As she tried to swallow the sour taste from her mouth, she tried to downplay what she had seen. For all she knew, a Raja getting escorted to the palace was a daily occurrence. It didn't have to mean anything that the Queen's own special force were walking alongside Raja Salem. The man was important—he was the type to share brew with the Queen every day of the second star.
Then she and Narek reached the last two remaining stones. Raja Faisal paid them no attention, his eyes fixated on his colleague disappearing from view. No bark. No rough remark. Worry plastered the man's unibrow.
It fed her nerves.
"What's going on?" she whispered to Narek when the stone sat in her backpack.
"No clue," he answered.
"Do you think this is normal?" she tried.
"Far from it."
The bile returned, bringing a lump that dried her throat. What if the other Rajas had told the Queen what Raja Salem had done yesterday when catching her using the power of the wind? He would die. She would die. Her family... Indra... oh the shame.
"Is everything alright?" Narek asked. "You can drink, you know. And you should—you look as though you're gonna pass out."
"No, it's all good," she mumbled.
"The water is fine, you know," Narek said jokingly. "Nobody did anything to it."
"I'm not thirsty." She suddenly found it hard to talk. Hard to breathe too.
"You're weird."
She faked a smile on her face. "And you're hopeless, curious, and boring."
"Sounds more like you're describing yourself. I'm still Narek."
"And who is Narek?" she accepted his offer to distract her. She needed the distraction, not to keep on plodding through the sand until she was nothing more than a heap of salt, but to keep her mind from spinning out of control. Everything was going to be fine. She just needed to get through this.
"Narek is the third son of a family who's too wealthy for their own good. As long as he stays out of trouble and does what is expected of him, they pretend he doesn't exist. He likes that deal—gives him the time and the space to do what he wants to do."
Sci didn't react. Her feet were still moving forward, her shoulders still carrying that backpack, yet her soul was slipping away from her. Nothing was going to be fine. No, she would die. Her head on a spike on top of the gate of Alburkhan. Next to her rotting skull, those of Raja Salem, Indra, Abah, Ummi, Indra, and Nana. For harbouring a witch.
"It's falconry... I have my own falcon," Narek said, annoyed by her silence. "Bred and trained in the Port. Got it for my twelfth birthday."
How could she have been so stupid? Never listen to the call of the wind—her scar had warned her too. Everything was going to fall apart, and it would be her fault.
"Look, I really think you should drink a little. You look pale." Narek sounded worried.
"No. Just leave me."
Narek pulled his backpack to his chest and dug up one of the skins. He threw his head back, taking several large gulps. "Fresh, clean, very refreshing too. Here, have some."
Water hit her in the face.
"Narek!" she screamed.
He gleamed with mischievous pride. "Something else about me. I don't take no for an answer."
"You're—"
Scirocco
She couldn't finish her insult. Distracted by the wind carrying her full name, not as subtle as the air usually called her. The voice had more power and sounded less friendly.
YOU ARE READING
The Witch's Hour (A New Dawn #2.5)
Fantasy[Novella]As a child, Sci was scarred by her own mother for being a witch. While the wound has healed and her shawl now covers her face, Sci struggles to remain deaf to the call of the desert wind. She works hard to get into the Scorian army, taking...
