Chapter 29
Dear Amma,
Nani says I have hair like yours, that when my father was working for Empress Lorna, you would come go to my Nani and have her cut it. And one day, when my father came back, he picked up a freshly cut lock of your hair and kept it as a reminder of home.
I’m going to grow mine long, I think.
I’ll only cut it when I fall in love, just like you and Baba did.
—Letter from Yaseema Nazir to Mahira Nazir, written in Mahira Nazir’s journal
Yaseema
I studied the map once more, my hands shaking to finally be able to touch it again. The Viceroy had finally let me look at it, under the watchful eye of Kiyan. There were still flecks of the general’s blood on it, but I ignored them as I focused on the details scrawled in parchment.
By this time next week, I could be using the crown to take down the wall and have life magic flow freely to the human world again.
I wondered if this is how my mother had felt when she’d crossed the River and come into these lands. I wondered if she ever got very far.
Not for the first time had I thought of her while I was here, wondering if I’d ever turn the corner to see her.
But now that I was actually journeying toward the crown, I felt as if I were following her footsteps. Did she walk this way? Did she find the Queen’s vault?
Did she die here?
I’d taken to reading her journal every night, trying to glean some idea of the path she might’ve taken. If she crossed the Basrol River, she must have had a plan. I had to believe that.
And a part of me wondered if I was even here to really bring down the wall at all or if I only wanted to find the crown because that was the last thing my mother did, and this was the only way I might be able to find out what happened to her.
I’d clutched her journal to my chest every night since she’d left.
I read her words, her collected songs, her letters over and over, trying to know her just a little more.
I’d had so little time with her, and yet her journal gave me an insight into who she was as a person, as well as her fascination with the ancient fae.
The book I’d found about Queen Azari’s vault didn’t have many specific details about the crown in it. There had been mentions of how the crown might be protected by the ancient fae queen, but no one had seen it in hundreds of years, let alone been to the place where she’d locked it away.
The book did expand my knowledge on the different magic of each Court and the Court of River’s magic specifically. Much of the Court of River’s powers were concentrated on nature and life-based magic—power rooted in growth, plants, light, animals, blood, and anything from the living world.
Their magic had been sucked away by Salt, whose power traditionally was that of mimicry, absorption, and theft.
They could steal another peri’s magic, normally to borrow it temporarily.
But what the Viceroy was doing to the Court of River did not seem temporary, which must be a result to the fae crown that was melted into his chest.
We’d ridden out that morning, and after a few hours in the saddle I wished I’d asked for more breaks.
I rode behind the Viceroy on a creature that looked like a horse with metallic legs.
It rode so fast the forest around us passed by in a blur, the sound of its heavy hooves the only indication we were touching the ground at all.
Occasionally the Viceroy glanced back at me, as if to check I was still there. Or maybe he was still unsure of me.
He should be, given that I planned to steal the crown from him as soon as we found it.
But every time he looked over his shoulder, discomfort spread through me, like he was assessing me with every step, calculating which parts of me were worth more. It was eerie to feel like a thing to someone.
As if I were a possession to be used and taken out when needed. A cog in the wheel, just like I had been for the Citadel.
Our company was surprisingly small. Even though Kiyan was tasked with finding the rebels, he traveled with us, and for some reason I kept thinking of him holding my naked body against him, striding through the palace.
I had no memories of it, but I couldn’t help imagining it and feeling my face heat every time I shot a glance his way.
I had said goodbye to Mishah that morning, embracing her so tightly she’d laughed.
“You’ll see me when you come back.”
But I didn’t know if I would.
Ramishah had become a good friend in the palace, and the only one I really had. She visited my room daily, and we’d stayed up eating cakes she pilfered from the kitchen and drinking leftover wine from the feast late into the night.
I had told her about the relic we were looking for, and her eyes went wide.
She didn’t come to see us off, but instead packed a bag of all my favorites from the kitchen and stuffed it in my hands. “In case you miss me,” she whispered with a wink.
That had been only this morning, but now the sun was setting around us and we still rode, a collection of silvery blurs in the countryside.
