CHAPTER SIX

All knowledge was not meant for men to find

Though seeking hearts will rarely rest unsure

And when the hunt for that which lays concealed

Leaves seekers worse off than they were before

Wise is the student of self-discipline

Who finds his answers by searching within

—THE BOOK OF UNVEILING

“Griot-deni,” Kyara called, following the old man out amidst the fleeing crowd.

“Yes, uli?” His kind face set her at ease. His story had brought her back to her days in the harem, where the younger girls would sit some evenings listening to tales told by the old ulla, the head of their cabal. But the little book Kyara had taken days earlier held a tale she’d never heard before.

“Have you ever heard of the Scorpion?” she asked.

The griot frowned, leaning on a staff she hadn’t seen him holding before. “As in a House of Scorpions?”

“Perhaps.”

“There is no House of Scorpions.” He eyed her curiously, his eyes flashing. Jackal, Serpent, Monkey, Bobcat, Eagle, Shark, Horse, Frog, and Spider—all Lagrimari children knew the nine houses.

“Perhaps an heir to the Spider? I’m not sure. It’s just…” She took a deep breath, unsure even of what she was asking. But the griots knew all the stories. He must be able to shed some light on what she’d been reading.

He looked around, but they were alone in the street. Still, he pulled her to the side and stood just beyond the pool of light from the nearby shop. “What is it?”

“I found a book. It mentions a scorpion. But … it’s not like the stories I’ve heard before.”

“A book?” He eyed her clothing. “And you can read it?”

Where she would expect suspicion, the griot sounded merely curious. “Many girls in the harem learn to read,” she said. A true statement, though not for her. But telling him the Cantor had taught her to read would absolutely make him suspicious.

If he wondered how she’d left the harem, he did not ask and she was grateful. He tapped his staff twice before looking around again. Then he pitched his voice very low.

“The griots preserve the tales in our memories. Listening ears may repeat what is said, but the surest way to prove wrongdoing is to have printed evidence.” He tapped his nose knowingly, and she felt a surge of affection for him. He was subversive in his daily life; the tale he’d told virtually spat in the eye of the True Father.

“So if there was a book, what would that mean? Who would have written such a thing?”

He frowned, thinking. “Only someone either with no fear of being caught or with information so dangerous it could not be risked in the minds of men.”

Keep the secrets, spread the lies, remember the truths. The book certainly felt dangerous.

“As for the Scorpion…” He looked around again and sighed. “My great-grandfather broke stones in the mines as a child. Back when the True Father tried to mine the western mountains. Eventually they abandoned the effort; their Songs would not work in the west. But my ancestor claimed to have met a man there who spoke of the legend of the Scorpion.”

Kyara leaned forward.

“Everyone thought the man mad, but my great-grandfather, the son of griots, listened to his tales and committed them to memory. They were stories of a great darkness that was prophesied to sweep the land and only the Scorpion could bring the light.”

“A darkness greater than the True Father? I’ve never heard anyone speak of this before.”

“Some stories are lost to time. My father had the telling of it, but didn’t pass it down. It made the people nervous. Gloom and doom doesn’t fill the belly.” He smiled sadly. “Most want to hear accounts of their own house. Who wants to hear tell of a ghost?”

A chill went through Kyara. The old man grasped his staff with both hands. “I must be on my way. The road at night is seldom safe for man or beast.”

Kyara forced a smile, though her gratitude was real. “Thank you.”

He nodded and touched her forehead in leave-taking. She stood, mulling over his words. Just as she’d been drawn to the book for reasons she couldn’t explain, the tale of the Scorpion was one that reeled her in. Perhaps one deadly creature called to another. Though she had little hope the book would offer a way to remove her Song and make her no longer useful to the True Father, its mystery intrigued her. Would she be able to make sense of it?

