had gifted Nairuj her eyes.
“I have grown up since then. Now I ask for it.” Ead lowered her voice and leaned closer. “Nairuj said you might let me taste a little of the Prioress’s sun wine.”
“Hm.” Tulgus wiped his liver-spotted hands on a cloth. “A small glass. Call it a homecoming gift from the Sons of Siyāti. I will have it brought to your chamber.”
“Thank you.”
Loth was looking at her as if at a stranger. It took Ead all her strength not to meet his gaze.
As she walked back toward the doorway, she spied the urns where herbs and spices were stored. Seeing that Tulgus was preoccupied, Ead found the jar she needed, took a generous pinch of the powder inside, and dropped it into a pouch.
She snatched a honey pastry from a platter before she left. It would be a long time before she tasted another.
For the rest of the day, she did as any good Red Damsel would when she was about to be sent on a long journey. She practiced her archery under the watchful eyes of the Silver Damsels. Each of her arrows found its mark. Between draws, Ead made certain to look calm, unhurried about nocking her arrows. One bead of sweat could give her away.
When she reached her sunroom, she found it empty of her saddlebags and weapons. Aralaq must have taken them.
A cold feeling came over her. This was it.
The point of no return.
She pulled in a breath, and her spine turned to iron. The Mother would not have watched while the world burned. Crushing the last embers of doubt, Ead changed into her nightrobe and took up her position on the bed, where she pretended to read. Outside, the light of day withdrew.
Loth and Aralaq would be waiting for her by now. When it was full dark and a knock came at her door, she called, “Come in.”
One of the menfolk entered, bearing a platter. On it were two cups and a jug.
“Tulgus said you wished to taste the sun wine, sister,” he said.
“Yes.” She motioned to the nightstand. “Leave it here. And open the doors, if you will.”
When he set down the tray, Ead kept her expression clean and leafed past another page in her book. As he shuffled toward the balcony doors, she slipped the pouch of dreamroot from her sleeve and emptied it into one of the cups. By the time the man turned back, she had the other cup in her hand, and the pouch was nowhere to be seen. He took the tray and left.
Wind rushed through the sunroom and blew out the oil lamp. Ead dressed in her travel clothes and boots, still sandy from the Burlah. The Prioress would be drinking the drugged wine by now.
She took the only knife she had not already packed and sheathed it at her thigh. When she was certain that there was no one outside, she pulled her hood over her eyes and became one with the dark.