*
El-i-miir ran her eyes along the same line on the page for what felt like the hundredth time. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t concentrate on the book in her hands. She put it down and sighed. How had it come to this?
Seteal lay quietly across the tent. Her body was still, her eyes were locked on the canvas above. El-i-miir had only a vague understanding of what Far-a-mael was up to, but the little she knew sent shivers down her spine. There was a new darkness that moved about in the old gil’s aura. Or perhaps it’d always been there, El-i-miir having formerly been too inexperienced to see it. A reflection of that darkness drifted about in Seteal, preaching testament to Far-a-mael’s having affiliated and tampered with her.
El-i-miir hated being a part of it. It made her sick to her stomach . . . all the lies. And it got harder every day, with her impression of Seteal growing fonder. Of course the Gor woman had her weaknesses: she was impulsive, quick to judge, and sharp with her tongue, but she was also honest and had a kind heart.
El-i-miir had been training beneath Gil’rei Far-a-mael for no less than six years. She’d been just fifteen when he’d whisked her away, her parents waving her off. She’d seen very little of them ever since. The Sixth Cleff was simply too far away from the place in which El-i-miir did the majority of her training, the Eighth Cleff, Far-a-mael’s home.
It saddened El-i-miir that she’d missed out on being there for her younger sisters. She’d never wanted to be a gil, but her parents had long ago promised her to Far-a-mael. The reason for their doing so was still very much shrouded in mystery, leaving El-i-miir to doubt whether she’d ever find out the truth. Perhaps it all had something to do with her. El-i-miir turned to glare disparagingly at Seteal.
Rancid browns and murky greens swirled about in Seteal’s aura, revealing a mental state that was far from stable. Since the incident, the woman had scarcely said a word and avoided human interaction wherever possible. She’d remained in the Keacos’ wagon the entire day. She didn’t eat or drink and wore dark circles beneath her eyes from a lack of sleep.
‘Seteal?’ El-i-miir whispered, struck with pity.
‘What?’ Seteal replied when El-i-miir’s voice broke the silence. Rather than lifting her head or sitting up she simply rolled over to face her.
‘I can help you,’ El-i-miir said softly, embracing the Ways so that Seteal’s aura ignited further and she was able to see every last weaving of light that danced within her soul. She unfurled her finger and a slender stream of blue twisted away like fine lace.
‘No.’ Seteal cringed. ‘Please . . . I don’t want that.’ She recoiled dramatically. ‘Get it out of me! Get it out!’ She wailed, sitting up to push El-i-miir away.
‘I’m so sorry,’ El-i-miir’s mouth fell open in horror as she immediately regretted what she’d done. How could she have been so insensitive? The last thing Seteal wanted was to have yet another person forcing themselves into any part of her. ‘Maker, I didn’t think.’ El-i-miir shuddered. ‘I just wanted to help.’
‘I don’t need your help,’ Seteal narrowed her eyes. ‘Who are you, El-i-miir? Who are you but a stranger? I don’t need your friendship. I need my father. I need my home. I need not to be traipsing across the world in a Maker-damned tent,’ she choked out amidst a flood of tears. ‘I need my life back: where silts don’t pluck you off the street, where owls don’t talk or turn into hideous monsters, and where I could believe that men were decent. So if you need to tell me something,’ Seteal sat forward and gripped El-i-miir’s shoulders, ‘do it now. If you want to do right by me, tell me the truth.’
‘I-I don’t understand,’ El-i-miir stuttered through a dry mouth.
‘I’m scared,’ Seteal wept. ‘I’m alone and I don’t want to die. I don’t. But the price has been so great. Please . . . please tell me that you’re not making a fool out of me. Tell me Far-a-mael is genuine. Tell me that this isn’t all for nothing, because honestly, El-i-miir, I don’t know who to trust anymore, but I think I can trust you.’
‘You can trust me.’ El-i-miir swallowed loudly. ‘Far-a-mael is telling you the truth.’
‘All right.’ Seteal nodded, closing her eyes. ‘All right then.’ She exhaled slowly and laid back down.
Shaking like a leaf, El-i-miir turned and blew out the lantern before she could give herself away. In the darkness, she rested her head and clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sobs trying so hard to escape her throat. She’d been raised to be honest, but in just a few short years Far-a-mael had transformed her into a successful liar. Maker knew she wanted to tell Seteal the truth, but the cost was just too great. The mission was too important and she would certainly be sent to Vish’el’Tei for treason if she did. That was a price El-i-miir simply wasn’t willing to pay--not for Seteal, not for anyone.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SLAUGHTER