Minutes gusted past, and Stix silently waited. That blighted flame hawk had gotten her good at the end. Her shirt had burned through to her right shoulder, leaving pieces of cotton inside the damaged flesh. She’d gotten a stripe across her jaw too, and her white hair had burned to shriveled shortness around her right ear.
When Kahina still had not acknowledged Stix after several minutes, Stix cleared her throat. And Kahina sighed. The pipe clutched within her teeth snuffed out. She rolled languidly to one side.
“You do not look so good.” Kahina swung her legs to the floor. “But what an impressive display. You made short work of my pet.”
Pet. The hair on Stix’s arms shot high. “The … flame hawk is yours?”
“She is.” Kahina withdrew her pipe and smiled. It was a predatory grin. A powerful grin.
“You don’t treat it very well.”
“Is that what you think?” Kahina gave a throaty laugh and clapped her hands against her knees. The jade ring glinted on her thumb. “Do you know who I am, Water Brawler?”
Stix nodded. “Leader of the Red Sails.”
“No, no.” Kahina pushed to her feet. Without her spectacles on, Stix had to squint to follow Kahina as she strutted for the deck’s edge. “Everyone knows I am the admiral. I mean do you know who I am?” A glance backward. “Or for that matter, do you know who you are?”
Again, the hair on Stix’s arms shot high. A Firewitch with a flame hawk. A Firewitch who took cruel delight in the violence unfolding below. Food for my flame hawk. Food for my pet.
“Ah,” Kahina murmured. “I see that perhaps you do.” She thrust the pipe back into her teeth. With no match nor uttered command, the pipe flared. Fresh smoke plumed, and Stix wanted very much to be gone from this deck. She wanted Ryber’s steady silver eyes or that orange tabby’s relentlessly happy purr. She wanted the safety of her cot and the pillow, and she wanted Kahina far, far away.
“You do not remember everything yet, do you?” Kahina asked.
Stix did not respond.
“You will soon enough.” Kahina shrugged. “That is the way of it when we find one of our old places.” She motioned toward the arena while wind sprayed her pipe smoke. “And once you do remember, then all of this will be so much easier.”
“All of what?”
“There is something that we must find. Or somethings, I should say.” Kahina leaned against the balustrade, seemingly unconcerned by the wood’s dangerous groan or the sheer drop-off below. “But we will make no progress if you do not have all your memories.” This thought made her frown, and she pushed off the railing to approach Stix.
Though every muscle in Stix begged to lean away, she held her ground while Kahina dropped to a crouch before her and gripped her chin. Smoke drifted into Stix’s eyes. The jade ring shimmered.
“We have work to do, Water Brawler.” This close, there was no missing the tiredness on Kahina’s face or the lines carved deep around her eyes. “A great deal of it, in fact. So be ready and try not to die in the meantime. It’s so tedious waiting for the new lives to be reborn.” She released Stix, swirling gracefully toward her long chair.
Food for my flame hawk. Food for my pet.
* * *
Stix offered no greeting once outside Kahina’s deck. She merely gripped Ryber’s biceps and in hushed tones said, “We need to talk. Alone.”
Ryber nodded, and with an arm to keep Stix steady, she guided Stix down to the limestone bowels of the Ring. The dank halls carved a honeycomb beneath the main arena. Firewitched lanterns mingled with smoky torches, and none of the tunnels were straight or flat. Every ten steps or so, rats skittered in their path. Icy water dripped off the stone ceilings onto their heads, until eventually they reached a fork in the main path.
Instead of cutting right toward the subterranean carriage entrance, Ryber hauled Stix left, toward the prisoners Stix didn’t think she could stomach seeing. It was bad enough watching them die in the Ring by lion claws or crocodile fangs, but to have to see them in their cells? To see so many faces and know she could do nothing, that their fates belonged to Kahina and the other Masters of the Ring? Stix feared she might destroy the arena and every raider in it.
Maybe you should, her heart nudged. Maybe that is what you are here to do.
But what if it isn’t? she countered. What if I destroy it and then the voices never leave?
Her heart had no time to argue before Ryber towed Stix into an alcove littered with rat droppings. Hidden it certainly was, but filthy too.
“What happened?” Ryber asked, and Stix shoved aside thoughts of the prisoners. In broad strokes, she sketched out what Kahina had said—as well as the memory she’d seen inside the Ring.
Ryber’s face dragged long with horror. “You think she is this Paladin called Lovats?”
“Who else can she be?” Stix attempted a shrug, but her burned shoulder barked in protest.
Not that Ryber noticed. Her attention had already been claimed by a deck of taro cards freshly plucked from her pocket. Some had torn edges, some were creased and frayed. But that didn’t matter to Ryber, who handled them with the tenderness of a mother. She drew them for everything—to learn tomorrow’s weather, to be ready for today’s surprises, and to answer whatever big questions might come her way.
She flipped over three cards. “The Queen of Hawks,” Ryber said, handing the first to Stix. “The Queen of Foxes and the Giant.” She handed off those two as well, and Stix held the cards toward the dim light from the main hall.
On the Queen of Hawks was a flame hawk fanned orange and yellow across the paper, an iron crown hovering at its heart. The Queen of Foxes was similar, but a sea fox coiled around a golden crown with starfish points—a crown that was eerily similar to Vivia’s actual crown. And on the Giant card was a snow capped mountain silhouetted against a starry sky.
“What question did you ask?” Stix returned the cards to Ryber, only to find the other girl massaging her temples.
“I asked who Kahina is, and I was expecting to draw at least one Paladin card. Not … these.”
“Why not? What do these mean?”
Ryber’s hand fell. The usual braid sprang free. “I don’t know,” she admitted, and Stix fought off a frown. It wasn’t Ryber’s fault the cards were confusing. It wasn’t Ryber’s fault they didn’t spell out a clear way to avoid Kahina or unlock the answers of the Ring. Stix and Stix alone had to figure it out if she wanted to get home—and that was all she wanted. Silence and home.
And maybe freedom for others too.
“Maybe,” Ryber said with a furtive glance toward the hall, “I can pull out the blade and glass once we’re back at the inn. We could use the glass on Kahina to see if she really is—”
“No.” The word rang out, louder than Stix intended. Colder and harder too. But she couldn’t help it. Even hearing those words, blade and glass, made her insides shrivel. Worse than when Kahina had gripped her. Worse than during her vision from the Ring.
“You don’t have to use the glass, Stix. I’ll be the one to look through.”
“No,” Stix repeated. Then again: “No, no, no. No blade, no glass, Ryber. We’re here to deal with my memories, and that’s it. Whatever Kahina wants, it doesn’t matter. She isn’t my problem. She isn’t yours.” Stix spun away and limped into the hallway, moving too fast for Ryber to argue. Too fast for the voices, always lurking behind her eye sockets, to awaken and lay claim.