The Unconquered City Page 11

  Something flipped in Illi and any remaining grasp she’d had on calm slipped away. “It doesn’t matter! You should have tried! And now they’re forcing him out and there’ll be no one to keep the Wastes back, no one to quiet the guul—”

  “Illi. Calm down.”

  “—no one to stop it from happening again!” Illi finished with a shout. She glanced wildly from Thana to Mo, her breaths coming quick and fast as if she’d just been running.

  “It won’t happen again,” said Thana quietly. “It can’t. The Empress is dead.”

  “You don’t know, you can’t know for sure, you weren’t there.” Illi’s eyes smarted and she blinked furiously. Her skin was crawling with static and her head was ringing again, but at a different pitch. She tried to take a steadying breath, but her chest was too tight.

  “I was there. I killed her myself.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” said Illi, choking on her words. “You weren’t here. You didn’t see the panic. You didn’t see the bodies. You didn’t see it happening. You didn’t have to burn your home. You didn’t see all the people. You didn’t have to see your mother—” Finally her voice broke, her words choked off.

  Arms found her, enveloped her. Mo held her close as she breathed, too fast, too shallow. Her skin thrummed. She was falling apart, just as she had down on the sands with Yaluz. Why couldn’t she handle this? Why couldn’t she be strong?

  “I didn’t see my mother,” said Thana, her voice as hollow and light as ash. She shook her head as if trying to rid herself of her own terrible memories. “You’re right, I wasn’t there. But I was out there”—she jabbed her finger west, toward the Wastes—“and I saw what happened to our people. And I’ll do everything to stop it from ever happening again.”

  “But what can you do?” asked Illi, her voice too high, but she couldn’t control it. “You’re not an en-marabi. Without Heru, there’s nothing stopping it from happening again.”

  “Heru was part of the reason it happened to begin with.” Thana bent so her eyes were at the same level as Illi’s. “I know you’re scared, Illi, but you’re also being irrational. If anything, we’ll be safer without Heru or the sajaami. It’s time he moved on. You’ve got over a dozen, very capable cousins and we know what to do. We’ll protect you. We’ll protect the city.”

  “You couldn’t stop it,” repeated Illi. She knew she sounded crazy, but the fear clawed at her throat, the possibility of the past repeating itself too overwhelming.

  “Not that time.” Thana sounded tired far beyond her years. She took Illi’s hands in her own and looked into her eyes. “But I promise, never again. Now come on, have dinner with us. If I’m not mistaken, Mo made your favorite.”

  You can’t make that promise, thought Illi, letting Thana lead her to the table, too tired to resist.

  But I can.

  Illi wasn’t entirely certain the thought had been her own.

  * * *

  Later that night, Thana was waiting in the alley below Illi’s window. Illi hadn’t seen her at first, but when she dropped the last few feet to the stones, Thana materialized out of the darkness. The older cousin wore a dark green wrap that almost perfectly matched the shadows.

  Illi froze, too late to pretend she hadn’t just climbed down from her window, too tired to scramble back up. For a moment, she knew Thana was going to stop her from leaving. And, for a moment, Illi wanted Thana to; she was so tired. If Thana stopped her, maybe the sajaami could be somebody else’s problem for a little while. Maybe Illi wouldn’t have to do this by herself.

  Then Thana smiled and even that slim hope vanished.

  “I know you’re leaving with Heru,” she said. When Illi tensed, Thana held up her hands. “I’m not here to stop you. I just wanted you to know that I understand. I might not agree with your decision, but I’ll support it. Heru needs a minder, after all. He’d get himself killed if he was left alone.”

  “Didn’t you try to kill him?”

  Thana waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, well, there were extenuating circumstances.” She held out her hands. Illi hesitated, then placed her hands in Thana’s. “We’ll be here when you return, whether you destroy the sajaami or not. We’re your cousins—your family—and once a cousin, always a cousin.” She squeezed Illi’s hands, then let go. “That’s it. I just … wanted to make sure you knew that.”

  Illi’s throat had gone all tight. “Aren’t you going to insist on coming with me or something?”

