Tethered Spirits Page 10

  “I think a part of her wanted to.”

  “Then why didn’t—”

  “Because she can’t. That’s all I’ll say about it.”

  Amar sighed and ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “I’m only trying to understand.”

  Lucian grew larger and pushed himself closer to Amar’s face. His flames curled and fluttered like a gust of wind had torn through them. “You’re trying to find someone to blame. I can understand the impulse, but I won’t allow you to put that blame on Kes. She doesn’t deserve it, especially when she’s done nothing but help you.”

  Amar had no response for that. He was still bitter that Kesari had made no attempt to save his life, but Lucian was right. It may not have made a difference at all, and blaming her for it now wouldn’t change anything.

  With nothing left to say, he turned on his heel and headed back to his bed.

  “For what it’s worth,” Lucian said, “I think you might be saving her, even though she couldn’t do the same for you. Going to see Jameson, returning to Atrea—it’s something she needs to do, and she wouldn’t be doing it if not for you.”

  Somehow, his words only made Amar feel worse.

  12

  Kesari

  They walked at the same unyielding pace for another five days, by which point Kesari’s feet were covered in blisters and her legs ached unceasingly from the moment she woke up until after she fell asleep. Whenever she or one of the others complained, Saya would remind them of the need to put as much distance between themselves and their pursuer as possible. An understandable precaution, especially considering she’d killed one of them the last time they met.

  The road began to wind its way back to civilization, and they crossed paths with other travelers more and more frequently. Lucian was confined to his lantern more often than not. He claimed it didn’t bother him, but Kesari winced a little every time he retreated inside. If he’d Bonded to someone else—someone more confident and less broken—there would be no need for hiding. Underage Bonds were frowned upon, but it wasn’t like they never happened. She was the one who couldn’t bear the stares and whispers they attracted.

  He was still in his lantern when they finally reached Valmandi. A cluster of ramshackle huts and tents were the first structures to come into view at the northernmost edge of the city. These made up a Visan refugee camp, which seemed to have expanded since the last time Kesari had travelled this way. A wooden fence had been haphazardly erected around the encampment, its edges pushing right up against the road. Several Visans stood along the path, attempting to sell various commodities to passing travelers. Many wore brightly colored Kavoran clothes rather than their more subdued traditional attire, but their pale skin, eyes, and hair made them easily distinguishable from the Kavoran travelers with darker complexions.

  Saya stopped in front of a pair of boys who couldn’t have been older than ten. Dirt smeared their faces, and their worn clothes hung loose on too-thin bodies. They offered her a misshapen clay pot decorated with tiny shells. A useless trinket, but she smiled at them and traded some of the food in her satchel for it. Kesari waited for her to finish up the transaction, but Amar walked on, Mitul trailing on his heels.

  Kesari and Saya had to scramble to catch up with them and avoid getting lost in the thickening foot traffic. As bodies crowded around her, Kesari glanced over her shoulder at the two boys. They had split the food between them and were devouring it like they hadn’t had a decent meal in weeks.

  Her chest tightened. There must be dozens of children here like them, displaced and possibly orphaned by the invasion of their homeland. She hadn’t seen her own home in years, but at least she had a home to go back to. At least her parents were still alive.

  The road had widened now that they were near the city walls. Two steady streams of traffic flowed into and out of the open gates as merchants, carts, horses, riders, patrolling soldiers, and more went about their business. When Kesari and the others reached the gates, the guards standing to either side looked them up and down with stony expressions but let them through without a word.

  Kesari took in a deep, contented breath as Valmandi’s lively streets opened up in front of them. Multi-story buildings rose up in every direction, their walls decorated with vibrant tapestries and painted murals. The rich hues seemed to glow in the sunset’s intense orange light. The sound of thousands of voices filled the air, punctuated by laughter and music and animal noise. Children ran through the streets chasing after a leather skin ball while their parents and grandparents watched.

