It was impossible not to think of Hanim as I ran through Essam, navigating the dark by instinct alone. She would rouse me in the middle of the night for runs exactly like this one. Blindfolded and cold, I’d hike a mile from the warded hovel we called home. At the bottom of the river’s runoff, Hanim would point at an expanse of frozen dirt and order me to dig a hole wide and long enough to lie in using only my magic. Reasoning with her was futile. Any reminder of my trapped powers enraged her. So I would get on my knees and dig, muscles cramping against the cold, until my fingers were useless and bloody or the sun rose. Whichever came first.
A distant howl raised the hair on my arms. Essam Woods did not treat its guests tenderly after dusk.
Another howl, closer this time. The sky opened in sheets of rain. Unease slithered down my spine. I listened hard through the patter. The air grew heavier, and my hurried step could not shake my mounting dread.
I was being watched.
I tripped over an exposed root and caught myself on a tree. My fingers danced across the rough surface, scrabbling for a hold. Patterns were cut into the bark. Odd, it almost felt like—
Gasping, I reeled back. It wasn’t—it couldn’t be. This tree shouldn’t be here. It belonged on the other side of Essam.
Rain sluiced over my trembling body. I groped frantically along the thick grooves, wiping my face against my shoulder. The longer I searched, the easier it was to breathe again. What was I thinking? This tree looked a little similar, but—
Beneath my left palm, the striations in the bark shifted. I traced the unnatural grooves and crouched, heart seizing, to confirm what I already knew.
Whittled into the raised surface of the bark was a crooked number.
1,822
I whimpered, stumbling back into a bed of brambles. The tree stretched, mutating, the numbers growing taller and wider. I crawled back on my elbows. The tree towered over me. A canvas on the sky, swallowing me whole. The branches weaved together, twisting like serpents in a nest.
From the base of the tree, a viscous black puddle streamed out, foaming toward my prone form. I slapped at my body, clamping my ears shut and pressing my lips together to bar its entry. The shadows beneath the tree merged. A woman with flesh dangling in moldering ropes off her body and a gaping throat filled with maggots loomed over me.
Hanim.
I considered it a mark of personal victory that only when the maggots fell onto my face did I start to scream.
Essiya, she hissed from the gashed slice of her mouth. How deep can you dig?
I bucked against the invisible restraints shackling me to the ground. How could this be real? She shouldn’t be here.
How far did you dig?
Gnarled fingers rotted at the roots danced across my neck. The putrid smell of decay filled my nose. I twisted, gagging, which delighted her.
How long did it take you?
I snarled, and her demeanor changed in an instant. She bent to my face and roared, drenching me in ichor and rage. I cried out, at the cusp of relinquishing the answers she sought.
It took 1,822 days to dig a hole. Nine feet deep. Eight feet wide.
I’d carved the numbers into the tree with my dagger. 1,822 days spent with Hanim. 1,822 days of wishing I had died with the rest of my family.
You were right. I was glad to have practiced digging that hole.
1,822 days of planning my escape.
It made an excellent grave.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I was screaming, eyes shut tight, when the odor of rotten meat abruptly vanished.
I stayed frozen on the ground. Was she gone? I finally gathered the courage to crack my eyes open. The insects had vanished, and so had Hanim’s specter.
Heart in my throat, I forced myself into a seated position. The slash in Hanim’s throat had peeled back at the edges, curling like a second set of lips below her chin. It couldn’t have been her actual corpse—death magic had been eradicated centuries ago, in a rare moment of agreement between the kingdoms. Hanim’s appearance had been replicated down to the details. Her long black hair, always pulled into a severe braid, and the way one eyebrow was slightly fuller and longer than the other. I had almost forgotten that Hanim was once beautiful.
Someone had conjured a likeness of her. Someone who knew how she died… and who killed her.
The dangerous Jasadi groups. What if he had been telling the truth?
Another worry lodged like an arrow in my gut. The “legions” Arin claimed the groups had slaughtered. What if the rumors about disappearances happening across the kingdoms weren’t rumors at all?
You thought the Jasadis wouldn’t hurt you? Hanim said, and my entire body flinched until I realized her voice was inside my head. You say you owe them nothing. If you are not their ally, you are their foe. You do not get the luxury of indifference in war.
War. I shook off the mud on my palms as forcefully as I wished to shake Hanim’s ravings from my head. Nizahl had defeated Jasad in its own lands. Jasadis were scattered, hunted, afraid. Any tales of them scheming for a new war came from the mouths of lunatics. They were outnumbered and outmatched. The only war left was to survive.
A branch snapped. I spun around. The puppeteer for the magic-ridden corpse must still be nearby. Why had they stopped before finishing me?
In the distance, a new sound raised the hair on my arms.
Hoofbeats.
Understanding hardened in my chest. There was only one person whose presence would scare a powerful Jasadi into ceasing their attack.
“May this night be damned right to the tombs,” I seethed, heaving to my feet. The world spun.
I couldn’t outrun him. I knew Essam better than almost anyone, but so did he. My best chance was to find Hirun and hope a ravine or gully appeared. Though with luck’s best efforts working against me, I would probably run right into the Jasadi trying to kill me.
I hurtled through the woods, heedless of the crunching leaves and my wheezing breath. He would know where I was headed no matter how well I masked my tracks. Spindly branches slapped against my face and naked arms, leaving thin white lines on my skin. Pockets of mud studded the ground, growing larger the farther east I traveled. The moon flickered between the branches, illuminating slivers of Essam between the stretches of shadow.
The scent of spoiled eggs and resin soured in my nose. Yes, yes! Hirun was near.
But so were the hoofbeats.
The wind carried his smooth voice through the dark. “You must have an appetite for failure.”
Too close. He was too close. I pumped my arms. My bun unraveled, curtaining my vision in curls. I just needed to reach the river. It couldn’t be far.
A streak of mud caught my boot, shooting me forward. I careened right to the edge of a steep, pitch-black riverbank. I gasped, throwing my weight away from the crumbling cliff and crashing to the ground. Idiot! I had forgotten the small cliffs curving around the western bank of Hirun, eating into Essam with uneven, jagged lines.
My fingers skimmed against the bristly surface of a tree trunk. I scrambled upright, maintaining my hold on the tree. The dull roar of Hirun greeted my ears like the fondest song.
He couldn’t bring his horse. It was too slick to risk riding. He would almost certainly approach on foot. Unfortunately for him, I did not intend to wait around.
I put my dagger between my teeth and pulled off my boots. They tumbled over the edge, crashing on the boulders below. I watched them disappear with a heavy heart. The last thing I brought with me from Mahair—gone.