Fevered Star (Between Earth and Sky, #2)(14)

Everything you do is reckless. The trip to Tova that ended in the deaths of your crew, giving your heart to a man intent on his own demise, and look where you are now, in the bed of a woman who no longer wants you. Is it really a surprise that you used your Song to kill again? Wasn’t it only a matter of time?

“Xiala?”

“I’m fine.” She swiped a hand across her eyes.

Aishe would not understand, thinking she mourned for Serapio. But the truth was that she wept for herself, or, more specifically, for the charade of a life she’d chosen to live, refusing to face the things that had driven her from Teek long ago. The Convergence was proof that she could not outrun her past. So what would she do about it?

“I don’t suppose you have anything to drink?”

Aishe hesitated. “We can find some balché, if you like. I’m sure Zash has something.” She did not quite sound judgmental, but she did sound disappointed.

“No.” Xiala dug a fingernail into her palm and let the pain steady her voice. “Forget I asked.”

“Perhaps Uncle Kuy could help you get to Odo,” Aishe said softly. “He’s Carrion Crow and allowed free pass into the district—at least, he was before they closed their doors. It can’t hurt to ask, and if he says yes, then maybe you can go find some answers. Find Serapio… if you think he’s safe.”

“He won’t hurt me.” Xiala said it with conviction. “No matter who you think he is or what he did or didn’t do, he wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I know you believe that, Xiala, but if he is a god like they say, who knows what he is capable of? And if he’s just a man, then he’s a man wading in holy blood up to his hips.”

Then perhaps we belong together, she thought. But she only said, “I know.”

She extricated herself from Aishe’s embrace and paced across the room, putting space between them. Aishe folded her arms, her expression resigned.

“I think I know where my uncle is. If all goes well, maybe you can be in Odo before the end of the day.”

And then I’ll no longer be your problem, Xiala thought, and you can be done with me. If only it were so easy for me to be done with myself.

But she didn’t speak any of those thoughts aloud, only nodded her agreement and reached for borrowed clothes.



* * *



The two women made their way through the streets of Titidi. The cold was biting, something Xiala was unused to, and it chilled her so deeply she thought her flesh might freeze. She huddled in the thick cloak she had procured in the port city of Tovasheh, but anywhere the cloak gaped—at her neck, around her wrists—it felt like her skin would surely crack and bleed frost.

They went to the barge first, down the long, winding path that led to the docks. The boat was much as Xiala remembered it, but it felt like years since she had arrived in the city instead of only a handful of days.

“Wait here.” Aishe hopped across the narrow space between land and barge. “Uncle?” she called as she walked the deck. Xiala watched her open the door to the room where she had once shared a narrow bed with Serapio, where she had sat as he confessed that his mission was one meant to end in his death. Xiala looked away, blinking back useless tears.

Aishe closed the door and moved on. After a few moments, she came back, empty-handed. “No one here, and it looks like he’s put in for the winter. Cupboards bare, beds stripped.”

Xiala’s heart sank.

“But there’s one other place he could be. He sometimes keeps a room in a house not far from here. One he shares with a lady friend, Omataya.”

Xiala looked up at the sun. A habit, to check the time of day, but there was only the eclipse. “Should we pay her a visit?”

“I don’t see we have much choice.”

They climbed back up the stairs. By the time they reached the top, Xiala’s legs were warm and aching. She had been freezing before, so she tried to see the bright side of climbing hundreds of steps but had a hard time convincing herself. Aishe noticed her distress and gave her a wan smile.

“Not much farther.”

“I’m meant for the sea,” Xiala confessed. “I don’t think Teek has a single staircase.”

They took a path off the main road that led them deeper into the district. The area around the docks was marked by wide avenues and expansive squares, but here the streets grew narrower, and the houses looked old, mud brick stacked close and high. They finally reached a D-shaped building and entered the courtyard through an unlocked gate. The interior garden was surprisingly pleasant. There was packed dirt underfoot, and vegetable rows lay fallow behind a short wooden fence. In the middle of the courtyard was a bubbling spring, steam rising in the winter air.

“Are there spring waters here?” Xiala asked, surprised.

“There are hot springs all through the district. It heats the ground, keeps the roads from icing. Didn’t you see the gutters?”

She had. Narrow gutters running the length of the main roads and even down into these smaller neighborhoods. “I assumed those were for rainwater or waste.”

“They do run off the rainwater, but the district architects can redirect the springs for thawing or for irrigation. You should really see Titidi in the spring and summer. It’s a living garden.”

“I’d like that,” Xiala lied. She knew that once she left Tova, she never wanted to come back.