“Old news,” I sigh, waving my hand, “I saw that months ago.”
We stand so close that the heat from his body rolls off him in waves. I can’t stop staring at his long, dark lashes, and the hall feels much smaller, and more private than it ought to. With our families scattered and our friends away, there’s no one to interrupt this moment. No one to snatch us apart now.
“A few days after I crossed into the Aloo Valley, I found an abandoned camp.” Rudjek clears his throat and continues his story. “I can’t explain it, but . . . the camp smelled of you.” He ducks his head to hide his blush. “Like you smell right now. Sweet and intoxicating. Like something forbidden—”
“Rudjek!” My cheeks warm too. “We’re talking about the Aloo Valley, remember?”
“Sorry.” He runs his fingers through his messy black curls. “You’re very distracting.”
“And you’re not?” I retort.
Rudjek grins and I cluck my tongue at him. “Where was I?”
“The abandoned camp.”
“Someone had ravaged the camp.” He swallows hard, shifting on his heels. “I thought of the Dark Forest and the cravens. About the stories we were told as children . . .”
One does not see a craven, my father said. One feels its presence. They chose not to reveal themselves to Oshhe the day he hunted the white ox, but Rudjek hadn’t been so lucky. His family crest is gone; the craven that killed him in my vision took it. “I get the feeling there’s more to the cravens than the stories led us to believe.”
“The stories don’t do justice to what they are.” His voice shakes. There’s so much pain brimming in that simple declaration that I reach up to stroke his cheek. He turns his face against my hand, his lips brushing my palm, and inhales. His skin is so hot. “They can do things that I’ve never seen before . . .” He stares at me with eyes full of a desperate longing that tears into my heart. “I don’t know if I can trust my own memories.”
“Rudjek,” I whisper. “What happened to you?”
“I fought a craven who damn near cleaved me in two,” he says, weariness punctuating his every word. Then he adds, “I died.”
Silence stretches between us as he lifts the black tunic to show me his smooth, unmarked belly. “The craven’s claws cut me here.” He moves his hand from left to right across his middle, and I trace the same path. Warmth spreads through my body and goose bumps prick his flesh beneath my touch. The invisible cut ends above his hip bone, and my hand lingers there for a moment too long. I can almost feel the anticipation pulsing in his veins, same as my own.
“But Re’Mec brought you back?” I ask, pulling my hand away and glancing up at him.
“No, he didn’t,” Rudjek says, his cheeks flushed. “I healed myself.”
My mouth drops open, ready to ask more, when a familiar tingling rises across my forearms. Rudjek must feel it too for he spins around, his shotels ready. We both stare into the bleeding darkness.
“Well, isn’t this a lovely reunion,” purrs a familiar voice that sends ice down my veins. “It took time to take down the orishas’ wards on this place.” Merka steps into the torchlight. He’s still in the fisherman’s body—lanky with pockmarked cheeks, with the mangy ginger hair he had in cat form. But he moves with a strange new grace. “Your sister’s worried sick about you, Arrah. She would’ve come herself, but she’s quite . . . busy.”
The chieftains’ whispers start again, so loud that my head feels like it will crack open.
Rudjek and I back away from him, but something in the darkness shifts behind us.
“Looks like this is my lucky night,” Rudjek growls. “I get to kill my very first demon.”
Dread fills my belly. Rudjek doesn’t know what he’s up against. His shotels will be useless if what Tam said in the alley is true. The more souls they consume, the more powerful demons become. Four more demons step out of the shadows behind Merka.
If they’re here, then Efiya is close and so is her army.
“It’s going to be a pleasure to kill your kind.” Merka grins, and the other demons charge. As Rudjek raises his shotels, someone grabs me from behind. I kick and scream and punch, but something slams into my head so hard that my legs falter, my vision fades in and out. Rudjek tries to reach me, but he’s surrounded by a horde of demons now—more than I can count.
“Did you miss me?” Merka whispers in my ear, his voice slick as honeyed wine. He drags me into a room and slams a heavy door behind us, then shoves me forward. I almost stumble and fall. He’s stronger than before, faster too; it shines in his glowing eyes.
We’re in a small study with no windows and no escape save for the door behind him. Lit jars of oil line the floor along the walls. A single chair and a table sit in the corner. I back toward the table while Merka closes the space between us.
He smiles. “I thought we could use some privacy.”
“Where is my sister?” I ask to distract him.
“Waging war on her enemies.” Merka shrugs. “She sent me to deal with you.”
It’s not hard to figure out what he wants—what Efiya wants. She’s never been able to see inside my mind. She’s sent Merka to get information—does she know that the chieftains’ kas are with me?
His eyes shimmer from jade to sea green to emerald to jade again. My heart drums against my chest as his gaze lulls me into calm. I’m sinking into warm quicksand. It draws me into its belly, and the deeper my descent, the more I bask in its sea of tranquility. My worries slip away; Efiya no longer matters, and neither does Rudjek nor my father. All that matters is that I go deeper inside Merka’s eyes, travel to his soul.
“Do you know why your sister chose to remake me first?” Merka asks.
I’m sitting in the chair now and he kneels before me. My lips move to speak, but I’m too tired, so I shake my head.
“She brought me back because of you,” he says, amusement lacing his words. “She thought my particular talents would be useful. It is much the same as the old Ka-Priest’s, but unlike him . . . I can make it very pleasurable.”
I blink and I’m alone on an empty plane in Merka’s mind. Soft light glows around me, but his perverse darkness crawls across my skin, invading every inch of my body. There is nothing good inside this creature—only sweet illusions. I can see his true face. He’s taller than should be possible and misshapen, two-headed with a mouth of blood and no eyes.
“Let me know your mind, Arrah.” Hearing my name again snaps me out of his trance and I am back in the half-lit room, back in the chair. “Tell me your secrets.”
“Tell me yours first,” I croak out, barely able to breathe. “Are you nothing more than my sister’s chained dog?”
Merka slaps me. My jaw cracks and the pain that follows would’ve brought me to my knees had I not already been sitting. The blood in my mouth tastes of wet soil, but it clears away the last of the fog. The magic inside me mends my jaw, and the pain is nothing more than a fading memory. My mind is sharp as it vibrates under my skin.
“I admire your spirit.” He grits his teeth. “It will be a pleasure to break it.”