Fairy Queens: Books 5-7 Page 10

  She paused before a desert rose. A single bud had opened, bright coral with a yellow center. Cinder knelt next to it, not caring about her robes, and breathed in the fresh, citrusy scent as she remembered the woman beneath it.

  Darsam knelt beside her. “Zura plants flowers in the memory of those who have died?”

  Cinder huffed. “No. She plants the flowers over their corpses to remind us what happens when we step out of line.” She looked up at him. “I don’t want to join them.”

  He reached down and pulled her to her feet. “Determination will only get you so far. You have to have plans. And more than a little luck. I have both.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He leaned forward, his mouth inches from her ear, but then there was the sound of someone pushing through the brush and laughing. They both stiffened as a man and woman appeared. One of the Luathan women nodded to Cinder as she passed. Then the couple disappeared into the darkness. Soon, the sounds of passion floated back to Cinder’s ears.

  Darsam took her hand and led her toward her room. “What did you mean before?” she asked him.

  Only when they were tucked safely in the dark of the room with her in his arms did he answer, “Be ready. Tonight.”

  “For what?”

  “To escape.” He wouldn’t say more as he left her in the darkness alone.

  Cinder didn’t mean to fall asleep again, but suddenly someone was shaking her shoulder. A shadowed, cloaked face hovered above her. She gasped and started to scramble back, but a hand gripped her.

  “Come with me, quickly.”

  It was her grandmother. Behind Storm stood another figure—Cinder’s mother. Ash pushed Cinder’s cloak, headscarf, and veil into her hands. As she followed her matriarchs out the pivot door, Cinder asked, “What’s going on?”

  “We’re going home,” Ash answered in a half-whisper.

  “To the clanlands? We can’t—we’ll be caught. We’ll be killed.”

  “There are worse things than dying,” Storm said in a voice heavy with emotion. “Will you too watch your daughter be forced to play the harlot?”

  “We’re not going to die,” Ash added quickly. “Now come on.”

  Cinder planted her feet. “What about Naiba? If I leave, she will be forced to take my place.” The thought filled Cinder with horror.

  Her mother shook her head. “I’ve paid for three of us, not four.”

  Cinder spun on her heel and ran for the servants’ house before her mother or grandmother could stop her. She counted her steps up to the attic, slipped down the row of beds, and shook Naiba’s arm. When the girl sat up, Cinder held a finger to her lips. Naiba followed her to the kitchen, where Storm waited.

  In shock, Naiba looked around. “You’re escaping.”

  “You cannot stay behind,” Storm said, her shoulders set in the moonlight. “They’ll kill you for not informing them.”

  Naiba’s eyes were enormous in her head. “A girl my age ran—they cut off her ear.”

  Storm pulled a knife from her cloak. “I don’t want to kill you, child. But I will if I have to.”

  Cinder took a step toward her grandmother, her mouth open to protest.

  Naiba spoke before she could. “So I die either way. I might as well die with the hope of escape.”

  The four of them crossed the deserted courtyard, heading for the back gate. Ash pushed the gate open and they hurried out. Gathering herself to go after them, Cinder looked back and saw the guard’s boots sticking out from beneath the rose bushes. She couldn’t find it in herself to feel sorry for him.

  Loaded with large clay pots, a wagon waited in the shadows of a building. A hooded figure sat in the driver’s seat, while Darsam flipped open a trapdoor near the back of the wagon. Beneath the wagon bed and running the length of it was a secret compartment. Cinder swallowed hard as she stared at the confined space.

  “Why are there four of you?” Darsam asked as he motioned for the women to get inside the compartment.

  “Cinder insisted,” growled Storm.

  “We won’t have enough horses for her once we’re outside the city,” Darsam explained.

  Cinder let out a little huff. “Well, I’m not leaving her behind.”

  “We can leave her at the Sand Snake,” suggested the driver. “Try to get her out later.”

  “Naiba?” Cinder said questioningly.

  “Can we trust them?” the girl asked.

  Cinder hesitated. “Yes,” she said finally, feeling Darsam’s gaze on her.

