Page 87 of Heir

One evening, after they’d made their way out of the Devanese forests and into the scrubland that rolled south into Thafwa, Sirsha shot into wakefulness, bolting upright. Her heart thundered, and she had her dagger in hand before realizing she was safe.

Quil walked over from the edge of camp, a tin mug of tea steaming in his hands. He offered it silently, and after taking it, she joined him for the rest of his watch. The next night, he made her a warm bowl of khiram and she ate it almost reverently, marveling at the balance of sweet and spice.

It became an odd nightly tradition. Nightmare. Wake. Drink or eat. Sit watch.

Sometimes they’d talk, or argue, but only about things that felt unimportant. Quil was intrigued by the politics in the Southern Continent, the way each country governed. Sirsha wanted to know what life with the Tribes was like. Once, she told him of her desire to buy an inn in the Southern Isles.

They didn’t talk about killers or sisters or magic. Sirsha was happy to educate him—and to smugly correct his misconceptions about the south. Sometimes, they didn’t talk at all. Usually, Sirsha felt a need to fill silence, but not with Quil. Not with the stars overhead, and the forest around them buzzing with life.

They spent hours together, and he even started chuckling when she inevitably linked the shapes of constellations to various carnal acts. But other than the moment their hands brushed as she took a mug or bowl from him, he kept his distance physically.

Maybe because of that girl he’d loved. Ilar. Sirsha shuddered when she thought of how Ilar died, of the bleakness in Quil’s voice as he described coming upon her and Ruh.

Quil probably felt guilty developing an attraction to someone else. He was the type.

Just as well. Sirsha didn’t need distractions. Still, she thought of his palms against her skin, the hard press of his muscled arm along her hip. The way he’d looked at her that night in the inn, not with his usual cool regard, but something heated and curious andwanting.

She relived that moment far more than was healthy. He had to have enjoyed it. Shefeltit in the fizz of her blood. What would be the harm if she led him away from the camp one of these nights? It wouldn’t mean anything.

Then she heard J’yan in her head.Does your fiancé know what will happen to you if you don’t catch this murderer?Skies, what would she even say?Quil, if I don’t find the killer, the need to hunt her down will take over my mind, driving me insane.Not exactly teatime conversation.

The problem was, Sirsha did not entirely dislike Quil. He was hard to read and spent far too much time in his own head. He was irritatingly graceful for someone so big. But she liked the low thrum of his voice and the way he loved his friends and his people, and how he never did anything halfway. She liked how he was thoughtful without needing praise for it, and his quiet, unflappable confidence when giving orders.

He didn’t deserve to be hurt. But she could tell he wouldn’t take intimacy lightly. Which meant that shewouldhurt him, eventually.

So, she accepted his culinary offerings, accompanied him on rounds, and appreciated having a friend, for however long it lasted.

After ten days, they’d reached the border with Thafwa. The weather grew warm, the landscape lush, until they were making their way across roads that were unnaturally immaculate, despite running through miles of jungle.

The going should have gotten easier. Instead, Sirsha felt awful. Her skin burned. Her brain rattled with every step her mare took.

“The village isn’t far.” Sirsha focused on the task at hand to distractherself. “This person who can help us—her name is Loli Temba—”

“Daughter of the Vine, in Ankanese,” Arelia translated. “She’s not Thafwan, then?”

“Ah—” Sirsha knew she’d have to explain where Loli was from eventually, but hoped they could meet her first. “Not exactly.”

“Are you sure there are bandits in the woods?” Sufiyan said, regarding the docile travelers passing them, the neatly cleared squares of grazing land, the bucolic village a quarter mile ahead. “This place is much nicer than Devan.”

“The Thafwans are ruled by the army, and the army keeps a tight leash on the populace.” Sirsha nudged her horse onto a narrow path that curved through the trees and up a densely forested hill. “Mostly by taxing them so they can’t afford to stop working. If you don’t pay in gold, you pay in labor.”

The trees they passed under were thick-trunked and mossy. It was blessedly cool in their shade, something Sirsha only realized when she felt sweat trickling down her face. Strange, it wasn’t very hot yet. Skies, her head hurt. She swayed in her saddle, lightheaded, and slowed her horse.

“Go—go on up the hill about a half mile,” she called to the others. Or was it a mile? She didn’t remember. “You’ll pass a waterfall and—I’ll be a minute.”

Her mouth filled with water. Maybe it was the porridge Sufiyan made this morning. Should have checked the supplies they’d picked up in the last town. Bleeding Devanese selling secondhand grain—

“Sirsha?”

Quil knelt beside her, which was when she realized that she must have staggered off her horse—and that the others hadn’t gone on but were arrayed around her. A brilliant green snake hung off a nearby tree, its color so bright that Sirsha’s eyes hurt and she had to look away.

“Do you all really want to see me retch that badly?”

“You’re gray.” Sufiyan pulled something from his pack. Lilangia stick. “Chew on this. Arelia, canteen, please.”

The Martial girl handed it over, then gasped. “Sufiyan—her eyes—”

The world spun. Sirsha felt a great weight pressing down on her chest. A sound then, wings slicing the air. It reminded her of the Sails, and she wanted to scream a warning. She should have told her friends to beware, but she couldn’t explain what she felt and now Quil would think she was deceiving him, and she didn’t know why that upset her so much, but it did.

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