Chapter Twenty
Twenty
This was not what I’d expected to hear.
“I’m sorry,” I said blankly. “We’re going to need to back up.”
Ever since I’d started at the Lyceum, I’d heard—and participated in—speculation around the scrolls’ contents. People hoped for all sorts of things—strange and powerful spells, the diaries of kings. When my cohort was overworked and exhausted, we joked it’d be grocery or to-do lists.
No one had suggested it might be a cure for a divine beast.
Why would a divine beast even need a cure?
Daziel looked upward, where clouds drifted like ships setting off. In the distance, I could hear wind chimes clanging. “The winds aren’t behaving like normal. There’s always been atmospheric disturbances—hurricanes, cyclones, heavy swells. But storms are becoming unpredictable, destructively so.”
His dark eyes returned to mine. “We don’t know why the winds are changing.
But we do know what has shaped the winds for millennia.
The Ziz.” Daziel’s voice was even, as though he’d had this conversation many times.
“The Ziz is one of the three stabilizing forces of natural magic. Natural magic is malfunctioning. Given how the winds and air storms are most strange, we think it’s the Ziz who is ill, or hurt. ”
I pictured the Ziz, depicted in children’s books as a giant bird with the body of a lion. A wingspan great enough to block out the sun, went the saying. So tall it can stand in the middle of the ocean and the water only reaches its ankles. Once it dropped an egg, which flattened cities.
“I’m sorry,” I said, rubbing my temples. Here in my aunt’s garden, surrounded by manicured plants and with my chamomile tea still steaming on the round table, his words seemed preposterous. “Are you trying to tell me the Ziz is a real, physical creature that can get hurt?”
“Yes.”
“No,” I replied. My brain simply couldn’t handle this. The Ziz was a legendary, eternal beast. Legendary, as in…maybe not corporeal. Eternal as in forever. “The Ziz is real?”
Daziel sounded puzzled. “Did you think it wasn’t?”
“No…” I drew out the word, uncertain. “I believe in the power of the Great Beasts—like that they can impact a ship’s passage or whatever.
But maybe I thought of them more as—a force?
Like gravity? Or sunsets?” This didn’t seem like the point.
“How can the Ziz get sick if it’s eternal? Where do the beasts live?”
“I don’t know.”
I frowned. “That’s not very helpful. How do you know the Ziz is real?”
“How do you know gravity is?”
“Because if I drop a mug, it falls.”
“And if you hurt the King of the Birds and the Air, all the birds go to their wounded ruler’s side. And the air starts malfunctioning.”
Okay. He had a point. “What about the increased earth tremors in Ilthalit, or the maelstroms? Those aren’t air.”
“I suspect the Ziz being injured affects the other two Great Beasts—and their domains of land and sea. I think it could get worse if we don’t figure out how to cure the Ziz.”
Unease skidded throughout me. All three of the primordial beasts were affected? This seemed very bad. “Worse—how? The land and sea and sky—that’s the whole world.”
He met my gaze. “Yes. It is.”
My chest tightened and my head spun. The whole world couldn’t be in trouble. This was starting to feel too big. “Maybe something else is the problem.”
“Maybe. But the only records I could find back home about similar problems with the winds ascribed them to the Ziz needing to be healed, and said human mages at Zerach had the spells to do so.”
And Zerach was where the scrolls had been found. “You think the scrolls tell us how to cure the Ziz.” I let the words sink in.
He shrugged. “Those scrolls were preserved for a reason.”
“What are you expecting? We decipher the spell and then—what? Go heal the Ziz?”
“I wasn’t going to suggest you, personally, heal the Ziz,” Daziel said dryly. “But yes, I was going to take the spell and try.”
I started pacing, gazing at the almond trees like their pink blooms would offer answers. This was bonkers. No one had expected the deciphered scrolls to have any bearing on anything besides scholarship. Also—“If this is so important, why haven’t you been trying to speed up the decipherment?”
“Haven’t I?”
