The Silent: Irin Chronicles Book Five(76)

Arindam was smiling. “Now the other.”

Prija didn’t once look away from the Fallen. She kept her eyes on him when she heard the other Grigori go running. There was a scuffle, and he didn’t get far. Arindam’s attendants brought him back to Prija, who slowly wrapped the black fog around her second captor’s neck. She squeezed and wrung it out in her mind, keeping her eyes on Arindam while he watched gleefully as his child twisted before him.

When the second captor was dead, he asked her, “How do you feel?”

Prija said nothing.

How do you feel? he asked in her mind.

Empty.

Hollow.

Nothing. I feel nothing.

But Prija didn’t tell the angel those things. She wiped her thoughts, concealing them from the Fallen. Instead of words, she sank into the black fog. She sank into it and let it fill her mind.

“Take her away,” the Fallen said. “I’ll decide what do to with her tomorrow.”

Arindam’s sons took her away and locked her in a different room, away from the others. When the fog reached out, it felt nothing.

The Grigori had learned to keep their distance.

The next day, no one came for her.

Or the next day.

Or the next.

Prija was silent.





Chapter Twenty-One





The city of Old Bagan was a hot, dry plain dotted with sparse trees and a thousand ancient temples and pagodas. It sat in a curve of the Irrawaddy River, the slow-moving tributary that ferried passengers, cargo, and small fishing boats north and south in the central plains of Myanmar. Kyra watched from the comfort of a shaded horse carriage as wooden boats moved on the river. According to Sura, they were passing time and distracting themselves while Niran, Alyah, Rith, and Leo surveyed the compound in the hills where Arindam was keeping Prija.

Kyra’s own temples throbbed.

“Is it the heat?” Niran asked.

“A little bit. Mostly it’s the noise.”

From the time they’d descended from the Shan Hills and onto the central plain, a low, discordant resonance had begun in Kyra’s mind. There were no spells that erased it. Even Alyah’s skills had done nothing to block the noise. It was a constant, low hum that scraped against her mind and wouldn’t let her rest unless she maintained skin contact with Leo.

It was one of the Fallen.

“Arindam,” Sura said. “It is said he was a messenger in heaven.”

“Which means he uses spoken power,” Kyra said.

“Which means you will have little way of blocking his voice should he choose to turn it against you,” Sura said. “You must be careful.”

“I’m no one to him.” She closed her eyes and put a hand over them to block the vivid sunlight. “He won’t know I exist.”

“If his sons have reported hearing you—”

“They can’t hear me.”

“But they can feel your presence. They tried to hold your mind in Mandalay.”

“Maybe.” She was short-tempered. “Perhaps. I doubt they consider me a threat. I’m a radar, Sura. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

“You sell yourself short.”

“I’m a well-bred antenna. That’s hardly something for an angel to worry about.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” she snapped, “even if I can hear him, what can I do? Nothing. I don’t have any useful magic. Not for combat. Not that would frighten a Fallen.”

“Hmm.” Sura closed his eyes and leaned back against the padded seat.

Kyra sat and stewed in the growing heat.

“Are you liking the pagodas?”

She took a deep breath. “If I wasn’t very hot and very irritated, I’m sure I’d appreciate them more.”

“We’ll go back.” He whistled at the driver and spoke to him. The cart began to turn and Kyra felt churlish.

“Don’t,” she said. “It’s beautiful here. I’m just being cross.”

“It’s fine.” Sura was predictably pleasant. “You’re hot and you’ve had a headache for two days. I should have given you a dark room and music, not tried to show you the sights.”

They rode in silence back to the hotel where they’d taken rooms. There were far more tourists in Bagan than anywhere they’d been in Myanmar. Kyra was still getting used to seeing European faces again. It was one of the reasons, Sura explained, that Arindam had such a big compound near Old Bagan. Not only did the nearness of Western tourists give his sons good cover, but the hotels and tourist industry attracted young women from surrounding villages who came to work at the many hotels and restaurants near the temple complex. They came. They disappeared just as easily. There were always more young women from villages who needed work. Who was going to look for one who’d run off, even if her family came looking?

It was a typical pattern in the Grigori world. Kyra had been sheltered by her brothers, but no kareshta could hide from the truth unless they completely gave in to the madness. Wealthy tourists equaled Grigori presence because the poor would always come to work and serve where there was money to be spent. It wasn’t the tourists who usually suffered; it was the most vulnerable who lived on the edges.

Despite the growing shadows of Grigori presence, Kyra was grateful for one thing about the busier tourist site. Very few people looked at her, other than those who were drawn to her angelic blood and typically sent her admiring glances. And more than half of those looks were diverted when Leo was with her. Some because they were more drawn to his golden beauty than her darker features. Some because Leo was more than a little intimidating.