I frowned, reading the words. “I don’t think my proficiency in ancient peri is what it once was.”
I moved closer trying to make out the faded inscription.
It may not be claimed,
by blood, or birth
It may not be claimed
by greed or power,
this gift is given on a measure of worth
Are you worthy?
If so, become us.
It is for those cunning,
for those wise,
for those willing
to accept their demise.
“Quite a cheery lot, the ancient peris, weren’t they? Also, I’m not sure they understand how rhyming works.”
“Shut up, I’m trying to work out the riddle below.”
“What?” I glanced down to see Yaseema moving the tiles, realizing that she was sliding them like a puzzle.
“The ancient peris loved trickery, more even than magic. Everything they did was about bargains and riddles and mystery. I once had to feed a statue a memory in order to release a relic.”
I paused in dusting off a carving of a curled lotus flower. “What memory did you give it?”
She lay on the ground on her side now, sliding the tiles back and forth into different slots. Her tongue was pressed between her lips and her forehead was creased in concentration. Her spectacles still had errant water droplets speckled on the front of them. A rush of warmth flooded my chest at seeing her so engrossed in this.
“Probably a terrible one of me having monthly cramps. It worked though.”
I smothered a laugh and wandered away from her, toward the corridor. Torches lined the narrow hall, the flames bouncing off the arch of the cavern.
At one end of it, a large painting of Queen Azari was on the stone, her great wings spread wide behind her, eyes smiling. I took a step toward her, as though she summoned me.
And then paused as something whistled past me.
“Shit,” Yaseema shouted, as she leapt to her feet. “Kiyan! Do not move!”
That was all the warning I had before she tackled me to the ground.
The air collapsed from my chest as a small human bundle of curves and hair and spectacles landed on top of me.
“If you wanted me underneath you, you should have said.”
“Be quiet.” She pressed a hand to my mouth. The scent of ink and mangoes filled my head.
“If we don’t have a feral mermaid, we have steel-tipped neem tree arrows to contend with,” she muttered.
We stayed on the ground for a full minute before she moved her hand from my mouth.