  A handful of Tarja fit in among the people here as naturally as anyone else, but Kesari’s eyes were drawn to them as she scanned her surroundings. Two Tarja children made a game of seeing how high they could jump by channeling extra strength into their legs. A Tarja man lit a blazing cookfire with a simple touch of his hand against the wood. A Tarja grandmother wove magical illusions into her story while a captive audience of children and adults alike watched and listened at her feet.

  Kesari’s smile fell. Not so long ago, she would have given anything to do magic like that. Now she had the ability but couldn’t bring herself to use it.

  She followed the others though streets that wound their way farther into the city. They passed by the larger homes of wealthier families and into the military district, where barracks housed and trained the soldiers who patrolled Valmandi in pairs and small groups. Beyond these were more houses, a bustling market, and temples and shrines where people gathered to meditate and reconnect with altma. Although Tarja were the only ones who could channel altma to perform magical feats, the energy could be found in all living things and was viewed as sacred in mainstream Kavoran culture.

  The largest of these temples stood near the center of the city, a stone’s throw away from the gates to the palace. When they reached it, Mitul stopped so abruptly that Amar nearly crashed into him.

  “Watch where you’re going,” he grumbled.

  Mitul didn’t answer. Kesari followed his gaze to a large, colorful mural painted on the tallest side of the temple, which faced the palace. Her breath caught as she admired the artwork, a portrait of a beautiful young woman with thick brows, full lips, and long lashes. Her eyes were closed as if she were sleeping, and her hands were clasped together loosely over her chest. A beaded veil draped over her raven curls and fell loose behind her shoulders, disappearing beneath the colorful, delicate flowers surrounding her.

  It was the most stunning painting Kesari had ever seen, but her heart sank a bit as she studied it more closely. There was something mournful in the slight downturn of the woman’s mouth, and her brows pinched together a little, as though she were troubled.

  “She looks sad,” Saya said, tilting her head to one side.

  Kesari and Amar both nodded in agreement, but Mitul gave no response, his gaze lingering on the painting.

  Amar nudged him in the shoulder. “Do you know her or something?”

  Mitul blinked quickly, like he’d been pulled from a trance. “Princess Priyani?” He gave a slight chuckle. “No, of course not.”

  So that was who the woman was. Kesari had heard the story many times throughout her travels, though the details varied depending on where she was. Princess Priyani was the late daughter of Bhajan and Indira Sharma, the king and queen of Valmandi and rulers of Kavora’s second-largest province. She’d been well loved and was said to have been gracious and benevolent, taking time out of each day to personally address the concerns of the common people.

  Her marriage to Emperor Akraja some twenty years prior had been widely regarded as a good match, despite their vast age difference. The union had solidified the ties between Valmandi and the empire’s central power in Jakhat, and those ties only grew stronger with the birth of Akraja and Priyani’s son, Savir.

  From there, the story became murky. The emperor’s sister, Dashiva, would have been his successor, but that changed with Savir’s birth. A few months later, Akraja fell sick and died, leaving Dash
iva to rule as regent until the young heir came of age. But after two years, Priyani and the boy were murdered by enemies of the empire in a bloody assassination. Dashiva was crowned empress and had ruled ever since, though there were still occasional rumors that the young Prince Savir had somehow survived the attack and would one day return to claim his throne.

  It was almost certainly nonsense, but looking up at Priyani’s portrait, Kesari could see why some might cling to those rumors. The princess’ death had been an unthinkable tragedy. If she’d been half as kind and beloved as the stories said, of course people would want to believe some piece of her was still alive out there.

  “Ready to go?” Saya asked Mitul.

  “A moment longer, if you don’t mind.” His voice was sad, and his eyes had taken on that vacant, trance-like look again.

  Amar gave an exasperated sigh. “It’s just a stupid painting. If you didn’t know her, why do you care so much?”

  “I know the man who painted her,” Mitul replied. “Or at least, I used to.”

  Amar looked sullen, but he didn’t say anything else. His hand went to rest on the hilt of his sword, fingers tapping the pommel irritably.

