Page 66 of Heir

R’zwana laughed, a short bark, and held up Sirsha’s chain again. “This is no engagement coin, Martial. And you don’t have one. If you were engaged, you would.”

“Martial traditions are different,” Quil said. “She has a bracelet of mine. Black leather. Lapis stone with a gold sun. You have magic.” He looked from D’rudo to J’yan, barely keeping the derision out of his voice. “One of you must be able to sense that it once belonged to me.”

As Quil glanced at her, Sirsha felt her stomach twist in chagrin. She’d stolen the bracelet. And he knew.

She ignored her guilt and held up her still-bound wrists.

“It doesn’t matter,” R’zwana said. “I don’t recall anything about engagement in the treaty. She’s a traitor and you are a no-name soldier, certainly not sovereign enough to makeanysort of decree—”

“Ah.” Sufiyan cut R’zwana off, something that was so brave and foolhardy that Sirsha could only admire him for it while feeling a brief sorrow that he was probably about to die.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I’ve been lax in my duties. He does, in fact, have a name. May I present Zacharias Marcus Livius Aquillus Farrar, future Imperator Invictus and Overlord of the Realm, current Lieutenant Commander of the Imperial Army andSovereignCrown Prince of the Martial Empire.”

19

Aiz

On her fifth evening outside of Sadh, with an early autumn wind nipping at her face, Aiz finally found Tribe Saif.

They had stopped their silver and green decorated wagons outside one of the many wells that lined the road from the coast. The stops were identical, with a small inn, a supply post, and two springs—one for animals and the other for humans. The desert beyond each well was cleared, with firepits for a dozen caravans. Every space was taken.

Laia of Serra is here, Mother Div said.She is well protected.

Night in the desert came swift and cool, a curtain falling over the sun. Soon, the only light was from the campfires scattered through the dark. One of the Saif Tribeswomen began strumming a long-necked instrument, while others joined around the fire, singing. Not long after, the smell of roasted vegetables and browning butter filled the air. Aiz’s stomach growled.

Tregan whinnied when Aiz tied her up. “I’ll be back, girl.” She stroked the mare’s head, and approached Tribe Saif silently, her survival instincts from Dafra slum kicking in. The edge of the camp was dark with shadow, and Aiz secreted herself between two wagons to watch, stroking theDscar on her hand, a reminder of her people. Of why she was here.

Aiz wasn’t sure which Tribeswoman was Laia. There were multiple campfires, and everyone seemed to be telling stories or singing or cooking. Aiz watched one person in particular, a little boy with silver eyes and a ringing laugh, singing a tale to a group of children older than him.

Laia of Serra’s child, Mother Div said.The key to her trust. He sees what others do not. His mother knows this.

The wind shifted, and Aiz slipped away from the wagon, studying the darkness behind her. She felt as if she was being watched. When she was certain she was alone, she untied Tregan and approached the camp, heart pounding.

Mother Div, be with me.

“Hail, Tribe Saif,” Aiz called out in Ankanese, hoping a few among them spoke it. “I have searched for you for a long time. May I enter your circle?”

Laughter faded into murmurs. Steel hissed as fighters drew weapons. A flash in the dark told her someone had a bow trained on her heart.

“Come close to the fire,” a woman spoke out in accented Ankanese, low but commanding. “Leave the horse.”

Aiz approached, hands up, shoulders slumped, attempting to make herself as small as possible.

“I’m looking for Laia of Serra.” She’d learned by now that it was best to hew as close to the truth as possible when it came to the Tribes. Especially this one.

“What do you want with her?” the voice asked.

Cold steel jabbed into Aiz’s side. She looked to her left, alarmed to find a black-haired young man staring back at her, his sword gleaming in the dark. He was as tall as a highborn—taller, his face one of sharp angles. Aiz glared at him, unable to hide her surprise and anger.

All Aiz could hear was the pop of flame and scrape of sand. Faces stared out at her. Not hostile yet. But sober and alert.

Aiz focused her energy on tamping down the ire that made her want to slap the blade away.Your anger will be the death of you.Cero’s advice helped not at all. She was exhausted and hungry, and she wished these damned people weren’t so suspicious.

You never listened to Cero.Mother Div spoke in her head.Because you don’t care about yourself. But I understand you, daughter of Kegar. Heed me and stay your rage for now. Anger will be the death of yourrevenge on the pretender Tiral. It will doom your people to his weakness and spite.

Aiz took a deep breath and found the calm within. While riding, she had concocted the story she would tell. The many layers of it she would use to keep her identity safe, to get what she needed.

Now was the test to determine if Aiz truly was fit to be Mother Div’s chosen, or if all her plans were for naught.

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