Stolen (Magi Rising Book 1) Page 14

  His expression melted into a pitying smile, and he turned and slid the door closed before joining me on the path. “It’s okay that you slept in; I’m sure you needed it. And even though you missed breakfast, you didn’t miss anything. They took all that burned rice and added milk and sugar to it, so it was burned rice pudding.”

  “Gross,” I said, frowning. My attention snagged on a rough scratch on his neck. “What happened to you? Did you cut yourself? And where’s your necklace?”

  “What?” He pressed his hand to his chest, where the necklace usually rested, and grimaced. “It must be by my bed,” he said. “Or maybe it’s an omen to move on and let go of the past.”

  “You always wear it,” I said, seeing through his feigned flippancy and the anxiety beneath. “Should we go look for it? Do you remember when you last saw it?” Now that we were talking about it, I couldn’t remember if he’d had it on last night or not.

  “I’m sure it’s in my hut.”

  “Well, that scratch is pretty bad,” I said and then had a flash of insight. “You didn’t have a fight on account of me, did you?”

  He snorted. “I’d like to pretend the scratch was from you, but we both know that isn’t the case.” He rolled his eyes, and then his frown turned into a grin. “On second thought, maybe we should go back to my place.”

  Heat flushed through me, and I shook my head. “Never mind. You can find your own necklace.” I marched toward the perimeter road. “I need to find some breakfast.”

  “Hold up,” Svîk said. “Dostane took pity on you.” He held out a piece of banana leaf. “She made a bit of sweet bread last night and saved you a slice.”

  I opened the package and found a small loaf of dark-brown bread studded with bits of fruit and nuts. “I’m pretty sure she’s not supposed to do that.”

  “Let this one go, Taja,” he said with a chuckle. “Otherwise, you’re going to disappear.”

  I nibbled on the meager meal as I followed Svîk, but my mind wandered back to my dream of Esi and her warning. If Esi were to come to me, who would she say not to trust?

  My gaze slid to Svîk. Maybe him . . . but most definitely Rull.

  Head of the council—also known as Master Manipulator and Head Liar of Pûleêr. I hated him so much; he made me sick.

  So much . . . I almost didn’t want to eat Dostane’s bread.

  “Are you going to stay at Esi’s?” Svîk asked as we walked to where we’d been assigned.

  I’d not only missed breakfast but the assignments as well. The units were arriving on the perimeter road. Some of the magî jumped into clearing the growth without preamble, and others laughed and joked before getting to work. We passed one unit, then another, and another. A few grumbled as we passed, but most ignored us. Those who did acknowledge us directed their greeting to Svîk, and their wary expressions were easy to read.

  “I was planning on it,” I said. “If she comes back, it would suck to let the jungle take her house. Why?”

  He didn’t reply for several seconds, and the rest of the jungle sounds swelled, the chirping birds, howling of monkeys, and squelching of our feet in the mud, but none of them dispelled the tension.

  “Just spit it out,” I said. “I’d much rather you tell me, especially if you know something.”

  “I don’t know anything,” he rushed to say. “But it seems that everyone has assumed she’s gone, not coming back. Her and the others.”

  A spark of rage flared in my chest, but the emotion bubbling up in the back of my throat and burning my eyes felt nothing like anger. I shook my head, but the weight of truth rang in his words. “But they don’t know,” I protested. “Not really, right?”

  With my vision blurred, his expression was lost to me. I stopped walking and swallowed the rising lump of emotion. Sucking in a breath, I scrubbed away the moisture so I could see.

  And immediately wished I hadn’t as I stared at the truth.

  Lies—the spoken kind—could be passed as fact if the speaker had enough conviction or motivation. But pity etched in the expression of a friend was louder and more compelling than any words.

  Fresh tears welled in my eyes, and my chest constricted. Shaking my head, I mentally searched for some plausible way to deny what he was telling me, but I knew. Grief tugged my chin to my chest, and emotion spilled down my cheeks, dripping into the mud below.

