Markswoman (Asiana #1)(26)

“Kyra, your face—you’re bleeding!” Elena cried.

Kyra reached up to touch the side of her face; it was slick with blood and throbbing with pain. The katari pulsed in her hand, and she fought down fear.

No. I will not be afraid. I bested your mistress fair and square. She glared at the weapon as Elena swabbed away the blood from her face and tied the green scarf around her neck to hide the wound.

Akassa emerged from the water again, panting and shuddering. “Help me,” she called out in a thin voice. “I can’t find my katari.”

“I have your katari,” said Kyra. “You can come out now.”

Akassa dragged herself out of the water, ignoring Elena’s outstretched hand. She stumbled toward Kyra, snatched the katari from her hand, and kissed the blade, weeping soundlessly.

“Let’s get you dry,” said Elena. But Akassa brushed past them and ran toward the sheltering darkness of the trees.

“Let her go.” Kyra caught hold of Elena’s arm as she made to follow the weeping girl. “She’ll be all right.”

In truth, Kyra was ashamed of herself. Yes, Akassa had attacked her, but hadn’t she goaded her into it? She should have ignored the girl’s insults and walked away. Shirin Mam would be most disappointed in her.

At the thought of Shirin Mam, the feeling of not-rightness returned with such force that Kyra had difficulty controlling her breath.

“What’s the matter?” Elena’s eyes were large with concern as she took in the expression on Kyra’s face.

“I don’t know,” Kyra whispered. “Don’t you feel it?”

Before Elena could answer, sounds of laughter and excited voices broke the silence. Little flames of light came bobbing through the wood. Behind them glowed the faces of young girls holding their offerings—lotus-shaped containers filled with flowers, incense sticks, a candle, perhaps a bronze coin or two. In a minute the place would be packed with people and Kyra and Elena would not be able to move, even if they wanted to.

“Should we go look for Nineth?” said Elena, anxious now.

“Yes. Something is wrong, but I can’t put my finger on it,” said Kyra. She had lost all interest in watching the rite of flowers.

They slipped out between the trees, past the line of girls and the groups of young men who were cheering them on.

Elena grabbed her sleeve. “Look, there she is!”

They hurried out of the wood into the open field. The crowd had thinned and some of the peddlers were already packing up for the night, although there were still enough lamps to see by.

Nineth sauntered toward them, her brown hair even more ruffled than usual, a little frown marring her normally cheerful face. Kyra felt a rush of relief. It was not Nineth who was in trouble after all. And it couldn’t be Akassa, because the feeling of something not-right had come upon her before the apprentice ran away.

“What took you so long?” Elena demanded as soon as they were in earshot.

“We had visions of Hattur Nisalki carrying you off,” added Kyra teasingly, although her heart was not in it.

“Oh, that almost did happen,” said Nineth. “But I gave him a black eye and he changed his mind.”

“Nineth,” exclaimed Elena. “You hit him?”

“Once,” said Nineth. “I didn’t show him my katari or anything stupid like that, but he grabbed me and I didn’t know what else to do. Besides, he’d already shown me the tent and it wasn’t much—a bearded lady, a dwarf, a poor little wildcat in a cage, and a magic show with funny instruments called scopes. I’m glad we didn’t waste any money to see it.”

Despite her mounting worry, Kyra snorted with laughter. She couldn’t help it. “Poor Hattur didn’t get his kiss after all?”

Nineth flushed. “I’d rather kiss a horse.” She looked around. “Where’s dear Akassa? Don’t tell me you’ve managed to lose her.”

“She and Kyra had a fight,” said Elena. “Kyra threw her into the river.”

“What?” Nineth looked dumbfounded. “Kyra, how could you?”

“I know, I shouldn’t have.” Kyra hung her head, chastened.

“I mean, how could you have not waited for me?” said Nineth. “I always miss the fun! Wait, she’s not still in the river, is she? We might have some explaining to do to Shirin Mam if she is.”

As soon as Nineth said Shirin Mam’s name, the feeling of not-rightness grew until it enveloped the entire world. “We should go back to the caves,” said Kyra.

“But it’s still two hours to midnight,” Nineth protested.

“I’m sorry,” said Kyra. “But something’s wrong; I can feel it. I think we should get back.” Her urgency bled into her voice, and she knew Nineth and Elena could hear it, because they joined her without further protest.

She walked away fast, but it wasn’t enough. She could not outrun the knowledge that something was horribly wrong back at the caves. If she didn’t hurry, it would be too late to stop something terrible from happening. The katari at Kyra’s side burned with urgency. She began to run, run as she never had before, away from the dying festivities of Chorzu and into the moonlit night.

Behind her Nineth and Elena followed, stumbling in their haste over the familiar, grassy paths, calling to her to wait for them.