“Here,” he said, throwing it at Yassen.
Yassen caught it single-handed. Inside was a beautifully soft kurta with a subtle black-and-blue jacquard finish and ivory buttons fashioned into lotuses. The jacket, embroidered in a similar pattern, had two lotuses pinned on the collar.
“I had it made and delivered late last night along with a few other things,” Samson said. “We don’t want you looking like you just washed up from the sea.”
Yassen scowled. “They know who I am.”
“Still, deception…” Samson began.
“… is not a felony,” Yassen finished. The words came on reflex. It was a saying the Arohassin had beaten into them. That and:Murder is not a sin, but an awakening of one’s own mortality.
It felt odd to hear Samson say it, for him to remember. He had denounced the Arohassin, calling their tactics egregious, animallike, but here he stood reciting their mantras.
Yassen followed Samson into the hoverpod as Maru barked out final orders to the servants. The two friends sat across from each other, sinking into the plush seats. A bottle of white wine chilled in a pitcher while an assortment of fruits and a pot of steaming tea sat on the table.
Samson removed his furs, and Yassen was relieved to see that he was wearing a kurta beneath. The Ravani king would laugh them out of the court if Samson strolled in with that monstrous coat.
As Samson poured their tea, the door slammed closed, and the hoverpod lurched. Maru stumbled and dropped a package, which rolled to a stop at Yassen’s foot. Before he could grab it, Yassen picked it up, the suede cover falling back to reveal a corner of a map.
He whistled. “Paper?” It was a rarity in Sayon.
“It was a gift from Farin,” Samson said, his tone a bit too casual.
Yassen noticed Maru studying him, saw the expectant look in Samson’s eyes. He realized then that Maru’s stumble had been on purpose.They want me to look.For a moment, Yassen hesitated, his fingers brushing the cover. But curiosity got the better of him. Carefully, he unrolled the map and smoothed out the corners.
He wished he hadn’t.
In faded ink, the map showed a network of tunnels beneath the Sona mountains. The tunnels spanned the entire mountain range, running north to south. A jumble of lines crisscrossed at the center and southern point of the range, notating the chambers that ran east to west.
Yassen glanced at Samson, his heart hammering. Did he know about the cabin?
“It’s a relic. Half of those tunnels are caved in or inaccessible anyway,” Samson said. “Still, best not let it get too much air.” He took the scroll from Yassen, gently returned the map to its cover, and handed it back to Maru.
Yassen stared at him, his mouth suddenly dry. He wanted to believe that the map was just a faded memory, the tunnels nonexistent, but he knew they weren’t. After all, his father had died after discovering them.
“Everything is ready, sir,” Maru said. “The troops will be arriving after sundown.”
“Thank you, Maru,” Samson replied.
The hoverpod rose as the sun began to peek over the horizon. The sky slowly blossomed, shaking off its dark slumber. Blue leached to purple to pink. The sun warmed the underbellies of the clouds, and Yassen watched Chand Mahal grow smaller and smaller until it disappeared. He tried to sit back and relax, but he couldn’t. Samson, on the other hand, curled into his coat and fell fast asleep, his untouched tea growing cold on the table.
Behind them, the famous Sona Range unfolded, a series of lush mountains whose depths were peppered with silver-hulled mines. It was here that the Jantari collected their precious, blinding metal. Unlike other types of minerals, Jantari metal could weather any storm or rust for a hundred suns. And the Jantari were master smiths. From fashioning entire cities to carving delicate music boxes, the Jantari could bend and shape their special ore in ways the other kingdoms could not.
We create magic with our hands, Yassen, his father had said.Magic.
Before they had conquered Seshar and used indentured Sesharians to work their mines, the Jantari government had targeted poor, desperate Jantari youth.Strike ore and claim a handsome amount! All it takes is just one lucky venture!Thousands of men had signed up. Thousands had delved deep within Sayon until they could no longer see their hands before their eyes. Yet only hundreds survived. And of those, only a few were not driven to madness by the dark. Yassen did not know how his father had done it: mined in the black; rubbed his hands raw so that the cracks of his skin were filled with dirt.
The hoverpod banked, and then Yassen could no longer see the mountains. He sighed, trying to sleep, but the memory of the dream, of the cruel fire and its harsh smoke, made him break into a fresh sweat. So he stood. Walked around the hoverpod, found Maru reading on the lower level amid the luggage. The servant asked if he wanted anything, but Yassen waved him away. He climbed to the top level, to the pilot’s cockpit.
“How long is the journey?” he asked.
“A couple of hours, sir. Do you need anything?”
But Yassen was already walking away. He paced up and down, the knot in his stomach growing tighter with each step. He knew the reason he couldn’t sleep was not because of his dreams, but that with every second that passed, he grew closer and closer to his home.
Ravence.
The very name sent an ache through Yassen. Since joining the Arohassin, he had only returned to Ravence twice. Once, to smuggle the leader of the Arohassin to safety; the other time, to take out a target, a rich general with jade piercings down his neck. And after the second time, it had become too dangerous for him to return, unless he wanted to be burned.