  “I’m sorry,” Svîk said. And then I felt his presence a fraction of a second before he wrapped his arms around me. “Shh,” he murmured, patting his hand awkwardly on my back.

  His compassion only made me cry harder, and the previously silent tears turned to weeping.

  “You don’t know,” I said, choking on the denial. “You couldn’t know that.”

  He pulled me closer, and the warmth of his body seeped through my clothes, forcing the chains of despair to loosen their hold although they refused to release me.

  “You’re right,” he said, talking into my hair. “I don’t know, but—”

  But? There was no but.

  I cried for a few minutes before gritting my teeth and shoving the grief into a corner of my mind to deal with later. Later . . . if Esi really was dead. I shuddered and then straightened. “I’m fine,” I lied. “I’ll be fine.”

  But I’d lost Ruin, and now Esi. Esi, who was going to take me to Terit . . . when I convinced her. Esi, the only hope I had for answers.

  “Did you know her that well?” Svîk asked.

  “It wasn’t that.” How well could we really know each other? “It was that she knew me the longest. And when you don’t know who you are, and with no one else . . . She was the closest thing to family.”

  But the words rang false in my own ears because while she did know me longest, I’d already said she didn’t know me best. And she looked at me a little like Svîk was looking at me now: like I was crazy.

  “If you want to stay in her house, I’ll help you clear the plants after we finish our work today. That’s a lot of growth to clear by yourself, and you’re already behind.”

  I pulled away so I could see his face. The kindness of his offer was thoughtful, but the sincerity in his expression, his soft smile and bright eyes, warmed my heart.

  “Thank you,” I said, sniffing back the rest of my tears. “I’d appreciate that.”

  He winked at me and tilted his head toward the perimeter road where the units were working. “Then let’s go plow through our assignment with the lazy asses we’re stuck with today. I bet I can clear more than half the space before most of the magî in our group even put their hands in the mud.”

  “Probably not half.” I laughed because even though his assertion was an exaggeration, there was an element of truth behind it.

  Nodding, his expression grew serious, like he was acknowledging defeat. “You’re always so literal. Fine then, fifty-one percent, maybe even fifty-two.”

  I laughed again, and he grinned.

  “Who are we working with today?” I asked as we started up the road.

  We rounded the corner, the small gap between sections disappearing with the bend.

  Svîk pointed and bounced his finger forward three times. “Up there with my second least favorite magî in all of Pûleêr.”

  He’d been here less than a week . . .

  “You already have favorites?”

  He snorted. “It doesn’t take long to pick the best and worst of a lot, Taja.”

  I glanced at him to find his eyebrows raised, his gaze pinning me. My mouth went dry with the intensity of his attention. Afraid to hear him say something I wasn’t ready to hear, I limited my next question. “Who’s the worst?”

  Svîk smirked. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll play by your rules for now. My second least favorite is Velt. He’s so stuffed with self-importance I want to drown him in the Cem.”

  Rolling my eyes, I said, “Your solution to not liking someone is to drown them?”

  He shrugged. “It solves the problem.” The joke wasn’t really funny, a
nd he must’ve realized it as soon as it was out of his mouth because he waved his hand in surrender and said, “I’m sorry. That was tasteless.”

  I shrugged off the comment. “I don’t even know him.”

  We continued walking in silence, but after a few more paces, I blurted, “Who’s your least favorite?”

  Svîk stopped walking. His glance slid to the unit working beside us, and he shook his head. “I’ll tell you later. When it’s just us.”

  21

  We arrived at the space we’d been assigned, and I frowned when I saw that only a few of the magî were working—as in five. The other dozen stood with wide-eyed expressions of puzzlement, staring at the growth they were supposed to be clearing or talking amongst themselves. The most surprising thing was it wasn’t the female magî doing nothing—more than half of them were working. I turned my head to verify my assessment. Indeed, the five magî working were all young women. The anger I’d felt a few days ago sparked anew, but before I could say anything, Svîk spoke.

