“I wasn’t alone,” River said. He was still gripping my arm, though I had been surreptitiously trying to pull it free since he had taken it. I pinched him, and he let out a muffled yelp. Father’s confused look deepened to bafflement.
“Dyonpo, perhaps you would like a tour of the house before dinner.” Lusha had to raise her voice, as the ravens continued to squawk at River with a ferocity they usually reserved for the village cats.
“I think not,” River said, rubbing his arm. “I have—ah—something to attend to.” He wandered away without another word, his dark cloak drifting behind him. People bowed to him as he passed, some so hastily they spilled their drinks. River seemed to take no notice.
“What did I say, Lusha?” Father muttered. “Half-mad, if not more.”
“What were you talking to him about, Kamzin?” Lusha said, her eyes narrowed.
I swallowed. Something was rising in my throat.
“Kamzin? What’s the matter?” Father said.
“I—” The words died on my lips. Clapping my hand over my mouth, I pushed past Lusha. The door was a mile away. I shoved my way through the crowd, bumping into guests and knocking bowls out of their hands. I finally reached the door, and there was Mara.
He placed a hand on my shoulder, stopping me from advancing farther. “What in the name of—”
I couldn’t hold it any longer. I sagged to the ground and emptied my stomach onto his boots.
FOUR
THE EVENING WAS a haze after that. I couldn’t be absent from a dinner of such importance, and so I sat at the table, green with nausea, as the dishes were passed around. Everything was of the finest quality, but I didn’t touch a morsel. Lusha sat on my right, her legs crossed gracefully beneath her, while Father knelt beside her. Mara sat across from Lusha, a smile hovering on his lips. He looked as if he couldn’t believe his luck.
River did not come to dinner. His absence was a tremendous slight, and consequently no one even spoke his name. The expedition to Raksha, though, was the main topic of conversation, which led to awkward pauses and veiled hints as guests struggled not to speak about the man who was the reason for the party.
“Well, Mara,” Father said, “I imagine you’ve seen a lot, as chronicler to the Royal Explorer.”
“You could say that.” Mara tried to catch Lusha’s eye. She was feeding her ravens scraps of balep from her plate.
Lusha glanced at him, possibly for the first time since they had been introduced, her expression cool and appraising. Mara, taking this as a sign of encouragement, launched into an animated story about a narrow escape from a pack of silver jackals. Given that he was sitting before us, quite alive and with all his limbs, I found it difficult to stay interested, and sank back into my private misery. Lusha’s attention seemed to wander too, and she went back to feeding Biter.
“Lusha, I understand you’ve discovered two new stars in the dragon catcher’s net,” Mara said, naming one of the constellations that hung low over the mountains in summer. “I would be interested in seeing your sketches.”
I stifled a groan. How Mara had learned of my sister’s sketches, I didn’t know, and I didn’t care to.
Lusha smiled at him. It lit her eyes and made her bony face less severe. “Perhaps you will. Why not tomorrow?”
Mara smiled back. He was completely under the spell of Lusha’s charm, and, like most men, assumed it was conjured specifically for him. I knew, though, that Lusha would forget her offer by morning. “I would like that. If you won’t be too busy?”
Father stiffened at the oblique reference to River. “Mara, were you fortunate enough to stop in Lhotang on your way here? The elder is an old friend of mine.” Father was friends with everyone. He could name every village elder, along with their wife or husband and all their children, from here to the Three Cities.
“We did,” Mara said. “A charming village—I would have been sorry to miss it. Though I heard some disturbing tales from the villagers. They spoke of powerful storms brewing in the North, and sightings of the fiangul.”
“The fiangul?” Father frowned. Those sitting nearby looked up at the word, and I felt my body tense. The fiangul, or bird people, appeared sporadically in the history of Azmiri. They were human—or at least, they had once been—travelers who became lost in a blizzard or squall while traversing the Aryas, and were possessed by the winged spirits who haunted the snows. They were slowly driven mad, and transformed into terrifying monsters. Their only goal was to lead others to the same fate they had suffered. Or, failing that, to kill them.
“I find that difficult to believe,” Father said. “The fiangul have never been known to stray this far south. I doubt such talk is more than rumor.”
The conversation shifted to a discussion of Lhotang’s weavers, and I stopped paying attention. My drunkenness was wearing off, leaving only shame and a pounding headache in its wake. It was all I could do not to lean over and rest my forehead against the cool stone of the table.
“Drink, you idiot,” Lusha muttered at me. She filled my bowl with tea, her smile in place the whole while. “You’ll feel better.”
“Liar.”
Slowly, the bowls and platters emptied. My aunt Behe passed around a cup of spiced beer, so dark and thick that it had to be scooped with a spoon. I pretended to drink, gagging at the smell, and then handed the cup to Lusha. Once the cup was emptied four times, it would signal the end of the meal, and I would be able to crawl away to bed. I watched each of the guests as they drank, silently cursing those who took dainty mouthfuls.
Raised voices from one of the back rooms cut through the murmur of conversation. The red-and-blue curtain was pushed aside, and Tem’s father, Metok, strode in. His breath was ragged, his beard speckled with snow. Though it was summer, snow was not unusual in Azmiri, nor was it strange that Metok would be out in it. During calving season, Metok and the other herdsmen were busy at all hours of the day and night.
Metok came to Father’s side and murmured in his ear. Elder stiffened, but did not reply. He merely nodded, dismissing Metok. The herdsman’s face was a strange, pale hue, and his hands shook as he left the hall. I had never known Tem’s father to be anything but brusque and unpleasant. My confusion was heightened when Father stood, bowed to Mara, and departed. Lusha followed close behind. What was going on?
It was some time before I found out. Finally, the cup was emptied for the fourth time, and the guests began to trickle out of the hall. Aunt Behe swept in to pester Mara with more tea and sweet cakes. He politely refused.
“What was that about with Metok?” I said to no one in particular.
Mara gave me a penetrating, dismissive stare, which might have been upsetting if I were in a different mood. I wished I could dislike him, because it would ease my humiliation, but I still found him intimidating and far too handsome. “Something I’m sure Elder and Lusha will have no trouble resolving,” he said.
“Oh, give it a rest,” I grumbled. “Lusha can’t hear you. And she’s not interested, by the way. Don’t flatter yourself.”