thirty #3
Sulim put her hand on top of Mira’s. “Knowing that you’re coming back? Of course.”
“Thatta girl.” Mira bent down to kiss her girlfriend’s cheek. “If you’re up to it later, we should discuss our… future?”
Sulim snorted. “Maybe. I might like that. Assuming there’s no more big drama today.”
“Yup. One hour at a time, it is.”
After another kiss and exchanges of romantic love, Mira set off for Harksplit, where the long walk brought her to tension in the Temple.
Joiya did not reveal what she and Hannu were doing outside last night.
Actually, Hannu was missing, with Joiya mentioning that the girl was too tired to help that day—hence her needing Mira to assist her and Kema with more work.
Kema was uncharacteristically chipper and refreshed, leading to Mira teasing her before admonishing Kema for taking things to someone else’s bed.
Kema swore it “wasn’t like that,” but based on her lack of blush and how haughtily she took to rearranging Joiya’s notes from the night before, she didn’t possess a shred of shame anymore. Good for her. I think.
Joiya, who was likely to join her daughter in teasing if the mood was right, did not bother as she pulled Mira aside and said, “Forgive my irritability today. I did not sleep well last night. And, to be frank, there is some terrible feeling in the air. Ever since yesterday.
It feels like the moment right before…”
“Right before what?”
Joiya shook her head. “How I felt before my wedding. Just this ominous sense of dread.”
“Ma, don’t let Dad hear you talking like that.”
“You don’t understand, my heart. I don’t mean it like that.”
Her voice was monotonous enough for Mira to believe it. I don’t like her like this. Whenever Joiya adopted a serious countenance, it meant she couldn’t overlook whatever bad omen haunted her. Is that why they were outside digging up the yard? According to Sulim.
Mira was tasked with matching coordinates to a map of the Arrahite counties while Joiya and Ramaron spoke in hushed tones near the altar.
Occasionally, a parishioner entered to consult with Kanhith, who moved around them as he continued his daily chores in the Temple.
In many ways, it was like any other day in her mother’s company, yet Mira had to admit that there was a kind of electricity in the air that made her ears ring and constantly distracted her attention.
The early afternoon studious quiet was destroyed by the appearance of another priest—they must have been, due to that julah-esque build and bleach-perfect whites—rushing through the front doors, the color drained from their face.
“Kanhith!” the middle-aged man cried in Julah.
When he realized that he was surrounded by some of the most well-known people on Yahzen, he gasped, bowing to Ramaron and Joiya as they sat huddled together at a table by the wall.
“My Lady! Master Marlow… I had no idea that you two were here. I have a dire message for Kanhith. He and I—”
“Tharin!” Kanhith popped out of a side chamber, as confused as everyone else. After all, what was another Temple priest doing here? Mira was inspired to get up and slowly approach the man she did not recognize. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you assigned to… Qahrain?”
The name evaporated in the heavy air the moment he said it. Priest Tharin glanced at the other julah around him, including Kema, who looked up from the notes she had finally finished separating in one of the pews.
“What is it, Tharin?” Joiya must have recognized him, for she stepped forward with that effortless grace that she always espoused when approaching someone seeking her counsel. “Kanhith is right. You’re supposed to be somewhere on Qahrain, yes?”
“Yes… I know Kanhith… from, ah…” He glanced at Ramaron again, and that was all Mira needed to know about these relations.
If they haven’t dated, then they were besties on the bar circuit.
Tharin was too old-looking to have been in the Academy with Kanhith, but not old enough to be from Ramaron and Joiya’s cohort.
“Never mind that,” Joiya implored. “Tell us. What had you teleporting over here at the speed of madness?”
Fatigue washed over Tharin as he stepped forward to grasp Joiya’s arms. It was only then that Mira—and most of the others—realized there was dried blood on his hands. They instantly left their mark on Joiya’s bare arms.
“I have just returned from the Coraria wedding. The one that happened two hours ago.”
Joiya pursed her lips in fear. “What happened?”
“Mercenaries,” Tharin spat with shock. “They waited until I had stepped away for a break, then attacked.”
Everyone was quiet for a moment.
“The wedding!” Tharin shouted, shaking in Joiya’s arms as a gasp hit the air. Only a moment later did Mira realize that it was her gasping. “They attacked the wedding!”
Joiya’s gaze sharpened as Mira tried to make sense of what their new arrival said. “Who did they attack?”
“The Gardiahs! I was almost too late to stop it all! Ah, Lady Joiya…” Tharin slipped down to his knees, sobbing. “I’m not a great sorcerer like you lot. I’m a healer who studied under Master Ferran! But it wasn’t enough! They were all already… except for Lady Graella…”
Kema gasped loudly enough to propel herself forward down the aisle. “Is Graella okay?”
“She was quite injured.” Tharin was on all fours, holding back the sobs of a man who had not done enough to stop the inevitable.
“I don’t know… when I rushed here to bear the news to Kanhith… she was being transported with a gash to the throat, but still conscious… the poor girl! In her wedding dress!”
Joiya took him by the shoulders again. “And the others? Lady and Lord Gardiah?”
Mira knew the answer before Kanhith answered.
“Dead.”
The reverent Temple was silent, aside from the blood pounding in Mira’s ears. Dead. They’re dead. Graella was injured. Mercenaries. Cerilynian mercenaries. The worst lot who had landed her in prison for ten years. Who had…
Who had attacked the Gardiahs once before.
As if on cue, a large, seismic boom sounded above the Temple—one loud enough to rattle the sconces and disrupt the integrity of the stained glass window above the voya-yantrak.
“Oh, fuck.” Mira pivoted on her right foot, rushing out the front door with Ramaron and Kanhith right on her heels. As they burst out into the afternoon sunlight, the first thing Mira saw was townspeople rushing inside and screaming at each other to alert the authorities.
The second thing she saw was the giant cargo cruiser helping itself to Arrah’s airspace. Right behind flew two smaller, faster, and nimbler space cruisers that flaunted the law that dictated all visitors must pass through immigration on the moon.
Unless, of course, they were Cerilynian mercenaries.
“Tattoo!” Mira spun around, bumping right into Ramaron with the others filing out of the Temple behind him. “Remove my tattoo! Now!”
“What—”
Joiya pushed past him and grabbed her daughter, pulling her down so they were eye-to-eye. “It’s here,” she hissed. “The day that Dreamwalker warned you about.”
“Ma! Tattoo!”
Ramaron snatched her arm. Before she knew what was happening, Mira was stunned by the sudden swelling of sorcery inside of her, as she had awakened from a dream that had trapped all of her talent into one tiny well.
That well runneth over now. When she looked down where Ramaron had touched her, the black butterfly tattoo was gone.
“They were heading south!” Mira called over her shoulder as she ran out into the street. “Hurry! Ma!”
Joiya thrust her arm out to Ramaron, who removed her tattoo as well. Mother and daughter looked into each other’s eyes with an instant understanding.
Those bastards won’t know what hit them this time.
All Mira could think as she teleported back to the ranch was that she would be the biggest obstacle standing between Sulim and her ill-fated end.