1. Eshe
Eshe
If I told Salazar how I really felt, he would warn me of the poison that would fill my heart, but it was too late—the poison had sunk deep, wrapped my heart in its claws, and I welcomed it.
I walked through the cobblestone streets of Merha beside Salazar as he collected the reports and payments from his merchants.
We’d traveled as far south as he would go, to Brestan, a country that lay above Tehara and had tried to maintain the peace between Zyriah and Tehara.
Tomorrow, he would make his way back north.
Alone. Without me. But he didn’t need to know that.
Salazar would lose his shit.
My eyes slid to his face as I popped an almond into my mouth.
The wrinkles around his lips and eyes revealed just how many years he’d lived.
Not that he was old, but he was getting there.
My savior and my teacher. For a moment, I was back at that broken palace in Salazar’s arms as he carried me to safety.
My heart swelled at the sight of him, not knowing if I was ever going to see him again, if I was ever going to survive what I’d been secretly training for.
“You have that look on your face, Mara. I know it well,” Salazar said carefully.
I stopped chewing for a moment. Hearing that name still sent a crawling sensation down my spine.
“It better be you processing and learning everything you can about this business so you can take over one day. You’re one of the best students I’ve ever had.
If you put your mind to it, you can make anything possible. ”
This was the first taste of the desert I’d had in eight years.
Maybe he could sense that. Mongah was a country too far from Zyriah, and rarely did I meet a citizen who knew where I came from.
Here, we were at an advantageous point where any traveler could easily set foot into any of the three countries.
“Little Tarrie will be old enough one day.” Talking about his daughter brought a lightness to the air I was searching for.
“She’s five, Mara. She’s got a long way to go.”
Salazar made a motion that we had arrived at another merchant’s table, one who sold linen and cotton fabrics. He had quite the inventory. I brushed over the soft, colored fabrics while they conversed.
“It’s been two days since we arrived, and still, no payment,” Salazar pressed.
I could see the sweat accumulating on the merchant’s forehead. Despite Salazar’s calmness, there was feigned worry in the merchant’s eyes.
Salazar rarely let me travel on his organized merchant affairs outside Mongah, but I knew it would be more difficult traveling to the desert countries without a male escort, so I begged him to bring me.
My excuse was that I wanted to learn the trade, which wasn’t a far stretch of a lie.
I was always interested in learning. But whether or not he knew I was lying, he didn’t let on.
“Please, Salazar—I will have the rest of the payment by tomorrow. I just need more time,” the merchant pleaded.
Men like him always did, especially in these rougher areas, near the borders, where it wasn’t the easiest to sell.
But if Salazar let every merchant plead their way out of paying rent, he would never get paid.
Salazar let out a heavy sigh. “We’ll be back tomorrow evening.”
I frowned. He was too kind for a business like this. How he made it this far was mind-boggling.
The moment Salazar turned on his heel, I leaned toward the merchant and raised the front of my tunic, revealing the shiny dagger I had cleaned an hour ago under my waistband. “Tomorrow is your last day to repay the debt. Do you understand me?” I enunciated each word.
The man trembled in shock before me, eyes wide, no feigning in sight. He eventually bobbed his head, and it gave me a sick type of pleasure to witness it.
I lowered my tunic and turned on my heel, leaving his gaping mouth to swallow the dust I made when I left.
The air was warm and thick as merchants nearby took down their makeshift shops for the evening, and I caught up to Salazar. Torches illuminated our path to the tavern where we had been staying.
The door to the tavern creaked open, and I left for my room upstairs without so much as a goodbye.
There was only one reason I survived the explosion years ago.
It was written in the sands. I’d learned not to be sentimental, and I would not start now.
I also didn’t want to see Salazar’s face—I didn’t want him to see the truth written across mine.
Once I reached my room, I pushed the door shut.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep, shaky breath.
I was as prepared as I could be. I couldn’t waste any more years.
I didn’t know what the royal family in Tehara was up to, or the twins, for that matter.
Mongah was too far from any source of news in the desert, but I had prepared myself as best I could before this journey.
I was a highly skilled warrior trained in secret by the stealthiest and oldest retired master in all the Mongah lands, Garamgai.
What made it illegal was that I was a woman.
As far as I knew, there wasn’t a country in this world that didn’t frown upon women being able to fight for themselves.
Even in Western countries like Ingaldis, where training the mind was admired for women, physical training was kept sacred to men.
During my first two years in Mongah, I trained myself for endurance and strength.
Meanwhile, I begged Garamgai to teach me, and finally, when I turned eighteen, he accepted me as his student.
But he raised the cost. I needed his protection and silence in breaking the law by learning his techniques. I didn’t blame him, but it wasn’t easy.
I grabbed the rest of my weapons that I had stashed under the bed.
They weren’t technically mine, and I technically stole them from Garamgai.
I couldn’t afford any weapons outside of paying for his teachings, but I’d practiced with them for years, and I considered that enough to belong to me.
Every penny went to Garamgai. If it weren’t for the home-cooked meals from Bea, Salazar’s wife, I would have happily starved just to keep his lessons.
I held my saif sword and two beautifully adorned daggers that curved at the tip. I imagined myself slowly twisting its edge into my target’s neck. Diligently, I placed the two daggers at each of my hips and brought the sword with its sheath around my shoulder.
I took another deep breath, finally allowing myself to revel in the fact that these weapons would bring justice into my life.
Knowing Salazar was in his room, I breezed down the tavern stairs and out the door, where the warm air hit my face.
He would never understand. Years ago, I brought up the idea of avenging my family, and he put me under a two-hour hypnosis for peace and letting go of what doesn’t serve us. His words.
It didn’t work.
But I learned one thing that day: I couldn’t tell Salazar what I was planning. Now that he had finally allowed me to travel on his merchant business to the desert cities, I would do the one precise thing he had asked me all these years to forget.
Let go.
But I would never.
I was grateful to him for finding me amid the chaos eight years ago.
He pulled me from the graveyard of my own home and brought me to safety.
He even gave me a family, the one he made once we arrived in Mongah, the country I’d been living in—or rather hiding—all these years.
But regardless of how sweet and calm life was in Mongah or how tempting it felt, it was not for me.
I belonged in the desert.
And the desert beckoned me tonight.