Wind Flowers, page 33
I didn’t miss the wince, even in the dark.
I gnawed my lower lip. “You did your best to protect her.”
“Until I didn’t.”
There was no arguing with the truth, no asking it to change its face or pretend, so I didn’t. Nor did I try to comfort her with useless platitudes.
So I just sat in the silence after, our breaths in tune as awkwardness shifted, our unspoken truce striking through it.
We were lost, both of us. Wounded.
But at least we weren’t alone.
It was a far cry from the imagined tea-times and slumber-parties I’d dreamt of with Aya, but the companionship unknotted something within me all the same. “Tell me what she was like, when she was younger.”
Mal waited, deciding. Remembering, as she stared blankly at the wall. “Before she was sick, you mean?”
“Yes.”
A small smirk beat away a falling tear. “No one in Babylon could keep up with her, not even Shin.”
“Really?” Despite the twist in ribs, I let myself dream of it.
Aya, running along jewel-toned roofs, a windswept giggle echoing through Hiku City. Aya, outpacing Shin as he trailed after her…as I followed them both, out of breath and full of joy, like when I’d used to chase butterflies in the conservatory when I was young. Clumsy, but free.
Mal’s voice dipped to a whisper, like her stories were more for her, now, each memory precious and painful. “We were always chasing after her. Always trying to keep up with whatever trouble she got herself into. But she was smart as all hell, and always fooled us. And she was good, too. She never hurt anyone.”
I didn’t miss the hitch to her breath at the last part, that single inhale saying all the words she still couldn’t.
It’s my fault.
I’d told her as much twice already.
But that no longer felt fair, and if we were going to make things right, my grief did not need to be the dagger I used to cut her deeper. Instead, I’d opt to try for what I did best:
Healing.
“I don’t know what Jaltans believe…” I hedged before diving off the deep end. Hearts were hard to reach, but not impossible. Just as the dead were not truly gone, their legacies intangible but ever-present. “But in Dunyas, we believe Mother Earth takes our dead and brings them to the next life, where there is no pain. Where there is nothing but open space and warmth.”
Space and warmth…and hopefully, Nikolaj to guide her along. To sit with her, so neither of them had to be alone anymore.
Mal said nothing as another tear rolled slowly down her cheek.
One that matched pace with mine.
Malina curled deeper in her cot—her back facing me again, our moonlit companionship fading into the shadows once more. But to my surprise, she whispered, “I hope you’re right.”
I did, too.
Twenty-Nine
SHIN
I didn’t even need to ask Tsojo, Madame Aheni, or Via for their help.
They’d volunteered. For Aya.
For Babylon.
For the honor of Hiku fucking City.
Yet as we gathered in the Tsojo’s kitchen to hatch our plan, despite being surrounded by riff-raff and royalty alike—
I couldn’t help but feel like a king missing his crown jewel.
A diamond in the rough that I’d sharpened and polished.
A friend who I’d leaned on in all ways, the spine that helped lift my head.
A fucking betrayer.
Mal.
“Shin?” Naveen snapped his fingers in front of my face and I came back to earth, blinking away the haze. “Focus, man.”
“Sorry.” I cleared my throat, straightening as I surveyed the gathered. Naria and Hana sat to my right, Naria’s head guard, Joval, stalwart behind her. All of them looked as out of place as a bird in a burrow, but to their credit, they hadn’t said a word as they politely snacked on the various fruits and cheeses Tsojo had laid out. On my other side, Ren and Naveen huddled together, comparing notes on our target’s movement while Riku ate pastries like it was his only job.
Kas was still upstairs.
He’s barely spoken or eaten in days.
Barely looked at me, like somehow he bore Mal’s shame.
“You were saying, Shin?” Via asked, leaning her hand on her chin. Like always, those gold eyes saw too much.
I flattened the wrinkles in my tunic—when was the last time I’d changed or slept? It didn’t matter. I had to figure this out. Had to weave a tight plan, otherwise more people could get hurt.
