Hide Your Fires

Chapter Fifteen: Two-Tongued

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He's lying in the dirt, in full view of the sky and all who dwell within it. He doesn't stir until I stand over him. Doesn't seem to mind that I'm blotting out the sun.

Or perhaps he doesn't notice.

My expression contributes extra shade as I lean over, studying the Fetterling's inflated pupils, the odd sheen of his skin, his chapped lips.

Mine purse. Arms cross. "You ate the sandwich, didn't you?"

Pyrrhus groans, and I feel not an ounce of sympathy for him. Less when I smell what he's done to our fire pit.

"Oh, ghosts! I knew I should've scrapped you for parts! Tell me you're not going to puke all the way to Xesnioke."

Air parts. Sand squeals. A chill drips from my nape into my collar, and down my spine. I haven't the faintest idea why.

So I turn. See Pyrrhus rise like a fawn standing on its legs for the very first time. He wobbles, but his wild, bitter eyes latch on to me.

"Xesnioke?!" he repeats. "Xesnioke is out of the question. My siblings will hunt us down and fashion cloaks of Shideh's feathers, lined with your skin and mine!"

"Well, Your Sky-Highness, your decisions thus far have been poor, to say the least! So forgive me if I don't-"

Words fail. They freeze on my tongue. This time, I understand why. I'm far from my desert home. Far from One Tree. From Oa. From the forty-six people in this whole wide world who talk like I do.

Who talk in Severed Smythian.

"Understand you..."

One Fettered hand lifts to one bobbing throat.  His lips move, but no more of my language comes out.

"I understand you."

Bitter eyes unfocus, but he still hears, still understands.

"What did you do!? "

He opens his mouth to speak, but his lips unleash only terror. Pyrrhus snatches at the air but I'm too quick. I dart to the tent, brushing Shideh aside. She wakes with a groan but does not cry out as I do when I unwrap the Fetterling's bindle to uncover the horror within.

I burst from the tent like a bear from its cave, brandishing the starlit lantern between us.

Pyrrhus lunges. "Cover that! You know not what you summon-"

"You're going to get us killed! You're going to get Shideh killed! What? Why would you-" Words fail, so I jab a finger toward the horizon instead. "Go! Get lost! Deliver your Star to your false-god and leave mine out of it!"

But he does not go. He does not damn Shideh to a life of wasting hunger. He drops to his knees, grasping one of mine without permission. I nearly kick him, forgetting that this is a common gesture in the north. One that my Gorrah ancestors experienced in those golden days of yore: supplication. Begging.

That head of blood-red curls bows for two shaky breaths, then rises skyward. His eyes are brighter than before, more urgent.

"What are you-"

"My name is Pyrrhus Alexander-"

"I know-"

"I am of the Adonids. As far as I know, I remain Crown Prince of Pyrrhi. Two rotations ago, I was a prisoner of Kyadel, and until a quarter ago, I remained its hostage." A flick of the wrists. Broken Fetters unbound, their blue stones vanished. "Shideh diminished its power over me. I need you— I need it— to help me secure my freedom and that of-"