48

  Quil

  Because I love him, you cussed nags! Why else!

  Quil heard Sirsha’s outburst, saw her speaking to voices he couldn’t hear. The coin at his throat burned white hot, but he couldn’t do anything. He felt a sudden awareness of Sirsha, a glimpse of the inside of her. All the pain that she kept caged away, like a wild animal that she couldn’t risk letting loose. But the love, too, infinite shades of it veined through her soul.

  For a second, she was resplendent, garbed in her magic, her power finally unleashed. The light grew so brilliant that he had to look away, shielding his vision.

  Then he felt an emptiness. A yawning chasm in the shape of the girl he realized he loved. Though the moon shone through the window of one of the jail cells, its light felt wan. The shadows of the cellblock contracted, slow and heavy as a lament.

  Sirsha was gone.

  Quil could move again, no longer held in place by Div. Sufiyan and Arelia limped toward him.

  “What the bleeding hells happened?” Suf asked. His clothes were covered in blood. His hands shook, and he couldn’t stop looking at the two prone bodies on the stone floor.

  Cero and Aiz. Dead. He considered the former—so desperate to free his friend, desperate to protect her. And Aiz. No, she’s not Aiz. Nor is she Ilar. She is the Tel Ilessi. The beast who unleashed the hells on your people and her own.

  “We need to go.” Tas lurched toward Quil, a gash on his head oozing an alarming amount of blood. “If the High Seer’s soldiers find us down here with dead bodies, we’ll be answering questions for days. We need to get back to the Empire. I’m assuming he told you a way out of here.”

  “He did, but we can’t leave.” Quil spun around the cellblock. “Not without Sirsha.”

  Arelia shook her head. “I don’t know if her magic consumed her or if Div did, but I saw her disappear. One moment she was here, and the next…”

  Quil reached for his oath coin. It was intricately carved now, a pattern so complex he could hardly follow it. It was also warm.

  “She’s alive,” he said. “I know she is. We must find her—”

  “We will.” Tas pulled Quil away from the dead Kegari. “But not here.”

  * * *

  Quil searched for Sirsha for days. He went to every market in Ankana. He went to the High Seer. But Remi E’twa was less worried about a missing Jaduna, and more concerned with the fact that Ambassador Ifalu, despite having been imprisoned, was nowhere to be found.

  Just like Sirsha. No one had seen her. When he called out to her in his mind, he heard only a taunting silence.

  “Maybe she used her magic to take the monster away,” Arelia suggested at one point. “She bound it. We all saw it. Perhaps she took it to Elias.”

  But Quil knew that wasn’t right. He could feel it in his bones, and with every day that passed, he grew more frantic. Sirsha wouldn’t have just left. Because I love him, you cussed nags! Not the declaration of love that someone might dream of, and yet the words were precious to him.

  Quil kept going back to the last night they had together. The sadness in Sirsha’s eyes. As if she’d known her time was short.

  No! Sirsha lived. He felt it in their coin and in his blood. Come what may, they would be reunited. He would love her if she let him, give over his body if she demanded it, be the home he knew she longed for. He would find her. He needed to find her.

  But his people needed him too. And he could not abandon them to the predations of the Kegari.

  Musa sent a wight detailing the near annihilation of a full legion. And though Sirsha had destroyed Div and Sufiyan had killed the Tel Ilessi, their demise was only the first step to expelling the Kegari from the Empire. So, after five days of searching, Quil asked Tas to find a ship. By the morning, he and his companions watched as Ankana’s shores faded into the distance.

  Quil still had hope even then. Sirsha would appear from belowdecks. Yawning, rolling her eyes. Telling him she’d found his frantic search highly entertaining.

  But she didn’t appear, and as the days passed and the miles vanished, Quil turned to the immense task before him: liberating the Empire from the Kegari, who had roosted all over his land like malignant tumors.

  Quil ordered the ship to the Tribal Lands—to one of the smaller fishing villages that the Kegari hadn’t yet noticed. Musa would meet them there. His recent message said the Ikfa had arrived, and the smiths were hard at work shaping it into weaponry.

