“You wouldn’t know how to fight,” Rycus interrupted.
“I would have found a way to take care of myself.” She knew even as she said it that she was lying to herself.
“The truth is, we can’t always be strong, and we’re not meant to be alone. People need each other.” Rycus let out a long breath. “Maran needs Sedun—or believes she does. And until she changes her mind about that, she won’t leave him.”
The siege engines lobbed their projectiles over the wall. Nelay watched as the king’s armies scattered, shifting to repel attacks and firing their bows and catapults. From this distance, it was almost pretty, in a twisted, horrifying kind of way.
She watched until the cool shifted to cold. Shivering in earnest, she barely registered Rycus leaving and coming back with more blankets for both of them. He settled another around her shoulders and wrapped his arms around her from behind. “You should rest. You’re still recovering.”
She glanced around to see the other rooftops had been deserted. “About what we said last night . . .”
He rested his forehead on the back of her head. “Come with me, back into the desert. Leave behind this dying country and live with me.”
Nelay studied his hands—a Tribesman’s hands. She’d watched him for weeks, watched him keep his men’s spirits up. Watched him care for her. Watched him love her.
She thought of the life she would have if she left him. She imagined herself sitting in Suka’s dais surrounded by the pool of water and floating prayers. She imagined the people bowing before her. She imagined leading the nation. And she realized she no longer wanted it. Not if it meant being without Rycus. “Yes.”
His head came up. “Yes?”
She took a long breath and let it out, testing herself. She felt relieved, like she’d just cast off a huge burden. “Yes.”
He brushed his cold nose along the crook of her neck, and she found herself tipping her head to the side to give him better access. He trailed kisses behind her ear all the way down to her shoulder, leaving sparks in their wake. “You can still have everything. We’ll go back for Jezzel, convince her to come with us. You will have a family again. My family will love you like their own.”
His lips were making it hard to think, but she imagined herself in one of the canyons Rycus had told her about. The pools of bright-blue water deep within the cliffs. Then her smile disappeared. “And wait at home with your babies while you smuggle?”
“I won’t always be a smuggler.”
“What?” She tried to turn around to face him, but he held her in place. “What else would you be?”
He tugged her robe sleeve down and kissed her bare shoulder. “Being a smuggler is sort of a hobby—because I’m very, very good at it. And I wanted to experience more than just the Adrack Desert before I settled down.”
A low burn started in Nelay’s lower belly. “And now you’re ready to settle down?”
He whispered against her ear, “I’ve found everything I was looking for.” His hands ran up and down her sides, then slipped around her stomach. One finger brushed along the base of her breast.
A wave of heat burned through her and she melted against him. He sucked on her ear, a gentle pressure that ignited her. She maneuvered his hands, putting them where she wanted to be touched. He groaned and cupped her, kneading her body and sending her heart racing. Breathless, she pivoted in his arms and her mouth found his. His kiss was all heat, his tongue tasting her mouth. She tasted him back, her hands spreading across his chest, around his shoulders, down his back.
He made a sound low in his throat and eased her onto the warm stones that made up the roof. Everywhere he touched her, his fingers left trails of fire in their wake. Their bodies intertwined like twin flames—growing brighter and hotter with every stroke, every breath.
Nelay pulled back, the fire burning under her skin. Rycus continued to kiss her throat, her collarbone. “No, stop.”
He paused, groaning. “Nelay—”
She held out her hand. There was a rushing sound, like dozens of footsteps. Another sound—one only someone who’d trained for hours under the grueling sun would be familiar with. The unique sound of boiled leather bouncing against skin. Armor.
Rycus and Nelay bolted apart at the same instant, the cold tavo a slap to her exposed skin. She peeked over the half wall to find the streets swarming with Immortals. Their helmets bore raised markings that mimicked their intricate scalp tattoos. Those helmets told Nelay two things: first, they were here to fight; second, they were the king’s personal guard.
