Page 123 of Heir

And then take her people home.

Aiz turned away from the carnage of the chamber, fixed the image of the Kegari homeland in her mind, and met Mother Div’s waiting gaze.

“Life,” Aiz said. “I want life. For myself. For the Kegari.”

“Good.” Mother Div nodded. “Then let us begin.”

34

Quil

Sirsha was gone when Quil awoke. For a moment, he feared she’d left, desperate to escape any awkwardness with him and any bloodshed with her sister. But someone—Sirsha, he assumed—had left a still-hot biscuit atop his pack. He didn’t think she’d leave him breakfast if she was planning to abscond.

He found her beside their saddled horses outside, finishing a cup of tea and flipping through his copy ofRecollectionsby Rajin of Serra, frowning in disagreement at something he’d written.

Moments later, when Sirsha turned toward Quil, he lost his breath. Her dark hair was piled high on her head, and something about her expression, haughty and cold, but softening a touch when she looked at him, made his blood heat. He thought of last night, the warmth of her skin, the arch of her neck when she’d thrown her head back, the languor in her body when she sank into his arms, spent.

Everything felt sharper with her, stronger. He marveled at it. It’d been a long time since his body had felt anything but sorrow and exhaustion.

Sirsha’s stern demeanor faltered at something on his face, and her brow furrowed.

Probably because you’re leering at her.

He looked around, as if taking in the storm’s damage, though he didn’t give a fig. “R’zwana’s gone?”

At that exact moment, the Raan-Ruku appeared at the edge of the forest like a freshly summoned demon.

“Finally finished primping, prince? Let’s go.”

Quil glanced at Sirsha’s storm cloud face. “It might not be the worstidea,” he said. “You mentioned that the killer was unlike anything you’d encountered before. R’zwana is useless, but maybe J’yan could help.”

“J’yan’s a battle Jaduna, prince,” Sirsha said. “He’ll help in fighting the thing, not tracking it. And I can’t pinpoint it. Sometimes it’s due east, sometimes south. Sometimes it disappears entirely. We could waste days riding up and down the Thafwan coast looking for that camp. Days we’ll have to spend withher.”

“We keep heading east.” Quil drew on the reserve of calm that usually came to him when someone dear to him grew agitated. “Keep to the forests. The coast isn’t far. But we are short on time. The longer we’re out here, the more likely the Kegari are to spot us.”

Sirsha glanced at him, head tilted. A slow smile spread across her face.

“Now that,” she said, “is an excellent idea.”

Four afternoons later, Quil and Sirsha were hidden in a clearing thickly bordered by trees and brush. R’zwana and J’yan had the horses a quarter mile away while Quil and Sirsha built up a fire.

The coast was miles away, and the Thafwan highlands had flattened into low hills and a patchwork of farmland. It was beautiful country, badly marred by burned-out barns and plumes of smoke that smudged the skyline.

The Thafwans, it seemed, had refused to host a Kegari war camp. And like in Jibaut, the Kegari appeared to have insisted.

Sirsha silently dropped a brace of rabbits on a stone next to the fire and prepared them for spitting. Quil glanced at her face, even more beautiful when she was intensely focused, as she had been the past few days. As they’d traveled, she’d stopped for long minutes, her hand to the ground, her head bent, listening to the whispers of the elements, so lostin them that he wanted to reach out and touch her shoulder to make sure she would come back.

But then, at night, she would find him. Usually after he finished his watch, sometimes before.

He always knew what she wanted, because he wanted the same with a surging desire that made his head spin. Last night, she’d led him away from the encampment, shoved him against a tree, and they’d kissed each other senseless. His hands had wandered, so had hers, and in the end, she’d bit his shoulder to keep from waking their companions, sending him over the edge.

Focus, Quil.

He fed the fire patiently as Sirsha set up a spit, and within an hour, they had two rabbits turning and wild onions baking in the fire’s ashes.

The smell of roasting meat made Quil’s mouth water. He wasn’t the only one. The smoke curled thick and white into the sky above. A Sail that had been nothing but a stain on the horizon drew closer, circling them once before winging away.

“He’ll be back,” Quil said.

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