Page 76 of Heir

Sirsha speared a piece of flatbread and balanced it over the fire to warm it up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Quil’s hair fell in his face and she couldn’t quite read his expression. “You’re not worried your sister followed us? Perhaps because you’re tracking the same killer and she’s terrible at it? So, it’s easier for her to follow you, as you follow the killer?”

Damn him, he was quick.

“Condolences,” Sirsha said. “You officially understand my sister’s twisted mind.” At his expectant expression, Sirsha sighed. She should tell him—he’d figure it out soon enough.

“Yes, she’s following us. I can feel her and J’yan. Like a rash in mybrain.” She considered mentioning thatotherfeeling but decided against it. Quil already thought she was trouble, and for now, she needed the farce of their engagement to keep R’zwana from feeding her to the local avian population. If Quil left her behind, R’z would assume the betrothal was fake, Adah oath notwithstanding, and murder Sirsha in a fit of umbrage.

“Next time, tell me,” Quil said, and pulled at the necklace. “This oath coin. Does it…change behavior? Create…ah…emotions or feelings where normally there wouldn’t be any?”

“The Adah coin is the seed of a bond.” Sirsha wondered what emotions and feelings Quil was referring to. “But we decide how it will grow. It doesn’t change our emotions. Only reflects them. Some among the Jaduna are oath-sworn as children and never become more than friends. Their vows are dissolved, eventually. Me and J’yan—we swore our pledge young. When I was—when I left the Cloud Forest, we recanted the vow. It was witnessed by three of our Raanis and our oath coin disappeared.”

Sirsha said nothing of the desolation that followed. Of waking up every night after, grasping her throat, feeling as if she couldn’t breathe. Jaduna oaths took their toll.

“In normal circumstances,” Sirsha said, “the etchings on the coin grow intricate as the Adah learn to trust each other.”

“And when that happens, they don’t have to be in close proximity anymore?”

His disgust at being her Adah was so obvious that Sirsha wanted to kick him, and then kick herself for caring.

“Yes. There are Jaduna who fulfill contracts, traveling thousands of miles from their Adah. If their bond is strong, it doesn’t matter,” she said.

Whatever Quil thought about that—about any of it—he didn’t say, instead nodding to the stewpot. “I’ll clean up. Rest if you like. It’s a long road to Ankana.”

“What kind of fiancée would I be, letting you keep watch alone?” Sirsha batted her eyelashes at him, gratified at his too-brief smile. When she ladled him a bowl of stew, he looked at it askance.

“If I was going to poison you,” Sirsha said, “you’d already be dead.” She took a bite before handing it to him so he wouldn’t be so wary. “Delicious.”

He got a strange look on his face then. A sadness so fleeting that she wished she hadn’t noticed. Because noticing was followed immediately by curiosity.

Sirsha did not want to wonder why the crown prince of the Martial Empire was sad.

“Thank you,” he said, a bit gruff. It didn’t take him long to eat, which Sirsha found satisfying. She’d always loved mixing ingredients to create something that made people smile. Even as a child, she’d taken pride in her roadside fare.

R’zwana mocked her for it, of course.

While Quil went to a nearby spring to wash up, Sirsha stared out into the darkness of the forest, asking the earth to show her where her sister camped. A sense of the terrain around her rose to the surface of her mind. She’d found R’zwana about six miles northeast when Quil returned and sat down in front of her. He glanced at his bracelet again—still on her wrist—and she started pulling it off.

“I should have given it back to you,” she said. “I thought it might help me track the killer.”

He stayed her hand, and she froze as his fingers—warm despite the chill night—traced the braided leather across her wrist. He shook his head. “If it helps you track, keep it. I brought you something.”

He unrolled a wide, thick leaf and dipped his fingers into the orange paste within.

“Made it while I was scouting.” His gaze fell on the left side of herface, properly bruised from R’zwana’s beating. “That looks painful. This will help. May I?”

Sirsha was fully capable of applying the poultice herself. But she was tired, and he was offering, so she held still as he painted it onto her skin with a gentle touch. Slowly, the pain eased.

“Healing’s an unusual pastime for a prince.” Sirsha figured it was better to fill the quiet than linger on the way his skin felt against hers.

“Learned it from Suf,” Quil said. “He has a knack for it.”

The timbre of Quil’s voice promised safety, even when he spoke softly. Sirsha wished he’d keep talking.

Don’t be a fool. He probably spent years honing that veneer of trustworthiness.

“His mother—Laia of Serra. She’s a healer too,” Sirsha said. She knew the stories, though she was certain those she’d heard from bored traders at Raider’s Roost had been embellished. “And a kedim jadu.”Ancient magic, the Jaduna term for those who carried latent powers in their blood. “Did Sufiyan or his siblings inherit the magic?”

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