Her head throbbed as if it had been trampled by a hundred camels. Someone was curled around her body for warmth. She had just enough time to make out a young girl before she rolled away and vomited bile into the dirt. When the dry heaves stopped, Nelay had the distinct impression her eyes were crossing and she couldn’t stop them. “Where’s Rycus?”
“Easy,” said a girl’s voice. Nelay jerked instinctively at the feel of hands on her. “It’s just me. It’s Kalla.”
The girl, Nelay remembered. Chains clanking, she rested her palms on her forehead and tried to recall what had happened. Rycus and the others—they had separated. She’d fought the Clansmen and they’d taken her captive.
By the Goddess, she might never see Rycus or Jezzel again.
Nelay inched her hands toward the throbbing at the back of her head, hissing through her teeth when her fingers found the edge of a swollen knot crusted with old blood. She blinked a dozen times before her eyes would focus.
Beside her knelt the young Idaran girl . . . Kalla? Her hands were chained together as well. “What happened?” Nelay’s voice sounded like it had been broken and clumsily put back together.
“Benvi and the others got away. We were the only two captured.”
Nelay’s hands traveled to her neck. She didn’t feel the cord of her necklace. Her frantic fingers searched, but her pendant was gone. A profound sense of loss and anger tore through her. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she carefully looked around, assessing the players of the game. She and Kalla were backed against the steep side of a tabletop mountain, the nearby fire throwing light that danced with the shadows. A guard glared at her from across the thick bushes on the other side of the camp.
Nelay counted seven men sleeping around the fire and had to stifle a fierce grin of satisfaction. There had been twelve to start with.
“They couldn’t make out what your tattoos meant.” Kalla pointed to the sleeping man with a nose so swollen it deformed his face. “Harrow asked me. I explained that they told your story. He said their belts do the same.”
Nelay grunted, upset that Harrow had been right. She tried to plan her moves and countermoves, but the players moved around her like a desert wind, touching her before spinning away, and she couldn’t hold onto any of them. She rested the side of her head on the ground. “I can’t think straight.”
“Just rest,” Kalla said. “I’ll keep you safe.”
Nelay looked the girl over—she was skin and bones held together with determination. “We make quite the pair, don’t we,” Nelay murmured before slipping back into unconsciousness.
When she came around next, there were still more shadows than light and her head throbbed in time to her heartbeat. But her thoughts were clearer. This time, she was able to take stock of the players of the game. She went through different scenarios, but there was no way to make them all fit. She either needed more players or she needed to manipulate the field in her favor. So that’s what she would set about to do.
It wasn’t long before the camp came alive. Two men helped Dobber go into the bushes, likely to relieve himself. When he came back he walked past her, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “She stinks!”
Despite herself, Nelay blushed as she realized Dobber was right. She reeked of urine, which meant she’d lost control of her bladder at some point.
Kalla started out of sleep and sat up abruptly. Wide eyed, she took in the situation.
“Arcina is only a few days away,” Harrow said. “After that, they’re someone else’s problem.”
Sitting up beside the girl, Nelay noted that her headscarf was missing. She felt exposed without it to shield her from the fairies’ unseen gaze.
A mocking laugh, and then Dobber spoke to the Clansmen who were busy saddling their horses. “Everyone knows your family has a soft spot for Raiders.” His cruel gaze landed on Harrow. “Don’t they, traitor’s son?”
Who are the Raiders? Nelay wondered.
Harrow’s head shot up. “Says the man who was too drunk to defend his family when the Raiders slaughtered them.”
Raiders, that’s what they called Idarans, she realized.
With a roar, Dobber lunged to his feet and started toward Harrow. Harrow sprang up, his fists clenched at his sides, something close to relief in his gaze.
“Shut it, both of you!”
Too fast, Nelay turned to see who spoke. Pain flared in her head and momentarily stole her vision. She slumped against the cliff and slid down to her haunches, shale falling all around her. She was useless, and she hated herself for it. She blinked a few times and spotted the clan chief, tugging his trousers on straight and buckling the beautiful belt around his waist.