I paused, nonplussed. Then I reevaluated the past five months. He had sped up the decipherment. Not only had he suggested I look for a pattern, but he’d let me use his magic to re-form the scrolls and given me the idea for the spell that remade them in the first place. He’d been instrumental.
And I’d just thought he was interested in what I was doing; I hadn’t realized he had an agenda. I hadn’t realized how much I was being led. Disappointment and sadness welled in my throat, and nausea stirred my stomach. “But—why didn’t your people send in one of your own expert cryptographers?”
“We don’t have one,” Daziel said testily. “In this case, the Lyceum had the best chance of solving the puzzle.”
That made sense, except…“Why didn’t you ask us?” I cried, frustrated. “Why didn’t you work with us?”
“With whom? Your professor? Who thinks so little of me?”
“Our people have a treaty. Go over his head. Have your leader go to ours.”
“There was no time to waste if your people refused to work with us.”
“Really?” I asked, coldly skeptical. “You don’t think instead of spending months lying to me, we could have spent them untangling red tape?”
“It wasn’t worth risking when I didn’t think it would make the work move any faster.”
“Oh,” I said, fury starting to build. “I see. Put aside how it might have fast-tracked the project by giving us more resources—you decided it wasn’t worth the risk of telling me? I didn’t deserve to know the truth about why you were here?”
His shoulders hunched, and his thumb flicked against his signet ring, spinning it endlessly.
He looked like he was searching for an answer, or like he had one but didn’t know how to say it.
When he spoke, he sounded miserable. “I didn’t know what you’d do if I told you.
I knew if I kept lying, you’d let me stay. ”
I reeled back. That was honest, at least, more honest than I wanted, and probably exactly what I deserved. “You’re right,” I said, my voice hollow. “It worked. Congratulations.”
“Naomi—”
“What now?” I stepped back. The wind picked up, the almond tree branches fluttered, a few of their pink blossoms floating down around me. “You expect me to be your own personal code breaker? To keep this a secret from everyone?”
He sounded wry. “As if you could. The second you see your cohort, you’re going to tell them, thinking it’s not fair to withhold this information since they’ve been working on the scrolls longer than you. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
I flushed. Wow. Ouch. This did, in fact, sound exactly like what I’d do. I hadn’t realized how well he knew me. It shocked me, how clearly he could predict my behavior. “Is that such a bad thing?”
“What do you think the others will do when you tell them? Rule-abiding Yael. Nervous Gidon. Loose-tongued Stefan. You think they’ll keep this a secret?”
“Why should it be a secret?”
“I’m afraid of losing access.” His jaw worked. “What if you’re taken off the project? What if it’s deemed too sensitive for student hands, and you don’t get to see the deciphered spell? I don’t trust your government to tell mine their findings.”
His words punched a hole through me, and I wrapped my arms around my stomach as though it would hold me together. He’d only wanted me for access. “Why me? You could have targeted Yael or Gidon or Stefan.”
“I considered it.” His voice was pained. “You left an opening.”
My stomach hollowed out with horrified hurt. “Because I said I was betrothed to the demon Daziel,” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“But—but how…” What were the chances Daziel needed an in with one of just a few people, and one of them dropped his name as their betrothed? “Did you use a spell on me? So I picked your name.”
He didn’t say anything.
Horror slid through my body like a sheet of ice as another option occurred to me. “Is your name really Daziel?”
He looked away, then back, his eyes bleak and empty. “No.”
Though I’d half expected it, it hit me like a tidal wave. I sank down on the grass, right in the middle of the garden. The perfectly good café-style chair stood a few feet away from me, but I needed to be curled around my stomach. “Oh my god.”
“My name is Cathmeus.” He crouched down in front of me, speaking urgently, like the words had been inside him for a very long time. “I wanted to tell you. I’m sorry,” he said, words I wished weren’t necessary. “I was trying to do what I thought was best. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
I tried to sound sharp and pithy, but instead my words came out small and sad. “Well, you did.”