  He gave a quick nod, then helped Ash and Storm into the secret compartment. Naiba shimmied herself in.

  “Have you been planning this since you met my grandmother at the Sand Snake?” Cinder asked, knowing a part of her was delaying the inevitable.

  “That was Ashar, not me.” Darsam gestured to the driver, who was keeping a lookout. It was the man Cinder had seen in the House of Night. “Get inside,” urged Darsam

  Cinder stared into the dark, cramped space. Her breaths came too fast, her heart racing. “I . . . I’m not sure I can.”

  “Use the numbers,” Darsam told her.

  Cinder glanced at him, wishing it were light out so she could read his expression. She positioned herself between her mother and Naiba, then closed her eyes and slid into the cramped space, which smelled of sour wine. Cinder rolled onto her stomach and heard Darsam latch the door behind them. She whimpered as the wagon creaked forward, shuddering over the flagstones.

  Her mother took one of Cinder’s hands, Naiba the other. Cinder closed her eyes and counted 1,802 seconds before the wagon came to a halt. There was a little sliver missing from the wood, big enough for her to see an abandoned building, moonlight reflecting off the windows like dead eyes. On the other side was the Sand Snake.

  Cinder squeezed Naiba’s hand. “You can trust Darsam. He’s a good man.”

  The girl took in a deep breath. “I never had a chance to thank you—what you did for me . . .”

  Something swelled in Cinder’s throat, but she managed to say, “Your name is Yula again.”

  The trapdoor opened and fresh air rushed inside the compartment. Cinder gasped, fighting the urge to haul herself out of the small space. Suddenly, she realized she would probably never see Naiba again. Her friend seemed to come to the same conclusion, for they reached for each other at the same time. As they embraced each other, silent sobs racked Naiba.

  “Cinder, I’m sorry, but we must hurry,” Darsam whispered.

  “I love you, Cinder,” Naiba said softly. “I will always love you.”

  Then she let go and hauled herself out of the small compartment. Cinder had time to see the basement door open before Darsam shut the trapdoor again. She tried to start doubles, but the slippery numbers fell out of her grasp before she could put them in order. There was a hasty conversation outside, and then they were moving once more.

  There was more room now—almost enough to breathe. “Are they the only ones helping us?” Cinder asked Ash, desperate to distract herself. She had hoped the stolen earring would be enough to hire a dozen men.

  “The rest are waiting outside the city with horses,” Ash answered as she rose up on her elbows to peer outside. A stray bit of light streaming from the taverns revealed scratches on her mother’s arms. “Is he dead? The guard?” Cinder asked.

  Ash glanced at the welts. “He got what he deserved.” Cinder felt a sharp pain in her belly. There was no going back for them, not now. “Once we reach the edge of the desert, we’ll trade the horses for camels,” her mother explained.

  “All this for one earring?” Cinder asked softly.

  Her mother took Cinder’s hand and pushed it into her pocket. Feeling the hard, smooth stones with metal prongs, Cinder jerked her hand back. “I took the whole set,” Ash told her. “It will buy us passage through the Adrack Desert and a ship to take us to the clanlands.”

  “We’re finally going home.” Cinder’s grandmother’s voice caught at the words.


  Thinking of the key always dangling from a chain around Zura’s neck, Cinder asked her mother, “How did you get the jewels in the first place?”

  Ash chuckled softly. “Have you forgotten who taught you to pick a lock?”

  In the dark and cloistered wagon bed, Ash reached out and took hold of Cinder’s hand.

  “We’re going to make it,” Cinder said. She’d never ventured beyond the city walls. Never seen the fields and orchards up close. Never known life beyond the never-ending heat and the taste of sand on her tongue. She was not sorry to leave. The wagon lumbered to a stop, and she imagined the city’s tall wall, lamplight casting a flickering glow over the city.

  “The gates are closed for the night. Come back at first light,” called an authoritative voice.

  “Wife won’t like me not showing up—she already thinks me a drunkard and a fool.” Ashar’s words were slurred. “Not that it isn’t true, mind you, but I cannot abide the nagging. What say we bypass the rules and let an old man home to his bed, eh?”

  “Come back in the morning,” said the watchman, clearly annoyed.

