Rycus turned and flicked them to him. “I always have use for those who know things, boy. Where can I find you again if I need you?”
The boy grinned. “Same fountain where I found you.” With that, he scampered off.
When Nelay turned back, the pregnant woman had already shut the door. So Nelay pushed her way inside and closed it behind her. The woman backed away, clearly terrified. “My husband is an important man! A treasurer for the lord! You cannot hurt me without reprisal!”
Nelay rolled her eyes. It was kind of fun playing games with this woman, but probably not very nice. She pulled off her headscarf, revealing the short hair above her ears and the tattoos on the side of her face, something only priestesses were allowed to wear.
The woman gasped, and Nelay could almost see her mind working toward the obvious conclusion. “You’re Nelay.” The woman made an elaborate bow. Suddenly, she was all sweetness. “But I thought the acolytes were never allowed to leave Thanjavar.”
Nelay made a noncommittal grunt in her throat as she wandered around the home, admiring the things her money had bought—potted plants, upholstered chairs, two layers of drapes, one sheer to keep the bugs out, the other heavy to keep out the heat.
“Are you his wife or his servant?” Nelay asked.
The woman rose up indignantly. “I am his wife! My name is Atusa.”
Nelay pressed her lips together to keep from smirking. She knew this woman was Panar’s wife—she was too well-dressed to be otherwise—but seeing all this finery, all stolen from Nelay’s parents, made her angry. “And where is my dear brother?”
Atusa narrowed her gaze. “At the palace. He will be home for supper.”
Nelay draped herself across one of the chairs. “Good. I’ll wait here.”
Panar’s wife shifted her weight from one foot to the other before bowing. “Priestess, I would be honored. And who is your . . . guard?”
Rycus leaned against the wall with one leg cocked, watching Atusa as if he couldn’t figure her out. She dropped his gaze immediately.
“Call me Hunter,” he said.
She tipped her head. “I have orray and banal bread, if you like.”
Rycus’s face lit up.
“He prefers it strong,” Nelay warned.
“How strong?” Atusa asked.
“So strong it will make your tongue shoot out of your mouth to try and escape it, and then stronger still,” Rycus retorted.
Atusa’s hand fluttered to her chest and she shot Nelay an uncertain look.
“It’s a mark of toughness or some such thing,” Nelay said dryly.
As Atusa sidled into the kitchen, Rycus grinned at Nelay. “Your brother’s alive.”
She made a face. “And when he gets here, I’m going to kill him.”
They ate banal bread and drank orray while Atusa went about fixing supper over a brazier in their small back courtyard. Just as evening came on, the front door pushed open and Nelay found herself staring at a man who was somewhere between what she remembered of her father and what she remembered of her brother.
“Nelay?” he said uncertainly.
She rose to her feet, stalked over to him, and punched him in the jaw. He flopped like he always had when he took a hit. Only now it was worse, because Nelay had been trained to stun someone.
He spit blood onto Atusa’s perfectly scrubbed floor while his wife ran over to him and helped him up. She glared at Nelay, who was already seated in the very comfortable upholstered chair.
Panar wiped blood from his chin. “And I suppose you think I deserve that.”
It took years of Nelay’s training to keep her tears back. “You took every daric I sent them. Every one. And you bought yourself a life in the palace, with a wife who is either a wealthy merchant’s daughter or else some distant nobility fallen from grace.”
Atusa glared at her with a hint of shame. “The latter, then,” Nelay went on, and she couldn’t bring herself to care about the venom in her words. “They were five days’ journey away, and you couldn’t be bothered to bring them to safety.”
Panar dropped in another chair. “They’re dead?”
That was all he could say? Their parents were dead! Where was his grief?
Atusa still glared at Nelay. “Something is burning, Atusa,” she spat. The woman huffed and retreated to the back courtyard.
Panar gingerly touched his jaw. It was already starting to swell and turn reddish black. He was lucky she’d pulled the punch or the bone would be broken. “I tried to get them to come to the city, but you know how Father is with the flock and our land. He refused to abandon either.”
“He could have brought the sheep.”
“The army doesn’t have enough feed for them. They would have been slaughtered, and he would have had a pittance in return. He chose to stay behind and hope Arcina would hold.”
Nelay stood up, the chair clattering to the tiles behind her. “Then you should have forced them to come! You work in the palace—you had to know Arcina would fall.”
Panar glared up at her. “You didn’t go after them either!”
Suddenly she felt boneless, as if her legs had melted. She sank onto the floor. “Actually, I did, but I was too late. I burned them.”
Panar winced as she glared up at him. “But then you already knew that. Any refugees who haven’t already arrived are dead or captive.” She leaned forward. “What’s the matter, Panar? Would two rough, uneducated shepherds not fit in with your wife and new status?”
He finally looked up at her, defeat written all over him. “Why did you come, Nelay? To insult my wife? To strike the only family member you have left?”
Tears burned her eyes. “You threw away their letters.”
He sighed. “I was angry when Father refused to come.”
Nelay couldn’t bear to be in the same room anymore. She stormed up the ladder in the center of the house, having no idea what was at the top. She only knew if she stayed in that room one more moment, she’d hit Panar again. And this time she wouldn’t pull back.