  “Who was he?” Kesari asked Mitul.

  “Kamaal Ruman. His work has become quite famous. You may have heard of him before.”

  She hadn’t, but she didn’t keep up with that sort of thing. Besides, that wasn’t what she’d been asking. “I mean, how did you know him?”

  Mitul blinked in that strange, waking-up sort of way again, then turned to her. “He was my partner, for a time. We might have been together for the rest of our lives, if….” He trailed off, fingers brushing over the turquoise cuff on his wrist, then let out a sigh. “If things had been different. But I loved him, very much.”

  There was a pained note in his voice, and for a second, Kesari had the urge to put an arm around his shoulder and tell him it would be all right. Instead, she asked, “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know, but I hope he’s happy.” He shifted the weight of his satchel and turned to Saya and Amar. “We should find somewhere to stay before nightfall.”

  They kept walking, skirting around the walled grounds of the palace to find quieter, emptier streets. The sky had darkened and lights were beginning to appear in the building’s windows as people retreated indoors for the night. Mitul was now rambling on about an inn he knew somewhere nearby, which allowed guests to play music, dance, and share other talents for the entertainment of their fellow patrons. It was customary for spectators to tip the performers, and Mitul claimed to have once made enough money there in a single night to live on for a week.

  “Besides,” he said, “I haven’t been able to play in weeks. I wouldn’t want to forget how.” He laid a gentle hand on the instrument hanging at his side.

  Saya shook her head. “You know perfectly well it wouldn’t have been safe to play out there these last few nights. You might as well have shouted to tell our pursuer where we were.”

  She was right, but Kesari had been hoping to hear Mitul play every day since meeting him. Perhaps tonight she’d finally get the chance.

  “How much farther is this inn of yours?” Amar asked. “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

  “Of course,” Mitul replied. “You don’t remember, but we lived here for years. I know this city well.”

  “This looks exactly like the last ten roads we’ve been down.”

  Kesari had to agree; she'd long since lost track of where they were in the maze of Valmandi’s streets. The area they currently occupied was empty except for a few closed shops, and there didn’t seem to be anyone else around.

  Saya broke away from the others and slowed. Mitul stopped when he realized she was no longer following him, as did Amar and Kesari. Amar let out an exasperated sigh and muttered under his breath. “Oh, skies above, what now?”

  Kesari followed Saya’s gaze down a narrow side street, where a pair of uniformed city guards loomed over a Visan woman and her child. They stood too close, invading her space with brazen authority. Her posture was stiff as she shrunk away from them, and her son clutched at the fabric of her shirt with tiny, balled fists.

  “If you don’t have a permit,” one of the guards was saying, “we’ll have to take you into custody.”

  “Please,” the woman said, “I was on my way home. I can be out of the city in five minutes if you’ll let me—”

  “Do you know what would happen if we made exceptions for every Visan heathen we caught inside our walls after sunset?” The contempt in his voice churned Kesari’s stomach. No one deserved to be spoken to like that, and the woman was clearly terrified. If only there was something she could do to help.

  But she was just a girl. A small, powerless, coward of a girl.

  When the woman didn’t respond, the second guard answered his companion’s question. “It would be absolute chaos.” He took a step closer to the woman, reaching a hand toward her face. She flinched, but he grabbed her jaw and forced her to look up at him. “We’re only trying to keep everyone safe, you know.”

  By the time he finished his sentence, Saya had closed half the distance between herself and the guards. Her muscles were as taut and wiry as a stalking panther’s as she nocked an arrow to her bowstring. Mitul hissed her name and took a few steps after her, but she continued without hesitation, calling to the guards. “Is there some kind of trouble over here?”

  Neither of them so much as looked at her. “It’s nothing you need concern yourself with,” the first one said.

  “You’re harassing this woman. That’s enough to make it my concern.”

