“What makes you think we’ll find any of your family outside of that hole in your mountain? Caemus said no one’s seen them, and word is they’re all trapped in there.”
Wren, unfortunately, was no longer broodingly silent. She and Synové had wanted to ride into Hell’s Mouth demanding answers as representatives of the queen. I told her all we’d end up with was two more prisoners to worry about. If Paxton had run the Ballengers underground, had commandeered the town and arena, and had taken Kazi as a prisoner, he wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to them. But as Kbaaki traders, we’d get some answers at the arena, and then more information from my family. Once we knew exactly what and whom we were dealing with, we’d make our moves. Still, Wren had poked and prodded me ever since we left, trying to unravel my plan. I stopped Mije. The itching, the worry, the fear was finally getting the best of me.
“What do you want me to do? Nothing?” I shouted. I heard the strain in my voice, the lack of control, and I hated it.
“Whoa, slow down, boy,” Synové ordered. “We’re on the same side, remember?”
I swallowed. Same side. Sometimes it didn’t feel like it.
Wren raised an unaffected brow. “This is what I do, Patrei. I work out the kinks in plans, and yours has them all over the place.”
“There’s something he’s not telling us,” Synové said. “I can see it in his eyes.”
The only kink I had was the one in my neck from Synové always trying to interpret what I was thinking, and from Wren, who kept asking questions I had no answers for.
“There’s nothing in my eyes but trail dust.”
“Give it up, Patrei,” Wren demanded. “Come clean with us.”
“You just have to trust me,” I answered. There were some things we didn’t share outside of the family—ever.
Wren rolled her eyes. “Trust you?”
But she knew she had to. I knew this mountain. I knew trails she could never find. I knew my family. And most of all, I knew where one of those powerful weapons was hidden. Paxton and Truko had declared a war, and I was going to give it to them—once I got Kazi back. Everything hinged on that first. What about Rybart? Caemus hadn’t mentioned him. Maybe he was cut out
of Paxton and Truko’s plans. I might have to make a side deal with him and enlist his help.
“Remember,” Synové chirped, “we’re only pretending to be your trusting, loyal wives.”
“And that’s only if we encounter anyone in these forsaken woods,” Wren added. “In the meantime, we’re Rahtan looking for a fellow soldier.”
I shot her a skeptical glance. I knew Kazi was far more than just a fellow soldier to them. They were twisted almost as tight as I was. Not to mention, they were—
I shook my head. My wives. They were dressed as Kbaaki too, their faces painted like mine. Synové wore a jeweled earring in her brow too. There was no more jewelry at the settlement, so Wren had pulled her fur hat low, forcing her dark curls over her brows. It made her piercing eyes peeking from beneath them appear even more ominous.
I sighed. I had Kbaaki wives looking over my shoulder.
There were so many things I didn’t want to think about. That we were sneaking into my own territory. That Samuel might be hurt—or worse if the letter was true. That Beaufort had played the Ballengers for complete and utter fools. That Paxton had taken over everything. That I hadn’t killed him one of the many times I’d had the chance.
Most of all, I didn’t want to think about Synové’s dream. Kazi chained and bloody, lying on a dark prison floor. Still as a statue, she had said. I had grabbed her arms and shouted, But was she alive, Synové? Her tears had stopped, but her eyelashes were still clumped together in wet spikes, her eyes swollen and red. Her mouth fell open. I don’t know, she had whispered. She was soaked in blood. She wasn’t moving. I don’t know if she was alive. And then she began crying again. Caemus had shot me a wary glance, as if Synové confirmed his suspicions, and I stormed out of the shed. Wren had found me leaning against a wall trying to breathe. I was still bare chested, and she laid a cloak over my shoulders and whispered, Kazi said sometimes dreams are only dreams, the same as any other. That’s all it was. We have to believe that.
Only a dream, I told myself. That’s all it was. An ugly dream that I couldn’t shake.
I watched the sky grow darker as we crossed a ridge. Once we were on the north face of the mountains, the wind became fierce, whipping at my cloak and hat. In minutes the sky filled with rolling black clouds. “Dammit,” I said under my breath, looking at the heavens. Were the gods against me? No doubt Wren would toss this up as one of the kinks in my plan. I could taste the storm in the air. Salt, metal, and pine, the taste of mountain being swept into the sky. A heavy storm was coming, the kind that sent animals running into their caves and dens, the kind of storm that brought inches, maybe even feet of snow—not the dust we’d been getting. We’d have to make camp early. I knew of a sizable ruin less than a mile away that would shelter both us and the horses.
By the time we reached the ruin, tucked in a dark part of the forest, the snow had already begun swirling in biting gusts, the air so cold the coin-sized snowflakes clung to our furs whole and bright, refusing to melt. Synové and Wren both looked like they were wearing sharp, glittering crowns.
I got a fire going quickly, and while Wren unwrapped food and cut a fat loaf of bread that Jurga had sent with us, I mentally recalculated our path. If too much snow fell, some narrow trails would be impassable and other routes would make our trek even longer. I pulled the saddle from Mije, angry, twisting carelessly to set it down, and a sharp pain stabbed at my side. I doubled over and dropped the saddle, forcing back the groan in my throat. I didn’t want Wren and Synové to think I was a liability. On the outside the wounds were healing, but inside, some parts were still torn and raw.
It didn’t escape Wren’s notice. “Those were some pretty spectacular wounds you got, Patrei. No one ever taught you to roll and duck?”
My stupidity burned in me. I should have pulled back as soon as I saw the tumbled spires. I should have retreated into the forest with Kazi and assessed the threat. But it had been so still, so quiet. So empty. No lights shone from any of the remaining towers. It all looked so desolate and I was drawn into its black void. Instead of turning away from the threat, I had raced right into it, determined to save my home, risking something I loved even more—Kazi. I would never forgive myself if—
I straightened, defying the pull in my gut. “My wounds aren’t so spectacular. And you could call me Jase.”
They looked at each other as if weighing the thought, then laughed.
“So, Patrei,” Synové said as she laid out our cloaks around the fire, “you and Kazi ever get a chance to open that gift I gave you?” She plopped down on the soft fur, her long copper braid gleaming in the firelight, and smiled, waiting for a full accounting.