The quiet darkness was pierced by the wail of wild dogs in the distance. The pub was located toward the outside of the spiraling main road in the town of Checkpoint Five. In the Midcountry towns, the more prosperous folk lived in the center of the spiral, protected from the harsh winds that raced across the flatlands of the bush and battered the outer buildings. Center homes were also at lower risk from the random attentions of bush wranglers—marauders who roamed the highway looking to torment and rob—and wild animals. Attacks from beast or bandits made the nights perilous, but Kyara had nothing to fear from any of them. She shrugged into the warmth of her coat in the cold desert evening and turned to go.

A sound behind her made her whip around again. That enormous, bald man from the pub was dragging two unconscious men out the door. He hauled them by their ankles and dumped them at the mouth of the adjacent alley.

Had he and that other one taken on five rowdy nabbers on their own and knocked them unconscious? The huge man certainly looked capable; still, it was quite a feat.

Kyara had wanted to step in, as well, but it was not her business. And she’d needed to speak to the griot. Yet, she could not get the image of the second man out of her mind. He wasn’t as tall or wide as his huge friend, but his body looked efficient. Strong and lean and unafraid. She’d only had the briefest glimpse of his face, but his eyes had burned their way into her memory. Intense was not the word. They were almost overpowering.

A chill ran through her, and she pulled her coat closer. She was tempted to go back into the pub just to relieve this curiosity that had sprung up within her, when footsteps stomped along the tightly packed dirt road. Kyara’s blood chilled. Those were the precise steps of soldiers, their heavy boots much sturdier than what most villagers could afford.

Four men appeared from around the corner, marching directly underneath a hanging lantern. The black uniforms with gold edging marked them as Golden Flames. Technically, she was a member, as well, but her status as the Poison Flame set her apart. She worked alone and wore no uniform.

Aren, the captain of the squad, squinted into the darkness as the men came closer. Kyara stood in shadow, hoping it would protect her from his perusal, but his gaze went immediately to her, like iron to a magnet. He frowned and motioned to his men, who hung back, then approached her alone. She retreated a few paces so she could keep the entire street in view. This felt too much like an ambush.

“Were the Keepers inside?” His voice was monotone, his stance stiff. In the dark, his eyes were obscured, the waxing moon giving off a weak glow that barely lit the street. She was grateful for the reprieve from his cold gaze.

“Hard to say, but the nabbers certainly were. Follow them and I’m sure the Keepers won’t be far behind.”

He sniffed and tossed her a canvas bag. “The collar for when you capture the rebel.”

Kyara scanned the empty street before opening the bag. She pulled out the collar, once a strip of curved metal now encased in the hard, red stone of a caldera. Blood magic. She suppressed a shiver and tried not to wonder whose blood had been spilled to make this.

Calderas were special containers for magic. Much of Ydaris’s work for the True Father depended on them. Major calderas, the most powerful kind, required more than just blood. Death was necessary, but for minor calderas like the collars, some poor soul would have been dragged onto the stone table and sliced into while the Cantor whispered a string of words in a foreign tongue. Kyara had witnessed the ritual too many times to count, and when no one else was convenient, her blood was used.

She ran her thumb across the two metal loops that stuck out on either end so that a padlock could be affixed. The collar’s spell blocked its wearer from connecting to Earthsong. The thing was warm to the touch and made her skin crawl. She dropped it back into the bag, then confirmed that both the lock and key were also inside. The only other item was a sheaf of paper, but it was too dark to make out the writing.

“What’s it say?”

“The location of the warehouse where they’re keeping the children. A dilapidated structure about four kilometers south, out in the bush.”

Kyara stuffed the entire bag into the traveling pack slung across her shoulders. “You do realize that showing up here in full uniform is not exactly discreet. The whole point is for the Keepers not to suspect me. Or are you trying to sabotage me?”

Aren shifted into a patch of light, and the cold mask of a hardened soldier thawed a few degrees. A flash of desire lit his eyes. Kyara wanted to step away, but the wall behind her gave her nowhere to go.

“After you’ve completed this mission, we need to talk.” His palm rose to cup her cheek. She held herself very still, muting her instinct to recoil at his touch.

“Talk about what?” She breathed in through her nose, wanting to steady the beat of her heart. Inside, her Song awoke, taking note of the danger present.

“You know what.”

