Tregan’s eyes rolled back in her head in terror. Then Aiz’s steadfast companion these many months became nothing but a bloody pulp, her great glistening heart clutched in Mother Div’s glowing hand. Again, that sigh, obscene and consuming, and the heart’s husk was cast to the floor.

  “Human,” Mother Div moaned. “Not animal. I need more.”

  She turned from Aiz, sniffing, her white eyes glowing brighter as they fixated on something—someone—beyond Tregan’s scattered viscera.

  Ruh. Covered in Tregan’s blood. Frozen by dread as the shadow of Mother Div shot toward him.

  “Ilar, help!”

  Not Ruh. Not like this. Mother Div was consumed by bloodlust. Gobbling hearts, tearing that Durani apart. She was locked away too long. Corrupted, somehow.

  Aiz dragged herself toward his voice, frantic to reach him. “No, no—” Aiz babbled, incoherent. “Run, Ruh—”

  Div was faster. A clatter of bones. A shriek. Mother Div held something small and incandescent. Aiz knew then that sweet Ruh, who only knew villainy from his stories, was gone.

  Because of Aiz. Because Aiz had involved him in the hunt for Mother Div’s story, her spirit. Because Aiz hadn’t had the strength to turn him away. Because Aiz was a damned fool.

  The Kegari girl screamed. And screamed. She wanted to die herself. She wanted to be consumed, to not feel this grief, this horror at her own actions. She’d sought out Mother Div. And she’d released her, not understanding that Mother Div was no longer a cleric, but something else entirely.

  She crawled through Tregan’s remains to Ruh, still whole and perfect but for his heart, shriveled and smoking in his chest.

  “Oh—oh no—” Aiz clasped the body to her, voice rising in a shriek. “Ruh—”

  Mother Div’s voice surrounded Aiz. “Thank you, daughter of Kegar. For freeing me.”

  Aiz sobbed as she held Ruh’s small body. “This isn’t freedom,” she screamed. “This is murder! You killed him. You—”

  “I told you this would not be easy, child. I told you there would be sacrifices.”

  “But not Ruh,” Aiz said. “You never said it would be him! And—and Tregan—”

  “All things have a cost, Aiz bet-Dafra.” Mother Div’s voice hardened. “You agreed to pay it. My imprisonment was the work of the First Durani, a vicious, vengeful woman who used ill sorcery to trap me. She made it a condition of my freedom that to live, to survive in a body, to work magic, I require aid.”

  “Aid…?” Aiz felt bile clawing up her throat again as she thought of Tregan and Ruh. “The—the hearts.”

  “It is a foul and ancient magic,” Mother Div said, her voice dripping in malice. “But those I take are at peace. They are one with me in the moment that I take them. This child—he did not die in vain. He died that you might succeed.”

  “You will need more,” Aiz said. “More hearts. What of—of animals, could you—”

  “Animals are not enough,” Mother Div said. “For power—true power—the sacrifices must be human, and pure of heart. You and I are linked. Chained to each other, as surely as Loha links you to a Sail when you fly. I have some freedom, but I am largely bound to your will. I cannot feed unless you allow me to.”

  Now, finally, Aiz understood what Div meant by sacrifice and her heart quailed at the horror of it. Everything about this was antithetical to what Div stood for. Yet it made a twisted sort of sense that this was what a Durani would do to Div’s spirit.

  “You ask me to trade lives.”

  “I ask you to think of the many instead of the few. Let me show you what you will receive in return. Perhaps you do not understand.”

  Mother Div knelt, and when Aiz cringed back, terrified, the cleric sighed and forced her hands to Aiz’s face. Aiz was four again, helpless as her mother was dragged away by soldiers, somehow knowing she’d never see her again; she was six and freezing, the very idea of warmth forgotten; she was seven, and her stomach seemed to devour itself with hunger; she was eight, and Dafra cloister burned, and Tiral laughed, and all was aflame, and then—

  —rain. Sun. Light illuminating the graves of Tiral and the Triarchs. A cloister rebuilt with pale yellow stone. The orphans unrecognizable with clean clothes and plump cheeks, like the children of the Tribal Lands. Fields of wheat and corn and rows of trees stretching to a horizon of blue hills. A distant waterfall feeding into a wide green river that wound through a breathtaking city. Aiz, beloved of her people, walking toward a glowing triangle of light—the Fount.

