A wave of pain slammed Sirsha in the stomach so hard that at first, she grappled for her knife. Why was Quil looking at her in horror, instead of at whoever punched her? R’zwana. Had her sister discovered a way to become invisible? Sirsha wanted to shout at them all that they were under attack.

  But the pain doubled her over and she couldn’t speak through her gasps. She caught a glimpse of something enormous—something that blocked out the sun. The world exploded in a burst of red.

  She tried to grab for Quil, Arelia. Anything. But the last thing she heard was a voice out of her past, soft and paper-thin, creased with sadness and worry. Loli Temba.

  “Sirsha, child, I told you not to return. Do you know what you have brought with you?”

  25

  Aiz

  Aiz did not expect a ten-year-old child to teach her anything of the world. But over the next three weeks, after Quil left with Tas, it was Ruh who dulled the sharp longing for Kegar and Cero and the cloister.

  The Tribe trundled its way northwest toward Nur, dropping off Elias’s students or picking up new ones, trading for goods and collecting news, swapping tales around the fire at the end of the day.

  Ruh taught her Sadhese, ate with her, kept her company on watch, and regaled her with stories. His favorites were about Duranis. “Chaos storytellers,” he whispered to her one morning as the wind howled around his family’s wagon. “They tell lies and pass them off as truth, seeding chaos wherever they go.”

  A fortnight after Quil left, Aiz sat with the child at the edge of camp, the steaming meat pies in their hands doing little to ward off the cold. Aiz had reread Tiral’s book again last night, hoping for anything she could tell Laia, some snippet to jog the Kehanni’s memory. But though Aiz had shared the story with Laia again, the woman still claimed not to remember it.

  Aiz stared moodily out at the swiftly disappearing sun, only half listening to Ruh’s story. The wind moaned and her neck prickled. She sat up.

  There was something out in the sands. Something watching them.

  “Ruh—” She put herself between him and the desert. “I don’t think we’re alone out here—”

  “It’s only the jinn.” He smiled up at Aiz. “They watch me, sometimes. Have for as long as I can remember. But don’t worry. They won’t hurt you.”

  “Jinn!” Aiz said. “The fire creatures, yes? How did you know they were there?”

  Ruh shrugged, eager to get on with his tale, but an idea bloomed in Aiz’s mind.

  “Ruh,” she said. “Could you help me with the story I seek? You hear things others don’t. See things.”

  “I can try?” The boy sat up tall. “But you’ll have to tell me what you’re looking for.”

  “If I do tell you,” Aiz said, “it has to be a secret.”

  Ruh hesitated. Aiz was certain he’d been told by his parents that anyone who asked you to keep secrets from them wasn’t worth trusting.

  “Your ama already knows most of this, Ruh,” she said. “But she’s busy and—and I think to help me, you’ll need to know more than I told your ama. You’ll need to know the stories that are special to my people. But they aren’t shared with just anyone.”

  “I am not anyone!” Ruh said. “I’m your friend and the future Kehanni of Tribe Saif. I know how to keep a secret.”

  He fixed his silver gaze on her, his small chin set stubbornly, and he looked so much like Hani that Aiz’s heart twinged. She wondered if Ruhyan and Hani would like each other. If in some world, they would ever be friends.

  Aiz waited a moment to see if Mother Div would object. She did not.

  “All right,” Aiz said. “Gather, gather and listen well…”

  Preaching the Sacred Tales again was a balm to Aiz’s soul. Over the many days it took to tell the stories, her worry faded, overwhelmed by the resounding truth of her words. Ruh’s questions and comments only deepened her faith, making her appreciate the Sacred Tales in ways she hadn’t before.

  One evening, a week after Aiz began sharing the Sacred Tales, she completed the Eighth Tale while she and Ruh walked a circuit around the Saif encampment.

  “So, the Ninth Tale,” Ruh said. “That’s what you’re looking for?”

  Aiz nodded. “The Ninth Tale will tell me how to free Mother Div. I think your ama knows it, but for some reason, she doesn’t remember.”

  Ruh scratched his chin, looking like a tiny, baby-faced old man considering a philosophical problem. “I’ll check her story scrolls,” he said. “Sometimes, she keeps notes there on tales she hasn’t finished.”