Kyara shifted her head, pulling away from Aren’s touch. “I said all I needed to. It was one time. Weeks ago. And it was a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

She slid to the side, seeking more distance between them, but he grabbed her wrist, holding her in place. He leaned in so that his lips hovered over hers. The tobacco on his breath filled her nostrils. “And I think we should talk about that.” His thumb slid up the sleeve of her coat, caressing her skin. “I think you will reconsider. Do you know the other men are disgusted by you? Do you think anyone else but me will ever have you?”

A deep hurt threatened to swell at his words, but she pushed it back. He had been her first, her only. He had pursued her for weeks, breaking down her resistance, that feeling she should have listened to that told her he was a bad idea. But loneliness had won out. Handsome and strong, Aren’s chiseled face and accepting smile were a far cry from the frightened looks most of the men gave her. She’d been curious, wanted to know what it felt like to be touched by a man.

But Aren hadn’t been gentle. His rough fingers had abraded her skin, and his single-minded focus on his own pleasure had soured the experience for her. It had been more painful than pleasurable, and she’d kicked herself for not listening to her instincts.

It was only when she’d declined his continued advances that she began to be truly afraid of him. Fortunately, he had been out on a mission for the past few weeks. She had hoped that time would lead him to a new obsession, but Aren was nothing if not tenacious.

She firmed her voice so there would be no misunderstanding. “It. Is. Over. It was a mistake that I don’t care to repeat.”

He tightened his grip, crushing her beneath strong fingers. Kyara gritted her teeth and leaned forward, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her pain. When she longed to strike him and defend herself, her chest wound flared in warning. She could not harm any member of the Golden Flames, for any reason.

“Get your hands off me,” she said flatly.

“I’ve been patient with you, but you’re going to have to see reason eventually.” He twisted so hard she thought he might mean to break her arm. Her Song surged, wanting release, but it was met with the resistance of a burst of agony from the wound. If she could have endured it, she would have struck Aren anyway, the wound be damned. But years of torturous training made her respect the pain. It ruled her. It owned her, just as much as Ydaris and the True Father did. She was not strong enough to fight against it, and so she could not defend herself from Aren’s cruel turn.

“If you would only see the light, Kyara-deni, see how good we are together, all that we could accomplish … Together, we could be the king’s right hand.”

Her knees buckled, but she ground her teeth again to withstand the pain. “His right hand? So that’s what this is about? You think the True Father favors me in some way? You think that favor could extend to you?” She almost wanted to laugh.

“You’re his prized assassin. Of course he favors you,” he rasped into her mouth. She pressed her lips closed in case he thought about trying to kiss her. Perhaps that was what it looked like to the soldiers on the other side of the street. Kyara wondered if the wound would stop her from biting Aren’s tongue off if he tried anything. That pain would be worth it.

A commotion across the street finally made him release his grip. Footsteps approached and Kyara nearly sagged against the wall, keeping her eyes on the Flames.

“What is it, Dalgo-deni?” Aren asked as his lackey came closer.

Dalgo’s gaze flicked to Kyara and then back to his captain. “It’s them, sir.” The other three Golden Flames had finally noticed the prone forms of the brawlers at the mouth of the alley. “They are part of the crew of nabbers.”

Aren’s gaze moved from the unconscious men to scan the empty streets. “The Keepers must be nearby monitoring them.”

Kyara thought back to the two men in the pub watching the fight. She had suspected they were two of the Keepers she was looking for.

Aren appeared to have come to a similar conclusion. “Your first undercover mission,” he said, his icily handsome face breaking into a scary grin. “You asked if I was trying to sabotage you. I’m just as invested in this assignment going well as you are. And my orders are to help however I can. We can’t have the Keepers thinking you’re in league with the Flames, now, can we?”

All emotion drained from his expression. He became a total stranger as he took a step away and then launched a kick to her midsection. Her ribs exploded in pain and she fell onto her back.

Aren grabbed her by the ends of her braids and dragged her up to a standing position. “I don’t think I heard you quite right. Did you just tell me to feck off? I think you need to be taught a lesson,” he called out loudly, then smashed his fist into her face.