  Tas’s pirate friends sailed swiftly, and neither Kegari nor any other marauder approached. Three weeks after departing Burku, as night fled from the approaching dawn, the captain shouted.

  “Land ho!”

  Quil was the only one of his group awake as the southern coast of the Tribal Lands materialized on the horizon. A bright spring sun illuminated bursts of wildflowers that stretched across the desert, their aroma cutting through the salty tang of the sea. Underlying it all was the scent of dust and creosote and Quil breathed deep. Home.

  He pocketed the two silver hairpins he’d taken to fiddling with. The sun-white buildings of the sleepy fishing village came into view. The docks were empty. It was too late for the fishing boats, which were already out to sea, and too early for market. Quil’s heart quailed as they approached the shoreline. As soon as he stepped back on land, it would mean he’d truly left Sirsha behind. The part of his journey that belonged to her would be over.

  I will find her. The oath coin flared white hot, as if in agreement.

  After the captain dropped the gangplank, Quil, heavily hooded, made his way off the ship, his gait rolling after weeks at sea. It wasn’t until he’d reached the empty market at the end of the dock that a dark-garbed figure appeared from behind a cargo pulley.

  There was something familiar about how she moved, and for a brief, overjoyed moment, Quil was sure Sirsha had found him.

  But it took less than a second for him to realize this wasn’t her. This woman was smaller, her stride shorter.

  She approached Quil, and as he reached for his scim, she lowered her hood.

  “Laia?”

  The Kehanni nodded a greeting, opening her arms, and Quil hugged her, relieved that she was alive and unharmed. He turned back to the dhow to call out to Sufiyan, who he knew had been aching for his family. But Laia shook her head.

  “I want more than anything to see my son, Quil,” she said. “But I will wait. Walk with me. There is something I must tell you about the creature that murdered Ruh. The one you helped to hunt.”

  “You know about it?” Quil said as they turned onto a path that ran away from the village and toward the desert. “How—”

  “I’ve known about it for a long while now, though it was only four weeks ago that I remembered I knew,” Laia said, and Quil stiffened. When Sirsha had eradicated Div—when the creature’s power had finally been broken.

  Laia slowed as they reached the edge of the village, and stared out at a brilliant carpet of bone-white wildflowers.

  “There are some stories that aren’t meant to be shared, Quil,” she said, gold eyes anguished. “There is one that should never have been told. Years ago, I hunted that story. I found it and listened and then released it upon the world. And in doing so, I planted the seeds of my own Ruh’s death. Sit, child. Let me tell you of the First Durani. The first chaos storyteller. Me.”

  49

  Aiz

  To Aiz’s surprise, death was kind. She did not hurt. She did not suffer. It was quiet and peaceful, and her body felt like a smile; like it had in those brief weeks with the Tribes, when she’d had clothes to warm her, food to fill her, and Quil to love her.

  Her memories were strange. The Ankanese High Seer summoning her. Quil ambushing her.

  Sufiyan stabbing her over and over again. For Ruh—for Ruh—for Ruh—

  Aiz waited for Div’s aid, but it never came, and she’d watched, oddly detached, as Sufiyan’s knife sank into her chest. She thought she would be terrified to leave her people, angry at Sufiyan for taking her from them.

  All she felt was relief. For the first time since she’d watched Mother Div rip Ruh’s heart out, the horror-struck scream echoing in the back of her mind fell silent, awaiting death.

  But death didn’t come for her. Not yet.

  Instead, pain. Blazing, nerve-crushing pain. She awoke to a flash of foggy night sky, the smell of blood, and an emptiness she couldn’t understand or name. She blinked, trying to clear her vision as she took in the person next to her.

  Cero.

  She jerked fully awake. Cero’s hand was draped on Aiz’s waist. His face was deathly pale, and blood pooled around him on the stone floor of a prison.

  Aiz scrambled to her knees and shook him, but he didn’t move. Bloodsmithing. She needed to bloodsmith him back to life. She was the Tel Ilessi, for Spires’ sake.