  “Would your ama let you?” Laia hadn’t so much as mentioned the scrolls to Aiz, nor offered to check them.

  “No,” Ruh answered. “But this is important to your people, yes?”

  “The most important thing.”

  “Then I will look. Ama doesn’t have to know. It’s only stories. Ama tells honest ones, so they won’t hurt anyone. It’s the lies one must worry about.”

  Such a simple sentiment from a child, but it stuck with Aiz, and she had to remind herself that her lies had purpose. That they were for a greater good. Get what you need. Forget the rest.

  In the encampment, Zaldar Shan blew the horn that signaled the changing of watch, and Aiz and Ruh returned to find Laia and Elias waiting.

  Aiz’s stomach clenched, the way it used to when she was a girl, and Sister Noa caught her filching extra helpings of food. I’ve done nothing wrong, Aiz reminded herself. Only asked Ruh to help since his mother seems incapable.

  Laia smiled in welcome, and Elias gave his typical nod. Aiz wouldn’t call it hostile. But it wasn’t friendly, either.

  “What’s so funny, cricket?” Elias asked Ruh, who made a glowering impression of his father’s face before laughing and darting away. Elias went after him, chuckling at Ruh’s contagious giggles.

  “Oi, Ankana!” Zaldar Shan shouted from beside the fire, where he was braiding his daughter’s hair. The man called people by everything but their actual names. “Come decide an argument for me, will you? You’re the only impartial one around here.”

  Aiz grinned. “I’ll find you after dinner.”

  “You’re settling in well,” Laia said. “Zaldar Shan says you’re an excellent listener. You’d have to be, to survive a conversation with him.” The Kehanni raised her voice so that the Zaldar heard, and he made a rude gesture at her. Then he looked worriedly around to make sure Elias hadn’t seen.

  “The Zaldar has taught me much about inter-Tribal politics,” Aiz said. “Especially how he trusts not a single member of Tribe Rahin. And I’ve enjoyed learning scim-fighting from Karinna.”

  Laia sighed. “You are kind, Ilar, to let her teach you. She is not the most patient instructor.”

  “But she is efficient,” Aiz said, holding out her arms, bruised from Karinna’s brutalist lessons.

  Laia smiled. “You stopped a horse thief, I heard?”

  “He wasn’t a very smart thief.” Aiz had noticed that Laia frowned on arrogance and was gratified at the woman’s nod of approval. “I just yelled for help.”

  “You don’t give yourself enough credit,” Laia said, and then, after a pause, “I wanted you to know I’ve been hunting your story. I have a lead. I’ve asked the Kehanni of Tribe Nasur to meet us in Nur. She’s one of the wisest among our number. She does not travel for many people, but she has agreed to see me.”

  Aiz turned to Laia swiftly. “She’s heard the story?”

  “She said she recognized the shape of it. We will see what she tells us in person. We’ll be there in two months, a little before Rathana, to offload our fall wares and pick up stock for the winter.”

  Relief swept through Aiz, but it was brief, replaced by impatience. Yet another two months she’d be away from home. She was desperate to know if the clerics had been freed yet. If Hani and Jak and Finh still lived. She would give anything to be tucked under a fur with Cero in Dafra cloister, sharing a bowl of lentil stew.

  “Ilar, you’re sure the story isn’t written down somewhere?” Laia furrowed her brow. “If I could see it, I sense that everything would become clear to me, but…”

  Aiz didn’t understand why Mother Div was so against showing the book to Laia. It was obvious that Laia wasn’t a covetous type. Aiz was sure she wouldn’t steal the book.

  Do not question, Mother Div hissed.

  Aiz chafed at the order, as she hadn’t before. She knew Mother Div had her reasons, but—

  You owe me, child. Without me, you never would have escaped the bowels of the Tohr.

  “I’m sorry, Laia.” Aiz traced the D on her hand—a reminder to herself of Div’s wisdom. “I know only what I’ve heard.”

  “Of course,” Laia said. “You did say so, but…” She shook her head, as if clearing it. “Quil will be back tomorrow. You met him that first night.”

