Fevered Star (Between Earth and Sky, #2)(102)

She reached the base of the mound stairs and looked up. Any joy she had felt at seeing the ships drained away. Her legs already hurt, and this would be torture, akin to Titidi’s harbor steps. Someone bumped her shoulder, and she realized she was holding up traffic. She exhaled, braced herself, and climbed.

By the time she reached the top, her knees shook, and her breath came in short bursts. But she had done it, and that was all that mattered. She spied the great eagles still on the open grass, seemingly content and well trained enough to wait patiently for their riders to return. A curious resident approached one of the giant birds, hand extended as if to pet the creature, and almost lost his head to a snapping beak for his effort. She didn’t see any Shield but circled wide anyway, looking for a side entrance into the palace. What she found was the outdoor kitchen.

It was half as long as the Grand Palace itself, and it bustled with activity, women bent over fires and boys hauling water, another woman butchering a four-legged beast with which Xiala was not familiar, and another slicing open great trout from the river. She kept her head down and her step assured, and she flowed into the controlled chaos, letting herself be buoyed along until she was inside the palace.

She followed the servants carrying trays of food down a long hallway that ran the length of the building. Doorways appeared at intervals, all leading into the same interior room. It was huge, a space that could host a thousand people. Massive tapestries hung from wooden walls bearing colorful geometric patterns. A thatched roof arched high above her head, its apex lost in the darkness above. To her right she spied what she was looking for. There was a feast in progress, one that had likely been going on since they had left Nuuma and her party here. Dozens were seated on benches around the largest table Xiala had ever seen. It looked carved whole from a single massive tree trunk and must have weighed as much as one of Cuecola’s great canoes.

She ducked back into the hall and made her way closer to the table. As she drew near, she heard a woman speaking. Her tone suggested she was giving some sort of speech. Xiala had hoped to find them at the part of the feast where music and perhaps dancing reigned, but she dared not wait. If she was wrong about the Shield at camp and they guessed her destination, they could be on the mound to retrieve her in minutes. Not only would she be returned across the river, but she would also lose her opportunity for escape.

She peered into another doorway, this time searching for a distinctive face, one with a cap of black hair and quick, intelligent eyes. At the next doorway, she found xir. Iktan was seating with xir back to her, a man in a boxy headdress on xir right and Terzha on xir left. She did not see Nuuma from her limited vantage point but was sure she was near. The speaker droned on, something about an epic battle and glory won that sounded stultifyingly dull.

She pressed her body against the wall, as small as she could make herself, and crept forward, as close as she could get to the seated party.

“Iktan,” she hissed.

She waited a moment, but xe didn’t respond. Frustrated, she tried again, this time louder. Still nothing. She needed something to get xir attention over the oration. She reached into her pocket, searching. Her hand closed on a hard pebble. She pulled it from her pocket and gagged. It was the eyeball, now dry and shriveled, that Ziha had given her, the wages of justice. She swallowed down her revulsion. It would have to do.

She threw the thing, striking Iktan in the shoulder. This time, xe noticed, as did the man in the headdress beside xir. They both turned.

The man next to Iktan, with a pinched, petulant face, was already annoyed, but when he spotted her, his jaw dropped.

“You!” The man’s shout echoed around the high-ceilinged chamber.

Other faces turned.

Xiala could feel her world tilt. No, no, no! What were the chances? One in a million? A hundred million?

Lord Pech pushed up from his seat. He pointed a finger at her and declared in a voice that carried through the hall, “Sovran Naasut, this woman is a criminal! I demand that you arrest her and hold her in chains until she can be returned to Cuecola to stand trial for her capital crimes!”

Silence fell across the hall, all eyes on Xiala. She stood dumbfounded, unsure what to do. Her gaze scraped across the crowd. There was Iktan, looking more curious than concerned. And there, across from Lord Pech, was the familiar face of Lord Balam next to a dark-skinned woman with almost white eyebrows, and next to her—

Xiala’s breath caught in her throat, and she swayed. Blood at her feet. Bodies. The north wind blowing down across the island.

The woman stood, the white shells in her long, thick hair ringing gently, but to Xiala they were as loud and damning as a funeral drum. Her storm-gray eyes narrowed, as dangerous as a shipkiller on the open sea, and familiar lips curled in dark acrimony. And in a voice Xiala had thought to never hear again, she said, “Hello, Xiala.”

Xiala felt herself falling, but Iktan was there, keeping her on her feet. She could hear xir calling her name, but it felt like xir voice was coming from a great distance. And Lord Pech was there looming over her, waving his hands and screaming that she was dangerous and needed to be restrained immediately.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” she whispered, her words meant for the white-shell woman. Shock made her brain slow, her mouth thick and clumsy.

“What is happening here?” The spearmaiden in her antler crown and painted face added her voice to the chaos. “Who is this?”