  “You fetid asses waiting for a personal invitation to get to work?” He growled as he pushed into the group of young men, and Svîk squared off with one, glaring down at the male magî. “If you don’t get moving now, I’ll make you. And I promise you will hate every single second of it.”

  Whoa.

  The group broke and flowed to the edge of the undercanopy where they began to remove the new growth encroaching on the perimeter road. Svîk said nothing more as he dove in, too.

  I stepped away from the men and leaned over a fern, doing my best not to disturb the spores which would spread more of the annoying plants in odd areas. Ferns were the worst. I worked side-by-side with the women, but not one of them spoke to me. I tried not to care. I didn’t care what they thought, and I didn’t need them. I didn’t need anyone, but need and want weren’t the same, and after what felt like hours of silence, I glanced at Svîk.

  Apparently, he was taking my statement that he couldn’t clear more than half the area as a challenge because his back glistened with sweat as he worked at a frenzied pace. He crouched, wrapping his hands around the trunk of a small papaya tree—only a dozen feet in height—and pulled. The ground squelched in protest as it released the tree, and Svîk heaved it back into the lush jungle.

  “Fetid rot,” the young female said next to me. She had the same intonation as Esi, the exclamation sounding like one word. “He could probably tear a magî in half.”

  There was no probably about it.

  Svîk straightened, glanced my way, and grinned. “Fifty-one.”

  I laughed.

  By the end of the assignment, I had to acknowledge his accomplishment. The young male magî, spurred by Svîk’s taunting and grueling pace, pitched in and worked harder than I’d ever seen almost anyone in Pûleêr work. Even the female magî increased their pace. Mud and muck flew, and sweat soaked my tunic by the time someone called stop.

  “We’re done,” one of the young men said, grinning. He was splattered with the dark, sticky earth, and he pointed at the orange bromeliads.

  Several magî laughed, and the chortle of the male and female voices filled the air around us with a sense of joy.

  “So now what?” one young magî asked, rubbing his hands together to clear off the dirt. His nose was wrinkled with distaste, and he held out his arms, far away from his impossibly clean sulu. He had only a small spattering of dried dirt on the right side of his chest, the side near another magî who was covered with mud. “Are we done for the day?”

  Scanning the unit, I noticed that all of us were similarly filthy, all except the one magî speaking—the one Svîk had threatened.

  “We’re done,” the magî next to me said.

  She grinned like she’d won a prize, and I couldn’t help but smile too. Deciding it was better to keep my mouth shut was a conscious decision. As much as I wanted to say something to the young male magî, I didn’t believe it would do anything.

  Svîk and I didn’t join our unit as they went to the Cem, even though a dip in the river sounded nice.

  “Better that we get your area cleared, or you might get swallowed up by the jungle,” Svîk said.

  We walked back to Esi’s home, scooping out the flesh of a young coconut and eating it. After working so hard, I felt a little weak-kneed. Svîk stopped at a mango tree and shook a couple of fruit loose.

  “Here,” he said, holding one out.

  I looked at the orange fruit and shook my head. “I don’t like them when they’re that sweet. They turn rotten too fast once they get ripe, and I get a horrible taste in my mouth just thinking about it.”

  He bit into the mango and pulled the skin back with his teeth. The glistening orange fruit was unblemished, and he took a large bite. The juice ran down his chin and dripped onto his chest. His very muscular and defined chest.

  I jerked my attention back to his face, confused by my sudden interest in him. I didn’t want him—not that way. I bit my lower lip, but instead of orienting me to reality, memories of the dream I’d had of Ruin as a male magî surfaced, and something I really didn’t want to acknowledge flipped inside my abdomen. But there was no way Svîk could be Ruin, regardless of the fact that the latter’s departure coincided with the former’s arrival.

  “Are you sure you don’t want one?” my friend asked, the side of his mouth pulling upward in a half-smile. He held out another mango. “They’re really good.”

  I shook my head, refusing the fruit as well as the odd thoughts. “If you see one that’s still green—just barely soft—pick that one for me.”

