“Have you had a lot of unwanted visitors?” she asked Raife as they stepped out onto the copper dirt of the canyon. Oppressive, dry heat engulfed her. Marai shielded her eyes from the blazing sun.
Damn, I should’ve taken the hat.
“Same as always. Wanderers, vagrants, explorers come around every few months. Most of them are deterred by Keshel’s shields, but sometimes they cross through and we have to deal with them.”
Keshel wasn’t only gifted with sight. He also had an affinity for magical barriers, wards against humans who came sniffing. Some invisible shields were impenetrable; those were the strongest and required the most magic, but he couldn’t hold those in place for too long. Another type created mirages, concealing the fae and their little home carved into the canyon wall from view.
But every so often, a human would pass through the wards, ignoring the signs of magic. It happened usually when Keshel was tired or asleep. Marai remembered several instances as a child when they all hid in the cave, silently, as they waited for a human to leave their territory.
Once, a man entered their cave, seeing as it was the only shelter from the harsh terrain for miles. The first time any of them took a life was when an escaped Ehle convict had sought safety in the carved out dwelling. Marai still remembered how Leif had charged the man, half his size. It took four of them, Keshel, Leif, Raife, and Aresti, to take the convict down. The man’s blood coated the cave floor. Marai and Thora had sopped it up with their own blankets. Keshel, Leif, and Raife buried the body a mile away in the hot sun.
Something had changed in Leif that day. From then on, he’d viewed the world through a pessimistic haze.
Raife had then created patrol shifts to help avoid those types of situations again. They took shifts overseeing the borders of their little valley, in case anyone got past Keshel’s wards. Raife, Leif, Aresti, and eventually Marai, took on those duties. They were the best with weapons. Kadiatu cultivated her garden, Thora healed, cleaned, cooked, everything a mother was expected to do. And Keshel read. Hours and hours of endless reading. Books he’d taken during the massacre. Books he’d found along the way.
Raife and Marai followed the snaking river through the narrow ravine. Along the shoreline, Marai trampled over patches of grass and tall reeds. They didn’t speak, but the silence didn’t feel awkward. Raife had always understood Marai’s moods best. He never picked, never scolded, never pulled rank. He never treated Marai like she was a nuisance or about to explode, as his twin did. No, Raife had always let Marai be Marai, and in his presence, she began to settle.
Until the silent walking reminded her of those days with Ruenen in the White Ridge Mountains.
Marai stiffened and sucked in a breath. Raife’s eyes snapped to her, but said not a word. Like the clouds dappling the sky, Marai let the memories drift away, and she relaxed again.
They crossed to the other side of the river before the current became too strong up ahead. They’d labeled this area, where the river turned deep, rocky, and hostile, the boundaries of their land. As a child, Marai used to go beyond to explore, climbing over the massive sandstone boulders on the shoreline, and would always come home to a berating from the others.
“It’s not safe,” Thora used to say.
“If you get lost out there, I’m not coming to find you,” Leif would taunt.
“Stop trying to be brave, Marai,” Aresti would snap. “You’ll end up dead.”
Marai hadn’t cared. She’d always wanted to see more. She’d always wanted to experience life. And she had . . . she’d seen and done many things. Things that would cause Thora to gasp, Keshel to shake his head, Leif and Aresti to shut their mouths.
Sweat trickled down her back, chest and neck, but Marai didn’t mind. She’d always relished the sun and heat. Once on the other side, Marai and Raife walked back towards the cave. Raife stopped to fill up his waterskin. He took his time, and watched Marai while he gulped down the contents.
“What’s the ocean like?” he asked after a moment.
Marai stared down the winding canyon pass. “It’s another world. The water can be calm, and the next minute, it crashes upon the beach with such force it can knock you off your feet, or a boat off course. Stronger than the rapids down the river. And it’s so vast, you can’t see anything but blue. You don’t know if you’ll ever see land again, like you and your boat are one tiny speck drifting along endlessly.”
Marai took a breath, as if trying to summon the briny sea breeze, but all she inhaled was dust.
“I’d always wanted to see it as a boy,” Raife said with a wistful sigh. “Were you ever scared out there on the sea? Being so alone?”
Marai hadn’t been alone. She’d been a member of Slate’s pirate crew, exploring and stealing across the seas. She’d thought, at the time, that she’d found her rightful place. Her home. Love. But she’d been wrong about it all. Captain Slate Hemming had never loved her. He’d used her for her body and for her magic. It was a scar that still hadn’t faded.
But she didn’t say all that to Raife. Instead, Marai shrugged and said, “Sometimes, but that was what made it so exciting.”
Raife gave her a wry smile. “You always had a strange sense of adventure.”
“And you’ve never strayed from the cave.”
“I do miss the trees,” said Raife in a voice so distant it sounded like a memory. “The whispering wind through the leaves. The chirp of sparrows. Leif and I used to climb up and return any eggs that fell from their nests. We’d run barefoot in verdant summer grass. True children of the forest. I’ve been wanting to go back to our ancestral home in the North.”
“Why haven’t you?” Marai asked. Raife was gritty enough; he could’ve set out on his own.
Raife stood and picked up his bow again. “I’d feel guilty leaving them all. I don’t think I’d make it far before turning back. Besides, Leif would never let me go alone.”
She hadn’t felt guilty for leaving all those years ago. Eventually, though, guilt always catches up.
Raife handed her the waterskin and she took a sip. “The humans . . . did they ever discover what you are?”
The waterskin froze at Marai’s mouth. “A few times.”
“Did they ever hurt you?” Raife’s freckled face darkened.
“One of them,” Marai said, “but I hurt him more.”
A savage smile grew on her lips at the memory of slicing across Captain Slate Hemming’s handsome face. His roguish smile was forever ruined, thanks to Marai; if he lived at all after the fire on his beloved Nightmare.
But Ruenen, the second human to know her full truth, he’d never hurt her. And Marai knew he never would have, if she’d given him the chance. If she hadn’t condemned him to death.
Marai reached for her magic, checking, but she hardly felt a flicker. Not a pulse. She was too drained; her magic hadn’t recovered. Or perhaps, like her heart, it had closed itself off.
Raife started walking again. “What else did you see out there in the world?”
“The White Ridge Mountains of Grelta—”
“Snow?” Raife asked, eyes alighting with interest. “Gods, I can barely remember the cold.”
Marai snorted. “Oh, I’ve seen my fair share of snow. And northern blizzards. I’ve seen the big cities of Fensmuir, Veilheim, Chiojan in Varana, Havenfiord in the Middle Kingdoms.” She glanced at Raife. He listened intently, lips parted.
