Chapter 17 Quil
Quil
The second Aiz and her fleet were out of sight, Quil ran through Serra’s ravaged streets for the smithy.
By the time he reached it, it was nothing but a flaming crater.
A noxious plume of gray smoke billowed from its center, blocking the bright summer sunshine.
Quil could barely see as he clawed at beam and stone, shouting for Elias and Spiro.
He didn’t realize anyone was calling his name until Arelia was beside him, grabbing his arm, pulling him away from the ruins.
“Elias is hurt!” Arelia’s eyes were wild, her hands and face filthy with grit. “We need your help, Quil!”
“Sufiyan? Spiro?”
“Sufiyan is with his father. Hurry!”
Skies, this had been his idea, this entire failed endeavor.
As he ran, he didn’t understand how Aiz could have known of the Ikfa when he and the smiths had been so careful. If they had spies in their camp, his aunt would be in danger.
“Here!” Arelia called as they reached a damaged wall at the western edge of Serra. Elias and Sufiyan sat in the shade of it, Sufiyan’s face tight as he finished binding his father’s side. Blood soaked the dirt around Elias and he was glassy-eyed and ashen.
“Spiro—Spiro’s dead,” Elias said to Quil. “I’m sorry, Quil. I was too late.”
“Do not apologize,” Quil said. “The fault is mine alone for concocting this plan.”
“Before the first bomb fell,” Arelia said, voice shaking, “I ran to the smithy. I told Spiro to get out. He didn’t listen. Then more started falling. The roof collapsed and he—it was so fast, Quil. I tried to pull him free. He thought he’d be safe. He—”
“He thought I’d negotiate with Aiz,” Quil said through numb lips. “Arelia, how did you get out?”
“Elias came to get us both,” Arelia said. “Dragged me out first. The—the bomb fell just a few moments later. If Elias hadn’t—I would have—”
Sufiyan sat beside Arelia, putting his arm around her, and she collapsed into his shoulder, weeping as Quil hadn’t seen her weep before—not even after the attack on Navium.
“The Ikfa is gone,” Elias said. “Even the vats disintegrated into mud. Not a drop left. And Spiro…” His face was tear-streaked.
“The blast threw his body clear of the smithy. It was quick, at least. Laia—Laia will be devastated. She’s known him since she was seventeen.
He was one of the few left alive who—who knew and loved her brother… ”
He trailed off in a whisper and Quil glanced down to see that the binding around his waist was soaked through.
“We need to get him to my aunt,” Quil said to Sufiyan and Arelia. “Bring his horse.”
They rode northeast toward Aunt Hel’s encampment, hidden in the red clay ravines and scrubby hills of the Serran badlands, four days away.
The late summer heat lay heavy as a wool blanket and their horses kicked up a trail of dust so thick that they all had to don kerchiefs.
Quil kept looking up, expecting Sails to appear on the horizon.
The land they rode through grew hillier, dotted with small patches of determined Jack pines twisting out of the rock in all directions. A stiff wind blew hot air at their backs and the sky darkened. As they entered an area of low hills and treacherous gulches, a light rain descended.
“Quil,” Sufiyan called, his voice raw with warning and fear. His father was slumped on his horse, his skin clammy and sallow. Sufiyan’s hands shook as he led his father’s horse into the shelter of a shallow ravine. Together, he and Quil helped Elias down. Sufiyan blanched as he checked the wound.
“I’ll bring my aunt.” Quil kept his voice calm. “She can’t be too far—”
“He doesn’t have time,” Sufiyan whispered, as waxen as his father. “The Empress will be hours away by now. Quil—your—your magic. There must be something—”
Quil shook his head. His magic couldn’t fix this. “Stop the bleeding, Sufiyan,” he said firmly. “You know how. You’ve done this before.”
He leapt to his horse and rode through the hills like a cloud of wraiths was on his tail. After only an hour, he saw riders ahead and cursed, drawing his scim. He didn’t have time for a fight right now.
But within moments he recognized the foremost rider and shouted in relief. It was Aunt Hel, followed closely by Tas and Rallius.
“Saw the smoke,” she said as she reined her horse in beside his. Her face looked harrowed. “These two wouldn’t let me come alone—” She took in Quil’s expression. “What’s happened?”
“Elias is wounded,” Quil said. “We have to hurry.”
They rode so swiftly that Quil couldn’t tell the Empress any of what happened. But it was a relief, for his failure ate at him. He did not yet have the words to share it.
They reached Elias within the hour. The Empress hardly broke stride as she dismounted and knelt by his side.
“Of course you managed to get your intestines ripped out,” she muttered to him.
He opened his eyes at the sound of her voice.
