Chapter Nine
Nine
We followed Savaadh to a sitting area, where a tall man with dark skin and two beautiful women sat on cushions in front of a low table.
“This is Theranys, the head of my fighters,” Savaadh said, gesturing at the man. “And my cousins, Charis and Darya.”
Darya had pale skin and straight dark hair bluntly cut at the chin. Her dark eyes were wide, her mouth stained crimson. She wore a sweeping robe of black over quilted trousers and thin silver rings on each finger of her right hand.
Charis was equally striking. Her skin was deep brown but glimmered like she’d been dusted by starlight.
Her hair was shorn, her eyes big and dark, her mouth generous and stained the same crimson as Darya’s.
The tips of her long and elegant fingers shimmered with gold, as if she’d dipped them into more of that starlight.
The robe over her quilted trousers was a column of gold. Both wore Zephyrii bangles.
I felt shabby by comparison. My tunic and leggings were threadbare, my boots scuffed. Not that we were in competition.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Savaadh said, and took a seat between his people.
We sat on the other side, Nik and Galen facing Savaadh and his people, Wren and I beside them.
Savaadh cut the wax seal from a ceramic bottle that looked like the night sky—a deep and gleaming blue with pinpricks of silver—and poured the drink into small matching cups. These were passed around. The liquid was a deep red-black, with slivers of fruit that looked like stained glass.
He lifted the cup with his right hand, his left hand supporting the bottom, and sipped. “Good,” he said with a smile, and put the cup down again. That was apparently our signal to sample what he’d poured. Nik used the same handhold, so we followed suit and sipped.
It tasted like summer. Ripe and bursting plums and mountain lilies in full bloom. Sunshine and renewal. “Fuck the moons. This is amazing.”
Savaadh’s grin was wide and satisfied. “It is a specialty of the Zephyrii.”
I drained the rest and held out my cup. “Can I have another?”
He laughed and poured again. “I appreciate a woman who appreciates good wine.” He filled my cup, then placed the jar aside.
“Did you know there’s an Anima on the tower?” I asked.
Savaadh nodded. “A century ago, he guarded the caravanserai against the bandits and fighting that came north from Eonin.”
Eonin sat at Carethia’s southwestern edge and shared a border with Vhrania.
“When the floods came?” Nik asked, and Savaadh nodded.
“He died bravely in battle and has stood guard since his death.”
“He must have had a very strong will,” I said. Returning to our realm wasn’t usually an option but for the strongest of Anima. But as with Tommen’s daughters, strong emotions could draw them back to important places in their human lives.
Savaadh lifted his cup. “We salute him,” he said, and drank deeply.
“How do you know each other?” I asked, pointing between Nik and Savaadh. Maybe, since I wasn’t an imperial guard or an Ensi, I was supposed to stay silent. But I hadn’t traveled all this way to not learn about his people.
“We fought together, once upon a time,” Nik said.
“Ah,” Savaadh said. “But first we fought each other. We were at the triangle, where Vhrania, Carethia, and Eonin meet. Bandits were causing problems, interfering with traders. We were there to protect our respective nations’ interests.”
“He thought I was a bandit,” Nik said flatly.
“It’s the hair,” Savaadh said. “You have the hair of banditry. Much too long.”
“The hair of a bandit,” Charis said with a smile. “But the face of a poet.”
“I’m much better with a sword than a sonnet. And Savaadh is failing to mention that he attacked me.”
“Did you fight back?” Wren asked.
“No. I saved his life.” Nik raised his cup. “So he owes me one.”
“So I do, my friend,” Savaadh said, echoing the gesture. They both drank. “Now,” Savaadh said when he put his cup down again. “What brings you to our temporary home on the eve of our departure to the north?”
“Death,” Nik said quietly. Necessary though it was to discuss, the word still had a pall falling over the room like fog, smothering joy.
Savaadh put aside his cup and linked his hands on the table. “Tell me.”
“You’ve heard about the assassination attempt?”
“I heard there was a fight in the stronghold, and that the prince survived it. He is, I hope, unhurt?”
“He’s fine. They didn’t get to him.” Nik glanced at me. “A strongholder warned us of the attacker.”
Savaadh looked at me with approval and consideration. “So, a prince of Carethia was saved by a brave Fox. Well done.”
I gave a nod. I wasn’t sure if “never be noticed” extended to a gathering of Vhranians in a border caravanserai lifting their cups to salute me. Probably so. Better my parents were at peace in Oblivion than cursing their careless daughter.
Perhaps sensing my discomfort, Savaadh turned his attention back to Nik. “Attackers?”
