Page 118 of Heir

“Shut it,” Sirsha said, but she could think of nothing else. This was what she hated the most about R’zwana. Not what she said but how she made Sirsha feel, like a helpless child again, at the mercy of her vindictive big sister.

“Well”—R’zwana grinned at her nastily—“perhaps I’ll get a chance to tell him about it. Seeing as we’ve decided to travel with you.”

“R’zwana.” J’yan appeared, hair still tousled from sleep. “Leave her be.”

R’z grunted in irritation. “Still pining after her, I see,” she said before disappearing back inside the cabin.

Sirsha and J’yan both looked after R’zwana before he turned back to Sirsha. “I’m not,” J’yan said. “Pining after you.”

Sirsha smiled. “I know that,” she said. “I’ve seen you pine. Whatever happened to N’ral?”

“She and a daughter of the Songma Kin swore an oath.” J’yan sighed theatrically. “My poor broken heart.”

“Can’t say I blame her. Who would want to be with an ugly goat like you?”

J’yan chuckled, a singular, hiccupping sound. It was the first time she’d heard him laugh in years. His smile was warm as he regarded Sirsha. “I missed you,” he said quietly. “So much. My greatest regret is that I didn’t stand up for you. It haunts me, Sirsha.”

“What’s done is done.” Sirsha looked pointedly after her sister. “Unlike some people, I don’t gnaw at old wounds. I’m going to make some biscuits. Saddle the horses?”

“Sirsha—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said. “It was years ago now. I’ve left it in the past.”

“But maybe that’s not where it belongs,” J’yan said. “You’ll have to tell him eventually.”

Sirsha walked away from him. “But not yet.”

33

Aiz

Even as Aiz realized where Mother Div’s spirit was, and that it must be a Durani who was keeping the cleric captive, the wall of sand roaring toward her and Ruh finally hit. It ripped at the wagons, pulled stakes from the ground, sent lanterns flying.

But Aiz did not care, because she knew from the way her blood tingled that Mother Div was close.

“Where is Tregan?” she called to Ruh.

“In the pen! Oh—” Ruh’s eyes went wide at the man striding purposefully through the dust toward them. Elias.

Aiz grabbed the wind and shoved it at him, a wall that knocked him off his feet.

“Thank you, Ruh!” She took his shoulders, drawing his gaze even as he tried to see what had happened to his father. “Go to your ama’s wagon! Get safe!”

The livestock pen wasn’t far. As Aiz approached, Tribespeople were pulling the frightened horses from the pen and picketing them between the wagons to protect them from the storm. Everyone had their heads down. Faces covered.

No one looked at her. The stars were blocked by the dust. Aiz could barely see her hand in front of her face. If she was willing to ride without a saddle, she could get out of here and no one would be the wiser. The pen was on the southern edge of the encampment.

But where would she go? WherewasHoly Div being held in that maze of spires and ravines and canyons?

Mother Div, she called out.I know you are angry and weakened. Forgive me. But I am close. Guide me. Tell me where to go.

Silence. And then a suggestion of a whisper.North. Toward the tallest pinnacle.

Aiz searched the remaining beasts for Tregan’s brown coat. Someone—Tas, she thought—gestured at her, but Aiz ignored him and grabbed Tregan’s bridle, leading her out of the pen.

Aiz swept the wind away from them. A lamp flared—one of the sentries trying to get her attention.

But they had to contend with the storm, and Aiz did not. She called her power to her, and whether it was because Mother Div was near, or she had finally learned the discipline to control it, the wind came, bending to her will like her own body. She cleared the dust from her and Tregan’s faces, and opened a path through the storm.

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