arrow between its foul shoulders? “How… how can you know this?” She kept her voice low but fierce. “Who are you?”
His voice carried an echo, like a song from a distant shore. “I once was with the Four Banners as you are now. My duties and allegiances lie elsewhere, but on this day we have a common purpose.”
He offered his hand, and now Marin was close enough to see him better. Waves of light-colored hair reached nearly to his shoulders, his teeth were white, and his eyes had a sapphire glint, even in deep shadow. They shone with a light too wise, too bold and intimate for a man she was seeing for the first time. Then her hand was in his, and the touch felt so… familiar .
“I know why you are here, and I am not your enemy. I am a siri for the Rassan Majalis. My name is Hiril Altaïr, and I stand with you, Marin Hanani.”
His words rang like truth itself. She trembled inside. “But… how do you know of me?”
He looked deep into her eyes and answered, “I have always known your name… my wife.”
6
MARIN’S EYES snapped open.
The ship lurched in the rough waves and almost threw her off the bench. It was dawn at sea, and she’d spent the night on deck remembering. Or, it would now seem, slumped and dreaming. She had never seen Hiril’s face in the shadows of the bay wood. That would have been impossible. She had only trusted his voice and the experience it carried. He’d known her name because he was a siri—information was his job. But he’d never called her his wife until much later. That had been the dream, speaking in his voice.
Marin stood and stretched away the ache in her muscles,bracing her legs against the rolling deck. The night had been calm enough for her to drowse on this bench while trying to read her future in the stars. But now the sea grew choppy as a stiffer wind filled the sails, and her cloak was damp with spray, a dampness that seeped into her skin. She shivered a little, thinking of her warm bunk below, only to hear a familiar voice inside—her own voice—saying, “I’ve seen worse.”
But had she? That was her old self speaking from a different time, much as Hiril had in her dream. Had she truly ever seen anything worse than this? The man she loved was gone from the world, and his ashes in her cabin provided no comfort. If anything, they reminded her of tracking the kayal, of those brittle scales that fell to the ground, eventually becoming one with the soil. Was that what lay beyond the curtain in the world of the Jnoun? Nothing but ashes?
The spray from another wave made it hard for Marin to think of dry, brittle things. The power of wind and sea hurled the little ship westward across Baïr al-Zumr , the Emerald Sea. She herself was a flake of ash, floating or sinking at the pleasure of the elements. Had she seen worse? Had she seen better? None of this mattered when she had no more purpose in the world, when the elements would decide her cruel fortunes.
Oh, but she did have one more purpose. Her year of mourning was ending, and she was on a pilgrimage in Hiril’s name. She owed him this much.
After all, it was her fault he had died.
7
“FOLLOW ME,” Hiril said .
Marin had just met this man, yet she knew there were no lies in his voice. He crept down the wooded knoll into darkness, and she followed .
The land guided their feet, leading them to a small southboundstream. They moved along its bank, navigating by the faint light of a dying sunset somewhere above the canopy of trees and clouds .
Her eyes alert for kayal, Marin followed Hiril closely enough to reach out and touch him. Everything about this man marked him as an expert tracker; still, this was her hunt, and her body remained tensed for a fight .
Deeper into the darkness they trekked. The woods formed a slender, crooked finger running much farther south than she had expected. Positioning the company at the other side of the trees would take considerable time .
Marin and Hiril moved in silent
His voice carried an echo, like a song from a distant shore. “I once was with the Four Banners as you are now. My duties and allegiances lie elsewhere, but on this day we have a common purpose.”
He offered his hand, and now Marin was close enough to see him better. Waves of light-colored hair reached nearly to his shoulders, his teeth were white, and his eyes had a sapphire glint, even in deep shadow. They shone with a light too wise, too bold and intimate for a man she was seeing for the first time. Then her hand was in his, and the touch felt so… familiar .
“I know why you are here, and I am not your enemy. I am a siri for the Rassan Majalis. My name is Hiril Altaïr, and I stand with you, Marin Hanani.”
His words rang like truth itself. She trembled inside. “But… how do you know of me?”
He looked deep into her eyes and answered, “I have always known your name… my wife.”
6
MARIN’S EYES snapped open.
The ship lurched in the rough waves and almost threw her off the bench. It was dawn at sea, and she’d spent the night on deck remembering. Or, it would now seem, slumped and dreaming. She had never seen Hiril’s face in the shadows of the bay wood. That would have been impossible. She had only trusted his voice and the experience it carried. He’d known her name because he was a siri—information was his job. But he’d never called her his wife until much later. That had been the dream, speaking in his voice.
Marin stood and stretched away the ache in her muscles,bracing her legs against the rolling deck. The night had been calm enough for her to drowse on this bench while trying to read her future in the stars. But now the sea grew choppy as a stiffer wind filled the sails, and her cloak was damp with spray, a dampness that seeped into her skin. She shivered a little, thinking of her warm bunk below, only to hear a familiar voice inside—her own voice—saying, “I’ve seen worse.”
But had she? That was her old self speaking from a different time, much as Hiril had in her dream. Had she truly ever seen anything worse than this? The man she loved was gone from the world, and his ashes in her cabin provided no comfort. If anything, they reminded her of tracking the kayal, of those brittle scales that fell to the ground, eventually becoming one with the soil. Was that what lay beyond the curtain in the world of the Jnoun? Nothing but ashes?
The spray from another wave made it hard for Marin to think of dry, brittle things. The power of wind and sea hurled the little ship westward across Baïr al-Zumr , the Emerald Sea. She herself was a flake of ash, floating or sinking at the pleasure of the elements. Had she seen worse? Had she seen better? None of this mattered when she had no more purpose in the world, when the elements would decide her cruel fortunes.
Oh, but she did have one more purpose. Her year of mourning was ending, and she was on a pilgrimage in Hiril’s name. She owed him this much.
After all, it was her fault he had died.
7
“FOLLOW ME,” Hiril said .
Marin had just met this man, yet she knew there were no lies in his voice. He crept down the wooded knoll into darkness, and she followed .
The land guided their feet, leading them to a small southboundstream. They moved along its bank, navigating by the faint light of a dying sunset somewhere above the canopy of trees and clouds .
Her eyes alert for kayal, Marin followed Hiril closely enough to reach out and touch him. Everything about this man marked him as an expert tracker; still, this was her hunt, and her body remained tensed for a fight .
Deeper into the darkness they trekked. The woods formed a slender, crooked finger running much farther south than she had expected. Positioning the company at the other side of the trees would take considerable time .
Marin and Hiril moved in silent
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