  “I did.” Aiz had wondered when the prince would return, had been preparing for it. “I’ll look forward to seeing him again.”

  The Kehanni gave her a knowing smile and glanced to where Elias had caught up to Ruh. They were arm wrestling and Elias was losing quite badly.

  “Funny, isn’t it,” Laia said. “How sometimes the first time you meet someone, your heart knows, even if your mind doesn’t.”

  Laia might be smiling, but Aiz knew she needed to tread carefully. Quil was the crown prince of the Martials, and Aiz a stranger from a distant land. The Tribes knew Aiz was poor and they wouldn’t look kindly upon anyone taking advantage of Quil for his position. The laws of hospitality only went so far.

  “Perhaps one day”—Aiz turned her gaze down demurely—“I will be fortunate enough to experience that for myself.”

  Aiz excused herself then and made her way quickly to her tent. Not, as Laia might have suspected, to moon over Quil’s return. But instead to plan exactly what she needed from the prince, and how she was going to get it.

  * * *

  The next morning, Aiz joined a group of other Tribespeople waiting for Zaldar Shan to give them their watch assignments for the day.

  “Ilar,” Shan said, “south side, moonrise watch—”

  “I’ll join her.” Quil moved like liquid through the crowd, greeting other members of the Tribe with quiet words as they welcomed him back. His wavy hair was half pulled back and messy, his clothes dusty from travel. Still, there was something about him that drew the eye, and it had nothing to do with his noble blood.

  He stopped before the Zaldar, but looked at Aiz. Her heart thudded faster.

  “If she’s all right with me tagging along, of course.”

  Aiz shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. “Fine,” she said.

  His responding smile lit up his whole face. Aiz’s pulse hitched, and when she smiled back, it was spontaneous. He made his way to her.

  “I hoped you’d be here when I got back,” he said. “Is that all right?”

  “I— Yes.” What in the Spires was this sudden shyness that had come upon her? She’d known Quil was returning. She’d planned her questions, her comments—even a seduction if necessary.

  But now that he was here, she wanted to know where he’d gone. What it had been like. And if he’d thought of her.

  “Yes, it’s all right,” she said to Quil. “I’m happy you’re back.”

  As responses went, it wasn’t the most alluring, but Quil smiled again, and though others in the Tribe watched with interest, Aiz found she couldn’t look away from him. For a second, she forgot about Kegar entirely.

  Laia’s words last night came back to Aiz, and she shivered. Your heart knows, even if your mind doesn’t.

  “Finally!” Sufiyan appeared from the encampment with impeccable timing, punching Quil on the arm. “Lessons have been bleeding boring without you. Where’s Tas?”

  “Here, little brother.” Aiz jumped—she hadn’t noticed the blond man in the crowd. “Ilar of Ankana!” He grinned at her with effortless charm. “Lovely to see you again. You made quite the impression on Quil here—”

  “Hells, Tas, shut up—” Quil looked mortified, and Aiz found herself smiling.

  “Oh, was I not supposed to mention that you—”

  Quil dragged Tas off, and Aiz used the opportunity to slip away to her tent. She needed to collect herself. She felt discombobulated by Quil’s return. By the anticipation she’d felt at the sight of him. She could imagine herself falling into this charmed life so easily.

  She dropped onto her bedroll, twirling her aaj around her pinkie rapidly.

  Cero had told her not to use the aaj except in an emergency, for fear of letting anyone who might be tracking her know where she was. But Tribe Saif was in the middle of the desert, and she’d seen no sign of a Jaduna. She needed to hear Cero’s voice. She needed a piece of home.

  “Cero.” She grabbed the aaj and spoke. “It’s—it’s an emergency.”

  You better be dying, Aiz, he responded.

  Aiz laughed at the acid in her friend’s voice, familiar and beloved.

  “Worse,” she said. “I miss you. I miss home.” She thought saying it would make her feel better. But the pain in her chest worsened.

  Where are you?

  “I’m—”

  Don’t answer if you haven’t verified who I am!

  Aiz searched her mind for a fact only Cero would know; there were so many.

  “Who’s the first person you fell in love with?”

