It wasn’t worth the energy to swing my canteen at his head again. “I know a lot of things, Kaden, including the fact that trading convoys pass through the Cam Lanteux.”
“The Previzi caravans? Your chances with them would be zero. No one gets within a hundred paces of their cargo and lives.”
“There are the kingdom patrols.”
“Not the way we’re going.” He was quick to quash every hope.
“How long does it take to get to Venda?”
“Fifty days, give or take a month. But with you along, twice that.”
My canteen flew, hitting him like lead. He grabbed his head, and I got ready to swing again. He lunged at me, pulling me from my horse. We fell to the ground with a dull thud, and I swung again, this time with my fist, catching him in the jaw. I rolled and got to my knees, but he slammed me from behind, pinning me facedown against the sand.
I heard the others laughing and hooting, heartily entertained by our scuffle.
“What’s the matter with you?” Kaden hissed in my ear. His full weight pressed down on me. I closed my eyes, then squeezed them shut tightly, trying to swallow, trying to breathe. What’s the matter? Did that question really require an answer?
The sand burned against my cheek. I pretended it was the sting of snow. I felt its wetness on my lashes, its feather-light touch trailing across my nose. What’s the matter? Nothing at all.
* * *
The wind had finally calmed. I listened to the crack and spit of the fire. We had stopped early tonight at the base of another range of hills. I climbed to a crag and watched the sun disappear, the sky still white hot, not a drop of swirling moisture to lend it color or depth. Kaden and I hadn’t spoken another word. The rest of the ride had been briefly punctuated by more laughter from the others as they tossed my canteen between them in mock terror, until Kaden yelled for them to stop. I stared straight ahead for the rest of the ride, never looking left or right. Not thinking of snow or home. Just hating myself for letting them see my wet cheeks. My own father had never seen me cry.
“Food,” Kaden called to me. Another snake.
I ignored him. They knew where I was. They knew I wouldn’t run. Not here. And I didn’t want to eat their belly-slithering snake that was probably full of sand too.
Instead I watched the sky transform, the white melting to black, the stars so thick, so close, that here I thought maybe I could reach them. Maybe I could understand. What went wrong?
All I had wanted was to undo what I had done, meet my duty, to make sure that nothing happened to Walther, that no more innocents like Greta and the baby would die. I had given up all that I loved to make that happen—Terravin, Berdi, Pauline, Rafe. But now here I was, out in the middle of nowhere, unable to help anyone, not even myself. I was crushed to the desert floor, my face ground into the sand. Laughed at. Ridiculed. Betrayed by someone I had trusted. More than trusted. I had cared about him.
I swiped at my cheeks, forcing any more tears back.
I looked up at the stars, glittering, alive, watching me. I’d get out of this somehow. I would. But I promised myself I’d expend no more effort fighting insults. I had to save my energy for more important pursuits. I’d have to learn to play their game, only play it better. It might take me a while, but I had fifty days to learn this game, because I was certain that if I crossed into Venda, I’d never see home again.
“I brought you some food.”
I turned and saw Kaden holding a chunk of meat speared on his knife.
I looked back at the stars. “I’m not hungry.”
“You have to eat something. You haven’t eaten all day.”
“You forgot? I ate a mouthful of sand at midday. That was plenty.”
I heard him exhale a tired breath. He came over and sat beside me, laying the meat and knife on the rock. He looked up at the stars too. “I’m not good at this, Lia. I live two separate lives, and usually one never meets the other.”
“Don’t fool yourself, Kaden. You’re not living even one life. You’re an assassin. You feed on other people’s misery and steal lives that don’t belong to you.”
He leaned forward, looking down at his feet. Even in the starlight, I could see his jaw clench, his cheek twitch.
“I’m a soldier, Lia. That’s all.”
“Then who were you in Terravin? Who were you when you loaded goods into the wagon for Berdi? When I tended your shoulder? When you pulled me close and danced with me? When I kissed your cheek in the meadow? Who were you then?”
He turned to look directly at me, his lips half parted. His dark eyes narrowed. “I was only a soldier. That’s all I ever was.”
When he couldn’t look me in the eye any longer, he stood. “Please eat,” he said quietly. “You’ll need your strength.” He reached down and pulled the knife from the meat, leaving the slab of snake sitting on the rock, and walked away.
I looked down at the meat. I hated that he was right. I did need my strength. I would eat the snake, even if I choked on every gritty bite.
Where did she go, Ama?
She is gone, my child.
Stolen, like so many others.
But where?
I lift the child’s chin. Her eyes are sunken with hunger.
Come, let’s go find food together.
But the child grows older, her questions not so easily turned away.
She knew where to find food. We need her.
And that’s why she’s gone. Why they stole her.
You have the gift within you too, my child. Listen. Watch.
We’ll find food, some grass, some grain.
Will she be back?
She is beyond the wall. She is dead to us now.
No, she will not be back.
My sister Venda is one of them now.
—The Last Testaments of Gaudrel
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
“They call it the City of Dark Magic.”
We stared at the ruins rising from the sands like sharp broken fangs.
At least now I knew we weren’t in Morrighan anymore. “I know what it is,” I said to Kaden. “Royals hear stories too.” As soon as I saw the ruined city, I knew what it was. I’d heard it described many times. It lay just beyond the borders of Morrighan.
I noticed the others had fallen silent. Griz stared ahead under thick scowling brows. “What’s the matter with them?” I asked.
“The city. The magic. It raises their hackles,” Kaden said. A shrug followed his answer, and I knew he had no such reservations.
“A sword is no good against spirits,” Finch whispered.
“But the city has water,” Malich said, “and we need it.”
I had heard many colorful stories about the dark magical city. It was said it was built in the middle of nowhere, a place of secrets where the Ancients could practice their magic and offer untold pleasures for a price. The streets had been made of gold, the fountains flowed with nectar, and sorceries of every kind were to be found. It was believed that spirits still jealously guarded the ruins and that was why so many of them were still standing.
We continued to move forward at a guarded pace. As we got closer, I saw that the sands had scoured away most of the color, but occasional patches survived. A hint of red here, a sheen of gold there, a fragment of their ancient writing carved in a wall. There was no wholeness left to the city. Every one of the magical towers that had once reached to the sky had crumbled to some degree, but the ruins evoked the spirit of a city more than any ruins I had ever seen. You could imagine the Ancients moving about.