Fire and ash, Zatal found me, Nelay thought, knowing the fairies must have revealed her location. But how had he arrived at the city so quickly? Her mind spun, discarding and choosing players at random. In a stride and a half, she grabbed her baldric and slipped it over her head. Then she vaulted over the half wall separating the roofs, Rycus right behind her. The landing made her feet sting. This roof had chairs and tables and even a brazier, but thankfully, no people.
Nelay and Rycus kept leaping over roofs, glancing back carefully each time for any sign of soldiers. When they reached the end of the block, they paused behind a potted orange tree.
“How did they find me?” she asked breathlessly.
Rycus didn’t answer as he tried the trapdoor. It opened with a groan of hinges, and she winced at the noise. He surveyed the shadows doubtfully. “I don’t like it.”
Nelay glanced around, trying to rework the field into something more useful. They couldn’t jump down from the building—three stories was simply too far. “What else can we do?” she whispered.
They descended into the shadows, both of them holding their breath, waiting for any sound to reveal they’d been discovered. This room was empty, though there were sleeping pallets on the ground.
Rycus shook his head and pressed his ear to the trapdoor beneath them. Slowly, he eased to his feet and pointed back up.
There must be Immortals waiting below! Nelay thought with a gasp. They had to go back. Find another way down.
She silently climbed the ladder, but when she peeked over the edge, she came eye to eye with the sword of an Immortal—the whole rooftop was covered with the king’s guards. She sucked in a sharp breath as this guard stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a long, shrill whistle. The trapdoor beneath her shot open, and Immortals flooded into the room. Nelay looked down at Rycus and knew he also realized they were trapped. When she glanced back up, King Zatal had just climbed over the roof line.
Bone-deep trembles shook Nelay. The king could have her killed, have Rycus killed. Her mind spun to find a solution as she climbed the rest of the way up and stood by the ladder. Rycus moved to follow her, but the Immortals leveled their swords at him, forcing him back. Nelay kept one hand on her sword hilt—after all, she was still a priestess.
Zatal studied her, his expression revealing nothing. “Did you save them—your parents?”
Nelay’s jaw worked as the memory temporarily robbed her of speech. “No,” she finally managed.
He inclined his head. “I am sorry.” Nelay kept quiet. The king motioned below. “Who were you with?”
“The smuggler I paid to find them.” She wasn’t going to reveal his name.
Zatal’s gaze hardened. “And I suppose this is the man who helped you escape Thanjavar?”
Nelay kept her back straight. “Yes.” There was no point in lying—Zatal would have guessed as much already.
“Take his weapons,” Zatal called down.
Nelay was relieved when she didn’t hear a struggle—that would be suicide. She desperately wanted to see Rycus, feel him near her, but she didn’t want the king to know of her deep worry.
Zatal made a sound low in his throat. “Give me your weapons, Nelay. I swear no harm will come to you.”
She didn’t believe him, but neither dared she provoke him. She drew her shamshirs and held them out, hilt first. The king passed them to one of his Immortals without taking his eyes off her. She
handed over her throwing knives as well, feeling a sharp sense of vulnerability without them.
“Some privacy,” the king said to the soldiers around them. A man shouted a command. An Immortal climbed partway up the ladder and shut the trapdoor, cutting her off from Rycus. The rest of the guards moved to the edges of the roof.
Zatal circled Nelay, his gaze pausing at her loose sash and disheveled robes—she hadn’t even thought to straighten them. He stepped so close she could feel the heat of his skin against her own. “How long have you and this smuggler been lovers?”
Nelay sucked in a breath. “We are not lovers.”
The king discreetly tightened her sash, as if he wanted to shield what he did from view. “Not long,” he said, as if completely disregarding her denial, “since I suspect High Priestess Suka’s spies would have noticed.” He shook his head. “This would have been easier for both of us had you not formed attachments.”
“You have a mistress and children,” Nelay shot back, then immediately regretted the outburst.
