Page 22

With a sigh, Dom lowered his hood. Even in the dune shade, his golden hair gleamed and his scars stood out, red and ruinous. He looked back to Corayne, to Sorasa, to Sigil, to the horizon that was both a shield and a threat.

“By the gods of Glorian, I pray that day never comes,” he said.

Andry blew out a slow breath. “By the gods of the Ward, so do I.”

The squire did not consider himself religious, like many of his compatriots back in Ascal, who dedicated their swords and shields to mighty Syrek. Nor even like his mother, who prayed every morning at her hearth, calling to the cleansing fires of Fyriad the Redeemer. But still he hoped one of the gods of the pantheon would hear them, and the gods of Glorian too. Whatever god there was to listen, across the many infinite realms.We certainly need you.

“I bid you both to sleep,” Valtik said, suddenly so close she might have popped out of the sand. Her wrinkled white face leered beneath her gray braids, woven with fangs and fresh jasmine. Where she’d found such a flower in the desert, Andry did not know.

“Away, Witch,” Dom muttered, drawing up his hood again.

She barely reacted, her lightning-blue eyes locked on Andry. “Sleep,” she said again. “Look forward, forget the creatures of the deep.”

It was not the sea serpents of Meer or even the kraken that plagued Andry’s mind, but he nodded anyway, if only to keep the witch moving along.

“I will,Gaeda,” he said, using the Jydi word forgrandmother. One of a few Corayne had taught him.

He looked past the dunes, up into the desert sky. The pink wash of sunrise had given over to searing blue. Every second ticked against them, and Andry felt it keenly, as he felt a cloak of exhaustion settle on his shoulders.

“The Falcons may not want to kill us, but they’re certainly slowing us down,” he muttered.

Dom growled in agreement.

At the edge of the rudimentary training circle, the onlooking Falcons whispered back and forth. One of them cracked a cruel smile, his sharp eyes darting over Sorasa.

Andry tensed, his jaw tightening, as he remembered the other Falcon’s warning.

They kept talking, louder now. Still in their own language, but the hateful tone was clear even to Andry. Sorasa didn’t react, gathering her gear.

Corayne didn’t share such restraint. She snapped back in Ibalet, the words as harsh and hard as her black-eyed stare.

The Falcons only roared with laughter, watching her pace across the sand to join Andry and Dom.

“You speak our tongue well!” the tallest one shouted at her, raising a finger to his brow in salute. “Has the snake been teaching you that too?”

“I only teach her what is useful,” Sorasa answered, crossing the sand without so much as a glance. “Speaking with you is not useful.”

Then it was Corayne’s and Sigil’s turn to laugh, smothering their grins with battered hands. The Falcons lost their keen smiles, all three of their faces dropping into scowls. The tall one took a step forward, his black brow furrowed into a grim line.

“The Heir only wants the girl,” he said loudly, his voice meant to carry. He took measured steps, eager to put himself in Sorasa’s path. “We should cut the snake’s head off and leave her to rot.”

Dom’s lip curled and he shifted, planting himself between Sorasa and the Falcon’s cold eyes.

“You are very welcome to try, boy,” the Elder said, staring down at the Falcon. “Would you like to meet that goddess of yours?”

To the Falcon’s credit, he did not flinch or show fear, even as death itself loomed over him.

“You must be getting slow,” the Falcon called around Dom’s form. “I didn’t know Amhara needed bodyguards.”

Sorasa’s response was faster than her whip.

“We Amhara have many weapons, not all of them blades.” She spun as she carried on, walking backward. This time, she smiled as wide as she could, her tiger eyes malicious with joy. “Sleep well, Falcon,” she called, blowing him a kiss.

The Falcon recoiled as he would from a disgusting insect.

“Relax, Elder,” Sorasa added, turning back around. “These birds are all song.”

Sigil moved to flank Dom, a half smile across her bronze face. She swept a lock of black hair out of her eyes, rolling her broad, muscular shoulders.