Bird-spirits.
At the hermitage, when she had stabbed the daiva, it had broken into dozens of smaller birds. They watched her now, those same birds, not rustling or cooing, only utterly still, barely visible against the velvet dark of the night.
Arwa swallowed. Her throat was clogged—with terror and with wonder both.
She remembered Ushan, lifted off his feet by a winged daiva progenitor that had loved him.
She remembered the daiva at Darez Fort. Inhuman hands on her own. The dagger at her feet, that she could remember fumbling for in her rooms, that she could not remember laying beside her, as unnatural fear fell over the fort.
All her life, by everyone but her sister, Arwa had been told the daiva were monsters. But to her Amrithi dead, they were family. The daiva had loved their Amrithi children. Loved them enough to make a binding vow to protect them.
A vow made on blood.
“I am sorry I harmed you.” Her voice sounded small. Felt small. The night seemed to swallow it. “I should never have turned my knife on you, at the hermitage. You tried to save me from the—thing—at the fort, didn’t you? It was no daiva, that creature of bones. You brought me a knife, you gave me the chance to use my blood, to seek your protection from that—nightmare. And this is how I have repaid you.” She sucked in a breath, shallow, her heart racing. “I am sorry for trying to keep you at bay. For using my blood as a barrier against you. I didn’t understand that we are kin.”
The daiva birds were silent. Watchful.
She was a fool, speaking a mortal tongue to immortals. She did not know their language.
The taste of salt and ash rose in her throat. She did not. But Ushan had. Nazrin had. They all had.
She lifted her hands. Feet solid against the ground.
The Amrithi danced rites. Rites of worship. Rites to communicate with the daiva in their own language. Sigils were their language; stances were feeling. She knew this in snatches, vaguely, secondhand knowledge coming to her. She shaped a sigil for debt, another for grief.
Her hands faltered.
“I am sorry,” she said again. She had no sigils for that.
The birds flew down, drawing together swift as an arrow; she saw the semblance of a human figure, felt it clasp her hands with very human hands, the beginning of a face…
Then Arwa flinched, instinctual terror, and the daiva flinched with her.
“Wait!” she shouted, but it was too late.
It broke apart again and flew away, leaving her on the tower, hands outstretched to nothing.
When she next went to Zahir he was waiting for her, bruised and cross-legged and grim.
They did not greet each other. Only stared, unwavering.
“I deserve answers, Arwa.”
“Do you,” she said.
“You risked both our lives, when you ripped away from me,” he said. “I expected better.”
“I am sorry for disappointing you, my lord.”
Zahir laughed. A bitter thing.
“No, you’re not,” he said. Arwa did not answer him.
“What did you see,” he said, “in the realm of ash to make you act so rashly?”
“Exactly what you saw. Bodies.”
“Yes,” he said. “But that did not surprise me, and surely did not surprise you. You are a noblewoman and a commander’s widow. You know the Maha fought many wars to establish the Empire.”
“There were children,” Arwa said. “Women.”
“He was ruthless, Lady Arwa,” he said softly. “We know that.”
“Zahir. Lord Zahir. They lay upon my path of ash. You know those were my dead. People of my blood. Amrithi. I recognized a blade. Like my own.”
He closed his eyes.
“We both know the Empire has murdered Amrithi.”
“And that does not concern you? Upset you?” she challenged.
“I do not allow myself to feel pain for things I cannot alter. You know this, Lady Arwa.”
“Do you know he has done worse?” Her voice wavered. “Worse than murder?”
He was silent. Then: “It would not surprise me.”
“Don’t you care?”
“I have told you, Arwa. I can’t.” A sudden fierceness honed his voice to a blade. His eyes snapped open, fierce. Fixed upon her. “I have one use. One task. If I waver from that, what will it accomplish? Who will I save, if I crumble? And you, Lady Arwa—you live in the Empire also. You were raised a noblewoman. Do you spend your days pondering the suffering the Empire has inflicted on those who are not part of it, or do you choose to sweep their pain aside and focus on your own survival?”
“I made no choice,” snapped Arwa.
“Did you not?”
“I have merely lived my life, Lord Zahir. As best as I can.”
“Living is a choice, Lady Arwa.” Zahir was leaning forward, eyes bright and fierce. “Believe me. I know.”
Arwa looked away from him. Ah, his eyes burned.
“You make it sound so simple,” she said.
“It truly is that simple.”
“No.” She shook her head. “No, it isn’t.”
She thought of the life she had lived. She had tried to be a good and dutiful daughter, a pleasing and gentle wife. She had been exactly what was expected of her.
Until the daiva in the hermitage. Until the surface of her world had splintered. Until she had offered herself up for this task, and opened a new door onto—light.
“It is like… your lamp. Your Hidden One’s lamp of truth.” She spoke slowly, weighing her words. “We know monsters with teeth live in the darkness; we know ill things live in the warp and weft of our world, but they are… no more than children’s tales to us. They are hidden in deep shadow. We cannot see or feel them. To us, they barely exist. We need not acknowledge them at all. But the lamp, Lord Zahir.”
She looked at him, and at the glow of lantern light on his skin. The hollows of his face, carved by shadow, illuminated.
“The lamp of truth reveals the world. But when we lift the lamp we see—knowledge that cannot be unknown or undone. That is what your poems do not say, my lord. What do you do when you find the truth at the end of the path?”
She met his eyes.
“I cannot unsee what I’ve seen. I can’t unfeel what I felt in the realm. I know what was done to the Amrithi. More than death, more than exile from the Empire’s grace. I know what my sister…” She stopped. The words threatened to choke her.
“I had a sister,” she continued, finally. “A sister who was more Amrithi than me. Who kept our—her—birth mother’s traditions. She entered the Maha’s service, married, I was told, and then she died. And now I know what became of her. Of what became of so many like her. And I can’t look away,” Arwa said helplessly. “I can’t possibly look away.”
“Lady Arwa,” he said softly. His eyes were wide. He said nothing more.
And oh, that infuriated her. She took a step toward him, hands in helpless fists.
“You are so curious, Lord Zahir. You question everything with such care, but you surround yourself in such—such darkness. And I know it must be a choice. Your mother offered her knowledge to the Emperor and was executed. Your Hidden Ones work in secrecy because exposure would see them destroyed for heresy. You gut yourself for the Empire and the heir apparent names you a dog.” She spat the words. “You say saving the Empire will save countless lives, but how can you bring yourself to do it, when the Empire eats its own people, when it gorges on the living and the dead alike? How can you bring yourself to sacrifice yourself for this Empire, which will only accept you when you are useful in the way it commands, when you crush your true self in order to survive? How, Zahir?”