  But she realized as she touched his warm skin that she must have already bloodsmithed him. For though he was unconscious, his chest moved. The arrows that had impaled him now littered the ground around them both.

  She looked down at her own chest. She’d felt Sufiyan stab her. Over and over until she’d wondered how there was any flesh left to pierce. But though her shirt was shredded, her body was whole.

  Aiz put her hands on Cero and willed him awake, wrapping the wind she could call around him in a warm blanket. The wind responded sluggishly.

  She reached for Mother Div’s magic, and when she didn’t feel it, when all she encountered was her own paltry will, she groaned at the thought that Mother Div would again demand to feed.

  And then, slowly, understanding dawned, and a terror that rolled through her like a fever. The emptiness within—she knew what it was.

  Div was gone.

  Aiz looked up at the bare cells around her. At the arrows and blood, and the stars through a window.

  “Ai-Aiz—”

  Cero’s voice penetrated her horror.

  “Cero.” She pulled him to her. “Thank the Spires you’re alive. I—saw you fall. I must have bloodsmithed you, though I don’t remember—”

  “Aiz, we must leave. It was High Seer Remi who betrayed us to them. We’re not safe here. Do you have a way of getting in touch with the seer who is loyal to you?”

  Dolbra, he meant. She didn’t answer him. For the import of what had happened struck her as if the weight of the Spires had crashed down on her chest.

  “Cero,” she whispered. “Div is gone.”

  Cero’s eyes grew bright—not with shock, but hope. “How—how do you know? Are you sure—”

  But Aiz shook her head. She thought of Ruh, shrieking as he died. Of Mother Div’s silken promises. She thought of the hunger that had gnawed at her for months, and the void within her now that it was gone. She remembered Sister Noa’s warning. You are lost.

  “A better question is, how will I rule? If I don’t have Div, I’m not Tel Ilessi. Without her, I cannot take our people home. Without her, Cero, I am nothing.”

  50

  Sirsha

  The first thing Sirsha noticed when she regained consciousness was the roar of the ocean, so loud she wondered that it hadn’t consumed her yet. Sand crumbled beneath her fingers, dry and cold. The sky gleamed like onyx. On the water, she saw no fishing boats. On the shore, no lights. No huts. Nothing to indicate that she was near civilization.

  But that made sense. She was dead.

  Her body felt peculiar. Light. She grasped at her necklace—only one coin remained, intricately patterned, laced with diamonds—Quil’s coin. Elias’s was gone.

  She’d done it. She’d destroyed Div.

  Relief flooded her and she whooped, the ocean swallowing the sound. For a moment at the end, she’d feared the binding wouldn’t work. That Div would break free and claw out her heart. But the coin wouldn’t have disappeared if Sirsha hadn’t succeeded.

  Though why Sirsha still cared about her oath if she was dead, she didn’t know. Come to think of it, why would she have her coin with Quil if she was dead? The Raani always said the Adah oath transcended death. Perhaps this was what she meant.

  A cool wave lapped at her feet, followed swiftly by one that slapped her in the face. She crawled up the beach, hacking up seawater.

  “Not dead,” she rasped, for she was certain that death wouldn’t be quite so undignified. “Got it.”

  Somehow, she’d destroyed Mother Div without killing herself. A neat trick. She’d laugh at herself for her maudlin thoughts about self-sacrifice if she wasn’t sopping wet and beginning to shiver. Where the skies was she?

  She had sand in unfortunate places, so she shook off what she could, grumbling all the while. Then she dug her hand into her pack, still slung across her body. And still, thankfully, heavy with gold marks. Her wrist flashed—she still had Quil’s bracelet.

  “Quil?” she called out. “Sufiyan? Arelia?”

  Only the waves responded with their endless roar. Perhaps she was near Burku. As she looked around, she spotted a rutted path that led away from the water. There might be a fishing village nearby, or a hut.

  Her legs were unsteady, and it took long minutes for her to totter up the path. She spotted a strange glow—a fire? Her stomach rumbled. Hopefully it was a cookfire.

