Chapter Nineteen
Fresh snow peppers the ground, but it’s a beautiful day for traveling, filled with birdsong, dappled sunlight, and the cool,
earthy scent of freshly fallen leaves. Though the road is easier here, the path less steep, our horses are plodding and heavy,
weighed down by saddlebags filled with everything Ma insisted on sending with us: extra food stores, extra containers for
water, extra grain for the horses, and of course, two separate tents.
If we find ourselves being chased by enemies again, we’ll have no choice but to dump some supplies. But I wasn’t about to
tell that to Ma.
I’m glad to be on the road again with Titus. But the urge to turn around and go home is unbearable. Apple doesn’t make things
any easier. He tries his best to slow our pace, munching grass along the way. Twice, he pulls up and attempts to turn around.
“Apple really wants to go back,” Titus observes.
“I think he likes children,” I say.
“I think he liked that cow too. The one with the white ear.”
“Juni.”
I unsuccessfully fight tears as we travel steadily and quietly downhill for more than an hour. Again, Titus is the one to break the silence.
“You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
He smiles. “I’m sure I won’t. Missing home already?”
“Yes. And I don’t like leaving Ma with strangers.”
“Gislava is an excellent judge of character.”
I snort. Ma must have told him to call her by name. “Because you were able to win her over in a single conversation?”
He nods solemnly. “She is wise and discerning.”
I know he’s joking, but it’s true. There’s a reason Ma has a reputation for being a chamanja. I study his profile. Titus has
a strong Corthan nose that somehow looks perfect on his face and a tiny freckle at the corner of his left eye. I find myself
wondering, for the hundredth time since my conversation with Ma, if he’s truly in love with me.
“Have you been to Khefrita before?” he asks, seemingly oblivious to my scrutiny.
“Several times,” I tell him. “Da used to take me with him on his summer trade run. It’s the nearest city-state to our inn,
only a few days’ journey.”
“Would anyone in Khefrita recognize you?”
I consider. “We bought from the same horse trader two years in row, but she barely looked at me.”
“Where did you stay?”
“We used to stay at the Riverside Inn, but last year we were saving for a new stable and tuition for Anja, so we slept at
a boardinghouse called the Happy Feet.”
“We’ll avoid those two places, then.”
“So we’re going to Khefrita?” My voice brightens at the thought of seeing someplace familiar before venturing into the unknown.
“I need to make some inquiries in a larger city before we proceed further,” he says. “If everything checks out, we’ll find
a caravan to Cathira.”
“Caravans travel slowly. I thought you were in a hurry to get to Cathira before Sunderday.”
“We’ll break away if we need to, but King Jaydeth is still looking for me. We need to disguise ourselves a little. Muddle
everyone’s memory of us.”
There’s no disguising a giant half-Dhakaran boy who rides a Thordin stallion, but I keep my peace.
“Bria, I have to ask . . .”
But he leaves his question hanging. A raptor screeches overhead, and the sound of the tumbling creek picks up as we reach
a steeper stretch of road.
After a long moment, I say, “Why, yes, I do love Sunderday cakes. Thank you for asking.”
He pulls up Blackwind, and I do the same to Apple.
“Coconut is my favorite,” I inform him, when he persists in saying nothing. “Followed by peach. Both are hard to come by in
Grimsvold. The peach especially does not journey well from northern Suratia.”
There might be a tiny grin at the corners of his mouth when he says, “Good to know. But what I need to ask is . . .” He falters again.
Something flashes in his eyes. Fear? Shyness?
“Titus—”
“Do you want to come with me? You don’t have to, you know. I’d never make you. Oath or no oath, I don’t want to drag you out here against
your will. If you’d rather be home with your mother, taking care of your inn, I’d understand. I see why you love it so much.
I wouldn’t blame you—”
“I want to come with you.”
There. I’ve said it. And it’s the gods-honest truth. His mouth snaps closed. I seem to have stunned him.
“I’m going to miss home every day,” I say. It’s like a knife in my stomach, actually, but admitting it would help nothing.
“I swore an oath, and I can’t just let it go. I want to help you. I need to help you. It’s the right thing to do.”
He stares at me. His eyes become amber jewels when he’s thinking hard. Fox eyes, my mother would say. Dhakaran eyes. But now
all I see is the great cat lurking beneath his human surface. How could I have missed it for so long?
“Your turn,” I say.
“For what?”
“Do you want me to come with you? When we first met, you tried so hard to get rid of me. If your feelings have not changed, say so. I
don’t want to burden you.”