  “Really? All right.” He took a huge bite, almost half of the mango, and his cheeks puffed out from his gluttony.

  I needed to stop staring. Glancing around, I spotted an acai palm with a panicle loaded with dark-purple fruit. I picked at the berries, tossing several in my mouth at once. I bit into the fruits, and they were so tart my lips puckered. As soon as I crushed the seed between my teeth, a rank bitterness overpowered the taste of the fruit, and I shuddered before spitting everything out, most of the pulp still mixed in with the seeds.

  Svîk guffawed which made him choke on the mango still in his mouth. He doubled over, coughing, laughing—hopefully dying.

  But as soon as the thought of Svîk being dead crossed my mind, a deep sense of loss wrenched through my chest and hollowed it out. I crossed the distance between us and pounded on his back.

  He twisted to the side, continuing to hack and cough as tears of mirth leaked from the corners of his eyes. Grabbing my shoulder, he gasped for breath and shook his head.

  “I’m okay. It’s just . . . your face,” he said between breaths. He straightened and cleared his throat, his lips twitching as he schooled his features. “Do you like acai berries?”

  The residual taste on my tongue was still tart, and a totally different flavor than a green mango, but just as delicious. “It wasn’t the fruit,” I said with a huff. “I didn’t . . . remember the seeds being so big.”

  “Really?” He drew back with a frown.

  And just like that, the humor evaporated. He studied me with an intensity that made me want to hide—or run away. I had no idea what he’d heard, and the two of us had never discussed what had happened to me or how I’d come to Pûleêr. I assumed he knew everything, that everyone knew and judged me for it.

  “I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.” He waved his hand between us, continuing his explanation like I was daft. “Back and forth.”

  I shrugged, reticent. While part of me wanted to believe I could trust him, I wasn’t sure. Not at all.

  “Want me to go first?” he asked. “Or take turns?”

  “Take turns.” I repeated his words with sudden clarity; I could ask him about Yândarî, the kümdâr, and the kirinî. I could ask him about the Serîk and if magî could have the power to shift.

  22

  I blinked, my attention drawn to Svîk’s face—his intent, intense expression, not because I didn’t under
stand but because I did. I was standing on the edge of a precipice, and I needed to either leap or back away. Far away. But with Esi gone, I had nowhere to go, or rather no one else I could go with. But could I trust Svîk?

  “And you can always just say pass if it’s something you don’t want to talk about,” he added. He looked up at the canopy above and sighed. “I’d like for us to be friends.” Dropping his gaze to meet mine, he added, “Please?”

  Friends? Or did he want more? Was I reading him wrong? “I can pass on anything?”

  He nodded, and I leapt.

  “Why did you leave?” I asked. “I thought the kümdâr treated his Serîk well.”

  Svîk crinkled his nose and started walking again. “I don’t know why you would think that. Have you ever met him?”

  “No.”

  He cocked his head but didn’t push any further than that. “Well, consider that a mercy. Zerôn is obsessively driven, and not too particular about how he achieves his goals.”

  “Is that why you left?” I pressed.

  Pursing his lips, he was silent for several seconds before answering. “To be fair, an opportunity presented itself, and it was too good to pass up. At least that’s what I thought at the time.”

  “You don’t feel the same way now?”

  I frowned at the path leading back to Esi’s home. The fauna now encroached on either side. The area around the hovel would be just as bad, and my shoulders slumped.

  “I’m not sure. Yet. I think it’s too early to say.” He surveyed the path and laughed. “Come on, we’ll get it done in an hour or two—at most.”

  We both dove in, but our pace was slower as we continued our conversation.

  “So what happened? What was your opportunity?”

  “There was an attack on Zerôn—”

  “A coup?” I asked, straightening to look at him.

  Svîk grunted as he pulled out a four-foot palm tree. “I wouldn’t call it a coup. At least, it didn’t seem like that was the goal.” He straightened and met my gaze with a shrug. “But I wasn’t in the midst of the action.”