Chapter Thirty-Eight Amunet
THIRTY-EIGHT AMUNET
I stood with my back firmly pressed against the wall beside the door, waiting like a snake in the grass.
Anwar kept my meals regular. Three times a day, never missed.
I’d started counting the seconds in between meals. Timing them with exceptional precision. An obsessive, needlelike focus. I didn’t hear any of Zaid’s taunts, didn’t bother scratching at my inflamed skin.
I waited. And I waited.
My concentration was honed by fury. I didn’t lose my place in tallying the seconds even once. Not even when I thought the door was watching me. I was more than irate; I was boiling with all the flames of the deepest pit of the Trench.
I counted. And counted. Until I was absolutely sure.
Five hours between breakfast and lunch, and lunch and supper. Thirteen hours between supper and breakfast.
Which meant my next breakfast was coming in exactly twenty-three seconds.
The tips of my fingers tingled with anticipation.
Click. The lock. And then the knob turned.
Malik was instantly alert when he didn’t see me waiting like a good little pet on the other side of the room. His scimitar zinged as he brandished it. “I won’t search for you, demon,” he barked. “Come get your food now, or wait until sup—”
I whipped around the door and slammed my elbow down on Malik’s wrist with a battle cry. The scimitar fell into my waiting hand, and while the guard was still stunned, I plunged it into his throat.
Malik stumbled sideways into the wall, mouth gaping open. I grinned, hoping he saw the face of my father’s demons reflected in my eyes, and cut the blade to the right, severing his artery.
The guard choked, and blood spurted out, bathing my face. The metallic smell lunged up my nose. I inhaled deeply and licked the blood off my lips, copper and salt filling my mouth.
Malik collapsed, his head attached to his body by only a few resolute tendons.
I bolted out the open door, up the stairs, slammed into the door at the top—
The door crashed back into me. My foot slipped, and I hurtled down the steps with a shout, the uneven wood leaving angry scratches on my skin. My head cracked against the hard floor, and stars burst across my vision. I lay there in a daze, blinking hard to bring the world back into focus.
Another guard bore down on me. Without waiting for me to catch my breath, he hauled me up by the collar. My legs struggled to work, but he didn’t care, letting me stagger drunkenly behind him. Then he tossed me back into my dark room.
I landed in a heap on the floor, a groan rumbling out of me.
There was a crash from somewhere outside.
The guard’s head whipped that way, listening, before he quickly grabbed my wrist and carted me across the room, to the bed.
From his waistband, he pulled out a pair of manacles and clapped one around my wrist and the other around the post at the foot of the bed.
“Meals have been reduced to once a day,” he intoned unfeelingly, and rushed back out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
I gave the shackle an experimental tug and sighed at its lack of give. I couldn’t even make it onto the bed now. I’d have to sleep on the floor. Like a dog.
My eyes alighted on the puddle of blood beneath Malik’s body across the room. I could still feel its stickiness on my face, taste its copper on my tongue.
An idea popped into my head. I rose up onto my knees, the hard stone of the floor digging into my skin, and held my hands at my sides, palms up, eyes shut. I fought the instinctive fear at the suffocating darkness behind my lids and did my best to welcome it, to welcome him.
Baba, I prayed, accept this sacrifice from your most humble servant. See the bloodshed as my devotion to you, as my plea for your help. Tears built behind my closed lids. I am only trying to do as you wish, Baba. I search for your presence so that when you grant me your power, we can work as one.
I waited breathlessly, my words reverberating in my head, eyes squeezed tightly shut, hoping and hoping and hoping—
A warm breeze stirred against my face.
My eyes popped open. And my breath caught.
The air in front of me moved. A wave stretched up from the ground, hovering in midair. Almost like a heat wave but standing upright. It distorted the room in a single vertical line. Small particles of light shone along the edges, like glittering dust.
Shaya.
I stood and took a step—my chain pulled short. I snarled in frustration.
Outside my prison, I heard shouting and metal crashing against metal. But I ignored all of it as I focused on the line of light shimmering in front of me. Gentle and delicate.
It drifted closer. Paused inches away.
Hesitantly, I reached out.
My hand disappeared into the light.
I quickly pulled it back out. But my hand was fine. Unharmed. I extended it inside again—and felt a warm breeze on the other side.
It was a door.
I laughed incredulously. Thrust my hand into it. Took another step, straining against my manacle.
My prison door flew open, and a man stumbled in. Bloodied, bruised, white-knuckling a scimitar. He looked like he’d fought his way through the Trench itself.
Shock nearly stole my voice. All I managed was a breathless, “Jasim?”
Jasim’s eyes went straight to the floating light. “What is that?” Before I could answer, shouts thundered from the hall, accompanied by heavy footfalls. It startled me back into motion.
“Come on.” I held out my hand.
One arm around his midsection, he stumbled toward me and took my hand just as the miraculous door drifted closer. It swallowed us up in a flash of light. The strain on my manacled wrist vanished.
It was like finally breaking the surface of a lake after drowning. The unsteadiness fled my limbs, my mind settled, the itchiness disappeared from the back of my neck. I could finally breathe again.
Rocks and twigs dug into the soles of my sandals.
The sun bathed my face in blessed, merciful light.
When I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in the cell anymore.
The shackle was around my wrist, but the few inches of chain that had come with me through that strange doorway hung uselessly from it.
Beside me, Jasim was hunched over, catching his breath.
Jasim.
Without thinking, I threw my arms around him.
He hissed in pain.
Instantly, I released him. “Oh, fuck, sorr—”
His arms went around my waist and crushed me to him, and he buried his face in my neck. I curled my fingers into his tattered shirt, relief nearly sending me to my knees. A wave of hysterical laughter rocked me. “I thought you were dead,” I breathed.
He smiled against my cheek. “I already told you, I will never leave you.”
I squeezed Jasim tighter as another amazed laugh bubbled out of me. Over his shoulder, the wave and sparkling dust were gone. As if they had never been there at all.
Shaya had saved me. He hadn’t abandoned me. He still chose me. And he’d blessed me with Jasim’s life.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, beginning to pull back. “Did Anwar—”
I held on tighter. “I’m fine.” He smelled of sweat and blood—and familiar river reeds.
Jasim was okay. We were both free. A pressure lifted from my chest and relieved tears pricked my eyes. Thank you, Baba.
Jasim tensed. “Amunet.”
Something about his voice made me lift my head. His eyes were trained gravely on something behind me.
The sandy earth stretched out in front of us, leading to a chain of mountains that were split down the middle, forming an entrance.
On either side of the entrance was an enormous statue, identical and towering as high as the mountains themselves.
A man with feathered wings curling over his shoulders, their tips nearly touching his crowned head. I knew exactly who was depicted there.
Athar. Shaya and Ketet’s son, God of Mischief and Dreams.
And through the entrance, beyond the mountains was a sea of thin, tall trees. The forest stretched out as far as the eye could see. Despite the blazing sun, fog drifted along the forest bed.
My sweat dried cold on my back. I’d seen drawings of this place, had been warned against venturing this far south by every tutor, every nursemaid, by the king himself.
I was facing the Border Mountains. And past that, Dead Man’s Forest.
“Shit,” Jasim muttered.
My curse was much more colorful.