  Kesari’s jaw dropped. These guards were practically giants with their burly physiques and bayoneted rifles. Was Saya seriously going to start a fight with them? She may have been a Sularan warrior, but she was much smaller than either of these men, and what was her bow supposed to do against their guns? And yet she stood, tall and proud, undeterred by their icy glares or the authority of their uniforms. Did she have a death wish?

  Kesari glanced at Amar to see whether he was as shocked as she was, but he was busy picking the dirt out of his nails, his expression flat and bored.

  The first guard turned to face Saya with slow, deliberate movements. He unslung the rifle from his shoulder and made a show of examining the sharp point of the bayonet. “You’ll leave us to our business, girl, or you’ll find a blade stuck through your guts while you wriggle like a worm.”

  “And detaining innocent people is your business now, is it? I’m so glad you’re out here protecting us from terrifying criminals like those two.” She nodded to the woman and child. “What did they do? Who did they hurt?”

  “There’s a curfew. All Visan refugees are to be out of the city by sunset unless they have a permit.”

  “If it were up to me,” said the second guard, “there ought to be a curfew for you wretched Sularans, too.”

  “Fortunately, it’s not up to you, is it?”

  Both men bored into Saya with glares as sharp as their bayonets. Kesari’s insides wilted. She didn’t want to be here anymore. Her legs urged her to run, get as far away as she could before the fight broke out. But she couldn’t abandon the others to face down two armed guards on their own.

  Except of course she could, because what good was she doing here anyway? She wasn’t standing bravely by Saya’s side or using her magic to persuade the guards this wasn’t a fight they wanted. She was hanging back, cowering like a scared little mouse. Even the rapid pitter-patter of her heart felt like tiny mouse feet scurrying away.

  Amar sighed and cracked his neck a few times. Then he unholstered the pistol at his hip with one hand, unsheathed his sword with the other, and strode forward until he was standing right next to Saya. He kept both weapons pointed at the ground, but his hands were firm and sure around their grips. Mitul took up a position on Saya’s other side, unarmed but still bold enough to stand by his friends.

  Kesari’s heart continued to ra
ce. Why couldn’t she be that brave?

  “You heard her,” Amar called out to the guards, extending his blade to point at the nearest. “Clear off.”

  One of them pressed the stock of his rifle against his shoulder. “Make us.”

  Something warmed against Kesari’s leg through the heavy fabric of her coat—Lucian’s lantern. Before she could open the door for him, he sprung from the small gap in the top and rushed in front of Amar, Mitul, and Saya, expanding until he was as tall as a person and three times as broad. Shock widened the guards’ eyes as they stared at the demonic face within his flames.

  There was no hanging back now. Legs shaking, Kesari forced herself to move until she stood beside Mitul. There was a bit of exhilaration mixed in with the fear now. She wasn’t nearly as brave as her companions, but she could pretend to be, and even in pretending, she felt a little bolder.

  Behind the guards, the Visan boy whimpered. His mother clutched him closer to her, but there was a look of triumph on her face as she watched the guards’ reactions.

  Their steady hold on their rifles had faltered, the weapons now aimed at the ground. Clearly, they hadn’t anticipated this much resistance. They might have been willing to put up a fight against a middle-aged man and two armed teenagers, but a Tarja, too—no, they hadn’t counted on that at all.

  Never mind that Kesari hadn’t actually used her magic in two years. They didn’t know that, and sometimes the mere threat of what she might do was enough to scare people off.

  The nearest guard turned to his companion with a thinly veiled mask of fortitude. “Come on, our shift’s almost over. It’s not worth the trouble.”

  The second man looked disappointed, maybe even a little angry, and he jabbed a stiff finger at the Visan woman’s face. “Don’t ever let me catch you in this city past curfew again. You won’t get off so easy next time.”

  With that, they stalked off. Lucian gave Kesari a wink as he shrunk down to a smattering of sparks, then retreated into his lantern without a word. The Visan woman thanked them all in a quick, clipped accent. Amar asked her for directions, which she delivered before taking her boy’s hand and hurrying off. She gave Kesari a wide berth and an almost fearful look as she passed.