Eventually the forest changed, becoming rougher, mountainous, less lush. I felt more than saw the Viceroy tense at the change in terrain. Kiyan rode ahead, his horse’s metallic legs tearing up the trail behind it.
“What is it?” I asked him, though I sensed he didn’t want to speak.
“Rebels are often sighted here,” he clipped back, scanning the area. The soldiers had grown tense too.
Kiyan rode back a few moments later and nodded at us.
“It’s safe ahead. We can make camp here.”
I swung down from the horse with metal legs—Kiyan had told me his name was Cheeni.
The horse’s mane was soft, like underwing feathers, and I patted it awkwardly, as it swung its silvery eyes to me. Its legs shimmered like they were made with molten iron, and I had the distinct impression it knew all my secrets.
Hastily, I took a step back from it, nearly colliding with Kiyan, who reached out a hand to steady me but dropped it from my shoulder in nearly the same moment. I glanced up at him, feeling my face flush.
Desperate to change the awkwardness between us, I cleared my throat to speak. “Won’t the rebels attack us as we are? There aren’t very many of us.”
“We’ll be a bigger target with a whole company of soldiers instead of a small outfit,” said Kiyan, though he scanned the tree line when he said it, as if looking for an imminent ambush.
I exhaled, thinking of the rotting forest animal and the feeling of burning when I’d been inside it, before that strange cooling feeling coated my skin.
My mother’s bangles still sat on my wrist, and I pressed my fingers to them for reassurance. They felt like a talisman from her, and no matter what I had told Kiyan or Ramishah, I knew they had something to do with what happened to the beast.
Or perhaps they had protected me from burning up too?
Whatever it was, I knew they weren’t ordinary pieces of gold.
Kiyan’s eyes flickered down to my wrist where I touched them, but he said nothing.
It felt odd even wearing them out in the open—the Citadel had banned all our jewelry and made it impossible to own any gold lest there be fae power imbued in it.
The only reason I was still allowed my spectacles was because I worked for the Citadel.
And even that had required extensive approval.
But here, gold graced the wrist and neck of every hag and pixie and peri that walked through the forest.
One of the soldiers conjured a tent, magic sprouting out of his hands like rain, and I stood fascinated as its shape formed from trees and canvas.
It looked as if it were spun from leaves and earth and tree bark, a miniature house that had grown from the forest floor in a matter of seconds.
Three tents were set up, with the guards sleeping outside in a semicircle around us with a fire.
The Salt soldiers’ silver helmets hid their faces from view, their tails swishing back and forth as they worked to make camp.
The effortless magic made me uneasy, and once again I was reminded of how powerless I was here, of how easily they could crush me if they wanted.
I nervously shoved my spectacles higher up my nose, pushing down my fear and anxiety and burying my head in what I knew best—books and parchment.
I pulled out the map, studying it again, trailing my gaze over the path outlined to the vault. There was a large mountain that stood out in the far corner of the map, and I knew from what Mishah said that it was the place where River’s royal family was trapped. Tirich Mir.
It looked as though we were already very close to the vault and perhaps needed another day of riding on the incredible half-metal horses.
A shadow loomed over me as I continued to study the parchment.
The Viceroy stood behind me, examining the map as well.
He was close enough that I felt the same uncomfortable sensation slither through me as when he touched my hand at dinner.
His eyes flicked up to meet mine, that greedy gaze reminding me of the children of the Citadel who would taunt starving Astolan street kids with fried honeycomb, only to eat it themselves.
“You’ve never searched here before?” I asked him, gesturing to the map, focusing on the task at hand and diverting attention away from me.
The Viceroy looked up at Kiyan who was walking past us, though he looked like he’d rather not make conversation.
“Kiyan knows this area of the River Court better than I—was this area searched before?” The Viceroy’s voice was bored, as if he truly didn’t care about the answer, but I sensed an underlying threat in his words.
Or maybe it was always Kiyan’s reaction to the Viceroy speaking to him, like he wanted to throw up and commit murder all at the same time.
His eyes sparked so much flame I was surprised the Viceroy wasn’t scorched.
Kiyan surveyed the map intently, lifting his finger to the paper and frowning. “May I?”