  “Your homeland,” Mother Div said. “Your future. If you choose it.”

  “I—I—” Aiz looked down at the body in her arms. She’d thought Ruh might one day meet Hani or Cero. She had thought her people and Ruh’s could be allies.

  “What future do you choose for your people, Aiz? Death? Or life?”

  For a moment, Aiz’s vision flashed black and yellow. She heard the gnash of teeth and the groan of beasts, a surging sea that hungered. But it was gone so quickly that she questioned whether she’d seen it at all.

  She looked down at poor, broken Ruh. This isn’t fair, she thought. Why did he have to die? Why not Elias or Laia, or one of the useless others?

  But then Aiz heard Cero’s hard voice in her head. You were born knowing the world isn’t fair. You work around it like always.

  With Mother Div’s question echoing in her ears, Aiz laid Ruh down. She wiped her tears away. For months, she had plotted and planned for this moment. She’d known there would be sacrifices. To step into the abyss and know Mother Div will catch you—this is faith. Sister Noa had spoken those words months ago, quoting the Seventh Sacred Tale.

  Aiz didn’t have the luxury of mourning Ruh or wailing about the obliteration of her humanity. As before, this was a test. Aiz must plan and plot again. Kill Tiral and the Triarchs. Take over rulership of her people. Send emissaries to the Empress of the Martials and trade for Loha.

  And then take her people home.

  Aiz turned away from the carnage of the chamber, fixed the image of the Kegari homeland in her mind, and met Mother Div’s waiting gaze.

  “Life,” Aiz said. “I want life. For myself. For the Kegari.”

  “Good.” Mother Div nodded. “Then let us begin.”

  34

  Quil

  Sirsha was gone when Quil awoke. For a moment, he feared she’d left, desperate to escape any awkwardness with him and any bloodshed with her sister. But someone—Sirsha, he assumed—had left a still-hot biscuit atop his pack. He didn’t think she’d leave him breakfast if she was planning to abscond.

  He found her beside their saddled horses outside, finishing a cup of tea and flipping through his copy of Recollections by Rajin of Serra, frowning in disagreement at something he’d written.

  Moments later, when Sirsha turned toward Quil, he lost his breath. Her dark hair was piled high on her head, and something about her expression, haughty and cold, but softening a touch when she looked at him, made his blood heat. He thought of last night, the warmth of her skin, the arch of her neck when she’d thrown her head back, the languor in her body when she sank into his arms, spent.

  Everything felt sharper with her, stronger. He marveled at it. It’d been a long time since his body had felt anything but sorrow and exhaustion.

  Sirsha’s stern demeanor faltered at something on his face, and her brow furrowed.

  Probably because you’re leering at her.

  He looked around, as if taking in the storm’s damage, though he didn’t give a fig. “R’zwana’s gone?”

  At that exact moment, the Raan-Ruku appeared at the edge of the forest like a freshly summoned demon.

  “Finally finished primping, prince? Let’s go.”

  Quil glanced at Sirsha’s storm cloud face. “It might not be the worst idea,” he said. “You mentioned that the killer was unlike anything you’d encountered before. R’zwana is useless, but maybe J’yan could help.”

  “J’yan’s a battle Jaduna, prince,” Sirsha said. “He’ll help in fighting the thing, not tracking it. And I can’t pinpoint it. Sometimes it’s due east, sometimes south. Sometimes it disappears entirely. We could waste days riding up and down the Thafwan coast looking for that camp. Days we’ll have to spend with her.”

  “We keep heading east.” Quil drew on the reserve of calm that usually came to him when someone dear to him grew agitated. “Keep to the forests. The coast isn’t far. But we are short on time. The longer we’re out here, the more likely the Kegari are to spot us.”

  Sirsha glanced at him, head tilted. A slow smile spread across her face.

  “Now that,” she said, “is an excellent idea.”