My heart is in my throat. He has no idea how important his answer is to me.
“I want you,” he says.
Warmth floods my face.
Quickly he adds, “To come with me. I suppose I’ve gotten used to having some company.” His attempt at flippancy falls flat,
because the depth of those amber eyes betrays him.
“Well then,” I say. “It’s settled.”
He nods. “It’s settled.” And he nudges Blackwind in the direction of Khefrita.
We resume training in the evenings. Titus introduces his daggers to our routine, and I practice the forms all over again while
he thrusts and swipes—slowly at first, then faster and faster. By the time we’re approaching Khefrita three days later, my
whole body is sore from lunging, dodging, sidestepping, ducking. And yet I also feel stronger, more alive. Rest and good food
have done me good.
He assures me he’ll start teaching me offensive maneuvers soon, and after I’ve shown some competence, we’ll begin incorporating
my Gift. I’m not sure how he’ll accomplish this, because he goes so far out of his way to avoid touching me while we work.
He pantomimes movements, talks me through them, but he will not guide me physically the way he did at first.
The mountains have given way to hills, and the pine forests have ceded to golden pastureland dotted with scrub oak. It’s already
so much hotter and drier here, and as we ride, sweat trickles down my spine and pools in the small of my back. I can’t imagine
what an actual desert will be like.
On the morning of the third day, we crest a rise, and our view opens to a sprawling city below. People are everywhere. I feel
a stab of disappointment. It will be a long time before Titus and I are alone again.
“Every time I’ve come here,” I say to Titus, “that first sight is a shock. When you live alone in the mountains . . .”
“I know exactly what you mean,” he says.
The cacophony of humanity reaches us even up here: the endless hum of chatter; wagon wheels on stone; the clop-clop of horses, mules, sheep; the slap of a waterwheel against the river.
And of course there’s the stench. I know I’ll get used to it; I always do.
But so many horses and cattle produce a particularly noxious mud that’s so different from the clean dirt of home or the fresh hay scent of a tidy stable.
Inside the walls, I know it will be bodies and breath, cook fires and slop buckets, butcher stalls and smithing forges.
Beside me, Titus is scowling. “Sometimes I really miss my dragon-bone cottage.”
“I’d love to see it someday.” Before I can feel awkward about saying so, I add, “The sooner we get inside, the sooner we’ll
adjust,” and I nudge Apple forward.
Homes, farms, and even a few market stalls are scattered around the outskirts, but like all the other city-states in the Surat
Confederacy, Khefrita’s city center is surrounded by a high wall; even the river bisecting the city is walled at either end,
with giant gates that close to boat traffic most nights.
As we approach, my initial shock gives way to a tiny frisson of excitement. Part of me loves a big city. People everywhere
the eye can see, from every conceivable corner of the Sunderland, all with stories to tell.
Khefrita distinguishes itself from Suratia’s other city-states in that lumber is plentiful here, and the wall is merely wooden with lightly guarded entrances.
The entry gate is heavily trafficked, but the guards make short work of the line, giving cursory inspections before waving everyone through.
Which is a good thing, because we aren’t the only ones adjusting to the press of civilization.
Apple and Blackwind seem ready to spook or accidentally step on someone, whuffing and tossing their heads whenever they’re jostled.
It’s a relief when we make it through the gate and the road opens to a busy market circle. We’re surrounded by tented stalls
filled with fruit baskets, fabrics, silver and copper jewelry, sweet and savory pastries, and the ever-popular Suratian delicacy
rat-on-a-stick, which Anja and I always refused to even try.
I find myself wishing I had time to explore, to peruse every stall, chat and laugh with strangers, really get to know this
place.
Bells ring, and everyone shuffles to make room for a palanquin curtained in deep blue-belly-dyed silk, carried by eight shirtless
men with heads shaved except for their matching topknots. This border city has always been a mix of people, dark skin and
light, Grimsvolders and Suratians and Iolans. But these litter men are the Suratian ideal: tall and lean with deep brown skin
and hair the color of charcoal.
“Do you think that’s the potentat of Khefrita inside the litter?” I whisper to Titus.
He shakes his head. “Her colors of office are red and gold. But it’s certainly one of the major noblewomen.”
The palanquin is well on its way out of the market before a wave of humanity flows into the space she left behind.
“Let’s find a place to stay,” Titus says.
Two hours later, our horses are stabled, and we are sharing a room at the Bawdy Bard Tavern, which is a respectably run place
despite its questionable name.