Page 57 of The City of Zirdai
The food and water revived her further. She clambered from the cushion—an uncoordinated and graceless endeavor. A newborn gamelu gained its feet with more aplomb. Granted, she was unused to the cushion’s extra thickness. She paused. Her thin sleeping mat at the temple was pathetic in comparison. Not much of an enticement for Rendor to return. And why the sudden focus on a cushion? Because it was easier than facing Rendor.
A narrow opening connected this room to another. She crossed through it. This one contained a couple cushions to sit on, a low table, and a trunk with a sand clock sitting on top. It was angle one-eighty—she’d slept the entire sun jump. Two druks hung on the wall. A rough stained-glass door meant there were no more living spaces. Nowhere else that Rendor could be. She peeked out the door just in case he was standing guard. The tunnel was dimly lit and two distant figures headed toward her. Their voices echoed. She ducked back inside before they spotted her.
She wondered if this was his place or if he was squatting here. It was bigger than her tiny single room on level three when she’d been a legal citizen.
With nothing to do but wait, Shyla considered her apology. But soon her thoughts turned dark. What if Rendor didn’t return? Now she fretted. What if he was injured? Or he was caught? She couldn’t do anything to help him. Not yet. And she needed to leave at angle zero; staying in Zirdai any longer would be too dangerous. A million horrible scenarios played out in her mind.
To keep from obsessing over Rendor, she considered what had happened in the chapel. She hadn’t planned on commanding the deacons to experience pain if they hurt another person, but the sight of that child had triggered such fury that she considered ending all their lives. Wished it. Would the temptation to force others to do her bidding grow until she no longer thought it was wrong? Was that what had happened to Tamburah? He hadn’t started out as a despot. Had the power of The Eyes corrupted him? Or had they given him the power to do what he longed to do all along?
She sighed. Why couldn’t anything be simple? Was it too much to wish The Eyes came with instructions that made sense? Right now, she felt as if she were stumbling around in the dark, hoping not to slam into a wall. Same with Rendor. What was she supposed to do in this situation? She’d never cared for anyone like this and it appeared she’d already ruined it.
What if he didn’t want to talk to her? He had to know she’d try to convince him to return to the Invisible Sword. Or what if he thought she wouldn’t, and he was saving himself the pain of another rejection? Or he was truly done with her? She hadn’t even thanked him for helping her!
Seven hells. She’d rather be fighting an Arch Deacon than twisting herself into a giant knot of what-ifs. Eventually she burned through her energy. Putting the sand clock next to the sleeping cushion, she lay down. The blasted thing was so damn comfortable. Would Rendor choose a cushion over her?
A light knocking woke her at angle three-forty. She was halfway to the door before she realized Rendor wouldn’t knock. Her next thought—deacons!—was also dismissed. They’d pound on it or break the door down. Same with the guards. Cautiously, she cracked it open.
A young boy around twelve circuits old stood there. He was a bit grubby but not a vagrant.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I’ve a message for you.”
Oh no. Her heart shriveled. “Wait, please.” She grabbed her wrap and covered her hair before letting the boy inside.
He gazed at her. If he noticed her blond eyelashes and eyebrows, he didn’t react. “I’ve been paid to guide you to the surface,” he said. “We should leave now in order to get there by angle zero.”
“Who paid you?” Shyla lowered her shield to read his thoughts. This could be a trap.
“Some big guy. He said to tell you that this is for the best. And for you to stop looking for him.”
The boy told the truth. The desiccated thing in her chest crumbled, leaving behind a huge emptiness.
Shyla had only a vague memory of the trip to the surface. The boy was good at avoiding other people and he didn’t say a word the entire trip. He pointed down a tunnel, said it would lead to an exit, and disappeared.
When she exited the tunnel, she encountered a few others heading toward the surface. She joined them, tagging along near the back. No one gave her a second glance…or even a first glance. But the two deacons standing next to the exit studied each person intently as they passed.
Slowing down, Shyla craned her neck to get a better look at their throats. Scorching hells. One wore a torque. Just her luck. She couldn’t use her magic to slip by them unnoticed. Well…she could for one of them if she had enough energy. A quick plan took shape and she targeted the unprotected deacon, sending an image.
The sun-kissed.
The sun-kissed.
The deacon on the left cried out. “It’s her!” He lunged forward, grabbing a man who was a few paces in front of her. “I’ve got the sun-kissed!” Yanking the poor man’s hood down, the deacon tightened his grip on the guy’s shoulders.
“Are you blind? That’s not the sun-kissed,” his partner said.
“Yes, it is.”
“No—”
The sun-kissed.
“Watch out. She has a knife!” He pulled his dagger.
“No. Stop, you idiot.”
Shyla skirted the two grappling deacons and sent a silent apology to the man she’d used. Striding along one of the well-used paths to avoid leaving footprints, she stopped the image when she was a safe distance away. Then she ducked behind a dune to catch her breath. That little deception cost her. And she doubted it would work a second time. Once the two deacons figured out what had happened and reported it, the priestess would change tactics.