“Don’t be an idiot. It’s easy to discern the mother of a child. Not so easy to determine the father, and that man’s sons will not sit on my throne. And if you already are, well, we’ll take care of it.”
Nelay felt a keen sense of relief that a baby wasn’t a possibility. “You still want me as your queen?”
“No,” Zatal replied simply. “But it will be done nonetheless.”
“If you don’t want me, why are you doing this?” Her voice rose with each word.
The king’s face flushed with anger. “For the good of Idara.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You see the whole world as yours, as something to be conquered and controlled. But I am not yours. I never was.”
Zatal laced his hands behind his back. “The world is a place of chaos and inefficiencies. I bring order. The lands we conquered went from places of lawlessness to stability. They are better, stronger for being adopted into Idara.”
“Is that how you see yourself?” Nelay asked. “As some kind of benevolent father? Forcing people—forcing me—into your idea of perfection, regardless of how many you cut down in the process?”
Zatal’s gaze hardened. “You’re a shepherd’s daughter. Is it not true that you must cull the flock to keep it strong?”
“Those are animals. I’m a person!”
“People are animals too, Nelay. Wild and untamed. I teach them how to be civilized.”
She huffed. “Is that what I am? Some kind of animal to be tamed?”
He studied her. “You see it, don’t you? How the Game of Fire is life. Everything is just moves and countermoves. That we are all players, and if you can nudge people this way or that, you can control the world.”
She had never known anyone to look at the game the same way she did, but she wasn’t sure she liked being so similar to the king. “And yet you lost it all.”
He gave a bitter laugh. “That’s because I didn’t plan on going up against a goddess.”
Nelay wet her lips, wondering if that was true. “So I’m just another of your players?”
“Unfortunately for you.”
“And you won’t tell me what my role is?”
Zatal tipped his head to the side. “You must realize your vast potential, which is being squandered on chasing after people who should be taking care of themselves. You have the chance to be a great and powerful queen. And you would give that up for what?” He gestured, unseeing, toward Rycus. “Some smuggler?”
“No.” She threw her shoulders back. “A high priestess has more power than a queen.” She could still be high priestess of the Tribesmen. Being with Rycus didn’t change that.
The king took a step closer. “I’m afraid that is impossible now. But I can make you a queen. You have to admit, that’s more powerful than a smuggler’s wife.”
She would find a way to escape the king and go with Rycus. After all, she’d escaped Zatal once, so she could do it again. She lifted her face to find him watching her with a knowing expression. “I see that you will not be dissuaded by mere words,” he said. “That leaves me no choice but to cut off your other options.”
He motioned for his guards to open the trapdoor. “Long ago I learned you cannot leave any other option but surrender. For if you do, the conquered will find a way to rise up against you. He must die, Nelay. But I will make it quick. We will give him an honorable funeral.”
“No!” she cried, charging toward Zatal. Three Immortals snatched her arms and held her back.
She looked down as the Immortals surrounding Rycus moved closer, awaiting the final order. He took a defensive stance and spared a single hopeless glance her way. Though emotions twisted inside her, Nelay forced herself to reset the field, only with a new objective—saving the man she loved.
“Give the order,” Zatal said to one of his guards, who walked toward the trapdoor.
“You harm him,” Nelay said to Zatal, “and I swear upon the goddess, I will kill you. No matter how many guards, no matter how many precautions, I will find a way around them.” She knew she had given him every reason to kill her, but she didn’t care. The Immortals tightened their grip on her until it hurt.
Zatal held out his hand, halting the Immortal who would pass on the order. The king’s eyes flashed, and Nelay realized he loved this—this life and death bargain. Conquering those he thought beneath him.
“But if you let him go,” Nelay went on quickly, “I’ll stay with you. I will bear you three sons. And then our bargain will be fulfilled and I will be free to do as I wish. These are the terms of my surrender.”
