When Marai had left, Kadiatu was a little girl, nine years old and gangly. Now, she was a young woman: fresh-faced, lovely, delicate, skin the color of dark cherry wood. Marai might not have recognized her if she’d come across Kadiatu somewhere else. She’d truly been gone for far too long.
“I restocked the herbal remedies,” said Thora in between bites. “We’re running low on certain items. We’ll need to go to Paracaso soon.”
Keshel nodded. “I’ve been taking more notes on fae history.”
“Haven’t you run out of texts by now?” Marai asked under her breath. What new information could he have found from the same old books he’d been reading for over a decade? What was the point of taking notes when he lived in the middle of the Badlands and would never go back to civilization?
Keshel ignored her. “And I swept the cave.”
Marai couldn’t tell. It looked exactly the same as it had when she’d arrived. Red dust always collected inside the cave, brought in by the canyon wind.
Everyone set down their plates, and all eyes returned to Marai. Did they expect her to make a report?
“I slept,” she stated in a bland tone. She intended to do more of the same now that dinner was over.
Aresti scowled. “What’s wrong with you?”
Marai stood, aiming to disappear for the rest of the night, but Leif stuck out a long leg, blocking her path to the bedroom.
“Aren’t you going to do the dishes? Everyone contributes. That’s the rule.”
With a groan, Marai collected the dirty plates and forks hand-carved from wood and clay. She carried them outside to the river, noticing that the sun had fully set. She really had slept a long time . . .
Once she stepped foot outside the cave, the canyon cloaked in indigo light, Marai released the tension in her chest, gazing upwards.
The desert sky was as vast and clear as on a southern beach. White flecks of stars littered the open black canvas. A half-moon hovered above Marai’s head, guiding her way to the river. On nights when the moon was full, the faeries didn’t need to use their magical flames to see. The desert would be illuminated in silver light. It was a comforting feeling that Marai was used to: the sense of smallness, insignificance. Marai didn’t mind the desert when she was outside. It was the cave and confinement that had always brought her anxiety and listlessness.
She knelt on the riverbank, removed her gloves, and scrubbed off the plates with her hands in the cool water. The temperature in the desert drastically declined at night, especially in the very early spring. Marai hastened her washing, then set the plates on a rock to dry. She slid off her boots and stepped into the river, fully clothed. Thora’s ointment had helped relieve the sunburn, but the crisp water continued to soothe Marai’s skin.
The lazy river wasn’t deep. Water lapped at Marai’s knees. This part wasn’t rocky; the riverbed was mostly sand. She lay on her back, letting the water keep her afloat, drifting slowly. She gazed up at that starlit sky and thought of the nights she’d spent with Ruenen. Grief clutched her heart again. Shame climbed the stairs of her spine.
I don’t want to feel this anymore. She didn’t care where the river took her. She knew further down the canyon were rapids. She wouldn’t try to swim to shore. She’d let the river drag her under. She deserved it.
Someone coughed on the shoreline.
Marai shifted her head to see Keshel. The corners of his eyes and mouth were tight. Marai trudged back to the bank, her body now as numb as her soul.
“I needed to bathe,” she said, feeling the need to explain herself as he stared at her, unflinching. “You don’t have to guard me. I’m not a child.” Her tone came across flat, not at all edged and sharp as a blade. Not like it used to be.
“I thought you’d want to talk in private.”
The night was still and so was Keshel. He’d wait patiently forever, as long as it took for her to speak. He’d always been that way—steadfast, calm. All the things Marai wasn’t.
“I only see pieces in my visions. I know you sailed on a ship. I know something happened onboard that made you wear black and become a killer. And I know you were traveling with a young man who happened to be the Nevandian prince; that you were both brought to the Tacorn dungeon,” Keshel said softly.
Marai flinched at each sentence, her armor cracking, crumbling. She couldn’t look at him. Her story, her life, whittled down to a few simple points. A sad, harsh reality of what she’d become.
“Permit yourself to be vulnerable, Marai,” continued Keshel. “Your humanity is a strength, not a weakness. It’s why the prince trusted you.”
Marai split open.
Tears cascaded down her cheeks, sobs wracked her body. She covered her face in her hands as shoes scuffed the dirt. Arms wrapped around her, lightly, hesitantly at first, then Keshel pulled her into his chest. She hated it. She hated this physical contact, but she didn’t have the energy or will to fight him. The embrace made her cry harder.
“I failed him,” she said into his shirt. “I was supposed to protect him.”
“Is he dead?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know.”
Keshel placed one hand on her head and gently stroked. It was such an intimate gesture; something people did to those they loved. Keshel never held her before as a child. How could he be so gentle? His visions were limited. He hadn’t seen how many lives she’d taken. He hadn’t seen every soul-tainting sin. If he had, he wouldn’t treat her this way. He would know better than to cradle a monster.
“If he’s not dead yet, he will be,” Marai said, clinging to him tighter. “And it’s my fault. I ran away. I was supposed to protect him.”
“If you care about him, why don’t you go after him?”
“Because I can’t,” she shouted and wrenched herself from his embrace. No one should touch her. Deserters and murderers didn’t deserve such tenderness. “My magic hasn’t recovered enough. I can’t summon anything.”
Her magic was an empty well, filled with nothing but red dust. She couldn’t feel its tingle in her fingers; the awesome power as it once snaked under her skin.
“What does this have to do with magic?” Keshel asked.
Marai lifted up her blackened fingertips to the moonlight. Keshel’s eyes snapped wide open as he stared, understanding clicked into place.
“I used it all, and took too much. And now . . . I can’t get back to him,” Marai said. “I created a portal, a door between places. I stepped through and ended up here. When I turned back to Ruenen, the portal sealed and I couldn’t open it again.”
Keshel stared at her stained fingers, brows pinched as if he was solving a difficult mathematical equation. Marai couldn’t hold back the secrets any longer. She dug around in her pants pocket until she felt the cool metal band. She held out her hand to Keshel, revealing the jasper bloodstone ring, flecked with dots reminiscent of blood. It truly was cursed; the cause of so much of her grief. Keshel’s expression darkened and Marai knew he held his tongue, biting back an answer. What did he know about her magic? The ring?
“I’d leave now, go back to him in a heartbeat, if my magic wasn’t depleted,” she said, pocketing the ring once again. “The hunters will take him to King Rayghast’s castle in Dul Tanen. They’ll have horses, but I’d be traveling on foot to Tacorn, which would take me at least a month. Even if I left tonight, Ruen would be dead by the time I arrive. I don’t know how to help him.”