“A dozen. One of them a human possessed by an Anima.”
Instead of looking disturbed, Savaadh looked curious. “I thought such things didn’t occur in Carethia?”
“They don’t. Or didn’t.”
“Ah.” He nodded.
“Do they occur here?” I asked. “Possessions?”
“Not as such, but it sounds like something we once called ‘unification.’ Our acolytes could communicate with Anima to gain understanding, and there was talk that it involved a soul visitation. But it has not been used in many years, and it was always consensual.”
“We don’t think this was consensual,” Nik said, “but was forced upon the human.”
Savaadh said something in Vhranian; I didn’t understand the words, but it had a “Fuck the moons” tone.
“Has there been unusual Aetheric activity here?” Nik asked. “Or unifications?”
Savaadh sipped, shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. As in Carethia, there’s been less magic about since the god walked away.”
I considered telling them what Luna had told us—that the god was “unavailable.” But I wasn’t sure that secret was mine to tell, or that it would make much difference. Gone was gone, whatever the reason.
“What about Carethians in the caravanserai?” Nik asked.
“There were a few Carethians here during the last full moon, traveling home after a winter spent in the south. They complained about the emperor, as always.”
Galen gave a look of disgust. “Insulting the Lys’Careths is punishable by death.”
“We aren’t in Carethia,” I pointed out.
“Very true, Little Fox. The Carethians had no love for the Lys’Careths, but they mentioned nothing of magic or violence.”
“What about your people?”
Savaadh’s eyes widened. “Why do you ask?”
“We were investigating an Aetheric incident,” Nik said, “and found one of the assassins from the market attack. He fought us with this.” He put the assassin’s windblade on the table.
It was clean now, the metal gleaming. I hadn’t been close enough to see it before, but the blade was engraved with a pattern of stars.
Theranys inspected it. “A good blade. Good quality.”
“Carethians love our windblades,” Savaadh said. “They’re sold across the border.” His tone was mild, but he’d drawn his hand into a fist, like he was holding tight to his anger.
“Someone also tried to make an arrow look Vhranian,” Nik said, and placed the arrow on the table.
Theranys put down the blade and picked up the arrow. “Similar. But only a replica.”
Wren leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “How can you tell?”
Theranys lifted his gaze to her; he must have seen the enthusiasm for weapons in her eyes.
“Wrong fletching. And while the arrowhead shapes are similar, Vhranian arrowheads are forged with small barbs inside the shank to keep it secure to the wood and reduce rotation. It is a difficult technique, and not one this smith has managed. Replicas that miss this detail are common.”
Wren nodded. “Good to know.”
Savaadh shifted his attention from Theranys back to Nik. “This was shot at you?”
“Fox was with me. So me, Fox, the assassin, or all of us. But they only shot one arrow, then disappeared. We didn’t find the archer.”
“Or the practitioner, assuming they were different people?”
“Correct,” Nik said, and the word carried disappointment.
“So the practitioner wants to kill the prince,” Theranys said, “and he’s willing to violate—and kill—Carethians to do it.”
Savaadh nodded, then put a finger on the windblade’s handle and slid it toward me. “You should take this.”
Beside me, Wren made the tiniest, puppiest whimper.
“No, thank you,” I said. “I barely know how to use a blade, and my skills are definitely not worthy of that one. I’m more of a runner than a fighter.”
Savaadh leaned forward. “I could teach you.”
“Before we go back to the stronghold?”
He sat back again, smiling broadly. “No. It would take more time than that. You would need to travel with us through many seasons. But by the end of it, your skills would be unparalleled.”
The look in his eyes suggested fighting wasn’t the only skill I’d develop.
“Savaadh,” Nik said, and there was warning in the tone.
Savaadh was undeniably handsome, and I let myself wonder what it might be like to be a student of an Ensi, to ride across Vhrania from one caravanserai to the other.
“No, thank you,” I said again.
“An offer so easily declined?”
“I’m not a fighter,” I said with a smile. It was a kind of freedom, but not the freedom I’d imagined.
Chimes were sounded, and two caravanserai workers carried in an enormous table that practically slumped under the weight of the banquet atop it.
Steam and scents rose deliciously from the array of items. There were loaves of bread, platters of meat, and bowls of fruit that we wouldn’t see in Carethia for two more months.
It was more food than I’d ever seen at one time.
Vhrania may have seemed flat and mostly empty, but there was no shortage in the caravanserai’s larder.
“I don’t need the weapon or the training,” I said with a smile. “But if I ever need to ask for sanctuary, I’m coming here first.”