  “No,” said Thana. “You’ll feel better if I stay here and keep an eye on things. Besides, Mo would never forgive me if I tried to leave her behind, and she’s needed here. The only thing I’m going to insist on is that you take this.”

  Thana pulled a ring off one of her fingers and set it in Illi’s waiting palm. The ring was heavier than Illi had expected, a simple bronze loop with a large polished stone that shimmered like oil in the thin light. She closed her fingers around it.

  “That was my mother’s,” said Thana, her voice gone rough. “The Serpent’s. Twist the stone and you’ll find a little hollow. I left a present in there: a fast-acting, semi-painless poison. Be careful opening it. And only use it on Heru if he’s being a particular pain.”

  Although Thana said the last part with a smile, Illi wasn’t sure if she was joking. She smiled back, then slid on the ring. It stood out on her bare fingers, heavy and cold.

  “You’ll want to get a few more to complete the set,” said Thana. “They’re also a useful weapon in a close fight.”

  “Thank you.” Illi didn’t trust her voice to say anything else.

  Thana waved away her thanks. “Just come home safely.”

  10

  The cold seeped through the thick fabric of Illi’s wrap, finding her skin, finding her bones. She shivered and rubbed her hands together before she remembered the cuts. Too late—her hands stung with fresh pain. She folded them under her armpits instead.

  Around her, the caravan creaked and groaned and muttered as Azal and pale-faced iluk readied the camels and checked their wares one last time. The black of night smeared to dark blue across the horizon, a faint precursor to the color that would soon blossom and bloom across the sky. But for now, it was dark. And cold. So cold.

  Illi hugged close to her camel, Awalla, soaking up her warmth and thinking of the honey and salas she’d left by Yaluz’s bedside before riding the carriage down. He’d be up in another day or two according to the healers.

  Awalla peered at Illi from under too-long lashes, her jaw busily working last night’s cud. Technically, Awalla didn’t belong to her. Legally, the camel belonged to Ghadid, one of the dozen or so that had settled in with the refugees. But no one would notice her missing from the stalls, not until the caravan was already well on its way.

  Awalla carried a sack stuffed with dried food, tins of tea, full water skins, an extra wrap, and a dozen small knives. A blanket was draped across Awalla’s hump that would hopefully keep Illi warm even on the coldest of nights. She had a metal bowl for water and a thick salve for chapped skin. A tagel hung loose and unknotted around her neck. She was prepared for anything.

  Anything—but Canthem.

  As the caravan started forward, its camels surging upward in tandem, Illi spotted the guard through the cluster of bodies. They walked on the edge of the caravan, one hand resting on their sword hilt, their gaze—thankfully—outward and west.

  Then another guard wearing the same color wrap passed them, pausing for a moment to exchange words. Canthem turned their head and Illi caught the glint of eyes scanning the caravan before she finished yanking her tagel over her mouth and nose.

  Her fingers fumbled with the knots. She’d completely forgotten about Canthem. And who could blame her? Usually she spent a few evenings—and nights—with someone from the caravan and then they were gone, out of her life for the next year or two or longer. No strings, no guilt. She could rest easy knowing they’d survive whatever was out on the sands as easily as they’d surviv
ed her. And if any had ever returned to Ghadid, none had bothered to seek her out. She never had to worry about lingering emotions or awkward feelings or—worse—falling in love.

  She’d certainly never intended to see any of them again. And now she’d be sharing a caravan with Canthem for the foreseeable future. What was the proper etiquette in this situation? Acknowledge their presence, their shared moments, and then try to be friends?

  No, better to pretend she hadn’t seen Canthem and avoid running into them for the rest of the journey. Shouldn’t be a problem.

  A gasp broke through her thoughts. Illi had her hand on the hilt of her sword, but it was only one of the Azal. A woman, by the softness of her eyes and the subtle curves beneath her dark blue wrap. Above the fabric of her tagel those eyes were wide now, the warm gold of an eagle’s. Illi knew those eyes, knew them very well. They’d met hers from beneath a bush of hair and across a torso shuddering for breath. Lunha: an Azali warrior from whom Illi had learned a thing or two about swords—among other things.