But no matter how I shifted the shapes in my mind, they would not click together, a puzzle that was missing its centerpiece.
Mal. The liar to my lure, the devil and damsel in one. The most versatile and vicious of us.
Even when she was stabbing us in the back like a fucking coward.
“We have a limited window of opportunity,” I said hoarsely. “And too many variables. Any ideas on how we tighten up our odds?”
The others lowered their heads like schoolchildren hoping I wouldn’t call on them.
Naveen shrugged. “You know me, I always like the risky bets.”
Too risky for my blood, now. We had too high of a stake in this to lose again.
Madame Aheni coughed from the doorway, offering the closest thing to kindness she could muster: “I think the trap is smart. That pest has made it his mission to smoke me out of a Den.”
“Getting him there is the trouble,” Riku voiced my thoughts aloud, his icy tone sending a chill down my spine.
He was right. Once we had the mark in our clutches, we could manage. Naveen would handle the extras, Via and I would manage the mark, and Ren and Riku would watch our flanks outside in case anything else went south. Both of the royals would then offer auxiliary support once we had what we needed.
But I was fresh out of bait.
Naria shifted in her seat. “I could distract—”
“Absolutely not.” I ended her sentence before she finished it, knowing the Princess had a penchant for bold and blunt that did not serve our purpose. We needed stealth and subtly, not Jaltan blood-red sticking out like a sore thumb. “You’re too recognizable.”
Naria flopped back in her chair, crossing her arms. She wasn’t used to taking orders instead of giving them. Hana patted her shoulder, but the tension still grated against my exposed nerves.
I wasn’t used to doing this on my own.
A cavernous pit opened in my chest, anger and betrayal and a surprising absence echoing in my gut.
I must have flinched, because Via stood, tossing her auburn hair over her shoulder. “Why don’t we all take a little break? Come at this again in the morning.”
The others looked to me—their leadless leader.
I had nothing for them.
I ran a hand through my hair, like it could somehow untangle the knots in my stomach. “Fine. Everyone get some rest.”
Chairs scraped and shoes shuffled across floorboards as they all filtered out, even Madame Aheni dipping her head and slinking through the door.
Everyone but Via, who saw too much. Knew too well.
Grabbing a pastry, she prowled closer, shoving the food into my hand with a raised brow. “What’s got your goat, Prince Shin?”
I took the croissant and popped it in my mouth, happy to chew instead of talk for a moment. But Via—never shy—nudged my side, demanding an answer.
“Nothing. This job is just important.”
Her teasing grin poked through my shoddy response. “Survival has always been important. But you’re off your game.”
There was no use playing strong and silent, not with Via. I collapsed into my chair, head hanging. “I haven’t played solo in a long time.”
The truth misted out of me, a lonely, feeble breeze that shook my frame.
I wasn’t alone—no Lost One ever was. But I was missing pieces of me that I’d relied on for too long—people who I trusted too much, despite my better judgment.
Via perched on the arm of my chair, rubbing soothing circles between my shoulder blades. “You mean without Aya? Or Malina?”
My head snapped up—too fast, too telling.
And the cave in my chest devoured me whole.
Anger clogged my voice. “Both of them are gone. What does it matter?”
Via’s lips pursed as she paused. Her hand stilled on my back. “What Malina did was wrong, Shin. There is no denying that,” she said, slipping off the chair and standing over me. “But it’s okay to miss her.”
Miss her.
“You are blind when it comes to her, and you always have been,” I hissed, projecting my fury outward so it stopped eating me from the inside.
Via shot me a dark look, but said nothing. She didn’t need to, not when she was right.
I did miss her. Hurt as I was. Betrayed.
I fucking missed my best friend. The little fire drake that made this operation work. The girl that challenged my stupidity and called me on my bluffs. The brainiac that could tinker her way out of any mess, and could think circles around the whole world.
Until she hadn’t.
