Page 58 of Heir

“Look at me.” She held out her skinny wrists. “I couldn’t do her any harm.”

“Trouble comes in strange packages.” The innkeeper exchanged another glance with Neita, and they appeared to come to a decision without speaking.

“We thank you for your custom,” Neita said. “But you’ll wish to find lodgings elsewhere for the night.”

In moments, Neita hustled Aiz out the door and back to the dusty streets of Sadh. Tregan was shoved out too, and they both stared at the courtyard gate, latched and locked against them.

Tregan whinnied, sensing Aiz’s irritation, and she rubbed the mare between her ears. “We’ll have to go about this another way.”

The day was swelteringly hot, enough that Aiz was tempted to call the wind—only a trickle, to cool her brow. But there might be Jaduna in Sadh’s streets, so she resisted, sweating her way through the city, into markets and caravanserais, looking for those who spoke Ankanese. She wasn’t fool enough to bring up Laia’s name again. Instead, she made small talk, learning of the desert beyond Sadh. She listened to a Kehanni tell a tale in a market square and paid a young merchant’s assistant a few pennies to translate for her.

“I was not given this tale by a stranger, nor was it overheard aroundthe fire. I speared it in the far west,” the Kehanni said, “after searching out one of the blue-painted warlocks of Karkaus.” The woman spoke as if the story was alive, as if she’d hunted it; Aiz filed the information away.

She bought spare clothing, oats for Tregan, a canteen, flint, tinder, dried meat. She listened and watched, learning that each Tribe sold a little of everything. But most had specialties. Tribe Nasur was known for its rugs. Tribe Nur for its lamps and rugs.

And Tribe Saif for its medicines and cures.

“Do you speak Ankanese?” Aiz asked a woman selling an array of herbs and poultices. The woman nodded—Aiz knew she would. She’d been watching her for the better part of an hour.

“My mother has an ailment of the lungs.” Aiz let desperation seep into her voice. “I’ve tried bloodroot, green iris, and hallowrose sap. Nothing works.”

The woman perused her own goods doubtfully. “I have basic cures, miss. I’d suggest a posset of fennelflame. But you’d need to go to one of the caravans for it.”

“I’ve come from the south—I don’t know anyone here.”

She let a tear fall and the woman patted her kindly on the shoulder. “You could try Tribe Salah. They’re on the east end of the city, near the gate. I’d suggest Tribe Saif, as their cures are the best, but they left Sadh a few days ago.”

“I’ll try my luck with Tribe Salah,” Aiz said. Then, feigning an afterthought: “If they don’t have it, can you tell me where Tribe Saif might be? My mother is the last person I have in this world. I’ll do anything to help her, travel any distance.”

The woman put her hand to her heart. “She is lucky to have a daughter like you.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “Tribe Saif went north. They try to get to Nur before the winter storms. But beware on the road. There are coyotes and efrits.”

By the time the sun set, Aiz had everything she needed. She and Tregan fell in with a large wagon train also making its way out of the city. The gate guards let her pass with hardly a glance. As soon as she was through, she nudged Tregan into a trot, and soon left the caravan and the city of Sadh far behind.

17

Quil

The Kegari were everywhere in Jibaut. In the skies, but also creeping along the docks in their blue-scaled armor, muttering to each other in their own language while barking orders in Ankanese to everyone else. The dock agents and stevedores and corsairs watched the newcomers with churlishness instead of challenge. The savagery of the Kegari attack had quelled even the bravest of Jibaut’s residents.

Most of the pirates had left to raid the Empire’s southern cities. The only ships in the port were from Marinn.

“No Martials, either.” Arelia eyed the city with Quil, chewing on one of her curls. “The Kegari will be rounding up our people, to question or kill. Keep that hood low, cousin.”

“You’ll be all right, alone?” Quil asked. Worry ate at him as he pondered his aunt’s message.The Butcher lives. The Orphan roars.Old codes referring to Aunt Hel and Laia. Musa sent the wight, so he’d be alive too, but Navium’s fall haunted Quil. When he considered that something might also happen to Arelia or Sufiyan, he felt almost frantic. But his cousin waved him off.

“The dock agent will make sure no one steals the ship,” Arelia said. “I need to understand this engine. If it’s to take us to Ankana, it must last. Fear not, if I get bored, I can reread Rajin’sRecollections.”

Quil smiled. The little book was the only thing he’d carried with him from Navium, other than his clothes and scim.

“Don’t forget my coveralls.” Arelia looked distastefully at her dress. “Or the willadonna.”

Not likely.The herb naturally dilated the pupils, which would allow Arelia and Quil, with their distinctively pale Martial irises, to avoiddrawing attention. Quil hated the idea of using it. Of sneaking and skulking to survive, while back in the Empire, his people fought.

Arelia nodded to Sufiyan, who was paying off the dock agent. “Keep an eye on him. He appears to have a death wish.”

Quil raised his eyebrows. “Is myscim-happyfriend growing on you?”

“Days spent with a small group of not-awful people breeds tolerance. I put up with you, don’t I?” Arelia disappeared below and Quil met Sufiyan at the dock.

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