  * * *

  Four afternoons later, Quil and Sirsha were hidden in a clearing thickly bordered by trees and brush. R’zwana and J’yan had the horses a quarter mile away while Quil and Sirsha built up a fire.

  The coast was miles away, and the Thafwan highlands had flattened into low hills and a patchwork of farmland. It was beautiful country, badly marred by burned-out barns and plumes of smoke that smudged the skyline.

  The Thafwans, it seemed, had refused to host a Kegari war camp. And like in Jibaut, the Kegari appeared to have insisted.

  Sirsha silently dropped a brace of rabbits on a stone next to the fire and prepared them for spitting. Quil glanced at her face, even more beautiful when she was intensely focused, as she had been the past few days. As they’d traveled, she’d stopped for long minutes, her hand to the ground, her head bent, listening to the whispers of the elements, so lost in them that he wanted to reach out and touch her shoulder to make sure she would come back.

  But then, at night, she would find him. Usually after he finished his watch, sometimes before.

  He always knew what she wanted, because he wanted the same with a surging desire that made his head spin. Last night, she’d led him away from the encampment, shoved him against a tree, and they’d kissed each other senseless. His hands had wandered, so had hers, and in the end, she’d bit his shoulder to keep from waking their companions, sending him over the edge.

  Focus, Quil.

  He fed the fire patiently as Sirsha set up a spit, and within an hour, they had two rabbits turning and wild onions baking in the fire’s ashes.

  The smell of roasting meat made Quil’s mouth water. He wasn’t the only one. The smoke curled thick and white into the sky above. A Sail that had been nothing but a stain on the horizon drew closer, circling them once before winging away.

  “He’ll be back,” Quil said.

  Sirsha nodded, brooding, until finally she glanced across the fire at Quil. “While we’re waiting, there’s something we should discuss. I’ve been thinking about it for the past few days.” She turned the spit, and fat dripped into the fire, sending up a fresh plume of smoke. “Us. Our…trysts.”

  “Ah. Is that what we’re calling them?”

  Sirsha lifted her chin, which Quil noticed she did when she thought she was about to get resistance. “I thought we should lay some ground rules.”

  I’m more interested in the punishments for breaking them, actually. Quil had sense enough not to say it, but Sirsha read whatever passed across his face. Color rose in her cheeks. “Get your head out of the gutter,” she said.

  “Right, sorry.”

  He wasn’t sorry. He didn’t try to hide it. Sirsha looked away, still flushed. Her hand went to their coin.

  “The design on our coin is growing too complex,” she said. “You’re a crown prince who must return to your people. I’m a tracker looking to get as far away from mine as possible. Let’s not make this more complicated than it needs to be.”

  “Fine,” Quil said, though it wasn’t fine. Not at all. “What else?”

  “No…romance, or poetry or flowers on bedrolls. No tokens of affection. No cuddling.”

  “What about when it’s cold?” Quil couldn’t help saying, and at the ire in her expression, he held up his hands. “Joking!”

  “Nicknames are fine,” she said. “They sell our Adah oath to R’zwana, at least. The occasional casual physical contact is acceptable. But nothing…sweet. No lingering touches or gentle pecks, or brushing my hair out of my face, or—”

  Quil got up to kneel beside her. She fixed her dark gaze on him and opened her mouth to protest. Nothing came out.

  He held her stare, tangling one hand in her dark hair and flicking up her shirt with the other so his palm was flush against her warm skin.

  “So,” he said quietly. “Nothing like this.”

  “I know what you’re doing.”

  The flare of need in her eyes sent blood rushing to inconvenient places, and he pulled her closer slowly, until his lips were a hairsbreadth from hers.

  “Do you?” he whispered. “Tell me, Sirsha, how am I supposed to know when you want me if you never touch me?”

  “Assume I always want you,” she murmured, and he couldn’t help the curse that slipped from his mouth into hers as their lips met. She wrapped a leg around his waist and pulled him tight against her—

  A whoosh overhead. Quil wrenched himself away. The Kegari Sail had returned. Too fast, the bastard. It circled again and then dropped onto a nearby stretch of flat land.

