Page 113 of Heir

Aiz watched her in fear, waiting for her to call for her Tribespeople. To demand the book be taken away. But the old woman shivered.

“An ill dream,” she muttered, looking foggily at Aiz, as if she didn’t remember the past few minutes. “You—you were looking for a story. I cannot help. I am tired. I need rest. Please—the door—”

The woman shoved Aiz into the windy night. Aiz’s mind reeled at the little she’d learned—and at everything she hadn’t.Mother Div, how?Aiz asked.How did you make the Kehanni forget? Why?

I used every scrap of strength I had saved to empty her mind.Mother Div’s voice quivered with rage.I cannot help you now. I must recover. Until you find me, daughter of Kegar, you are on your own.

I’ve been on my own!The wrath Aiz had spent so many months controlling, suppressing, denying now ricocheted through her mind. Shewanted to shout at that useless old woman back there, to demand to know why Laia had recognized the book and yet seen nothing on its pages. She raged at Mother Div herself.

Why me?she screamed in her mind.Why choose me if you don’t trust me? If you don’t think I can free you?

Mother Div did not answer.

Aiz hurried through the streets toward Tribe Saif’s caravan, shielding her face from the thick clouds of dust the wind had churned up. As the familiar wagons came into sight, she threw her shoulders back and lifted her chin. She’d been here for weeks now. Laia knew her—trusted her with her child. Already, Aiz was coming up with an explanation for the book.It was holy, Kehanni. A gift not meant for outsiders. My beliefs are different from yours. Would you have me forsake them?

As she passed the outskirts of the camp, a shadow fell over her, her arms were wrenched in front of her, and she was pulled to the shadows between two wagons. She looked up into the pale, assessing stare of Elias Veturius. The point of his scim dug against her heart as a desert howler raged around them. Her fingers twitched, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to call the wind before he ran her through.

“Ilar,” he said. “A word.”

Nothing in Elias’s mien resembled the father who threw his son on his shoulders, the man who taught dozens of children everything from history to archery with humor and patience.

This was the soldier. The killer. The monster.

“My wife returned to camp not two minutes ago,” he said. “She was confused. She could barely speak. But she did say you couldn’t be trusted.”

“She’s upset.” Aiz’s anger faded into alarm, and she fought to steady her breathing. “I understand. But I didn’t do anything wrong.”

The scim pressed closer. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Aba, no!” Ruh came hurtling from the camp. Aiz wanted to hug himin relief. If this Martial brute would listen to anyone, it would be the ten-year-old child who had more sense than him.

“Ruh.” Elias lowered his scim, but Aiz didn’t dare move in case he decided to skewer her with it. “Go back to your ama’s wagon. There’s a sandstorm coming in fast, love. It’s not safe out here.”

“Let go of Ilar.” Ruh grabbed his father’s hand, and Elias clenched his jaw, marshalling his self-control.

“Ruh!” Elias said. “Your mother’s not feeling well. You need to go to her. Tell her everything is all right. I won’t hurt Ilar. I promise.”

Ruh looked worriedly at his father and then ran away. Aiz wanted to shout at him to come back.

“Are you in the habit of lying to your son?”

Elias’s jaw twitched. “Laia says you’re dangerous. That you can’t be trusted. She said we must send you away. But she won’t say more. She’s fuzzy—she doesn’t seem to remember what happened in the wagon. Tell me why. Is my family in danger from you?”

She forced herself to meet Elias’s gaze, but it was so merciless that she quickly looked away. Quil approached, slowing down as he took in the scene before him. Elias shook his head at Quil, his face forbidding enough that the younger man backed away.

Weak!Quil would never go against Elias. Certainly not for Aiz.

“Answer the question, Ilar,” Elias said. “And do not make the mistake of lying to me.”

“You’re not in danger from me,” Aiz said. “I am looking for my Holy Cleric. I found her story in a book, but she—she speaks to me in my head, and she told me not to talk about the book.”

Elias nodded. “I believe that is the first fully honest sentence you have uttered in the entire three months you’ve been with us,” he said. “You’re not Ankanese. Where are you from?”

“I’m from a forgotten place,” Aiz spat out, her anger turning her face hot, making her hands shake. “A place with no hope. I came here to finda future for my people. But you wouldn’t understand that, would you, Martial?”

“My son Ruh,” Elias said. “You involved him in the hunting of this story. He told me as much. Did you tell him to keep it a secret from us?”

Aiz nodded, looking around, hoping now that Quil could come back, or the Zaldar, even one of Elias’s other children.

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