“What’s wrong with him?”
“I don’t know.”
Ezaara touched his dry cool hide. “Is he usually warmer than this?”
“Only when he basks in the sun or snuggles me. His skin can be fiery-orange, like Robandi sand, but today he’s pale. Usually, he scampers around, catching midges, or crawling all over me. I found him limp in a corner and he hasn’t moved since.” Ithsar’s bottom lip wobbled. “Please, use the juice. Help him.”
She couldn’t tell her only friend in this forsaken place that it would be a shame to waste piaua on a lizard, not when Ithsar cared so deeply for him. Ezaara reached into her healer’s pouch. “Piaua doesn’t heal everything.”
Ithsar forced Thika’s mouth open and Ezaara shook two drops of piaua into his maw. “There, he should be better in a few moments.”
Ithsar stroked his skin. Moments stretched and there was no change.
“Ithsar, this juice cures most illnesses and heals many wounds, however it has limits. It can’t treat infection or poison.”
“Thika has been poisoned?” Ithsar’s hand flew to her mouth. “It must’ve been Izoldia.” She thrust Thika through the bars at Ezaara. “I know where the poisons and remedies are kept. I’ll be back.” Ithsar left the lamp and dashed away.
Ezaara sat on her mattress, stroking Thika. The lizard blinked and slumped on her lap. His hide reminded her of Zaarusha’s—soft and supple. She released a long sigh, missing the queen.
Ithsar returned with a sack of earthenware pots. “I haven’t done my poison training yet, so I’m not sure what is what,” she whispered, her gaze hopeful.
“Let’s see.” Ezaara put Thika on the mattress and eased the sack quietly through the bars. Opening the pots, she held them near the lamp, examining the contents and sniffing each one. “I’ve never seen any of these before,” she whispered.
“Thika was my father’s. He’s the only thing I have left of him.” Ithsar’s eyes pooled with tears.
“Is your father …”
“Dead? Yes. Ashewar killed him once they’d finished using him to breed. I guess I was lucky. He lived longer than most. I was nearly four when he died.”
Ezaara took a sharp breath. “That’s why there are no men here?”
“Ashewar hates men. She murders them once they provide enough offspring. Any man who comes here—” Ithsar’s eyes flew wide. “I’m sorry. I—”
Oh, gods. They were going to use Roberto for breeding, then kill him. Ezaara’s body ran cold. A gulf opened inside her, wide enough to swallow her.
Ithsar froze, her dark eyes huge.
“T-tell me.” Ezaara tried to force a smile, but couldn’t.
“You love this man with the olive eyes?”
She nodded.
“It is the new way of the silent assassins—since Ashewar destroyed the former leader and purged the ranks of men. I’m sorry …”
Breeding and murder. She had to get out of here with Roberto. She’d need Ithsar’s help. “Where is he?”
“Under sedation while he heals.”
“What’s wrong with him? Is he poisoned too?”
“No, Robandi slit his gut in the desert.”
Shards! The rock walls spun, then closed in on her.
“He is healing well, but it will be slow. Gut wounds are.” Ithsar’s eyes dropped to Thika and a tear tracked down her cheek. “I have no one else.” Her whisper was barely audible.
Ezaara counted her heartbeats. She couldn’t panic. One step at a time. First heal the lizard. Then Ithsar’s fingers. Then plan an escape and rescue Roberto. And find Erob. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply.
When she opened them again, there was a faint red glow around Ithsar. Must be the lamp light. She picked up a pot, sniffing the acrid black paste inside. When she held the pot near Thika, a sickly green shimmer enveloped the lizard and the paste. It disappeared when she moved the pot away.
“I think that one is rust-viper venom,” Ithsar murmured.
Setting it down, Ezaara took another pot which also had a faint sheen of greenish light around it. “Is this special clay? Is that why the pots glow?”
Ithsar’s face lit up. Her whisper was full of suppressed excitement. “Sathir. You can see sathir.”
“This light? That’s sathir?”
Ithsar nodded. “If you can see it around the pots, that is a miracle. I can sense most people’s sathir and Thika’s. Some can sense animals and plants. Perhaps you have that gift.” She held a pot near Thika. “Sathir shows the effect of things on one another. Here, what do you see?”
“Sickly green.”
Another pot.
“A tiny thread of red.”
“Red is Thika’s sathir color. This substance strengthens his life energy, so it may heal him.”
Rapidly, they tried the others, but only that one pot glowed red. Ezaara administered the liquid from the pot, a few drops at a time. Gradually, Thika perked up, his skin growing more orange with each dose. A wide ribbon of shining red connected him to Ithsar.
“His sathir, it’s connected to you.”
Ithsar grinned. “We are all connected to one another.” The lamp sputtered. “I have to go.” Ithsar shot to her feet and hid Thika in her clothing. Reaching through the bars, she gathered the pots up and shoved them in the sack. “Thank you.”
“Wait.” Ezaara grasped her hand and healed another two of her fingers.
“I must go. At dawn, the morning’s training will commence.” Ithsar rushed away, keeping to the perimeter of the cavern so her footfalls weren’t amplified in the natural echo chamber.
Ezaara lay down, but before she could sleep, assassins filed into the cavern to perform their training rituals. She lay, watching through half-lidded eyes, seeing flashes of sathir. Maybe one day she’d be good enough to see more. But first, she had to escape and find Roberto.
Ithsar appeared, carrying a small dish of food, her hands hidden in the folds of her sleeves. “Give me the juice. I’ll heal your friend and help you escape.”