  Quil brushed her hair back and kissed her lightly—in direct defiance of her orders. “I’ll be close by.”

  He disappeared into the woods, heart still thundering, Sirsha’s scent permeating his senses. Sails. Kegari. Interrogation. He made his way up to a copse of trees a dozen yards from Sirsha, stilling his body until he felt a part of the night sounds—cricket song and rustling leaves and the fire crackling. He’d need a clear shot at the Kegari if they gave her trouble. But that meant getting close while making sure they didn’t see him.

  Sirsha began to hum—rather hypnotically, Quil noted with a smile, unsurprised that there was yet another skill Sirsha Westering excelled at.

  His neck prickled and he turned, scim at the ready—to find J’yan walking through the trees. He glanced up—a second Sail circled.

  “I don’t like this plan,” J’yan whispered.

  Quil turned back to the clearing. “Next time come up with a better one, then.”

  J’yan settled in beside Quil. They could just make out Sirsha’s hair piled atop her head.

  “She likes you,” J’yan said. “More than she’ll let on.”

  “Good to know, what with being her fiancé.”

  “You’re no more her fiancé than I am.” J’yan rolled his eyes. “Your secret is safe with me. Whatever you might think, I care about Sirsha. And I want to understand what lies between you. Why did you agree to speak the words of fidelity?” His voice was low and quiet. This was a man used to controlling his anger. Quil recognized a kindred spirit.

  “Because R’zwana was going to kill her.”

  “An Adah oath is no small thing. Why save her?” J’yan leaned forward, and Quil realized then that it wasn’t jealousy he was sensing from the man. It was fear. “Her other oath coin—to hunt this creature—is it you she made that ridiculous bargain with? You know what will happen if—”

  Below, branches and twigs snapped. The Kegari pilot wasn’t bothering to hide her approach. She emerged into the clearing, as heavily armed as the monsters who’d rained down the hells on Navium.

  “Angh ot ma?”

  Sirsha shook her head. “I speak Ankanese,” she said.

  The pilot nodded. “Greetings,” she said to Sirsha. “May I join your fire?”

  Sirsha nodded, and the woman folded her legs beneath her, holding her hands up to the flames.

  “A lot of meat for one girl.”

  “My family will join me this evening,” Sirsha said.

  “A party, then.” The Kegari woman smiled widely, revealing a mouth of rotting teeth. There was no joy in that smile—only a tired sort of bitterness. Something flashed in her hand—a whistle. She blew one long note.

  In moments, another Sail appeared. And another. Until a small squadron of them spun down like circling crows.

  Sirsha, to her credit, looked only mildly interested as eight more Kegari—all heavily armed—joined their compatriot in the clearing.

  “We do love a party,” the first woman said as the others gathered behind her. “Don’t worry, girl. We’ll make sure to leave a bit for your family.”

  One of the others chortled. Sirsha only smiled.

  “From where do you travel?”

  “Jaduna,” Sirsha said. The Kegari exchanged glances. But instead of wariness, some other emotion passed between them. “I have a job in Farth.”

  “A Jaduna headed to the Thafwan capital,” the woman said. “Fascinating. You know, we heard the most interesting story, up in Jibaut, didn’t we?”

  A few of the other Kegari rumbled their agreement.

  “We heard there’s a Jaduna traveling with—if you can believe it—a Martial prince. You wouldn’t know anything about that?”

  Sirsha shrugged. “You see any princes around here?”

  “No,” the Kegari woman said. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t know of any.”

  Two of the Kegari circled behind Sirsha, a big blond man and a dona’i, the latter pulling a whip from their belt. All the Kegari here were pilots, so they’d all be able to harness the wind—but Quil didn’t know how strong they were. He drew his weapons, nodding to J’yan. Then he took a breath and let the thin, light throwing knives fly. The first took the blond down, the second sank into the gut of the dona’i. The third met a wall of wind, which would have knocked Quil back, but J’yan quelled it so Quil could get to Sirsha.

  He wasn’t far—a matter of seconds. But this was the risk, because in the time it took him and J’yan to get there, Sirsha had to stay alive.