  Ashar was silent a beat before he tried again. “Where’s old Grez? He always lets me through on the nights I drink.”

  Someone growled in frustration. “Oh, he does, does he? We’ll just check your cargo and then you can be on your way.”

  Cinder hardly dared to breathe as footsteps sounded around the wagon. Above her, she could hear the empty pots shift as someone moved them around. “The bed of this wagon seems far too high,” commented one of the watchmen. Cinder longed to peek out the sliver, but she dared not even move as the lamplight swung around, filling the tight space with enough light that she could see her body for the first time in over an hour. She heard the brush of flesh on wood and then a catch gave. The trapdoor swung open to reveal the hard face of the watchman holding the lamp.

  Darsam jumped down in front of the women, driving the watchman back with a great black sword. “Run!” Darsam cried. From the front of the wagon came the sounds of clanging swords. One of the watchmen shouted for help.

  Cinder grabbed hold of the ledge above her and pulled herself out of the wagon. A breeze touched her clammy clothes, and suddenly she could breathe again. She reached back into the darkness to help her grandmother to her feet, but Ash slapped a knife into Cinder’s hand and shoved her. “Go!”

  They sprinted into the empty space between the city wall and the buildings. The watchman’s shouts had brought out people along the walkway. Three men pounded down the stone stairs, swords in hand. Two of the men went to help the pair fighting Darsam and Ashar. The third sprinted after the women. Cinder heard his steps coming closer, felt the skin between her shoulder blades prickle with his presence. A hand grabbed the back of her cloak. She ducked out of it and kept running. Only a second later, the man’s hand caught her hair.

  She screamed as he jerked her around and pinned her against and the wall, then placed his curved sword against her throat. He blinked in surprise when he saw her face. “You’re one of Darsam’s girls?”

  Could he possibly be among the men Darsam had paid to look the other way? Breathing shallowly through her nose to keep her exposed throat as small as possible, Cinder breathed out, “Yes.”

  Before he could respond, a hand wrapped around him from behind, a knife point pressed to his neck. “Kill her and you die too,” Ash hissed. Cinder had never seen her mother so furious. Storm was there, too.

  For a breathless moment, they all stood like that, knives and swords and death only a twitch away. “I have no desire to kill any of you,” said the man, withdrawing his sword a little. Ash backed away as he did.

  For a split second, Cinder met the watchman’s eyes. She was still in range of his sword, while he was relatively safe from the knife. He could have swung his blade at her—could have ended her life. Instead, he growled in frustration and pointed. “Run!”

  Barely able to believe he’d let them go, Cinder pivoted and ran without looking back. They would have to find a place to hide. Tomorrow, perhaps, they could try to find Darsam or one of his tribesmen smugglers at the Sand Snake and sneak out of the city. But just as the three women turned up a street, they found themselves facing two hulking shapes holding cudgels. The door to a building on their right flew open, the light outlining a figure that pointed at them.

  “Get them!” Zura cried.

  Cinder, Storm, and Ash whirled around to run. But the other guard had caught up to them and now trapped them between himself and Zura’s thugs. Heart pounding, Cinder shot the first guard a pleading look—after all, he’d let them go once—but he glanced at Zura and her thugs and reluctantly lifted his sword. Cinder whirled in a circle, searching for a side door or an alley. Something.

  “I don’t mind killing you, Ash,” Zura said. “But then, maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just kill your mother. Her usefulness is about at an end anyway.”

  “By the Balance,” Ash said softly, “there is no justice in the world.” She tossed her knife onto the flagstone.

  Refusing to give up so quickly, Cinder looked for Darsam. But from this distance, and with more shadows than light, she couldn’t tell which of the two smugglers was which. One of the guard’s swords connected, and a smuggler grunted and went down on one knee. Cinder clenched her twenty-eight teeth so hard she thought they might shatter. Reluctantly, the smuggler dropped his sword. One watchman stood guard over him, while the other went to join the two men fighting the second smuggler.

  Now Darsam was outnumbered three to one. “Put it down,” said one of the guards. “You know it’s over.”

