The journey through the mountains was slow and hard. The chill in the air cut beneath Yethyr’s armor; he shivered, and I found myself shivering with him.
I was made in a molten forge. I had no experience with the cold or this snow stuff that crunched beneath the hunting party’s boots.
I hated it. Give me some place warm; give me some place dry. We needed to slaughter the treacherous council as soon as possible just so I could leave this cold hunk of stonesong.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t just some Datrean base waiting for us after the climb. Part of me had hoped that there would be. Instead, we had to find them, and unfortunately for me, Yethyr’s plan was terrible.
As far as I could tell, he intended to wander around and hope he heard Datrean deathsong, which would not work. By the time he got close enough to hear any trace of Zasha, she no doubt would be able to hear the composition of his armor approaching, and they would lose their element of surprise. He knew that. He must have known that, so why…oh.
Oh.
He intended to use me. My senses were keener. I would hear the Datreans long before they would hear him, and Yethyr knew it.
He expected me to lead him to them; he expected me to help him.
I was immediately annoyed. I mean, I was going to help him. I wanted Zasha dead more than Yethyr did, but how dare he presume my assistance?
Grumbling, I stretched my senses, looking for any signs of Datrean music. There was me, of course, but Yethyr also had my father’s robe and the fragments of that red mirror nestled within it. Wes had Frida’s chain slung over his shoulder and Domida’s lockbox in a pocket of his robe. There was also the stray metals he had taken from the forge in his knapsack.
I stretched farther. Howling windsong. Icy watersong. Old stonestong, stonesong so old I felt certain that a demon or an angel had sung it into existence.
I heard no trace of Zasha. I did hear evidence of manmade watersong, or what I thought was manmade watersong.
That was definitely not the Datreans. Datrea had no watersong traditions. Perhaps it was from these clans that Wes said were up here. Would they help us? Would they hinder us?
It was hard to say, and I was still contemplating it when we made camp. The sun was going down, and it was only getting colder.
Mandorias set Ruzar down to make a fire, and they all agreed to risk immolation by pitching the tent around it. There was no chance of anyone staying out in the cold that night, even Nisari, who usually bemoaned sleeping away from the stars.
Yethyr sighed. As others pitched the tent, he brought Nisari aside. “Aeromancer, this will be the first time we will be sharing a tent.”
She furrowed her brow. “Aye, that is true.”
“I am sure you have heard…rumors about me.”
She cocked her head. “What? That you’re impotent.”
I had no idea what that meant, but Yethyr was livid. “What? Who is saying that?!”
“That’s the only rumor I could think of that would be relevant for tent sharing.” Nisari shrugged, unruffled by her prince’s fury. “I mean, I’m not sure how relevant that would be with me. I’m a little old to be—”
“My bones are possessed by Spryne!” he cried, just to get her to stop talking.
“Oh. That rumor.” She nodded. “I heard that you were tithed to Hell, yes.”
“I am strong enough to keep Spryne at bay while I am awake enough to combat him. At night…” he trailed off, searching for the words. “At night, he can use me, enact evil through me.”
Nisari frowned, but her voice was comically mild. “Do I need to duel you tonight?”
“No. But Jaetheiri will tie me down to ensure we have no incidents.”
“And gag you, I hope.”
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“That too.”
Nisari considered. “How many has Spryne claimed using you as his instrument?”
“Eleven.” Yethyr swallowed.
“And this has been going on for over a decade?”
“Yes.”
The windsinger hummed. “Eleven over ten years is pretty good odds,” she said cheerfully. “It’ll be like sleeping with verehounds. Have you ever slept with a verehound?”
Yethyr stared at her like she was insane. “Aren’t they famous for biting off heads at the slightest provocation?”
“Yes, but they are so cuddly and warm, and oh, this is making me nostalgic. I’ll sleep with my knife out and everything.”
She wandered toward the now complete tent, apparently satisfied that their conversation was over.
Yethyr trailed after her, bewildered, but relieved. She could have taken that much worse. He reached for the tent flap when he heard Ruzar’s hoarse voice.
“Jaetheiri, convince him to enact the Rite of the Nugatory.”
