Chapter 24
AMEIRAH
Iwanted to tell Kaazhim he was full of shit, but the deeper we got into the river city, the more I felt something tug at me.
I didn’t know how I was linked to this journal, and the gentry volunteered no more information.
But I couldn’t deny that something in my chest guided me over a broad, shop-lined bridge, down a paved road the same colour as the delicate white flowers that grew in every available green space, and past merchants hawking food I’d never smelled the likes of, books bound in unfamiliar styles, glassware that resembled trees so accurately I ached to take one home, and fabrics so unlike the clothes in Ithanys—light, airy, with thread that glittered like jewels bound into the weave itself.
If the architecture, the lightness of the air, and the cool temperature hadn’t told me we were on a new continent, the flowing, gossamer clothing we saw all around us would have—and so would the pointed ears and the wings on every person we passed.
We earned a few strange looks for our leathers, our stained appearances, and our lack of wings.
Not membranous, tough, and clawed like the wings of wyverns.
Fragile and pretty like paintings on vellum.
“Which way now?” Kamaal asked when we reached a crossroads where street vendors had set up carts, his expression hard as he scanned the perfectly straight white buildings, the milling groups of families, and the man who cooked what looked to be rice balls on the street corner.
Whatever they were filled with smelled so good that my stomach groaned.
Or maybe anything would smell good when I’d been locked up for a night and provided no food.
I took a moment to breathe, to feel the tug in my middle, and I startled when a warm brown hand appeared in my peripheral vision, holding out a cup of those rice balls. I eyed the cup—and Kaazhim—suspiciously.
“No, thank you,” I said even as my stomach growled.
“You’re starving.”
“Whose fault is that?” I hissed, ignoring Kamaal’s warning look. “You tortured me, ripped my magic out of me until I blacked out, and then I have no doubt you helped the king throw me in his dungeon.”
He took a rice ball and popped it in his mouth, making my hunger spike. He made a point of swallowing. “I petitioned for you to be given a different prison in my home, where you’d have freedom of movement under my keen eye.”
“I bet you did,” I spat, not missing the flash in the prince’s eye. So he didn’t know Kaazhim and his father tortured me. It didn’t surprise me; Bakshi seemed a very need to know basis kind of guy. “They’re not poisoned, as I just proved. Eat.”
I had no choice but to accept the cup when Kaazhim thrust it into my gloved hand. He ignored my flaring nostrils, my obvious hatred.
“This way,” I bit out, following the pull in my chest and leading us further into the city’s northern streets, where the trees became thicker, the street stalls giving way to broad rows of brick-and-mortar shops with colourful glass fronts.
When my gut cramped, the pang so painful I inhaled sharply through my nose, I took a tiny bite of a rice ball.
I told myself it was the smart choice, that I didn’t know when my next meal would come, but it felt like a betrayal to myself to eat food given by the monster who tortured me.
Yet when soft, sticky rice hit my tongue, along with a sweet, addictive filling, I devoured it and reached for another.
“You’re certain this is the way?” Kamaal asked, falling into step beside me on the pearl-white pavement, tension in every line of his body and eagle-sharp eyes scanning the pretty street.
“I’m sure.” The pull in my chest was unwavering. Stronger, actually, less like the whisper of a sensation and more like a distant shout, urging me closer, calling me home. I shook my head to clear the oddness of that feeling. “The journal is close. It’s—”
My voice dried up, a lump taking up all the space in my throat as the next shop we passed brought a window full of dragon opal jewellery and hanging works of art made of glass and the precious stone.
Faceted gems lined the edges of a vibrant green butterfly that hung beside a rose made of purple opals far larger than I’d ever seen, cut with so many edges that they glittered brighter than stars.
“Ameirah?” Kamaal asked.
I’d halted in front of the shop, I realised, staring at those purple stones, struggling to breathe. I tried to swallow, tried to blink back the hot burning in my eyes.
“Why are we stopping?” Kaazhim demanded, his snake’s voice scraping my senses like a garotte. Snapping what was left of my temper.
I whirled around, my left hand gripping the paper cup so hard it crumpled, my right curled into a fist. I put so much power in the blow, so much rage and hurt, that Kaazhim was knocked back two steps. I knocked him off the pavement entirely, and his gentry lackeys were forced to catch him.
“Enough,” I breathed, but far from softly. “You cannot find the journal for the king unless I lead you directly to it, which means you have no power here. Stop speaking, stop dripping your poison, stop with the remarks and barbs. I am tired, and I’m liable to kill all of you.”
My smile was as dangerous as a viper. I dared him to argue, to give me one single reason to end his life.
“Delightful,” Kaazhim commented after a moment of fraught silence. He seemed to truly mean it as a wide smile filled his face. “Lead the way, Ameirah, with whatever detours you see fit. The king shall have to be patient.”
I didn’t trust his easy acquiescence, but I dragged myself away from the shop of jewels and focused on the pull in the centre of my chest. The emptiness on my ring finger was more evident than ever, and I was conscious of it, conscious that I would probably never get it back.
The ring Varidian gifted me, along with soft, obsessive words more precious than any stone.
I’m quite tempted to give you all my weapons. I like the sight of you armed.
I like you Ameirah, genuinely, and I don’t remember the last time I liked someone.
You are not defective. It’s not your fault your family are monsters.
I’d never hear his voice again, would I? Never see that crazed light in his eyes as he watched me brandish a dagger or threaten his life. Never feel the beat of his heart against my cheek as he held me close.
“Ameirah,” Kamaal tried, but I shook my head, flicking tears off my cheeks. I knew he believed Varidian was still alive, but I couldn’t get Bakshi’s words out of my head. Unwavering, confident, and smug. Like he’d finally excised a thorn from his side.
“It’s here,” I said, clearing my throat minutes later when the tug in my chest became an insistent pulse. Like a second heartbeat I felt as keenly as the organ inside my own chest.
“In the park?” Kaazhim clarified, his gaze shrewd as he assessed the empty, treelined park and its purple benches, the lilac leaves that had drifted from spindly branches to form a carpet over grass the colour of jade.
I ignored the gentry and stepped up to the wrought arch over the entryway, the same violet metal as the benches inside.
Kamaal kept close by my side, silent but reassuring.
Was Varidian guiding him, wherever he’d ended up once he passed?
Once the dark wyverns blasted him from the sky, along with Mak and the legion.
The lump swelled painfully in my throat. I would never see any of them again, never make bargains with Mak over jewels, never fly with the legion. I hadn’t realised I wanted to, but now they were gone, the loss hit me like a brick to the chest.
I pushed open the gate and walked under the arch without a word. I wasn’t sure my choked throat would allow me to speak anyway.
But a single step over the threshold and the scene in front of me changed. The sleepy park with its winding paths and lilac leaves vanished, replaced by a two-storey manor house.
The park had been an illusion, and the journal was here—inside this manor.