“I would have been willing to eat rodents out of… respect for the Wyshraj ways. But I’d prefer to be told this ahead of time, rather than swung at without notice.” She glared at Ashraia. “It’s rare that creatures that attack me from behind walk away alive.”
My eyebrows lurched. “Attack?”
Siobhan approached, and as she ventured closer to the firelight I saw it: a bloody streak over her shoulder.
My attempt at calm diplomacy drowned beneath a wave of rage.
My blade was in my hand before I could think. Two steps, and my body was pressed against Ashraia’s hulking form, blade to the underside of his chin. “Do not ever raise a hand against her,” I snarled, my incisors already sharpening.
The threat had barely left my lips when I felt the warmth of another behind me — and cold steel against my throat.
“And I ask the same of you.”
Ishqa’s voice was close enough to rustle my hair. Smooth and quiet, but as cold as the steel pressed against my skin.
Two breathless seconds passed, with all those weapons ready to strike. And then, everyone let them fall at once. We all watched each other warily, a dare to make the first move. My eyes were locked on Ishqa’s. The fire roared up between us, heat rippling the still panes of his face.
I felt the weight of the responsibility my father had placed upon me more acutely than ever. In this role, I was Ishqa’s equal. I had been allowing him to lead. No longer. The Wyshraj had been our enemy for a millennia before this, and they would be our enemy again the second this strange blip in time was over.
I could not afford to forget that.
I refused to be the first to speak. Ishqa seemed to have made the same vow. We stared each other down, waging a silent battle for control.
Caduan’s voice finally sliced through the silence.
“You are all,” he stated, plainly, “acting like children.”
The sheer force of his annoyance was enough to crack the tension.
Ishqa turned to Siobhan. “Ashraia should not have raised his blade against you. I apologize on his behalf.”
“I’d prefer that he apologize on his own behalf,” Siobhan said.
Ashraia was silent, a wrinkle over his nose, and it was only after Ishqa gave him a prodding look that he loosened a frustrated grunt. “In the future, I will hold my blade,” he said gruffly, “though not my words, I warn you.”
“Nor will I,” Siobhan replied, “so I can’t argue with that.”
Ishqa turned a gaze to me, then to the quail at my feet. I knew exactly what he wanted me to say. What the polite and chivalrous thing to do would be. But I’d never been good at being polite and chivalrous. Now, my notorious, damned stubbornness clamped my lips shut.
“Fine,” I finally spat. “Out of respect for your ways, we will not eat the quail tonight. And we will refrain from hunting birds in the future.”
It was not difficult to hear my irritation. Ishqa cocked his head, and maybe it was my imagination or the warping smoke of the fire, but I could have sworn I saw a spark of amusement in his stare.
“Thank you, Aefe,” he said.
“Thank you, Ishqa,” I replied, reluctantly.
“Thank you, gods,” Caduan muttered, with a sincerity that made me snort a sudden, unexpected chuckle.
We cooked up the squirrels, a poor meal for five warriors who had been traveling all day, but still, I wasn’t about to complain about any quantity or quality of food at this point. I had already downed several unladylike bites when I noticed that the two Wyshraj were waiting, eyes closed, face lifted to the sky. They dragged their pointer fingers to their foreheads, then to their hearts, then to the soil. With each movement, their lips formed soundless words.
Siobhan, Caduan, and I ate silently, watching this. Ishqa, noble as he was, managed to make this look… well, at least somewhat graceful. But watching someone as large and burly as Ashraia go through these movements painted a particularly silly image.
They performed this cycle several times before, finally, opening their eyes.
“Were those prayers?” Caduan asked. No judgement in his voice, just curiosity.
“Yes.” Ishqa looked to me, one eyebrow quirking. “The Sidnee do not pray?”
“I have heard that the Sidnee are a godless people,” Ashraia grumbled.
“We do have gods,” I said, tearing off a chunk of roasted squirrel, “but ours don’t ask us to perform silly dances for them.”
“We make sure that our gods fully see our appreciation for them,” Ishqa replied, smoothly. “And because we speak to them often, our gods gift us with appreciation in kind.”
“Our gods appreciate us just fine.”
Do they now? a jeering voice in the back of my head whispered. Is that why they tainted you?
I pushed the thought away and tore off another chunk of squirrel.
“We need their service now, more than ever.” Ishqa’s gaze went far away, the remnants of his smirk fading. It was the first time I’d seen anything akin to concern, true concern, on his face.
“We cannot rely on the gods to help us,” Caduan said. “I think we’ll just need to help ourselves.”
He barely had picked at his food. The fire haloed his profile, highlighting the severe line of his nose and chin, the serious set of his jaw. He didn’t look up.
Ishqa gave him a look that veered on pity.
“I know that your people, above all, understood the value of spiritual faiths and magics,” he said. “The Stoneheld are known for building the most magnificent temples of any house, and for having the most committed spiritual scholars. In dark times as these, we need their faith more than anything.”
“The temples were beautiful,” Caduan said, quietly. And he paused, as if remembering, a mournful smile at his lips. Then he looked back at the fire, and it was gone. “But when the humans came, they crumbled just as easily as the brothels. And the scholars and the whores ended up in the same graves.”
Well, what was