“ ’Bout time,” he whispered. “Don’t tell—Laia. She’ll—”
“Shout at you so the entire camp can hear?” Aunt Hel put her hand to the wound and her voice grew gentle. “I’m looking forward to it. Shush now, old friend.”
Then she sang, for Aunt Hel’s magic was to heal with her voice.
The song had no words, only a sweet melody so soft Quil could barely hear it.
Within half a minute, Elias’s color was better and the wound was knitting itself closed.
When the skin had healed to a dark pink, Aunt Helene stopped and sagged back, grabbing on to Quil’s arm to steady herself.
The ravine faded. Usually, when Quil’s magic spontaneously materialized, it took him a moment to realize he was in a memory.
But this time, he knew immediately. For it was a memory of flame, closing in on him like a conquering army.
Unstoppable. Inescapable. And the sound—like a windstorm out of the mountains but fueled by a blood-hungry anger.
Amid the inferno, his aunt’s voice screamed out, though he could not see her. “Quil—get away—the flames—”
The memory faded and Quil blinked himself back to the ravine, his heart thundering. Mere seconds had passed. Swiftly, he gave his aunt his canteen, trying to mask his confusion. When had his aunt been in a fire? She’d never told him of it.
She nodded her thanks as she handed the canteen back to him, then looked to the smoke on the horizon, fading now as night fell. “What the hells happened?”
With as little sentiment as possible, Quil forced himself to tell Aunt Hel of his exchange with Aiz and the bombing. But when he spoke of Spiro, his voice shook with rage and shame and Aunt Hel sighed.
“That is a great loss,” she said. “We will not see another like Teluman again. His skill was rare.”
Quil nodded, throat choked with guilt. His aunt had trusted him. And he’d gotten one of the finest craftsmen of the known world killed while losing their best chance at defeating the Kegari.
“In war, nephew, we take risks,” Aunt Hel said. “Sometimes there are consequences. Spiro would have told you as much. Mourn him. Remember him. But do not forsake hope. We will dispatch a messenger to the Ankanese to request more Ikfa—”
“No.” A voice spoke from behind them. “You will not.”
The wind rose, soughing through the high walls of sandstone, scraping grooves into the rock. Amid the mournful sound, Quil heard the tinkling of coins and the swish of robes.
Rallius and Tas, standing guard at each end of the ravine, turned, searching for the intruder, their scims flashing.
But she was already among them, detaching from the rocks behind Quil. It was the Jaduna he’d seen in the Kegari encampment.
“U’qaya,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
U’qaya’s brows shot up. Too late, Quil remembered that she was a Raani, a leader of her people, and should be addressed as such.
“Raani U’qaya.” Aunt Hel stood, back straight as if she hadn’t just poured her life force into healing Elias. She put her hand to her heart and gave a half bow—the most respect she’d show anyone. Quil swiftly did the same.
“Your presence is an honor,” Aunt Hel said. “Though I find myself confounded to see so great a personage in the wilds of the Empire.”
“I am here to deliver a warning.” U’qaya’s fingers were curled into claws, and Quil swallowed nervously. Her ability to manipulate blood gave her the power to stop Aunt Hel’s heart. To stop all their hearts.
“Do not seek out more Ikfa,” U’qaya said. “If you find it, you must turn it over immediately to the Jaduna.”
Quil’s skin went cold. “It was you.” He remembered what she said. You stink of Ikfa. “You told the Kegari where the Ikfa was. You sold us out.”
Bleeding hells. If he’d just stayed away from her on the sabotage mission, if he’d never spoken to her—
Aunt Hel’s face was cold as ice. “Then we are not allies anymore,” she said. “As you have engaged in a direct attack upon one of our military base—”
U’qaya cut her off. “The Jaduna have magnanimously chosen to overlook your blatant disregard of Section 5, Article 18 of our treaty: And the Empire shall not engage in the procurement, use, or hoarding of dangerous magics as declared by the Raani of Jaduna. Defiance of this statute will result in the destruction of said magic, the nullification of this treaty, and a declaration of war.”
Quil had not connected the Ikfa with the treaty. But he should have. Now it was the Empire in violation—not the Jaduna. Aunt Hel realized it as Quil did. Her lips thinned
“Given the extremity of your circumstance,” U’qaya said, “we do not believe a declaration of war is necessary.” Her face softened.
“Empress Helene. You wonder why I was speaking with your enemy. It was for this reason. For long years, we have controlled the flow of Ikfa through a deal we struck with the first Kegari Triarchs long ago. This ensures not only the safety of the Jaduna, but the security of our world. Your troubles cannot be solved with Ikfa. Use it again at your peril.”