“That is Brother Shaan’s handwriting,” he says. Like me, he is not ready to trust these strangers. “And that sounds like him, cryptic and all knowing.”
I consider our young guests and the possibility that they would know who we are and carry a note from Brother Shaan. I lower my glowing hand. “Let’s hear what they have to say.”
Brac does not disengage his glower as the Galers cross into the firelight. Natesa and Mathura lower their steel but keep the blades close. Yatin flanks our visitors, his huge size provoking wary glances from the girl.
“May we sit?” The boy gives a flimsy smile. “We’ve been flying for hours, and our wings are tired.” He flaps his arms for good measure. None of our expressions budge. The boy coughs awkwardly into his hand.
“I’m Opal, and this is my brother, Rohan,” says the girl.
“Please rest,” I offer. Opal sits beside her brother, and I join them. Everyone else remains on their feet, distrustful and wary. “Your flying contraptions are remarkable.”
“Wing flyers,” Opal corrects. “They were made in Paljor.”
Their nondescript attire bears no insignia linking them to the northern tribal nation of the Alpana Mountains, or any nation for that matter. “Are you from Paljor?” I ask.
“Paljor is our mother’s homeland,” answers Opal.
“Where is Brother Shaan?” Deven asks.
“Safe,” she replies. “We flew him to the northern temple where Prince Ashwin was hiding and then took them both to Janardan a few days ago. Per their request, we’ve been searching for you since.”
A light sparks inside me, bright and warm. Prince Ashwin is alive. Mathura sets down her weapon and sits near us to listen, resting her bad knee.
“Why did the prince leave the empire?” Natesa asks, crossing her arms over her chest. “His people need him here.”
“It isn’t safe,” Opal avows. “When Hastin discovered Brother Shaan escaped Vanhi, he rounded up the brethren for questioning.”
“The wind told us of their fate.” Rohan’s grimace reminds me that Galers hear secrets on the wind that no other bhutas or mortals can. “Anjali tortured them to find out the prince’s whereabouts. The brethren wouldn’t tell, so Hastin ordered his daughter to winnow them.”
“Buzzards,” Brac says. At my confused glance, he explains. “A Galer can use their powers to siphon the air from their victim’s lungs. They call it winnowing.”
“Only amoral Galers use that technique,” Opal says in aversion. “None of the brethren knew where the prince was hiding, only Brother Shaan.”
My mouth turns dry. Mathura takes up her handheld hookah pipe to cope with the accounts of torture. I am close to asking for a puff of the mind-easing smoke myself.
“And the imperial guard?” Deven asks tightly. He has been reluctant to speak about the palace guards, but the rumor the woman told us of their being executed must be wearing on him.
“Hastin stoned the guards and beheaded the higher-ranking officers,” Rohan replies.
Deven pales. He and Yatin would have faced the same fate had they not fled with me. My worry for the ranis and courtesans Hastin is holding captive surges.
“What are the prince’s orders?” I ask.
Rohan trains his gaze on me. “He requests that you join him in Iresh as a guest at the sultan’s Beryl Palace.”
Iresh is the imperial city of the sultanate of Janardan, ruled by Sultan Kuval, whom Rajah Tarek was rumored to despise. During Tarek’s early days of attacks on bhutas, the sultan welcomed refugees into Iresh. Tarek had planned to go after the bhutas who slipped through his grasp after he eradicated those within his borders.
Deven stabs the tip of his sword into the ground and leans against the hilt. “Why does the prince need Kali?”
“Prince Ashwin went to the sultan to seek military aid,” Opal says, “but the prince is an untried ruler. The kindred’s reputation is known far and wide, and the refugee camps are filling. The prince needs her to gain the favor of his people. They need a ruler they know and trust.”
“I’m no more experienced a leader than Prince Ashwin,” I say, drawing back.
“You won your rank tournament and earned their devotion,” Opal replies, her gaze insistent. “The prince believes your endorsement will reassure the refugees and have the added benefit of convincing the sultan to provide troops to unseat Hastin from Vanhi.”
I begrudge Opal’s reasoning but understand why Tarachandians view the prince as a stranger. He has been in hiding all his life. I suppose I can comfort the people until he earns their loyalty.
And then I will walk away from my throne for good.
“I need to speak to my friends alone,” I say, rising.
Opal and Rohan start to leave, but Rohan pauses. “Do you have anything to eat?” he asks. Mathura hands him a bag of dried dates. Rohan licks his lips at the larger supply sack she took the fruit from. “Are those cashews?”
“The fruit is fine,” Opal says, dragging her brother away.
Brac squints at them in the dark as they sit beside their wing flyers and munch on their food. “You know they can hear everything we say,” he remarks.
“I know,” I reply, sighing, “but this gives us some semblance of privacy.”
I glance from face to face, seeking my friends’ cooperation. I have convinced them to follow me this far, but asking them to leave the empire, their home, is a lot to require.
“So now we know where the prince is,” I start carefully.
“I cannot believe he ran.” Natesa’s voice crackles with condemnation. “He left us. He left his people.”
“He went to seek aid, little lotus,” says Yatin. Natesa’s frown fades, charmed by his nickname for her.
“That’s true,” I say, still proceeding cautiously. I will thank Yatin for his support later. “The prince needs our help.”
Brac tips his head to the side in deliberation. “I was the first to call Prince Ashwin a coward, but he’s right to seek aid.” Natesa mutters something snide under her breath. She has adapted to the brothers—Deven, who does not let her boss him around, and Brac, who parched her with his powers the first time they met—but she is less tolerant of Brac. “We should go,” he finishes.
“Absolutely not.” Deven draws an unequivocal line in the air. “The sultan could be using the prince to lure Kali into his borders.”
Brac confronts his brother’s scowl straight on. “The imperial army is disbanding. Our soldiers are running to escape a war they’re ill equipped to fight. We need an army that can stand up to Hastin. The sultan has bhutas in his royal guard. Bhutas can better fight bhutas.”
“No mortal army will stand against Hastin,” Yatin agrees in his low voice. “The fall of Vanhi has proven that.”
“Once we set foot in Janardan, we’ll be under the sultan’s rule,” argues Deven.
Natesa scoffs. “We’re no safer in our borders.”
The same may be true for the Zhaleh. I am hesitant to mention the sacred book—I do not know how much Opal and Rohan know—but Brother Shaan must believe it will be safe in Janardan. I hold my tongue and wait for Mathura to offer her opinion.