Page 103

Thunder rattled the clouds, and lightning soon followed. We were riding on the wings of a gathering storm. The winds grew violent and chased us over the Cuiyan Ocean.

Shielding myself from the rain, I rose to my knees and peeked over the rim of the basket. Led by Kiki, twenty birds flew alongside my brothers, unfazed by the storm.

“Where are we?” I asked.

Kiki didn’t glance back. Not far from the Tambu Isles.

“So quickly?”

The winds are helping. Only good thing I can say about this storm.

I rested my elbow on the rim of the basket and clutched one of the silk ropes as I gazed down. Dark clouds obscured my view, but if I stared through the gaps, I could make out the hundreds of islets dappling the storm-lit sea. Raikama’s homeland.

A lump rose to my throat, and I swallowed it down, focusing on the distant horizon. We’d have to land before sunrise, or my brothers would lose their wings while still flying over the water.

The rain was growing stronger, and wind pounded the basket, twanging the ropes as if they were zither strings. My stomach dipped, and I ducked down again, reaching for Takkan.

His head lay by my feet, eyes pinched shut. Bandur’s amulet weighed on his chest, heavy as a grindstone, dark and ominous. I wanted to free him of the burden, but I didn’t dare touch it. Another lashing of thunder cracked the sky, but Takkan’s breath barely hitched. I had a feeling whatever he faced in his sleep was far worse.

Gently, I brushed the rain from his cheeks. His skin was cold, and I rubbed his hands in mine, trying to warm them.

The last time I had tended to him like this, I’d hardly known him—in fact, I’d resented his very existence. I had stitched up his wounds with all the care I’d show a pair of old trousers. From the looks of it, he still bore the scars.

Heat rose to my cheeks. Thank the Strands, my brothers were too busy flying to notice me staring through the rips in Takkan’s tunic at his muscles and smooth skin. I’d never hear the end of it.

“I should’ve known it was you,” Takkan murmured, his eyelids blearily peeling open.

“What?” I scooted closer worriedly. “What did you say?”

“All those uneven stitches you made on me.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Same as in the apology tapestry you sent. That should’ve been my hint that it was you, Shiori.”

I couldn’t help my reflexes. I punched his shoulder, probably harder than I should have.

“Did that hurt?” I asked, feeling immediately awful. “Are you”—my gaze went down to the amulet on his chest—“hurt?”

Takkan choked back a laugh. “No. I deserved that.”

His eyes were open now, but they lacked their usual spirit. “You should take my weapons,” he said hoarsely. “I won’t let Bandur hurt you, even if he takes my body—but it’s better to be safe, just in case.”

I bit down on my cheek and gave a nod. I saw only the carved birch bow he’d carried when we’d first met. Painted on the widest part of its grip was Takkan’s family crest: a rabbit on a mountain, surrounded by five plum blossoms—and a full white moon. I picked it up. “Anything else?”

“The dagger on my belt. Two knives in my boot.”

“No sword?”

“Didn’t bring it.”

I gave him a narrow look. “What sentinel doesn’t bring his sword?”

“The one you foolishly bound yourself to.” A small smile touched his mouth. “I’m a better archer than swordsman, anyway. It would’ve been extra weight.”

Fair enough. I stashed the dagger in my sash, then found the knives. I was starting to put them away when the amulet’s chain began to twist around Takkan’s neck.

“He’s waking,” he rasped. “Shiori…get away from me—”

Takkan covered the amulet with his hands, trying to hold Bandur inside. All color drained from his face. His eyes flickered, earthy brown one moment, then red as demonfire the next.

“Takkan.” I reached for his arm, trying to help.