Page 102 of The Ninth Element

“We can memorize the key sections. Compare the patterns in the ledger to the map, look for anomalies, for anything that stands out.”

I stare at him, incredulous. “You want to memorize this entire book?”

He taps a finger against the ledger. “I’m suddenly very grateful for yourpersistencein joining this mission, Arien. Your distinctive memory will be invaluable.”

I can only stare at him blankly, blinking as if to clear a fog that wasn’t there. He knows about my eidetic memory. But…

“How… ?” I start, then stop, the question hanging unfinished in the air.

“We did work in the same alchemy hall for a year, remember?” There is a hint of dry amusement in his tone as if I’ve somehow forgotten a glaringly obvious fact.

“But we barely spoke…”

He noticed my memory when I barely registered him as anything morethan a distant golden figure in the periphery of my world. What else had he observed during those long, monotonous hours in the alchemy hall?

“We didn’t need to speak,” His gaze holds mine with a subtle intensity that wasn’t there. “We shared the same space, the same air, the same tedious tasks, for moons. And your remarkable ability to recall any text after a single glance was hardly a secret one needed constant conversation to uncover.”

It’s true; we’d shared a workspace. But Firelands, with its hierarchy and my own crippling self-consciousness, had made any real connection feel impossible. And Zanyar… Zanyar had always seemed so far removed, a prince in all but name, aloof, untouchable, surrounded by an aura of effortless superiority.

The thought is baffling. I’d been so consumed with escaping Firelands, with proving myself to the Ahiras who ignored my existence, that perhaps I’d been blind to the people around me who didn’t. He seems to know me, to have seen things about me that I assumed no one in Firelands cared to notice. And a small, treacherous part of me thrills at the prospect.

Zanyar averts his gaze from me and turns a page. “The past year’s records should suffice.”

I nod, shoving aside the nervous implications of his words and the sudden awareness that has sprung up between us.

Focus. Arien. Focus.

I force my attention to the ledger and the task at hand. Dates, figures, and destinations blur before my eyes, then coalesce, resolving into a vivid picture of Martysh’s movements across the continent. It’s not just commerce; it’s a map. Supply caravans, like veins, snaking through treacherous mountain passes. It’s a military map, hidden in plain sight, written in the language of trade.

Zanyar’s finger traces lines on the map, matching it with the records in the ledger. “Jamshah,” he murmurs, the word a low, almost inaudible rumble, more to himself than to me. “They’ve never maintained such a strong presence in the east of the forests.”

The words of Martyshbod Lirael echo in my mind: the Daevas aresearching the Jamshahi forests, which have now become a focal point in the search for the Star. Should I share this knowledge with Zanyar?

No! Aligning yourself too closely with either side would be foolish.

“Where does Firelands believe the pieces of the Star are hiding?”

Zanyar’s eyes flick to mine, a brief, stoic contact before returning to the ledger with a silent signal that I’ve been dismissed.

“Why so secretive?” I challenge, deliberately provoking him.

I really can’t help myself. It’s like poking a sleeping lion, a reckless impulse I can’t quite explain. Maybe it’s my lingering resentment towards the Ahiras, or maybe it’s justhim. In Firelands, he used to reduce me to a stammering mess. But here, something’s shifted. I’m different. But more importantly,he’sdifferent.

“Afraid I’ll run to Martysh and spill all of Firelands’s secrets when I join their ranks?”

“Ifyou join their ranks,” he corrects in a deliberate jab.

“If?” I repeat, the word dripping with disbelief. “Is that doubt I hear? Why? Do you think a sorceress is incapable of succeeding in winning the trials? Or is it just me? Do you believe I’m nothing more than a weak girl, good for brewing potions and nothing else?”

He finally looks at me, really looks at me, his eyes filled with a sudden fierceness. “I am growing weary of your constant misinterpretations, your insistence on twisting my words into the worst possible meaning.”

“What else am I supposed to think?” I shoot back, my voice rising. “When you blatantly doubt my chances? Last I checked, I’m still standing in the game. Still fighting. No thanks to you or any other Firelanders.”

This isn’t the time to fight; this isn’t the place. But I can’t stop myself.

“I question youraspirations, not your abilities.” His voice is infuriatingly calm.

“And why would my aspirations change?” I challenge, crossing my arms with a defiant gesture.

---