“I am equally surprised.”
“What happened? How—”
Shyla silenced him with a kiss. “I’ll tell you the entire saga later. For now, I want to just be in this moment. With you.”
“I’m all yours.”
They buried the fallen in batches of roughly forty people at a time. Family members gathered, tears were shed, hugs were exchanged, stories told, and festivities were thrown to bid the deceased a fond farewell and best wishes for their next lives with the Sun Goddess. Kaveri officiated the seven mass burials.
Shyla, Rendor, and Hanif attended all the ceremonies. Hanif was anxious for a replacement Water Prince and wished to return to his duties at the monastery. Unlike Kaveri, who had embraced her new role and went from “filling in” to becoming the new Heliacal Priestess.
When all the people had been buried, Shyla focused on her next task. She gathered with Gurice and Jaft—her new seconds—and Rendor.
They sat in a conference room on level ninety-seven. Cleanup and repairs of the water pipes was ongoing, but it would take a few circuits for the complex to be fully restored.
“We need a new Water Prince or Water Princess,” Shyla said. “Hanif doesn’t want the job. Do you think Orla would be a good choice? Her commune is not only the biggest but the most organized.”
No one said anything. They all stared at her. Their gazes rested heavily on her.
Finally Rendor broke the silence. “Shyla, you know who Zirdai needs. Stop procrastinating.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Yes, we know,” Gurice said. “Busy procrastinating.”
She crossed her arms and pouted. Her own people had turned against her. Well, that was a bit of an exaggeration. And they might have a small point.
The last thing Shyla wanted to do was talk to Jayden, but it appeared she’d run out of options.
Twenty-One
It had been thirty-two sun jumps since they’d locked Jayden in the testing chamber in the lower levels of Tamburah’s temple. Shyla went alone. An unpleasant odor greeted her first, one that reminded her of the black cells but not nearly as strong. Then she spotted Jayden. He sat with his back leaning on the wall and his forehead resting on his bent knees.
“Are you here to gloat?” He didn’t raise his head or attack her with his magic.
She scanned his supplies. A pile of empty water skins rested next to the low table. It had been overturned at some point—perhaps kicked over in anger. Two full skins and a couple rolls of jerky sat on the scrolls, which were as far away from the collection buckets as the chain attached to Jayden’s ankle would allow. He’d rationed his supplies. Smart.
The silence stretched. Eventually Jayden glanced at her. His golden brown hair was lackluster and a straggly beard covered his face. But it was the apathy in his gaze that alarmed her the most. She scanned his thoughts and emotions, reading his soul. He’d given up hope. He’d lost everything. Everyone he’d loved. No one would forgive him.
“I’m not here to gloat,” she said.
“But you won, didn’t you?”
“At a high cost. Too high to really call it a win.”
He shot to his feet. “Mojag?”
Ah, there it was. He still care about something. “Annoying as ever.”
Jayden sagged against the wall. “Gurice?”
“Promoted to one of my seconds.”
“Ximen?”
No matter how she worded it, it wouldn’t change the fact. “He died.”
He straightened as grief and anger blazed to life inside him. “The Water Prince killed him.”
Not quite a question. “No, the Heliacal Priestess.”
Jayden jerked as if slapped. His mind reeled and guilt twisted. My fault.
“Not your fault.” She explained about the explosions. “The priestess collected the toxic gases and released clouds of it underneath the prince’s complex. All it needed was a spark. We’re still not sure how she managed it. And I’m not sure we really want to know the details—it might be tempting for someone else to copy it.”
He was horrified.
“Regardless, two hundred and sixty-four people died. All because of her. The priestess who you conspired with.”
“I…” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I…didn’t think she’d do something like that.”
“No one did.”
His shoulders dropped. “Did any other Invisible Sword members die?”
She found it interesting that he didn’t ask if the Water Prince or the priestess lived or died. Listing the names, she felt his pain through her magical connection and suffered through her own welling of grief. By the time she finished, he’d returned to his huddled position on the floor.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I made so many mistakes.”
His emotions matched his words, but Shyla decided to test him. “If given the chance, would you kill the Water Prince?”
His head snapped up. “He’s alive?”
“Why are you surprised?”
“The priestess hated him more than I did. I thought she would kill him with her explosions.”
And since he didn’t know the full story, that would make sense. “No, he still lives.”
Jayden’s thoughts spun, but that inner fury, which had fueled him to betray her and the Invisible Sword, had died. “No, I wouldn’t kill him. Not anymore. For him, living is a punishment. Dying would be too easy.” He told the truth. “What happened? I sense you’re not telling me the entire story.”
“I’m not. Get comfortable, this is going to take a while.” She told him what had happened, including all the gritty and terrible details. Keeping her connection to him, she monitored his reactions. They shared a wry grin when she reached the part about her being chained to the floor.
“Wait,” he interrupted at one point. “Why did you tell me the prince was alive?”
She kept quiet and let him figure it out.
“To see my reaction? Because…” He pulled at his beard. “Because of what I did. My desire to kill him clouded all reason, and you wanted to see if I still had the same blind desire.”
“Yes. And I can tell even the news of his death has not given you the sense of satisfaction that you sought. Nor the peace you hoped for.”
“My sister’s still dead. And, like I said, being locked in a black cell would have been a really good punishment for him.”
She agreed. “Well, he did spend some time in there.” Shyla continued her tale. “And now we’re looking for a new Water Prince or Princess,” she concluded.
Jayden sat there, absorbing all the information. “Why not you?”
“I have a job.”
“Then I’d say Orla would be best.”
“We thought she’d be second best. We’ve another candidate in mind.”
“Who?”
“Mojag.”
“Mojag? Are you serious?”
“No. I’m kidding.”
He smiled—the first genuine smile since his betrayal was exposed. “Can you imagine Mojag in charge?”