Fevered Star (Between Earth and Sky, #2)(10)

The sound of the river began to fade, and the light, albeit only the thick gloom of twilight, grew brighter as she ascended out of the deepest parts of the Maw. At last, she reached a ledge, and she hauled herself up on trembling arms to find that she was in the back room of a building. Wooden boxes and tall clay containers lined the walls and crowded the floor, leaving a narrow path to follow. It led to another room similarly crowded with goods and, finally, a front room separated from the others by a blanket hung in the doorway. There were no containers here. Instead, empty stools huddled against round tables, and on the shelves were jars of tea leaves and dried fruits and flowers. She was in a tearoom with a secret exit that led to the catacombs. If she had needed any more confirmation that Ochi was the architect of her situation, this was enough.

She found herself at the nearest shelf, her hand reaching for a clay jar marked with a drawing of a yellow blossom, each floret a profusion of lacy delicate blooms. She could almost taste the pleasingly astringent tea they made, feel the warmth of the steep clouding her face. It had been a favorite of hers in the tower.

The tower. To hell with the tower. That life was no longer hers.

She let the jar fall from her hands and shatter. She crushed the tea underfoot as she pulled another clay jar from the shelf, this one marked with a leaf she knew to be a stimulant. It would be better to brew it, but the thought of finding water and heating it and waiting for the tea to steep was too much. She pulled a pinch from the jar and chewed the leaves well before swallowing, hoping their properties would hold back her exhaustion long enough to see this night through.

Winter winds cut at her bare legs and face as she stepped onto the street, the blanket dress not enough to keep her warm. The strange twilight that hung over the Maw suggested evening, but the streets were empty. Even in winter, Maw streets were rarely empty. An uneasiness pressed down on her. Something was wrong. She laughed, silent and mocking. What isn’t wrong, Nara?

She walked past abandoned storefronts and shuttered homes. Still no people in the streets, but she caught a little boy watching her from a doorway. His mother came and swept him away, her hand slapping a drawing on the outside wall and fingers throwing the sign against evil. Naranpa studied the drawing. It took her a moment to place it, it was so unexpected. But once she realized what it was, she saw it on another doorway farther down, and there, on a wall beside a shuttered food stand. It was crowsign, the skull that marked the homes of Carrion Crow in Odo. What was it doing here? And why show her? What had happened to make them all fear?



* * *



Naranpa saw no one else, not even a curious child, until she reached the Lupine. Denaochi’s gambling den was as she remembered it—a windowless round building built into a cliff wall, only the front half of the circle exposed. Its whitewashed walls glowed in the ever-present twilight, a twilight that had not deepened to night but stayed steadily in shadow. It was strange, unsettling, but she had other things on her mind. The most important being her brother and his witch.

She climbed the ladder to the entrance, a trapdoor in the roof. Last time she had been here, a giant with a cudgel had awaited her, and she had been dressed as a man and carried a purse bursting with cacao. Now she came only as herself, a blanket across her body and dried blood and dirt flaking from her skin. She had no idea what kind of welcome she would receive, or whether her brother had hoped she would survive her tomb and his tests, or whether he had hoped the opposite. She wasn’t even sure what she would say to him. Was she grateful for his help or resentful of the way he chose to dole it out? All she knew was that her need to prove she was not the spoiled, useless elite he thought her to be was enough to drive her this far, and her own will to be something more, someone worthy, would carry her through the next.

She eased open the door and descended into the hushed space. The gambling tables below were empty, but the square firepits still smoldered, enough to warm the large room. The rich scent of tobacco lingered, too, sweetening the air. She felt a flutter of despair. What if Denaochi wasn’t here? What if she had been wrong?

She found him on the interior balcony. He was sitting on a bench, his back against the wall, hands gripping a long-handled club that lay across his lap. He looked as he had before: thin, to the point of gaunt, black hair razored to skin above his ears and greased back above the temples. An old knife scar ran from ear to nose across one cheek, and thick chunks of jade pierced his ears and below his bottom lip. Bands of coral and turquoise encircled his neck, and his porcupine mantle was slung across the bench beside him. Dark eyes stared at her, and she hesitated.

But she had come so far, and he had put her through so much. She did not hesitate for long.

“I passed your test, you damned monster,” she growled.

His eyes focused, and she realized he had been asleep. Asleep with his eyes open. He yawned, and then his mouth tipped in a genuine grin.

“Nara,” he said, his voice rough. “I never doubted.”

She did not strike him as she wanted to, but when she spoke, her voice shook with rage. “You left me there for dead, and then you made me crawl through all seven hells to reach you.”

He gestured dismissively. “I needed to make sure you wanted it.”

“Wanted what?”

Now she moved toward him, hand balled into a fist. She swung. He caught her intended blow before she could connect.

His voice was a resentful hiss. “Life! If I did it, I knew you could, too.”