He shot Dobber and Harrow looks of disgust. “None of the clans would have any of us. That’s why we work together. Either of you lift a hand against the other, I’ll brand you as outcasts and you’ll have no refuge with any Clansmen. Understand?”
Harrow sighed. “Yes, Clan Chief.”
With a wince, Dobber half fell back onto his blanket, fresh blood staining his bandages. “Aye, Clan Chief.”
Nelay huffed. It was clear Dobber and Harrow were on a collision course. One of them was going to kill the other—the clan chief was only delaying that. She tucked the information away, sure she could turn the rivalry to her advantage.
Kalla squatted beside her. “What was that all about? Can you understand them?”
Nelay studied the girl again. She was all sharp angles, pointy knees, elbows like broken sticks, and a narrow face. Her expression wasn’t afraid as much as defiant. Not much of a player, probably more of a liability than an asset, but Nelay had been dealt worse.
“Yes, but we can’t let them know I can,” she said without moving her lips. It was one of the only advantages they had. “They decided we get to live. Again. They’re taking us to Arcina.”
“To make us tiams?”
Nelay studied the ragtag band. Their belts looked new, which went against her understanding of clan customs. The belts were given to a child upon reaching adulthood. They identified the wearer’s clan and roles.
She’d never paid enough attention to the meaning of the shapes to understand what these meant, but she guessed a new clan had been created in the midst of Idara, and these men would inhabit it. “And there’s more. I think . . . I think they’re criminals. Like they were outcasts from the Clanlands, and they formed their own clan here.” The thought brought a flare of anger to her chest.
Kalla took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Me, I’m just a child to them. But you? You killed or injured most of them. And even hurt, you’re dangerous. Why are they letting you live?”
“I’m something they don’t understand. I think they’re hoping that by bringing me in, they’ll gain favor.”
“Favor? How?”
Nelay’s smile was brittle. “I’m not sure, but I intend to use the knowledge to my advantage.”
Kalla gaped at her, clearly frightened, but Nelay simply added another detail to the players.
Harrow made his way toward them with a bowl of water in his hands. Careful not to slosh it, he handed it to Kalla, who immediately offered it to Nelay.
Nelay shot her a look of gratitude and drank the muddy water. Grit coated her tongue and stuck to her throat. She paused when half of it was left, but Harrow shook his head. “Finish. Lots,” he said in halting Idaran.
When he left, Kalla spoke softly. “Harrow tried to explain, but he’s hard to understand. Tiams are to pay back the damage Idara has done by rebuilding our cities—which the Clansmen destroyed. But I haven’t done anything.”
The cities wouldn’t need rebuilding if the Clansmen hadn’t attacked them, Nelay thought bitterly. “Doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we get away.” She cleared grit from her throat. “How long was I unconscious?”
Kalla’s gaze seemed drawn to the distant mountains. “Just since yesterday.”
“Have they ever left you unguarded—even just to let you p
ass water?”
Kalla blushed. “No. We’re always in the center of camp and chained.”
“Have they hurt you?”
Kalla’s gaze found Dobber. “Not yet.”
Harrow came back with the second bowl of water. He shook his head in disgust as he handed it to Kalla. “I don’t know how you stand this.” He’d switched back to speaking Clannish, his voice wistful. “Where I come from, in Tyron, the water is sweet, and your throat aches as you drink it for the cold.”
There is such water in Idara, just not if you dig it from dried-up streambeds, Nelay grumbled in her head.
Harrow handed them both bowls filled with a gruel that Nelay didn’t recognize. It was so thick she had to chew it, and it tasted vaguely of meat, as if they hadn’t cleaned out the pot well enough from one meal to the next.
Harrow watched them eat. “You don’t understand what it’s like to see the meadows covered in green wheat that grows so tall you can get lost in it. You don’t know what it is to see winter snow, so bright your eyes almost refuse to stay open.” Nelay could have sworn he looked lost. “You don’t know what it’s like to miss something you hated so much.”