  Trick question. I’m too ice-hearted to ever be in love. Tell me everything.

  Aiz swiftly caught him up on what had happened, impatient not to share her world but to know what was happening in his.

  The clerics were released. Along with a group of Tohr inmates. But, Aiz—

  “There were three children,” Aiz said. “Hani, Jak, and Finh—”

  Noa and Olnas made it out. And Jak and Finh and Hani. But then Tiral visited the cloister and Hani—Tiral killed her.

  “What?” Aiz cried, her hand at her mouth. She thought of Hani’s sweet face, of the way she never asked for stories even though she loved them, the way she tried to protect Jak and Finh.

  Tiral knew it would hurt the clerics. He hoped they’d blame you, I think. He’s Tel Ilessi now. Everything happened as you said it would. Dovan backed him after he threatened the clerics. The rest of the clergy fell in line. The Triarchy had to accept him or risk losing their heads. Especially since his raids brought in a fresh supply of food.

  “Tell the clerics and orphans that I will return, Cero,” Aiz said. “When I do, I won’t come alone. I will bring the spirit of Mother Div with me. I will kill Tiral.”

  Cero was silent for a moment, and when he spoke again, he sounded tired. Tiral never hunted you, Aiz. He didn’t send pilots after you, didn’t hire any Jaduna. He said he didn’t need to, and while I can’t untangle his twisted brain, it does mean you’re free. Don’t come back. Make a life for yourself. These people you travel with—they sound like good people.

  “They’re a means to an end.”

  Even this prince you speak of?

  Aiz found herself sputtering. “He— Cero, he’s a prince. And I’m me.”

  Exactly. If he has any sense, he’s half in love already.

  He was smiling. Aiz felt it. But the expression wouldn’t reach his eyes. He’d be looking at his hands or out at the Spires, jaw sharp as glass and just on the other side of clenched. Silence bloomed between them, heavy with what neither had gotten a chance to say.

  Aiz took a deep breath. “Cero. I don’t want to make a life here,” she said. “I don’t want a life with anyone else. I—I want you. And—”

  The aaj went cold.

  He was gone. And the hurt she felt, the longing for him and for home that she’d tried desperately to quell, grabbed her heart and squeezed.

  * * *

  Later that night, as Ruh and Aiz finished the last of the dishes, Quil appeared. He’d cleaned up, shaved, and pulled his dark hair back into a knot. For her.

  “Who is this child?” He looked at Ruh in mock confusion. “Not Ruh, surely. Ruh attacks me the second I get back from Antium, demanding offerings. You must be someone else.”

  Ruh lifted his chin. “I’m mad at you. You were supposed to take me with you this time.”

  Quil knelt in front of Ruh. “If I tell you that all I did was listen to old people argue about very boring things, would it help?”

  Ruh tried not to smile and failed. His demeanor brightened at the puzzle box Quil drew from his pocket.

  “Aunt Hel hid something in here for you,” he said. “Said it would take you two months to open. I said two weeks.”

  “Two days,” Aiz said. She’d spent enough time with Ruh to know that his mind was unusually quick.

  As Ruh disappeared with the box, Quil stood again. “Ready for watch?”

  Aiz dried her hands and took off her apron. She’d dressed with care, her green dress flattering on her pale skin, the color bringing out the emerald flecks in her eyes. Quil breathed in as she joined him.

  “That smell,” he said—

  “Desert roses.” She smiled. “Too much?”

  Quil shook his head, and she walked ahead, adding a sway to her step, satisfaction surging through her when she caught him looking.

  She felt a twinge of guilt, too. She was misleading him for information. For Hani, she reminded herself. For all the orphans Tiral murdered. For all those who still live.

  “Reports of wraiths out here tonight,” Quil said. “Have you seen one yet?”

  Aiz shook her head. “Karinna told me about them. You have to chop off their heads, she said.” Aiz unsheathed her scim. “She’s trying to teach me. But I don’t think I have the way of it yet.”

  “Hold the blade with more flexibility in the wrist than you would a dagger.” Quil slowed and came around to her side, wrapping his whole hand around hers and tightening her grip. “Like this.”