Zawadi perched in the brush partway up the hill behind the home of her enemy’s family. It wasn’t much, two domes of mud and sticks and small entrances blocked with silk hangings. Not the mansion Zuberi had spoken of. No, this was the place he feared. How she wished she could have seen him here, forced him here as she picked apart the life he was so proud of. If she’d only found him living, she would have brought him here, then she would have brought him lower and lower until he was begging her for death.
If only he could have felt the extent of her vengeance.
His eldest child made her way out of the hut now, headed towards the river wearing the smile of a softer woman. Who did she think she was fooling? She was nothing that was soft.
Her feet were bare, but her steps were quick and silent. She followed a circuitous path which took her through the strong scent of the looma blossoms and by way of a cluster of stink beetles, intentionally muddying her scent. No. Not intentionally— habitually. Her mind was far too far away to know exactly what her body was doing. But even distracted, she moved like Zuberi: confident, powerful, deadly. A killer. Just like her father.
Zawadi had hated the girl on sight last night. Today, with her hair wrapped up off her face leaving those scars, which ought to evoke an empathetic kinship, visible, Zawadi was only more angered. It was as if the girl, aware that she had not her father’s magnetism, nor her half-sister’s endearing innocence, had given herself a scar to earn sympathy. To evoke pain. But she hadn’t suffered. Zawadi knew that trick for what it was, and she would not be drawn into feeling for the child of her enemy. If she wanted the world to think she’d suffered, Zawadi would be happy to assist her.
Zawadi watched her as a bird, trying to decide what form to use with her. Her half-sister had been easy. Asha was too open and thrill seeking to turn away from anyone foreign, and Wren’s forceful voice and loving spirit were perfect to set her at ease. And though Zuberi’s third wife was naturally suspicious, she still held onto enough belief to trust the face of her own grandmother. But this girl...
Without being near enough to delve into her mind, Zawadi could tell she trusted no one she did not know already. A foreign body would never do. And if she came to the girl in the body of a dead relative, she would know she was unsafe. Perhaps she should borrow the body of one of her living family members, but Zawadi doubted they would be so giving. Perhaps her best option would be to speak to the girl through her own reflection. Many were those comforted by speaking to themselves.
The girl paused a way yet from the ravine that led down to the river. Smoothly she sunk into the long grass around her, barely disturbing its sway as she scanned the area. One hand slipped the bucket noiselessly from her spear. Had she sensed Zawadi? Again. As a bird? Last night those eyes had followed her, and the anger that girl carried within had burned at Zawadi’s skin. Yet, Zawadi would not have expected to be sensed now.
Too late, Zawadi heard the footsteps and laughter behind her. She took to the air in swallows bird form, darting away from the group of men heading down the hill. She noticed Hadhi’s eyes follow her for a moment before returning to the men. Five men of Azize’s party. Zawadi circled them a moment before perching in a nearby tree.
She had hoped to catch Zuberi’s eldest alone, as she had not last night. But though she clearly hated company, she was rarely alone. While her sister, who thrived on activity and attention was alone most hours of the day.
One of the men paused in a manner similar to Zuberi’s eldest. His name was Kane. Zawadi knew them all from her months of following Azize’s ship and urging the prince home. Most of their group, Daniel, Omar, Masahiro, and Noam were making their way across the hill, towards a little cliff that overlooked the sand dunes of Ether. An endless view, and a bit of a dreary one, if you asked Zawadi. But Kane locked his eyes on the hut in the distance, and he tilted his nose into the air, studying its scent.
Crouched in the tall grass Zuberi’s eldest seemed torn between watching Kane and watching his retreating friends. Kane took a step forward.
“Kane,” Omar called out. “It is this way.”
“I ’ll be right along,” Kane said, and his voice lowered. “There is something ugly following us. I’m going to scare it off”
Zawadi wasn’t sure if the girl was near enough to hear, but her muscles coiled, and her breathing slowed. For a moment, Zawadi saw, not that girl but the monster who had trained her.
Zawadi fought the urge to send the men away. To protect them. She didn’t want any of them slaughtered because she had needed Azize to stir up this land. But if she interfered, she would miss the chance to see more of the beast Zuberi had created. Did she kill like her father? Was she as swift? As merciless? Was she everything he boasted over?
Zawadi had used words she knew would make Asha open herself to a stranger, but even as she had, she’d known only half of them were about Asha. Asha was her father’s best beloved. But himself reborn, and his legacy, those words referred to the hunter crouched in the grass, awaiting her moment to strike.
Zawadi had originally intended to avenge herself against Zuberi alone, but before she recovered enough to chase Zuberi down, she had felt him die. It had been—glorious! Richly deserved. Exhilarating. Resplendent!
But time passed. And it was not enough. She knew there were others in the world, killers he’d trained, men he’d served, women who’d loved and benefited from his evil. It wasn’t enough that he was gone. His entire legacy had to be destroyed, or one of them might grow into his place and destroy another family like Zawadi’s. That girl, who moved like her father, so calm as she killed, she would take his place if Zawadi allowed it.
She would never allow it.
The rest of the men had walked on without their companion. Kane stepped forward again, scanning the area. He knew the girl was out there, but he did not seem to know where.
“Out hunting?” He asked lightly, clearly not expecting an answer. “Your father said it was your only talent.”
Zawadi watched the girl, waiting to see her reaction. There must be one surprise that this man had known her father? Zawadi was surprised! Flinching or tears from the slight? But Hadhi appeared entirely unmoved. Zawadi hadn’t studied the insides of these men’s minds and souls. They weren’t useful to her plan. But perhaps she should have delved.
“You do understand, don’t you? That Azize is not like your father? You cannot go to him with your kill between your teeth and expect praise like a good pet. You do not possess the gifts to tempt Azize.”
Zawadi was—shocked. She wasn’t sure entirely what she was feeling. She’d come to offer this girl a wish. She’d come to trick her into harming herself with her own desires, but now—she was angry with the man taunting her.
He winked into the distance and reminded Zawadi of her enemy. Not as powerful, not as clever, but entirely as cold. Zawadi needed to examine these men much closer, it seemed. Kane was...unsettling. He turned away casually and rejoined his friends.
It wasn’t until he was a ways away that the girl stood. Slow and smooth, one continuous motion, a deadly flower blooming before Zawadi’s eyes. Her hands were clenched, her eyes were hard, and there was a heaviness about her that unnerved Zawadi for the empathy it wanted to stir.
The girl stared at the hill for several moments before turning away, her bucket forgotten and her spear hanging softly at her side as she walked back towards her home. Her head fell as she walked, traitor to her inner pain.
Zawadi glanced after Kane. Who was he in truth? Zawadi saw another man turn this way. Noam lifted his arm to wave, trying to get the girl’s attention, but he was too late. Together Noam and Zawadi watched Zuberi’s eldest walk away. She was a dark cave: dangerous, unknowable, and compelling. But doomed. Still doomed.
Zawadi was not leaving without her vengeance. And even great hunter that the girl was reputed to be, she didn’t feel the real threat. Not taunting boys with ugly words. But desires bright and beautiful. Burning desires that Zawadi would use to destroy her.