Until she’d killed my sister.
“I do miss her,” I admitted out loud, more for myself than for Via. “But I’m too fucking angry to care.”
But Via wasn’t done poking beneath my exterior. Wasn’t done reminding me of who I was. “Be angry, then. Fight it out like you always do. But it’s okay to want to save her, too.”
Save her.
Malina was capable. Consistent. A diamond in the rough, since the day I’d met her in the sewers. Since the day she’d escaped a caravan full of slavers with her toddler brother, all on her own, another refugee from the Jaltan revolution.
But perhaps I’d seen too much of her potential. Put so much pressure on her to handle herself that I hadn’t seen the forest for the trees.
Hadn’t seen the little girl, lost and afraid, who’d needed saving.
Then or now.
When I didn’t speak, Via ruffled my hair. “Madame Tsojo said she’d let Kas stay with us for a while…keep him out of trouble, if you want.”
Kas. Malina’s reason for breathing. It was what had united us, back then. Two older siblings responsible for toddlers that weren’t theirs, learning how to survive.
I’d been so afraid for Aya, I’d forgotten that Mal might have been just as foolish as I had been when I’d accepted Ecei’s deal. Just as desperate to protect Kas.
Kas, who had a knack for finding trouble and staying hidden.
Kas, who had all of Malina’s stealth and strength. All of her fire.
Kas, who was always trailing at my heels, ready to prove himself. Ready to learn.
Kas, who had the stickiest fucking fingers in all of Hiku City.
Kas, who’d want a chance to save his sister, even if it was from herself.
“No…he needs some fire back under him right now,” I said as I stood, the last lost piece clicking into place. “And I think I have an idea.”
One that would hopefully save both Irina…
And my best friend.
* * *
Sadness clung to the room at the back of Tsojo’s place like dust, a dry, aching aura that scented every inhale with the same heaviness. Still, there was no more putting this off, no more dawdling downstairs or up on the roof.
Lost Ones never suffered alone.
My knuckles kissed the door in three gentle raps. “Kas? Can I come in?”
Muffled sounds—a bed frame creaking and the brush of blankets being pulled higher—leaked through the gap beneath the door.
Then, a sniffled, “Go away.”
A pang shot through my chest, but I pressed on. I’d already lost too many people in the last few days to let my littlest charge waste away.
“I have noodles,” I said as I cracked the door, letting the smell of the savory pork broth and spring onions waft in and chase away the sadness.
Having Mal and I for role models had made Kas stubborn as he was sneaky. But no one could resist my noodle soup; it was a cure to all ills, and a rich bribe.
Kas sat up in the bed, eyes bloodshot and puffy, nose runny…
And licked his lips.
I took the win, stepping into the room with the steaming bowl and spoon before shutting the door behind me. Slowly, like someone might approach a wounded animal, I crossed the space, setting the bowl down on the small table next to the sad excuse for a bed.
Kas barely let it touch the wood before he snatched it up, forgoing the spoon and sipping directly from the side.
My heart ballooned in my chest as he sipped again, this time using the spoon to siphon noodles into the bite as well. He slurped the long strands up like a man starved—like the answers to all our questions waited at the bottom of the bowl.
Maybe they did.
I let him finish before I said anything, just in case; I didn’t speak until every last noodle and bean sprout had been scoffed down, until he sat back against the wall with his stomach full and his shoulders eased.
“Ready to talk about it, kid?
Kas set the empty bowl back on the table and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Brown eyes finally snapped up to me, tears welling in their corners. “Do you hate me?”
“What?” I scooted closer, resting my hand on his knee, but he brushed me off. Pain lanced my chest from the inside out. “Kas, why would I hate you?”
His throat bobbed, words breaking like glass against concrete as he clipped them out. “She’s my sister. I should’ve known.”
Sobs cracked out of him, each one shattering against my eardrums. His breath drew short—weak, shallow gasps that stung to listen to.