At the top was an entire floor. It was open, with a large bed and a small box for the baby. Cushions and books and blankets. Even some carved wooden toys—seeing them made Nelay think of her father.
“Believe it or not,” Rycus said from below, “she’s been searching for you for days. She nearly died looking for you.”
“You don’t know my sister as well as I do. She came here to make me suffer.”
“No,” Rycus countered. “She’s just angry because her parents are dead, and it appears you didn’t care enough to do whatever it took to save them.”
Nelay obviously hadn’t gone far enough. She climbed the ladder to the third floor. This part of the house smelled musty. There were broken bits of furniture and a couple old trunks covered in a thick layer of dust. Her brother was probably waiting for her next daric to pay for the repairs.
She climbed the ladder again, finally coming to the open roof, a large square with a half wall surrounding it. The mud bricks beneath her feet held the heat of the day, and the wind off the desert tasted like hot glass. She closed her eyes, feeling the breeze against her sweaty face.
When a person died, the last breath left his or her body in a puff of wind. That last breath joined the thousands of others that had gone before. That was how the ovat and tavo were born.
Nelay knew her parents were with her still. Every time the breeze brushed against her face, it was her mother caressing her cheek. Every time it tugged on her clothes, her father was reminding her to be gentle and always care for those who had less.
She took a deep breath and held it. But eventually, she had to let it go and draw another, for though her parents had exhaled their last, she had not.
Having found her center, she smoothly drew her shamshir, her body gliding from one motion to the next.
Sweat soaked Nelay’s skin, her breath coming hard and fast. She felt someone watching her and turned. Braced against the ladder and the top of the
roof, Rycus stood with his arms folded.
“Nelay, take the advice of a person from a big family,” he said. “Sometimes it’s better to love someone from a distance.”
She sheathed her swords and wiped her brow. “Is that why you’re here instead of with your family?” Burn it, Panar was the only family she had left. And she’d lost him all the same—lost him ten years ago. If she’d ever even had him at all. Just like I’m going to lose Rycus. Tears threatened so she averted her gaze, refusing to let him see.
He sighed. “Forgive him. He’s all you have left in the way of family.”
“How can I?”
“If you don’t, it will tear you apart from the inside out.”
“How can I ever trust him again?”
“I’m not saying you should. I’m not even saying you ever have to speak to him again. Only that you must forgive him.”
In the distance, a flash of orange caught Nelay’s attention. She watched as a ball of flame arced through the sky and slammed into the city wall. She felt the reverberations through her feet. A beat later, she heard the crash. The whole world was falling apart—burning to ashes and charcoal all around her. Rycus took hold of her hand. She turned away and wiped her cheeks.
Nearby roofs quickly filled with the city’s highest-paid workers. As everyone watched, the king’s army retaliated, throwing glowing balls of their own. Other things were launched, but the darkness made it impossible to identify them.
“Nelay, we need to get out of here before the Clansmen completely surround Dalarta,” Rycus said, his tone urgent.
“Are you really so certain the city will fall?”
“All of Idara is going to fall.”
Startled, she looked at him. There was only compassion in his eyes, but her anger spiked nonetheless. “Then why are you here?”
He reached out to cup the back of her head in his hand. “You know why,” he said softly.
Burn it, she liked hearing those words.
He leaned in and rested his forehead on hers. “Come with me? We can leave Idara and start a new life in the desert.”
Breaking up inside, shattering like glass, Nelay started crying again.
“No, don’t do that,” Rycus pled. “I can’t stand to see that.”
She shook her head and tried to move away. Then his mouth crashed against hers. She wanted to pull back—she couldn’t do this to herself, to him. But the tug in her lower belly shifted to a hard yank. She was melting, every hard edge she’d honed over the years going soft. Rycus pressed her up against the half wall, and her body yielded to his.
Suddenly his kisses slowed. “What’s wrong?” she panted. She didn’t want him to stop. Ever.
He chuckled. “Because we have an audience.”
Nelay shifted her head and saw people from the other rooftops watching them. Her cheeks went hot. “I can’t do this.”
Rycus ran his hands up and down her back. “That’s why we stopped.”
She closed her eyes and slowly started shaking her head. “No. I mean you and me. We can’t do this.”
He pulled back to look at her face. “Is this about Zatal?”
“It’s more than that.” She moved out of Rycus’s arms. “I swore a long time ago I would be no man’s wife. No child’s mother. You want those things—I know you do.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t deny it. “I’ve seen you with Concon. I know how you are with me. I think you do want those things. You just won’t admit it.”
“I’ve worked my whole life—”
“To be a high priestess, I know,” he interrupted, his voice rising. “But Nelay, there isn’t going to be an Idara left. Come with me. Start over in the Adrack. You can have everything you want, be a priestess and my wife and—”
“I can’t abandon Jezzel!” she cried. “And . . .”
“And what? What else can’t you leave? Because it seems to me you’ve already lost just about everything. And you’re setting yourself up to lose more.”
She crossed her arms over her middle, trying to hold herself together. “The priestesses—they’re my family.” But even to herself, the words sounded hollow.