Nelay was shocked at his words. How many times had she felt that way about her childhood? She hadn’t been happy; there had been too much hunger and heartache for that. But still, she missed so many things—the bleating of the sheep, the voices of her parents, gazing at the stars every night until she fell asleep.
Nelay stared into Harrow’s eyes, refusing to show any signs of comprehension. What she wanted to say was, “Haven’t you seen the scarlet and gold sunrises? The verdant fields to the west, which my people learned how to flood from the rivers that came down from the mountains? The cactus blooms and delicate flowers after the rains? The beauty of our cities, cool stone fashioned by the best artisans in the world? The fountains for the children to play in? The colors in our weaving?”
Nelay finally looked away. She should be meeting Rycus and the others at the tree today. What would they do when they found Benvi and the others instead? She’d thought she was going to die, so she’d told Benvi to instruct the Tribesmen to take them to safety and collect their payment for Jezzel. Nelay’s only hope was if Rycus ignored that order and came looking for her. Not likely. Despite his many good qualities, he was still a smuggler.
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that she’d lost her headscarf. If the fairies reported where she was, perhaps Zatal would send a rescue party. She let out a long breath. She’d killed the last Immortals he’d sent after her. If he found her at all, he’d likely do the same to her.
Fire and burning, her head hurt. “We’re on our own,” she said to Kalla.
“Harrow, get them up and on the horses,” the clan chief said. All the men were already mounted and waiting for them.
Kalla helped Nelay to her feet, holding onto her to keep her steady.
When they reached the horse, Nelay was relieved it wasn’t as high as the camel. She managed to take hold of the horn, but every time she tried to get her foot in the stirrup, she missed.
Kalla patiently guided her foot. So now Nelay had a hold of the horn and a foot in the stirrup, but her arms had turned all watery and she couldn’t pull herself up. Kalla tried to help, but the girl couldn’t lift her.
A hand planted itself on Nelay’s rump and pushed. She settled in the saddle and glanced down to see Harrow with a look that almost dared her to complain.
He held onto her hips. “You stop?”
She thought he was asking if she was going to fall off. There were no reins—the man in front of her had a lead rope wrapped around his saddle horn—so she grabbed onto the pommel and concentrated on staying still. “Yes.”
“She’s going to slow us down and you know it,” Dobber ground out. “She’s weak. She’ll probably die anyway. Let’s just put her out of her misery.”
Nelay shot him a glare that would have burned a more astute man into a pile of contrite ashes. Why did he hate her so much?
Harrow turned to face him, his eyes flashing. “Just leave them alone.”
Dobber leaned over and spat on the ground. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, traitor’s son. That way you can have them all to yourself.”
Nelay glanced between the two men. Dobber had called Harrow an Idaran lover, a traitor’s son. Could his father have been one of the natives King Zatal had recruited? But why would the Clansmen hate him for that? At most, he was only a few years older than her—a child at the time of the clan wars.
The clan chief rolled his eyes. “Dobber, take the rear. Harrow, the front. Move out!”
“Oh, come on,” Dobber ground out.
The man dismounted, marched over to Dobber, and hauled him from the horse, then pushed him into the ground and held him there. “Who’s the clan chief?”
“You are,” Dobber ground out.
The chief shoved him hard and stepped away. “Get on the horse.”
Dobber staggered to his feet and looked at the others for help. But no one would meet his gaze. He grumbled something as he hobbled, unaided, to his horse and mounted.
The horses started forward with a lurch, and Nelay had to shut her eyes against the sudden nausea that rose within her. From the horse behind her, Kalla said softly, “You’re not going to die, are you?”
“No, Kalla,” Nelay answered. “I’m not going to die.”
That day in the saddle was one of the longest of Nelay’s life. The Clansmen didn’t seem to understand the concept of midday rest, and they foolishly pushed on through the ovat. Then, just when they should have been moving out again, they stopped. Nelay had given up any sense of dignity and draped herself across the front of the saddle in exhaustion.