  But the closer Sirsha got, the more uneasy she grew.

  There didn’t appear to be anyone around the fire. Yet a whole animal roasted on a spit over it. A fox, she realized as she got closer. Its mouth was open as if it had died shrieking.

  “Qu-Quil?”

  The glow of the fire weakened as if cowed. A figure silhouetted in dim blue light watched her. Sirsha’s stomach clenched. She reached for her magic, not to protect herself, but to see. To feel what the hells was sitting in front of her. But even as she called on her power, she flinched back. Something about it felt tainted. Other.

  “Greetings, S’rsha Inashi-fa.” The figure stood, pushing back her hood—her face was Sirsha’s, but of course it wasn’t her at all. It was Div, and now Sirsha felt the link between them, a tie binding them as surely as if they’d been fused together in a forge. The moment she felt it, a vast hunger filled her. A ravenous need that had no end. She saw a roiling sea and yellow sky, the massive waves seething with shadows beneath the surface. Owa Khel. The Empty.

  “I have been waiting for you to wake up, dear child,” Div said. “Now that we are one, we are going to do such beautiful things together.”

  acknowledgments

  Great thanks to you, reader, for coming with me on another adventure. I would not get to do any of this if not for you.

  My love and gratitude to:

  My family for their patience and support. Special thanks to Kashi, the best dragon caretaker; the boys for being my reason; Amer for emergency draft-reading and general radness; my parents and in-laws for the duas; and Tala for a quarter century of true sisterhood and cheerleading, baybays and all.

  Alexandra, as ever, for your belief and love; Nicola for calls, sanity checks, laughter, and saying, “Hey, you probably shouldn’t send that email”; Lauren for helping me muddle my way through this one, and for all the memes and hissing; Renée for a decade of awesomeness and for spot-on writing and life advice; Haina for keeping it real; Abby for your generous spirit; and Adam for your Adam-ness.

  My brown crew of rad—Heelah, Lilly, Anum, Uzma, Isra, Saira, Nyla, Sana. And to my many other wonderful friends, whose kindness and love I am so fortunate to have.

  Ruta, my singular editor, who supports my evil plot ideas and whose enthusiasm, sharp eye, and humor are such a gift.

  Casey—for everything.

  The fabulous Penguin team: I am so lucky that my work has had such a loving home with you for a decade. With my whole heart, thank you to every single one of you who has worked on my books and been part of this journey.

  My foreign rights team and international publishers, who put my work into the hands of readers across the globe with excitement and dedication.

  Cathy—for believing in me even when I’m wailing and howling.

  Deonna, for laughing at my dumb jokes and helping me to stay sane (and organized).

  Micaela Alcaino, for your kindness and for loving my books enough to create extraordinary covers for them.

  And last, Al Haqq, who shines the light of truth, even in the darkest places.

  Who is Laia of Serra?

  And how did she and Elias Veturius meet?

  Turn the page to read the first chapter of the book that first brought this vast, magical world to life.

  I: Laia

  My big brother reaches home in the dark hours before dawn, when even ghosts take their rest. He smells of steel and coal and forge. He smells of the enemy.

  He folds his scarecrow body through the window, bare feet silent on the rushes. A hot desert wind blows in after him, rustling the limp curtains. His sketchbook falls to the floor, and he nudges it under his bunk with a quick foot, as if it’s a snake.

  Where have you been, Darin? In my head, I have the courage to ask the question, and Darin trusts me enough to answer. Why do you keep disappearing? Why, when Pop and Nan need you? When I need you?

  Every night for almost two years, I’ve wanted to ask. Every night, I’ve lacked the courage. I have one sibling left. I don’t want him to shut me out like he has everyone else.

  But tonight’s different. I know what’s in his sketchbook. I know what it means.

  “You shouldn’t be awake.” Darin’s whisper jolts me from my thoughts. He has a cat’s sense for traps—he got it from our mother. I sit up on the bunk as he lights the lamp. No use pretending to be asleep.