“And they turned you over to the king without so much as asking.” Rycus turned away, breathing hard. “I’m going to check on Maran and let Havva know where you are. It’s time to start planning our escape.”
Nelay’s heart dropped. She didn’t want him to leave, but she didn’t know how to stop him. And then he was gone. She moved to the edge of the roof and looked down. He slipped out of the house a moment later and trotted in the direction of the library. She thought of going after him, but she wasn’t ready to face her brother. So watched the city walls take blow after blow and hold strong.
Pacing back and forth over an intricate rug in Panar’s house, Nelay felt her sister-in-law’s glare. “Do you know how much that rug cost?” Atusa asked tersely as she lit the last lamp.
With the city under siege, and Rycus gone all last night and all day, Nelay couldn’t make herself care about a silly rug. “No, I don’t,” she said, “which is pretty ironic, considering the fact that I paid for it.”
After blowing out the stick she’d used to light the lamps, Atusa went to the table and started scrubbing the dinner pots in a tub of soapy water. “Panar used that money to pay for his schooling at the university and his apprenticeship. He makes his own money now.”
“Good. Then he can buy you a new rug.”
Atusa slammed the rag down, sending water sloshing over the sides of the tub. “You don’t know anything about him.”
Nelay thought of the mean-spirited boy she had lived with as a child. She could still feel his fingers around her neck as he tried to choke her. But she had come searching for him all these years later, partly because she’d hoped he had changed, grown up. Partly because she longed for her family. And partly because Panar was simply her blood.
She stopped pacing and rested her hand on the wall. “I almost died looking for him, and all this time he was only a few days away. My parents would have told me where he was unless he asked them not to. He knew exactly where I was. He could have written at any time, could have visited. And he chose not to. So forgive me if I’m not overjoyed to see him again.”
Atusa stormed over to Nelay. “He was ashamed! He had dreams, too. Your parents wanted a better life for him, so they gave him that money. It was theirs to do with what they wished. He’s a good man, a good husband!”
“Then why can’t he tell me that himself?”
Atusa stepped back, trembling. “Because he’s a man, and they have their pride.” She sagged as if suddenly exhausted. She ran her still-wet hands over her hair, smoothing a few stray strands, then jerked open the front door and stormed out.
Nelay collapsed in the chair, her elbows braced against her knees and her head hanging low. Moments later, the door swung open. Nelay looked up, expecting to see Atusa coming back for something she forgot, but Rycus stood in the doorway.
They stared at each other as if afraid to break the silence. Finally, he shut the door. “Why did Atusa just storm out?”
Unwilling to discuss it, Nelay crossed her arms and studied him, wondering where they stood after their fight.
He glanced around. “Panar’s not home yet?” Nelay shrugged, knowing they were both dancing around what had been said last night.
Rycus crossed the room, sniffed at the orray pot on the table, and poured himself a cup. He took a sip and pulled a face, half disappointment, half disgust, but it didn’t stop him from drinking the stuff. “You Idarans don’t know how to take your orray.”
Nelay rolled her neck, cracking her spine. “How bad was the damage to the city?”
“Come on. I’ll show you from the roof.” He set the cup down. “You should take a blanket. The tavo’s particularly bitter tonight.”
They borrowed a couple of thick wool blankets from Panar’s room, and then Nelay followed Rycus up to the roof. The first of the stars were beginn
ing to peek out, but the mud bricks felt pleasantly warm from the heat of the day. Other people sat on the nearby roofs, watching the bombardment.
Rycus was right—the breeze was chilly. Nelay wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and watched the army, which looked and moved like an infestation of ants.
“The outer wall held up remarkably well,” he said. “Their catapults haven’t managed to do more than surface damage so far.”
Nelay spread her hand across the half wall. “Can we expect this every night?”
“Right now, they’re just attempting to weaken Dalarta’s walls while their soldiers try to cut us off from Thanjavar. After that happens, they’ll start charging the walls, trying to get in.” Rycus spoke gently as if to soften the blow of his words.
“And will they cut us off?”
“They outnumber us five to one—there are five hundred thousand men out there from the nations we’ve defeated—all led by Clansmen.”
“How many days do we have?”
He shrugged. “A couple.”
“Won’t the king send more of his armies?”
Rycus looked away. “He’s sent as many as he can spare without risking Thanjavar.”
She sighed. “What about Havva and Maran?” He paused long enough for Nelay to figure out that something was wrong. “Just tell me,” she said in exasperation.
He leaned over the edge as if seriously contemplating the distance to the street. “Maran went back to her husband.”
“What?” Nelay blurted out.
“And what would you do if you were in her place?” Rycus asked, now looking off into the distance.
“I wouldn’t be in her place,” Nelay scoffed.
He met her gaze. “And what would you have done if the priestesses had never come for you? If both your parents were dead and you had to survive and tend your flock alone?”
“I would have run it myself.” That wasn’t true. Her father had planned to marry her off the moment she turned fourteen to a man more than twice her age.
“And when bandits came? Or when you were hurt and had no one to help you? What would you have done then?”
Nelay’s nostrils flared. “I would have killed them. I—”