Her Song mushroomed within her, seeking to retaliate. The more she longed to fight back, the worse the wound hurt, keeping her in check. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth and her vision swam.

Aren punched her again, this time in her abdomen, and she fell down. Another vicious kick sent her sliding across the ground. She sucked in short breaths, trying to supply oxygen to her lungs. He said something else in a mocking tone, but the words were lost to the roar in her ears. Then everything went black.

A yelp sounded from somewhere nearby, and Kyara realized she hadn’t blacked out. She just couldn’t see anything. Had Aren beaten her so badly she’d gone blind? A head injury?

The sounds around her were confusing, but it seemed as though a scuffle was taking place. Her fingers dug into the dirt around her.

“Why can’t I fecking see anything?” someone cried. It could have been Aren or one of his men. That made her pause. She wasn’t the only one blinded? But that didn’t make any sense. The blackness was perfect, complete, as if the candle of the world had been blown out. Though her body cried out with each movement, she crawled until her hand reached the hard surface of a wall.

The sound of wind rushed her ears, and an incredible gust blew across her back. If she hadn’t been lying flat on her stomach, it would have blown her over. Sandstorms came up quickly, but not this quickly. And while the wind beat against her, none of the flying grit she would expect filled her nose and mouth.

As quickly as the storm came, it was gone, and the blackness retreated, leaving the natural darkness of the night, bright as midday in comparison to what had come before it.

Kyara rolled over, pain coloring her every movement. The unconscious brawlers still lay there, but Aren and his men were gone. The only person visible was a teenage boy walking toward her. His hair was shaggy and unkempt, but his clothes fit well and seemed in good repair. He crouched before her and peered into her eyes.

“Are you all right? I have my Song. I can try to heal you.”

“No,” Kyara said. “Save it. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

The boy pursed his lips and looked her up and down. She struggled to a seated position with her back against the wall and attempted a smile to put him at ease. What would happen if he tried to heal her? Would he immediately recognize that she was resistant to Earthsong? He might be a Keeper, as well, considering he had his Song, though he was young.

“What just happened?” she asked.

The boy looked away and shrugged his shoulders. “Midcountry weather is unpredictable this time of year.”

She narrowed her eyes, at least the one that wasn’t nearly swollen shut. “Did you do that? With your Song?”

“I wish. No, it wasn’t me.” The tone of his voice indicated he knew who it had been, though.

Could it be the Shadowfox, or was it another Keeper who’d managed to avoid the tribute? Serendipity had brought her so close to the one she was seeking, but she refused to credit Aren’s sadism.

“Well, whoever it was, I’d like to thank him or her,” she said.

“What did he want? That Flame?” The boy spat out the word.

“Oh, the usual thing. He didn’t believe I wasn’t a whore.”

He scowled. “The Flames are a menace.”

Kyara snorted. She couldn’t disagree. “Don’t say that too loudly,” she warned. “You know what happens if someone hears you.” This boy could be an ally if she approached this correctly. She took a deep breath and rolled to her knees, then stood. The boy held out a hand to help stabilize her, and she took it gratefully.

“What’s your name?”

“Kyara. And you?”

“Farron.” He looked about sixteen or seventeen.

“Well, thank you, Farron-deni. I’m all right.”

He made a face. “Just Farron is fine. No need for High Lagrimari around here.”

Mentally, she kicked herself. She had to be more careful. Subterfuge had rarely been required of her before, but watching how she spoke and acted was more important than ever for this mission.

“Do you need help getting home?” Farron asked.

“No, I’ll be fine.”

He nodded, and she felt his gaze on her as she slowly walked away.

If the Keepers were watching the nabbers, they would find their way to the warehouse. Kyara was in no shape to head there now, however. Finding an inn for the night was the first order of business. None of her bones were broken, and a good night’s sleep would do much.

In the morning, she would resume her mission. She suspected she would be seeing Farron again very shortly. And hopefully she’d find out who the mysterious Singer was who had helped her—and had dispatched Aren—so mysteriously.