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I can’t believe she has agreed, so I go back to stirring the soup, afraid to say or do something that might change her mind.
We eat the dinner I cooked in silence. Only the two of us. With the meal out of the way, Inara glances at the clock with a heavy sigh. We both know what it means, and when we finally walk out of the house, I hide my thrilled smile behind a scarf wrapped around my face. It has nothing to do with the sun that had already left space for a cool evening, but to guard my face from unwelcome attention.
Inara knows every alley of The Broken Sands by heart, but where Valdus walked openly on the streets, Inara chooses shadowed alleys to avoid any patrols. Damen isn’t waiting for us at the entrance this time, but it doesn’t stop Inara.
Only a couple of men and women sit on the carved benches, their contemplations interrupted only to greet Inara with three fingers brought to their hearts. Damen is at the end of the hall, almost at the feet of the statues. He lights a new stick of incense and climbs to his feet with a crack in his knees. It takes him a moment to spot us, and, when he does, a smile splits his handsome features.
“Inara, what a pleasure to see you.”
“I’ve brought company,” she says, pointing in my direction.
“I thought you might return, but I didn’t think it would be so soon.” Damen motions to the statues and adds, “If you want to pray, you are welcome to do it. If you are here for a moment of quiet, you can find a free spot almost anywhere.”
Just walking over the lake of stars leaves me energized, and, when I kneel next to the statues, the last of my headache fades away. I close my eyes and search for words. There is no prayer tailored to ask the Maker for help with my binding, but I still try.
I walk back through the temple, finally at peace. If I’m meant to keep growing the lemon tree, I’ll have to ask Inara to come back soon. It’s only here that the eternal presence of the gods makes my migraines fade.
I stop in my tracks as soon as I spot Valdus sitting on a bench under the lines of shimmering lights and stone branches. His gaze is focused on the statues ahead, but I have no doubt he has seen me already.
“Don’t be mad,” I say as soon as I slide into a seat next to him. “Inara brought me here.”
“I know.” Valdus catches me looking around the temple in search of her, and adds, “She wasn’t feeling well and went back home.”
We remain in silence as the hall keeps filling with more townsfolk. Some come straight from the factory, their clothing stained and rancid, others from the household of the governor, the cuffs of their shirts and kaftans trimmed with the deepest of blues, but they all bear the same tired look on their faces.
“I wanted to ask you for a favor,” Valdus finally says. “We’ve been trying to get more information out of our mutual friend, but he hasn’t even touched any of the food we’ve brought.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Why do you think I can convince him of anything?”
“He hasn’t uttered a word since you’ve shown your face, and at this point, I’m just trying anything I can think of.” When I don’t say anything, Valdus asks, “Could you talk to him again?”
“As if I have a choice.”
“You have only to say ‘no,’ and we’ll go home as if I never asked.”
To refuse is tempting, but no matter how much I hate the idea of facing Rev again, I still owe Valdus for saving my life and keeping me far from my father’s reach.
I sigh. “I’ll do it.”
Readjusting the scarf around my head, I stand up. The crowd is now at its thickest, filling all the benches and gaps in the walls, and we slip out of the temple unnoticed. Almost. Damen offers us a curt nod before we dive into the hectic streets.
The guards outside are busy scouring for troublemakers in the crowd, and I can feel their gazes burning through the fabric of my clothing. As if they know The Lost Jewel is walking the streets of The Broken Sands right under their noses, and I am too afraid to even think of what might happen if a soldier decides to check our tags. I’d rather die than go back to the palace. I’d rather be sent into the desert with a single bullet left in the rusted chamber of an old revolver than to see Ajaia’s face again. But I’ve yet to think of a way to rid myself of Rev without becoming a girl with no voice again.
Dread is churning through my stomach when Valdus stops next to the abandoned house with a candle winking at us through a boarded-up window.
Once inside, Valdus and the rebel girl called Priya are pulled deeper into the room to join a deep discussion, while I stay behind with a boy at least two years younger than I am. Our eyes meet, but he promptly looks away.
“I’m Nel.”
“I know,” the boy says reluctantly. “I’m the one who shot you.” He pauses, and then adds, “Well. I aimed at the other guy, but I got you.”
My wound is nothing more than a scar now, but at that moment it pangs with pain, and I rub it through my shirt.
“Do you have a name?” I ask.
“Lev.” He scratches the back of his head and looks to where Valdus is standing still deep in a conversation with Priya. “I’m sorry, for shooting you,” he says. And when I fail to answer, he adds, “I’m not a good shooter. I’m not a good rebel, it seems either. It was my first mission. And I panicked. It was supposed to be a simple job, but nothing is ever easy.”
“It’s fine.”
