Page 37 of Daughter of the Dark Sun
Death by her hand would taste so sweet.
She paused, then pushed deeper into his mind. His voice rang out through the emptiness.
Who are you?
A hazy vision took form in her mind’s eye. The raven-haired woman stood in a twisted, broken rocky land. Blood dripped from a black-bladed dagger. She clutched a still-beating heart inher other hand, twitching as nails sank into the decaying flesh. At her feet lay the bloodied body of Therat, his face calm and content in death. She would mold him, shape him—a weapon waiting to be forged.
Apattar blinked, back in the desert once more. A bead of sweat traced its way down Therat’s square jawline, now slack with surprise. Hands sat awkwardly over his lap and a sly grin spread across her lips. Apattar was not so sheltered as to be innocent about the ways of men.
What made her so beautiful to him? More importantly, why did she care? Would images of her dance behind closed eyelids at night? The thrill of being someone’s obsession kindled a fire in her heart. The idea of finding someone to love her dark and twisted mind didn’t seem so impossible now.
The monkey in Ninann’s arms leapt onto Apattar’s shoulder and wrenched her focus away from Therat. As if waking from a daze, she realized Adon still spoke, asking something about the scattered islands in the western seas.
“Oh, augh!” she shouted, the monkey heavier than it looked. “I’m sorry, Adon. Can you say the last part again?”
Adon reached out and plucked the monkey off Apattar’s shoulders. “He’s rambunctious, isn’t he? I was wondering how you got to the ruined islands. Ninann mentioned it before.” He spoke with a smile stretched across his wide face. Apattar wondered if Therat had ever smiled like Adon. He would, soon enough. She would make him die with a smile on his face.
“They stand as a dead reminder of the past, a testament to the folly of our ancestors. They are… peculiar. I’m not sure one can get there by choice. I got to the Andesiri River, you remember? I opened a portal to cross the western banks, but I found myself in the far west, on the ruins of Andeshar. The fires still rage on the northern end, but I found enough to survive. I count it sheer luck I finally managed to open a portal backto Hylaea. Still, as wanderings go, I do not count it among the worst of my time away.”
Therat spoke up, pausing in awkward places as if trying to force the words out. It demanded her attention even as she tried to ignore the flicker of warmth spreading through her hollowed heart.
“The ruins of Andeshar. A perilous place to find oneself. Yet, I sense perhaps it is you others should be afraid of. What an intriguing compliment to your sister.” The deep voice rumbled forth from Therat’s broad chest. It reminded Apattar of the sky-splitting thunderstorms of Andeshar, how the terrorizing sound grew to be an odd comfort after long weeks on the battered island.
Apattar laughed, a thin and raspy sound. “I hear that often. Twins needn’t be replicas, life would be much too boring. There is always something to be found in the dark. Would you not agree,” Apattar paused for the briefest of moments, searching for Therat’s eyes. When they claimed their victim, she pulled him into her gaze and spoke his name with slow intention. “Therat?”
She wanted to laugh and say his name again. Watch him squirm as the sound dripped from her tongue like a sweet poison into Therat’s shadowy mind.
“Well, well…” Therat stumbled over his words, eyes flying around as they searched for anything but Apattar to look at. “Well, I would say it depends on what you seek, my lady.”
Apattar giggled, amused by Therat’s awkward politeness in the absence of the stony facade she tore down. They locked eyes again for but a moment before he jerked them away, loath to look at his torturer.
“I ah, I must leave. I only came to say hello. Adon will spoil you and Lady Ninann with his music and good company in mywake.” Therat stood and backed away as he spoke, turning heel and fleeing like a trapped rodent given a second chance.
Once Therat disappeared around the corner of the far building, the rest of the desert came rushing back to Apattar’s senses. The sweet scent of Ninann’s perfume—rose and lily, of course. Adon’s bracelets clacking together as he rubbed her sister’s hand. The coolness of the shade and the chitters of the monkey nestled against Adon’s neck. It was as if the world hadn’t changed in an instant. Apattar suddenly felt constricted, shackled to her sister. A prisoner.
“My ladies, you must forgive my brother. He is prone to mood swings as random as the natural rains here. I learned long ago to give him space. Gods know where he gets off to, although I sense I may be grateful to not know. Anyway, my ladies Ninann and Apattar, should we go now? I promised far more than a conversation near the granary.”
Ninann clapped her hands with glee and began to walk away despite not knowing where to go. Adon caught her wrist, forcing her to stop.
“Oh, I can’t wait! And to think, soon enough, we’ll be leaving for Tír is Isneha too! Adon, you know how to spoil me.” Apattar could not stand Ninann’s joy. Nothing sounded worse than stuffy lecture halls and a city of waveweavers all vying to call themselves master of their craft.
“I think I will let you two go on together,” Apattar said, eyes darting to where she last saw Therat. “I would like some time to myself right now, to think. Your speaking of Isneha has reminded me that I still need to choose my path ahead. I will find you later, my little dove.” Apattar said her beloved name for Ninann, hoping to draw a twinge of guilt from her twin. If any came, it did not surface for the young woman to see. Anger flared, then cooled as fast as it came.
“If that is what you wish! Later, at the Fountain!”
Aheavy sigh builtin the silence. Apattar’s thoughts strayed back to Therat. A man wandering the world lost and separated from hissoerl,like her. Shadow-touched, like her, but troubled with vicious, wild thoughts. Though she could not say why, Apattar needed to understand the man.
Therat was not anevranenith—Apattar knew the twins were born on the autumnal equinox. She heard whispers of people who walked with the shadows of night, transforming themselves as they wove the Shadow-weave into their soulsong. Shadewalkers: a relic of the past, or so the Madhiri said. But they also said noevranenithlived to even get a name.
Apattar sat under the palms until the sun rose higher and chased the cool shade away. Rising, curiosity guided her feet toward Therat, his presence like a beacon nestled in her mind. The music grew louder as she walked through the thick band of trees behind the granary.
The sweet smell of grain and honey turned foul as the stench of the slaughterhouse overtook everything fair. It reminded Apattar of a dead camel she once found in the desert, how she poked the distended stomach and with a sickeningpopdeath assaulted her senses.
It did not surprise Apattar to find Therat’s refuge here. The fetid smell matched foul thoughts running through his mind. She wondered how many people his shadows had told him to kill. Had he acted on it before? Did he lose control as she did, guilt eating at his heart over taking a life? She tried to tellherself they were deserved and justified. Self-defense, even… Tela. Apattar shuddered at the name.
She pushed through the last of the trees and came upon a small path hugging the side of the slaughterhouse. The long building crept along the ground under the tall figs. A small gazebo sat at the far end of the sandstone path in the deep shade of several tall desert willows. In full bloom, a firework of bright pink and white crinkled flowers dazzled between slender, deep green leaves. The gazebo sat in a cloak of shadows that warped the very air around it.
Each step became a war between trepidation and fascination. Apattar knew her presence would cause rumors in the city if anyone saw her, but the voice of reason drowned under the thrum of Therat’s soulsong. If she could talk to him, show him what gifts she held. What the pale woman told her, that the shadows were not always this way. She knew how afraid and alone Therat must be. And, if he would not come willingly…