  Oh, thought Illi. Dust.

  “Illi!” Lunha opened her arms wide. “It’s been generations!”

  Illi fought for a smile—and won. “Lunha. Hi.”

  She grunted as Lunha wrapped her in a tight hug, body close and that crisp, fig-like smell achingly familiar. Lunha let go and stepped back and gave Illi a once-over. Her eyebrows drew together for a second, but then she nodded and her features brightened again.

  “You still look a bit like yesterday,” said Lunha. “How’s the life?”

  “Fine,” said Illi carefully.

  “What are you doing here? I never took you for the traveling sort. But then, if that is your sort, maybe we could arrange a thing…?” Lunha’s gaze flicked down, then back up, and her eyes caught a sly glint.

  “Not this time,” said Illi, and it was an easy thing to say because she meant it. The temptation was there, all right, but it was only that: a temptation.

  Simpler to pass on that now than to follow where it led. In such a tight and conveniently intimate space as a caravan, it would be too easy to start with a thing and end up talking over tea, sharing space beneath a tent, and exchanging oaths within glass by the time they reached their destination.

  And even though Illi envied that connection between Mo and Thana, and between some of her other cousins, she knew if she allowed a feeling that intense to burrow deep, it would break her. Something would inevitably happen to Lunha, to whomever she cared about that deeply, and Illi couldn’t lose someone she loved. Not again.

  Easier, then, not to love.

  Disappointment passed across Lunha’s eyes like a midseason cloud, there and gone again in the same instant. “Oh, I can see it. You’ve got another in your eyes, now.”

  “No, that’s not it.”

  Lunha’s smile sharpened. “You go on stitching up that tale for yourself. But if you need anything, even an ear to fill, you call on me.” Her gaze slipped past Illi and that smile turned sly. “Although you might have someone else to call on.”

  Lunha touched her forehead in a shallow bow and slipped away before Illi could press her on that last, enigmatic observation. Then another voice cut through the air right behind her.

  “Just Illi, right?”

  Illi bit her tongue. She spun and Canthem was right there. Her cheeks flushed so hot she knew they’d be able to see the heat coming off. She didn’t know whether or not to meet Canthem’s eyes, so she settled on staring at the hollow of their neck where their tagel didn’t quite touch their wrap.

  “Oh—hi. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  Canthem’s laugh was just this side of awkward. “Where else would I be? As much as I enjoyed our time together, I’m still a part of the Guul Guard and this caravan needs us. I should be asking what you’re doing here. Or were you just that desperate to see me?”

  Illi was surprised by how much she wanted to reach out and grab Canthem’s wrist, feel their warmth under her fingers. Lunha’s presence had been a teasing memory, but Canthem’s threatened to overwhelm her. Illi resisted. Whatever they’d had, whatever they’d built together, it was over now. It had to be.

  “I’m traveling with Heru,” she admitted. “He wanted me to keep an eye on his more sensitive equipment.”

  Canthem tilted their head ever so slightly. “Heru? Heru Sametket? That Heru?”

  Illi breathed deep; maybe she could use Heru’s notoriety for once. “Yes. I’m his assistant. You know him?”

  Canthem laughed again, but this time it was genuine. “What a world—that’s the man our general came to find. I didn’t realize he’d be traveling with us, too.”

  Illi felt like she’d missed something. “Wait—but Merrabel—”

  “General Barca?”

  Illi stared. “Oh. She’s your—oh.” She started to lift a hand to rub her forehead, then remembered her bracelets. She dropped her hand, shaking her arm so that the sleeve still covered the metal. “But—why does a general know so much about guul?”

  “The better to fight them,” said Canthem. “The guul are Hathage’s primary threat, now that the Empire has crumbled. A general should know her enemy, don’t you think? She’s studied them like a scholar and it’s through her research we were trained. We’re just one contingent of her defense; she’s also sent trained marab to all the towns and cities on the edge of the Wastes. I’d assumed that was part of why she came here, to begin helping the towns within the Wastes.”

  Illi frowned. “Ghadid isn’t in the Wastes.”