Yethyr paused, listening. So Ruzar was awake.
“I could not convince him of that,” Jaetheiri was saying. “His mind is set.”
“Then…” Ruzar’s voice brightened. “You do it.” Yethyr tensed. “You are his Tezem. You have every right to say the words in his stead. You can do it quickly—”
“Me? You think I would take a knife to my Tezem’s thrall behind his back. Me?”
There was weight in the silence. Something unsaid hung in the air that Ruzar, Jaetheiri, and Yethyr understood, and I didn’t.
Yethyr held his breath.
“That’s not the same, girl, and you know it.”
“Of course not. You’re trying to run away from a broken body instead of facing it.”
“I can’t take vengeance upon that which broke my body, as you did. The roc is very dead.”
“Revenge does not restore your body,” Jaetheiri said. “That’s just…a hobby. What you need is purpose.”
“Like your purpose?” Ruzar laughed. “I can’t live someone else’s dream.”
Yethyr flinched like the words were a blow, and Jaetheiri’s frown was audible. “That’s not all I live for.”
“I can’t live off of spite either.”
“Dreams and spite?” Jaetheiri huffed what almost sounded like a laugh. “Is that all you think my life is?”
“No.” Ruzar's sigh was loud. “But you live grandly because of dreams and spite.”
Yethyr finally pushed into the tent, silencing the conversation at once. He was going to barge in on that silence, but then he saw a small furry shape beside Wes.
“What is that thing doing here?”
Wes looked up from where he was letting the familiar orange cat nibble on a piece of jerky. “What? I couldn’t leave her out in the cold?”
“I sure can!” Yethyr spat, chasing the yowling thing out of the tent. The close proximity of his people huddled around the fire made him hold his tongue, but as soon as he stepped outside, he unleashed his deathsong.
It hit empty air. Somehow, the cat's orange fur disappeared in the craggy white landscape. Nowhere to be seen.
Yethyr growled, whirling back into the tent. “Do not let that demon back in here, or by Maethe, I’ll keep you in a sack for the rest of the trip!”
“But she’ll die!” Wes cried.
“Good!” Yethyr tied the tent flap closed angrily and marched over to sit beside Ruzar and Jaetheiri. “Jaethe, secure this tent from demons.”
She rolled her eyes, but dutifully got up to look for the cat.
Once she was gone, Yethyr began taking out rations from a pack aggressively.
“What are you doing?” Ruzar rasped.
“Giving you your food.”
“Our rations are scarce, Master. Do not waste them on me. I’m dying.”
“Mandorias thinks your internal bleeding may have stopped.”
“That is even worse.”
Yethyr scowled. “You dare to want to die?”
Ruzar scowled back. “Don’t trifle with me, Master. Once, only once, have I ever disobeyed you, and I have kept the secret of that hasty command these long years faithfully. Do not disparage me now for this.”
Yethyr glanced about worriedly, but no one appeared to be eavesdropping. “And long have I come to be grateful for your disobedience. Let me return that gift you gave me then and deny you now.”
“Have pity—”
“You will find me pitiless in this regard, Ruzar.” Yethyr’s smile was wry and tired. “Hasn’t Jaetheiri ever told you what I said when she accused me of pity? On the first day of our acquaintance. All those years ago.”
“You aren’t the same person that you were then.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Ruzar fell quiet, grimacing. “Oh Poisoning Fang, make it stop!” It was clear that Mandorias’ herbs were wearing off, and despite his posturing, Yethyr felt sympathy.
He looked down at my wrapped blade. I felt the shape of his thoughts and was surprised. In the weeks since he took me up, he had never once considered letting someone look at me, let alone touch me.
Can you help him? He asked me in his mind.
I let him feel my uncertainty. I don’t know. It was the most honest answer I had ever given him. I even let him feel my wariness. I had a bad feeling about this idea of his that I struggled to articulate. I didn’t think it was wise to let the cook touch me.
Yethyr brushed off my concerns, and I didn’t push it. I mean, so what if it all goes horribly wrong? It’s not like I care.
Yethyr unbuckled me from his belt and looked up at Ruzar. “Let’s try something.”
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Who would you rather share a tent with