A man slapped her leg, motioning for her to get down. She roused herself and looked down at the ground, wondering how she was going to get there.
When she didn’t move, he slapped her leg harder.
“I’ll take her,” Harrow said. “I’m supposed to be in charge of them anyway.” Mindless of her stink, he helped her down from the horse and supported her while she walked, then set her on the cool earth by the cliff.
Hovering like a mother bird, Kalla placed a hand on Nelay’s forehead and said in a hysterical voice, “She needs water!”
Harrow stared at the girl’s lips, obviously struggling to understand the upset Idaran.
“Water!” she cried.
“I’m just weak, that’s all,” Nelay insisted.
Kalla didn’t seem to hear her. “Please don’t die, please don’t die,” she chanted as Harrow handed them his water skin. Apparently, the girl rambled when she was nervous.
“I’m not going to die.” It was true, but at this point, Nelay just wanted her to shut up.
“You might!” Kalla seemed upset that Nelay had contradicted her.
She reached out and held the young girl’s hand. “I’ve never been sick. Never had a wound fester. I hear better than normal people. It’s why the priestesses chose me. And . . .” She trailed off as she sensed movement and realized Harrow was listening behind Kalla. Nelay shifted to see him looking at her slack jawed. She clamped her mouth shut. Exhaustion had loosened her tongue.
The Clan Chief squatted down beside them. “Have you found anything else out?”
Harrow rubbed his scalp above his ears while staring at her tattoos. “A priestess like her must be very powerful. So why was she in the middle of the skirmish and not well protected behind Thanjavar’s walls?”
“Let’s just hope someone is willing to pay to find out.” The man slapped Harrow’s back, stood, and walked away.
Repressing a shudder, Nelay wondered why Harrow was so kind. Why did his own people seem to abhor him for something his father had done? And most importantly, how could Nelay use that to her advantage?
After Kalla helped her slowly drink the water, Nelay slept for a few hours. She woke later and drank more and ate a bit of food. As evening fell, Harrow arrived and gently tried to he
lp her to her feet. When she protested, he demonstrated scrubbing his skin. Her heart expanded with hope. If she could get him to take off the manacles, she could be free. With Kalla holding onto one arm, Nelay shuffled through the main camp. Taking only a few steps made her gasp for air. Maybe she could be free if Kalla managed to tie her onto a horse first.
For the first time, she had the wherewithal to look around. The Razorbacks loomed in the distance, their white caps seeming to stretch into clouds. The group was about a day’s journey from Arcina. They’d left the Table Mountains and brush of her home for the fertile fields and trees brought about by the clever irrigation techniques of the Arcinians.
Nelay’s jaw tightened as she realized the Clansmen and their allies held everything from Arcina all the way to Mubia and the ocean. Half of Idara. What was left of her once-great nation was encircled by mountains, desert, and enemies.
Harrow herded them into scraggily trees Nelay didn’t know the name for. Eventually, she heard the rushing river. She slid down the embankment, holding onto Kalla for support. Putting on her most hopeful look, Nelay held out the manacles for Harrow to release her. He shook his head, pointing to his broken nose.
She dropped her hands in a show of frustration. “Then how do you expect me to wash?” she grumbled in Idaran, for she couldn’t let them know she understood Clannish—it was one of the only advantages she and Kalla had.
He tossed her a strange-smelling cake of soap the color of faded leather. She remembered Rycus giving her myrrh-scented soap, and a pang shot through her. Keeping her frustration in check, she searched the water and its banks for any sign of crocodiles or alligators. With the water moving fairly quickly, she decided it was probably safe.
Carefully, she stepped into the river, fully clothed, with Kalla still at her side. Nelay started with the worst parts, washing her clothes and then scrubbing herself with the soapy cloth. Harrow’s gaze darted to them, then quickly away as if he was trying to give them privacy.
“Be kind to Harrow,” Nelay whispered to Kalla.
The girl glanced up. “Why?”
“Because right now he’s our best chance of escape.”