  Canthem shrugged. “I don’t make the maps.”

  “Maps lie.”

  They walked together in silence for a few moments. Illi felt the distance growing between her and Ghadid with each step. But she didn’t dare look back. She needed to focus on what was ahead of her: keeping Heru alive. Destroying the sajaami. Neither of which included getting to know Canthem.

  “So, I was thinking … since it’ll be a while yet before we reach the Aer Caäs, and we only had time for a few lessons back in the city…” Their fingers tapped nervously against the hilt of their sword. “Do you want to pick up where we left off?”

  No was what she needed to say, just as she had to Lunha. Cut Canthem off now, before whatever they’d had found its roots and spread.

  But when Illi opened her mouth, her lips betrayed her.

  “Yes.”

  * * *

  “What’s your plan?”

  Heru didn’t look up from what he was writing when Illi slid under his tent and took a seat on his rug. The sun was high overhead, its heat finally substantive, and a rest had been called out down the line of camels, halting the caravan for now. A cup of honey-brown tea sat forgotten at Heru’s side, steam still curling from its unbroken surface. Illi’s own thirst flared and she reached for the cup before she remembered herself. She dropped her hand, but for a moment it felt as if she were still reaching. Then she felt a gentle pop and the sensation was gone. Along with her thirst.

  Now Heru glanced up, his pen poised over the paper, his eye narrowed. He seemed to be searching her for something, but when he didn’t find it, he went back to his writing. “I have many plans,” said Heru. “The foremost of which is focused on surviving this interminable and sand-ridden journey with my sanity fully intact.”

  Illi shook her head. “We’ve only been traveling a few hours.”

  “Hours during which I could have been making headway on my research, instead of exploring the robust and diverse scenery that miles and miles of sand has to offer.”

  “What about the sajaami?” asked Illi.

  Heru put his pen down and looked at her. Or at least, he looked at her wrists; the cloth of her wrap carefully covered her bracelets. “We have much work to do on that, but most of it will have to wait until I have a fully operational lab once more.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “Child, it could be weeks or months,” said Heru, annoyed. “In case you haven’t noticed, over the course of on
e day my lab was smashed and I was exiled without any due process or chance to appeal. I, of course, was always prepared for this eventuality, but even with those preparations, rebuilding will take time. First, we must arrive at our destination—which from what I’ve overheard, appears to be the capital city of Hathage. Then I must find a place for my lab. Then I will have to acquire the components—”

  “There must be something we can do now,” said Illi. “You’ve had the sajaami for seven years. You must have had some idea of what to do with it or how you might destroy it if it ever got out.”

  “Of course,” said Heru. “I have many theories—and many questions, all of which require methodical testing. I don’t think you appreciate the unique opportunity this sajaami presents and we can’t risk squandering this chance. It has been thousands of years since a sajaami was free in our world, and our understanding of jaan and binding has continued to grow and expand during all of that time. How much of that knowledge can we apply to the sajaam? That is a question not easily answered.”

  He will not help.

  Illi started, then hid the motion by fidgeting with the hem of her wrap. That thought had not been her own. It also hadn’t been wrong.

  A shadow fell across the tent, and a moment later, Merrabel was ducking under the fabric. “Mind if I join you?” she asked.

  Without waiting for an answer, she settled onto the rug next to Illi. Heru turned his head so that both of his eyes stared at Merrabel, the glass one just as accusing as the real one. Ignoring his glare, Merrabel undid her tagel, letting her curls loose across her shoulders and neck. She swept them back and then held her open palms out to Heru.

  “Sametket,” she said. “Here we are. To be honest, I didn’t expect that we’d both be thrown out.”

  “That was the most logical conclusion,” said Heru.

  “Perhaps,” admitted Merrabel. “I’d planned on you surrendering the sajaami to me. Clearly, I was wrong. But it’s not too late. We’re both on this journey together, it seems, and there will be plenty of time for you to change your mind.” Her smile broadened. “I can be equally persuasive in writing. Your chiefs might listen. Perhaps they would be willing to take you back, once I explain things to them more thoroughly and your people have had a chance to return to a more rational way of thinking.”