Zatal stroked his chin. “How do I know you won’t find a way to see him behind my back?”
“I’m sure you’re already planning to have me watched day and night.”
“Bring him to me,” Zatal called down below. Two Immortals motioned for Rycus to move.
A guard came up first while another shoved Rycus from behind. Zatal put a hand on Nelay’s shoulder and pushed her a half dozen steps back. He put his face right before hers. “I will show you that I can be merciful.”
Rycus slowly raised his head, his expression defiant, even as Zatal turned to face him. The king’s reaction was instantaneous. He swore violently and drew his dagger, charging Rycus and knocking him down. He tried to drive his dagger into Rycus, but Rycus held his forearms, not giving way.
“Did you know she was meant to be mine? Did you?” Zatal screamed, spit flying from his mouth.
Not understanding his sudden rage, Nelay struggled against the men holding her, but they held firm.
Rycus glared at him. “Not everything is about you, O great king.”
Nelay looked between the two men. Did they know each other?
The Immortals converged on Rycus and pinned his arms against the rooftop, leaving him defenseless.
Nelay writhed against the Immortals holding her. “Stop it! Leave him alone!”
Zatal pressed the tip of his knife to Rycus’s neck. “I should kill you now.”
Rycus’s jaw hardened—an expression Nelay was all too familiar with. Mercifully, he kept his sharp tongue still.
She went still. “If you do,” she said, her voice quivering, “by the Goddess, I will kill you.”
Zatal punched Rycus in the eye. Then he shook out his hand, pushed himself off the floor, and turned to Nelay. “Very well, I accept your terms. On one condition.” He pointed down at Rycus. “He must swear it as well.”
Rycus rolled to his side, covering his rapidly swelling eye with his hand. “I’m not much for promises, King.”
“Then you will die.” The rage had left Zatal’s face, leaving hard, cold hatred. “I don’t care who you are.”
Nelay looked between the two of them, wondering again if they had met before. Perhaps Rycus had smuggled for the king at some point . . . She shook her head. Whatever was between them didn’t matter. What mattered was that Rycus lived.
Suddenly he staggered to his feet and swung, his fist d
ropping one Immortal. He head butted the other. Nelay took advantage of one guard’s slack hold, twisting free. She kneed one between the legs and shoved the other.
She ran toward Rycus—to do what she wasn’t sure, but before she got there, a third guard held a sword to Rycus’s throat. “My king,” the guard said, “would you have me kill him?”
She froze as a line of blood ran down his neck. “Rycus! Stop!”
His gaze flashed to her. His eyes were wild, the veins in his face bulging. In that moment, she knew he wouldn’t stop fighting until he was dead. She couldn’t let that happen.
The players of the game fell into place effortlessly. She stepped forward and placed her palm on the edge of the blade, pushing it away from Rycus’s neck. It was sharp enough that it slipped inside her skin. She was betting the Immortals wouldn’t risk harming her, their future queen. She was right. As soon as the man saw the blood running down her hand, he withdrew his blade.
Nelay glanced at the wound at Rycus’s throat. He would have a scar, but it would heal. She looked into his eyes and saw the determination—the dauntless will. There was only one way to save his life. She tipped forward and kissed him. She could taste tears on her lips—whether hers or his she wasn’t sure. She pulled back and rested her forehead against his. “Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
Her heart ached at how quickly he’d said it, so full of conviction. “Then don’t make me live in a world you’re no longer a part of.” He stiffened. “Please, Rycus. I could not bear it.”
“Nelay . . .” There was so much hurt in his voice.
Her eyes welled with tears, but she fought to keep control. If she gave in to her emotions now, she was certain to lose this game. “Swear to me, Rycus. Swear that you will go into the desert. I’ll come to you when I can.” She had no intention of keeping her promise to the king.
Rycus’s body shuddered beneath her. “I can’t.”
“If there is any way out of this, I will find it. You have to trust me.”
He was silent for a long time. “Remember the stars?”