Page 30 of Heir

Sirsha gasped at the earth’s rage. She’d heard the earth growl before, and whisper. Occasionally, it laughed and teased Sirsha. Once, long ago, she heard it weep. But she’d never heard it roar.

A series of impressions crossed her mind. A gray cloak. A canteen and a cap fallen into the dirt, dropped by a shaking hand. A shadow. Human? Fey? The earth shriveled away from the memory of whoever had passed here. It gave her nothing more.

But Sirsha had the trail now. Strong and clear and heading directly south—to the city of Navium.

It was dawn before Sirsha joined scores of other travelers on the main road leading into Navium. She’d buried the bones because she hadn’t lost all semblance of decency. As a result, she was exhausted and grumpy, in sore need of a meal, a bath, and a nap. And perhaps new clothes.

But as Navium came into view over a rise, her hopes were dashed. The front gate was a tangled throng of adults, children, horses, carts, even a herd of cattle.

A young man carrying a baby across his chest rode nearby, and Sirsha called out to him. “What’s happening in the city?”

“Rathana.” The man pointed at a single dark blue flag flying high on the gates. “That’s the standard of Gens Aquilla. Our Empress is in residence. The guards only have one gate open, so they can properly check everyone.”

He gave her a dark look then, as if she might personally stick a knife in his precious ruler. “She’s a good woman, Empress Helene. I for one am pleased as pie that she’s spending Rathana with us.”

“Good for you,” Sirsha muttered when he’d turned back to the road.

The Empress being in town was a complication she hadn’t anticipated. This had happened before, more than a year ago when Sirsha was in Sadh. Tracking had been a nightmare, the city so busy that she couldn’t get a clear sense of the trail she’d been following. The dock agents were stricter, the city patrols more vigilant. There were Masks, horses, and healers at all the gates, in case the Empress was wounded or needed to escape an assassination attempt. The docks—even the tiny one with a fishy that sold the best fried cod in the Tribal Lands—were all shut down.

It was a mess. Navium was no different, it appeared.

By the time Sirsha persuaded a gate guard that she wasn’t planning to assassinate the Empress or her nephew, the crown prince, it was past noon. She smelled of cow dung and thought she’d faint from hunger.

A novice Inashi would collapse at this point. But Sirsha had trained at her mother’s knee, and few could match her stamina. She used her magic to skim through the city, searching for signs of her Kin. She found traces that were a few days old—but nothing current. When she’d assured herself that she was safe, she went looking for an inn.

Usually, she laid low at the Torius Arms near the massive, key-shaped cothon on the east side of Navium. The Empire kept their fleet there, and the merchant ship docks were the largest outside of Marinn. It was an easy place to go unnoticed.

But her client had given her gold for supplies—more than she could use in the time that this mission would take. So, she headed to Navium’s posh central district, the streets turning from packed mud to neatly tended cobbles. The stench of the gate crowd faded and Sirsha began to enjoy her walk, slowing as she passed an enormous mural.

The Battle of Sher Jinaat.The words were emblazoned at the base of the mural. On one side, the Empress of the Martials and the storyteller Laia of Serra stood, backed by an army of Scholars, Tribespeople, and Martials. In the shadows, with scims in hand, lurked the hooded figure of the famed warrior Elias Veturius, who’d persuaded the Empress to take up arms in the war. Opposite them, on the other side of the mural, the Nightbringer loomed, a gray-white vortex of agonized faces at his back, his sun eyes glaring.

Sirsha searched the rest of the mural, but her people weren’t represented at all, even though none of these vaunted heroes would have had a chance against the Nightbringer without them. It irked Sirsha to see them ignored, even if she wasn’t one of them anymore.

She walked on, stopping at a lovely inn with a front window depicting an ecstatic-looking stained-glass mermaid.

The innkeeper at the Mermaid’s Rest did not appear pleased to see—or smell—Sirsha. But he grew more amenable when she paid him a gold mark and didn’t ask for change. By the time the daylight faded, her horse was stabled, she had a belly full of chicken curry, she’d procured a better pack, supplies, and new clothes, and she was neck-deep in a bath that smelled like lilies.

Now this, Sirsha thought as she closed her eyes,is how all jobs should go.It had been ages since she’d had the coin for a proper bath. Mostly, she scrubbed herself off in cold water and hoped the beds she slept in didn’t have fleas.

A far cry from her life in the Cloud Forest. Her mother was a Raani of Kin Inashi, a woman who’d ruled over scores of families with Inashi leanings. She was a scenter, like her daughters, one of the strongest. While Sirsha hadn’t lorded that fact over the other children like her sister, she had enjoyed the finer things her mother’s position afforded her. Silks, dresses, gorgeous weapons—and her own bathing pool.

Her sister mocked her for it.You’re lazy and stupid and slow. You’d rather hide in the bath than serve the Kin.

Sirsha groaned. That was the second time today that she’d thought of her family, and it was two times too many. She pushed those memories away. They never led to anything good.

She turned instead to the job. She’d sensed the trail when she’d entered the city, but as before, it felt muted. It was possible the killer had passed through long ago. Or maybe she was still here, skulking about.

The wind rattled Sirsha’s window. It was a chill, clear night, and she was glad not to be out in the freezing—

Crack.

The window flew open, shattering the glass in one of the panes. Theair that blew in stank of a fresh-opened grave, icy and putrid. It curled around Sirsha and spoke.

Death and pain, blood and screams. Follow the bones.

The world spun and a wave of nausea washed over Sirsha. She clutched her stomach as she staggered out of the tub.

“How many dead?” she asked the wind. “And why do you care so damned much?”

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