“Do you really believe that?”
“They aren’t monsters just because they are Saroese,” I mutter, wishing I did not sound sullen and defensive.
She turns my hand over, palm up, and presses a finger to the middle, the Efean gesture for truth-telling. They believe the smoky eye of our shadow-soul peers out through the palm. “No person is a monster until their actions make them so.”
“And Nikonos really is a monster. None of our fine dreams of change will matter if he and Queen Serenissima win this trial. If he reaches Father before we do, all Efea will be crushed.”
6
Jes.”
A hand touches my knee, and I startle awake, swaying. I’m tied to the saddle of a mule, and it is Kal, riding beside me, who has woken me. His smile bursts like a sun in my heart. He kisses one of his fingers and touches it to my leg. I copy the gesture, one we’ve developed in the last five days of grueling travel.
The sun hasn’t quite risen, and cocks are crowing as we ride into a village. Women haul water and grind grain to get a start on a new day. I wonder if my mother grew up in a village like this, if she carried pails of water from the village well to her mother’s house and slapped away mosquitoes and breathed in the musk of animal manure and the smoke of hearth fires.
After Mis and Ro make our greetings, Kal and Khamu take the mules away, accompanied by local villagers.
“Why are you traveling with one of the foreign monsters?” one of the dames asks Mis.
A spike of anger makes my head want to blow off. “The man was born here just like you and me, Honored Lady.”
“They are poisoned flowers never meant to grow in Efean soil. You see what one did to me when I was no older than you are now, child.” A scar starts along her jaw and winds a thick seam across the edge of her lips to end in a mass of scar tissue at the bridge of her nose.
“I’m sorry. That is a truly terrible thing. But they aren’t all like that.”
She studies me, the complex blend of my height, my hair, my complexion. My eyes. “And the man who sired a mule like you? Has he kept faith with your honored mother?”
Humiliated, I look away.
She discards me by turning her attention back to Ro. “Honored Poet, why do you travel with a Saroese man when you know their hearts are filled with stolen blood?”
Poets cannot lie.
He looks at me, and they all follow suit as if he has spoken aloud that he can’t tell them the whole truth while I’m here to listen. Suddenly I am not Efean enough for them. It wasn’t like this in the villages closer to Saryenia, the ones who saw more Saroese. Dusty grew up out here in the east, on the fringe of the desert, and I see why he left as soon as he could.
“I’ll go to the stable with the rest of the mules.” My voice is stiff. I stalk off quite rudely although I can’t bring myself to care how I appear to people who have already decided to dislike me. Anyway, now I worry about hostility Kal might be facing.
When I get to the village stables I hear a buzz of agitated conversation. Khamu and Kal are watering and brushing the mules, surrounded by locals who are giving our guide what appears to be a stream of information. Khamu pauses frequently to pat Kal on the shoulder and refers to him multiple times as honored nephew.
“The soldiers came from the south, from the coast,” one of the men is saying. “Took half of our grain stores and left us only with a piece of papyrus that their captain claimed the royal treasury will make good on if we bring it to the palace in Saryenia. As if people like us would ever have time to travel that far, much less be admitted into the palace when we got there!”
I hurry over. “What badge were the soldiers wearing, Honored Sir?”
Kal’s gaze flashes up. He’s surprised to see me here and nods to show me he’s all right, guessing I’m worried about him.
The elder answers politely, “The royal sea-phoenix, Honored Niece.”
Father would never loot Efean villages, and he’s in Port Selene, isn’t he? It must be Nikonos’s East Saroese allies, disguised as local troops. If so, that means they’ve gotten ahead of us.
“How far away is the Royal Road from here, Honored Sir?” I ask, because we have stuck to an inland path in the hope of avoiding any more of Nikonos’s soldiers. Now we need the quickest route, despite the risk.
The old man measures the rising sun. “A person can make it to the coast by midday.”
Khamu gestures. “Jes, why don’t you and my honored nephew go take a quick wash? There’ll be porridge waiting on the guest porch.”
I nod my thanks. In the last five days, Khamu has quietly facilitated every stolen moment of privacy Kal and I have managed. The bathing garden is empty this time of day, and it welcomes us as a fragrant bower full of promise. But we can’t linger, no matter how much we want to. Not after I’ve explained what I heard. I’m ready to charge back to the others but he takes my hand, kisses my palm. Kisses me. He presses his forehead against mine.
“Jes,” he whispers, as if he fears the gods might hear, “what if we just left?”
“What do you mean?”
“You and me. We could sneak south to one of the harbor towns, get work on a ship, and sail away. Vanish forever. We could make a life where no one can find us.”
“What about my father? Nikonos will kill him if we don’t reach him first.”
“We could write a letter and send it with Mis.”
“His command staff will never let an Efean girl through to see him. It has to be us. You know that.”
He breaks away, paces a circle around me, and returns. “Once I declare myself, I can’t step away, not ever. I don’t want to be king. I don’t want to fight over who has the most power, the most gold—”
“We can’t leave Efea in the hands of Nikonos and Serenissima. You can’t want that!”
He sinks down on a bench and rests his head on a hand as if he’s so weary. And why wouldn’t he be? “No. I don’t want that.”
“And your uncle Gargaron. If you’re not there to counterbalance him, to push against him, what will happen then? He doesn’t even consider me a person, Kal. How will he treat Efeans if he holds the reins of power? What if he goes after my mother? What if he decides my father is a threat? He’ll kill the very people who can make things right.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, shakes himself, and stands with a heavy exhalation, as if he’s bracing himself to race as hard as he can through a Fives trial.
“No, you’re right, Jes. I can’t escape this. It was too late the day I was born.”
I have no answer. The precious solitude that has sheltered us during our overland journey has burned down in an instant’s firestorm, leaving us standing in ashes.