The captain looked grim. ‘There is a tent by the east gate.’
I ran, dashing around the central building of the fortress and heading for more bullets. I saw the tent there, propped against the outer wall, sticking out like a sore thumb in the northern Albish colours, clashing against the fortress’s warm stone.
Inside, the tent was lined with weapon upon weapon: guns and swords and rifles and even a few things that might’ve been bombs, all neatly stacked up, a little arsenal ready to march on Izman, if needed. I was reaching for a cache of bullets when I saw the gilded rifles lined up neatly to one side.
And I stopped.
Outside were raised voices, more gunshots, and, further away now, the sounds of an invasion of ghouls being held back. I’d been in a whole lot of fights in the name of the Rebellion now. I’d been afraid in them before. Or I’d felt nothing, everything in me focused on staying alive. But the anger I had felt tonight, that was new. It surged from some dark part of my soul, older than I was. Old as my bloodline, old as the desert. Our desert – not theirs to march their armies through and claim through bargains and alliances, all while putting their dead in the ground so our monsters could thrive. It was our desert, not theirs and not the Gallan’s and not any other northerners’ from the edges of the horizon.
And I wasn’t going to let them have it.
The Skinwalkers they could handle without me. That was just one fight. I had a war to win. Quickly, I grabbed a knife from the wall and got to work on my sabotage.
Chapter 14
I was nearly done when I realised the guns had stopped. I heard voices, the clatter of soldiers’ feet. Cursing under my breath, I quickly moved things back where they ought to be.
After the near invasion of the Skinwalkers, the yard of the fortress would be crawling with soldiers. I needed some cover to get back to my room without any questions. I took a deep breath as I raised my hands a little, just enough to draw the sand up in a small cloud, low to the ground. It wasn’t a sandstorm, just a bit of dust. Nothing us desert dwellers weren’t used to – that’s why we wore sheemas. But if the Albish didn’t know enough to burn their dead, I doubted they’d be smart enough to cover their faces from the desert sand.
I could feel my powers resisting, curling away from me as I tried to draw on them for the third time in one day.
I tugged up my own sheema and ducked out into the cloud of dust. I struggled to keep up the storm as I moved back towards the entrance. But I didn’t need to keep it up for long, just long enough to get back inside the fortress. The pain in my side nagged at me as I moved slowly, dodging figures in the dust as I went.
It got worse with every step I took. I couldn’t take the strain much longer.
And then I felt a resistance against my power, prodding at first, and then more insistent. Without warning, I felt something try to rip it away from me, like a hurricane, wanting to gather up the sand and fling it to one side. I clung to it all the tighter.
It was the Albish Demdji, or whatever they called themselves, moving the air against my sand.
I cast around for an escape as I leaned against the wall for support.
There, an open window, straight above me.
Did I have enough strength in me to reach it? I wasn’t sure. Secretly, I was afraid I’d used up all my powers drawing the cover I’d needed to get this far. I sent up a silent prayer that there was no one on the other side of that window.
I moved unsteadily, shakily, my power slipping in and out of my grasp for a moment before I managed to grab a firm hold of it. The sand rushed up below me, a sudden surge lifting me, pulling at my hair and skin and clothes, driving me up the sheer wall.
My fingertips grazed the edge of the window even as the pain in my side stabbed through me like an arrow. My tenuous grip on my power faltered, and I felt it slipping away from me like a handful of sand. The more I tried to hold on to it, the faster it fell. And then, all at once, it was gone, sand dropping out from under me, and I was the one falling. My heart lurched, but my fingers found purchase on the windowsill. I scrambled, trying to pull the sand back, but it was no good. I fought to slow my panicked breathing. I’d been struggling to use my Demdji powers ever since I’d got them back, but they’d never completely abandoned me like this before. What if I only had so much of the power left and I had drained it? What if it was gone forever now?
I felt my fingers start to slip …
And then there were familiar hands on my arms, dragging me up.
‘That’s a hell of an entrance, even for you,’ Jin said, his grip on me never faltering as he pulled me through the window.
I collapsed in a messy heap below the windowsill, my hip throbbing where I’d bashed it on the ledge as I’d scrambled through. I caught my breath as my vision cleared slowly. I felt Jin’s hand on my face. It came away red. ‘Are you aware that you’re bleeding, Bandit?’
I focused on him. He was sitting back on his heels across from me, brow creased with concern. He was clad only in loose desert trousers tied at his hips by a drawstring. My earlier thoughts of crossing the hallway to find him rushed through me, making my whole body flush with heat, even through the pain. ‘Are you aware that you’re not wearing a shirt?’ I retorted.
‘I was sleeping.’ He ran his hand over his face tiredly. Sure enough, I could see behind him the mussed bedsheets and pillows. And sleep was still clinging to him, in the weight of his eyelids and his dishevelled dark hair. I reached out, finding the shorter hair at the nape of his neck. He exhaled as I ran my fingers through it, and I shivered. My blood was still racing from the escape, and now that the pain was ebbing, I felt awake and alive and like every little sensation was magnified a thousand times.
I needed to talk to him, to tell him what I’d decided. What I’d done. What we had left to do. Instead, I moved recklessly, pressing my lips to the corner of his mouth where it had a habit of drawing up into a wry smile just for me. He made a noise, low at the back of his throat, as his hand found its way up my neck, into my hair. I shifted closer until his body met mine, wondering how far I was ready to push us into unsteady waters this time.
He caught my hand with his, our fingers lacing together, our palms pressed tightly. And then he drew away just as quickly as he’d moved forward, holding my hand up to the light leaking through the window.