Kas, who had always been so small.
Kas, who had somehow grown when I wasn’t paying attention, his limbs long and gangly as he collapsed into my side.
“Hey, look at me.” I grasped both sides of his face, willing air into his lungs in slow pulls. In and out, slow and deep. “Breathe, Kas. This is not on you. Mal made a choice.”
Another shuddering breath. “Mal chose them over us.”
Mal, who’d always been my team, my family.
Mal, who’d been the spine of this operation, the backbone we all gained support from.
Mal, who’d stopped needing me a long time ago, yet still stayed because it was familiar.
I shook my head. “Maybe. But I think she was trying to protect us, in her own way.” My voice was small, muted by the rage that still lived in my veins. Whether or not I could understand Mal didn’t mean I’d ever forgive her for what she did. But it quieted Kas all the same, his next breath deeper. “It doesn’t make it right, but it makes it understandable.”
At that—Irina’s phrase, not mine—the shaking stopped. Kas exhaled, his last tear drying against his cheek, the little firecracker evaporating it with less than a thought.
Then, his head fell to my shoulder. And his arms wrapped around my middle.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d held him like this—perhaps a few years back, when his friend who lived down the street moved to Qara without a goodbye. Or perhaps the year after, when he and Mal had a spat and she’d called him a turd-eater, which hurt him more deeply than any of us anticipated.
But it didn’t matter. No matter how old he got or how silly the problem was, I’d still be here, waiting with open arms.
I held him like that for a long time; long enough for the room to tint from sunset orange to twilight blue. Long enough for me to memorize the way Kas’s overgrown form felt, my little brother not so little anymore. Long enough for Kas’s next words to come out on a single, steady breath. “This is all so fucked.”
I whacked the side of his head. “Hey, language.”
“Oh, please.” He snorted, but squeezed me tighter. “I miss her.”
I winced, but didn’t back down. This was what I came here for—the fire I needed this Pyromental to help me light. “What do you say we get her back?”
Kas shot up, tugging away. “What?”
“I have a plan.” Or at least, the outline of one, though I didn’t say that aloud. “But without Mal, I’m going to need a right-hand person. Perhaps a little firecracker.”
Kas’s eyes went wider than the moon gleaming outside, and his smile—the first in days—lit the whole room like daylight. “Really? You’ll let me help?”
I pinched his cheek—something I’d never give up no matter how old he got. “I need you, kid.”
Tears threatened to spill, but I didn’t see them fall as Kas toppled me into another hug, his ash-and-floral smell clinging to his curls like the last tells of boyhood still lingering in that smile of his. “Thank you, Shin.”
I hugged him back, not knowing how much longer he’d let me do it. Not knowing what else we’d lose to this brewing war, to the tasks we still had ahead.
But I would not walk the road ahead alone.
My family would be at my side, step for step.
The wind shifted, a hiss and a sniffle from outside the door alerting me to the other lost souls waiting beyond the threshold.
Pulling back, I winked at Kas; then, loud enough so the others could hear; “Are the three of you going to stand outside eavesdropping all night? Or are you coming in?”
The door flew open, Ren, Riku, and Naveen tripping over each other in a flurry of scuffs and curses as they toppled into the room.
I grinned despite myself. Idiots.
Ren stood first, brushing off his trousers. “Thank the Breath. Naveen was getting gassy out there.”
“Don’t blame me, you little shit.” Naveen pinched Ren’s side as he stood, earning a single-fingered salute from Ren before he dove onto the bed, shoving Kas.
“Scoot over, kid.”
“Ohh, Ren, come onnn,” Kas groaned as Ren wrapped himself around the boy, stealing more than half of the threadbare blanket. A whimper built in Kas’s throat. “Riku, help.”
Riku offered a pitying grin, his hand splaying over his heart in false sincerity. “Wish I could, buddy.”
But he instead perched on the end of the bed next to me, giving his twin a wide berth and leaving Kas to his mercy.