He closed his eyes. “I know.”
I turned away, looking up at the fluttering blossoms against the sky. I wanted to scream and rage, but what good had that ever done anyone? The only thing that did any good was moving forward.
Your inevitable heartbreak? my aunt had said. I’ll accept that as collateral damage. Brutal, I’d thought, mostly amused. I hadn’t realized how brutal it would be.
The worst thing was, I understood his—Cathmeus’s, Daziel’s—motivation.
I probably wouldn’t have done what he’d done—but who knew?
These stakes were higher than one person’s happiness.
As he’d said, he knew if he lied I’d let him stay, and if he truly thought that would help him save the Ziz, fix the magic…
I don’t plan to break Naomi’s heart, he had said, and maybe he hadn’t, but like my aunt, he probably accepted it as collateral damage.
“You did it for a noble cause. To save the world. How can I be mad about that?”
He tilted his head. “Very easily.”
I huffed out a breath tinged with laughter. “True. But I understand why you did it.”
Daziel—I could only think of him as Daziel—reached for my hand. “Naomi. Just because I lied about my reason for coming here—I didn’t lie about—”
“Don’t,” I said sharply, pulling back. He flinched, his hand falling to his side.
Good—I wanted him to hurt like I did. I didn’t want to have to be gracious and forgive him.
“Let’s focus on the Ziz. If it’s dying, and the scrolls are our only chance to save it, we need to decipher them as soon as possible. ”
Daziel watched me unhappily but didn’t say anything.
“You’re right.” I pushed to my feet. The wind was starting to pick up, and low purple clouds brooded on the horizon.
“I don’t think it’s fair—or even wise—to keep this to ourselves.
But I agree you shouldn’t get cut out. We need to tell people in a way that ensures we stay in the loop.
Or—can you go invisible and watch what’s happening? ”
Daziel stood too, managing a wry smile. “You’ll be shocked to hear this, but some people, like Sanhedrin members, are better at warding me away than first-year Lyceum students.”
Harsh. “Okay, fair.”
“There’s one other thing.” He fidgeted, nervous, like when he admitted he’d eaten the chocolate croissant I’d been saving for my afternoon snack. “We don’t know where the Ziz is.”
This took a few seconds to sink in. “Wait, so—we decipher this spell, and then…don’t know where to cast it?”
He nodded.
I leaned heavily against the table. “Please tell me your people are working on finding the Ziz, even if they’re not skilled at cryptography.”
He grimaced. “Remember how you thought I’d run away from home to explore Talum?”
My gut sank. “Daziel…”
“I’m not technically supposed to be here.”
My laughter verged on hysterical. “You’re kidding.”
“No.” His eyes were wide and nervous. “I’m trying to be honest with you.”
“So—no one knows you’re here? I thought the high shedim court wanted to save the Ziz.”
“I hate to disappoint,” he said. “But at home, I’m just a student.
With a high-ranking family, yes, but I’m not a spy.
You’re fed up with having no agency? Me too.
I’m fed up with no one doing anything about the worsening magic.
I learned about the Ziz and about the scrolls, and I thought—if the adults weren’t going to do something, I would. ”
“But—you’ve been saying ‘we’ this whole time.”
“Ah.” He scratched his ear. “Yes. I suppose the pluralization was…an evasion. I am trying not to do deceit by evasion, given your dislike of it.”
I needed a nap. I needed to plant myself face first on the bed. Grabbing my mug, I headed out of the garden courtyard back into my aunt’s house. “We’re doomed.”
“We’re not.” He followed, his next words coming out tentative as our footsteps echoed against the marble floors. “Was I right to tell you?”
I turned. The afternoon light spilled in from one of my aunt’s tall windows to paint Daziel in stark shadows. Worry etched lines in his brow. I softened slightly. Daziel didn’t care if someone told a lie or two, but he knew it mattered to me. He was trying to be honest for me.
The tight knot in my chest loosened just a little. “Yes,” I said. “You were.”