  “Fine.” Cinder recognized Darsam’s voice. He sounded almost bored. He was all right! Her jaw relaxed. “It’s not like I won’t be out in the morning,” he drawled. The watchmen forced him to the ground.

  With no other option, Cinder released her death grip and dropped her knife. Her hand ached as the blood rushed back in.

  “I told you, Captain Hazev,” Zura called to one of the men tying up Darsam, “that some of my slaves were planning an escape. I told you Darsam was paying off watchmen to look the other way.”

  Cinder sucked in a breath. How could Zura have known?

  “It seems you were right, Mistress Zura,” a man called back. “Grez will be dealt with, I assure you.”

  Zura looked around. “There is another girl—a young Luathan. Where is she?”

  “She wasn’t with them in the wagon,” Hazev said as he came toward them. He was the man who had opened the hidden door in the wagon.

  At least Naiba—Yula—was safe.

  “I want her found,” Zura barked. “I’ll deal with the rest of them myself.”

  “She’s freeborn,” Ash said before the watchman could respond. Her searching hand found Cinder’s upper arm and pulled her in front of him, tipping the side of her head toward the light for proof. “Let her go.”

  Laz turned to Zura. “Is this true?”

  Zura’s shadowed gaze fixed on Cinder. “Freeborn she may be, but she consorted with criminals to steal my property—jewels and slaves alike. One of my men is dead.”

  “Not by any of our hands,” Ash said a little too smoothly.

  “This girl stole nothing. I took them.” Cinder’s grandmother removed the jewels from Ash’s pockets and threw them on the ground at Zura’s feet in disgust. “As payment for the years you kept me against my will.”

  “You don’t have any will,” Zura hissed as she crouched to scoop up the jewels. “Tie them all up and take them to the cellar.” Another watchman joined the group, and the two men came forward, along with Farush and Farood, to tie the captives’ hands behind their backs.

  Laz turned to his commanding officer. “Sir, they have no legal right to take an Idaran citizen.”

  “Fine,” Hazev said.

  Laz pulled Cinder out of Farush’s grasp. “You can take your property, but the girl is under arrest. She’s a prisoner of the city watch now.”

  Zura shrugged. “F
ine.” Cinder wondered why she wasn’t fighting harder.

  “And the smugglers?” Laz asked.

  “Bring them as well,” said Captain Hazev.

  Storm wrenched free of Farood’s grasp and came to rest her forehead against Cinder’s. The firelight caught the shadows in her panicked eyes, twisting them into grotesque shapes. “Listen to me, Cinder. You survive the mine. Survive in any way you can. And when you get out, leave this province—leave Idara. Don’t look back. Never come back. Promise me. Swear it.”

  Then Storm was wrenched away. Cinder stumbled after her, but the watchmen held her tight. She stared helplessly as her grandmother and mother were dragged away and pushed to the floor of the chariot.

  “Cinder,” Ash called in desperation.

  “Swear it!” Storm said. “Swear you won’t come back!”

  Cinder didn’t answer as the shadows swallowed her grandmother whole.

  The bolt across the heavy door groaned and the door flew open. Darsam was unceremoniously dumped inside. He winced as the door slammed behind him and the bolt slid home. Cinder scrambled to his side. One large bruise on his cheek, one split and swollen lip, one eye nearly swollen shut.

  “Darsam,” she said breathlessly. She didn’t know how to help him, or even where to start.

  “They’re always so pleased to see me when I come back.” He took a shallow breath. “I don’t think they even managed to break my ribs this time.”

  She pushed her hair off her sweaty forehead and tucked the strands behind her ears. “Tell me what to do.”

  He shifted to look at her in the dim light coming from the tiny, high window. It was daytime. “Nothing’s broken, just bruises and cuts. A week or two and I’ll be fine.”

  Cinder got the bucket of water from the corner and sat again, then ripped off a piece of her undergarment and dipped it into the questionable-looking water. She began gently cleaning Darsam’s face, counting the strokes to calm herself. “Luckily for us,” he said with a wince, “I bribed one of the guards to put me in with you.”

  “You could bribe them to put you in my cell, but not to stop them from beating you?”