One day before the War

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Ayla rushed down the stairs after washing up and changing. Her father and her uncle were already in the foyer waiting, the maids fussing over her dad’s cloak. Maron brushed a brown-haired woman’s hands from her dad’s neck. Her dad smiled an apology at her while Maron looped the strings of her dad’s cloak into a bow.

Her dad noticed her galloping down and grinned. “Hello, honey. Still no dress?”

She rolled her eyes. Maron tugged the front of her father’s cloak over his grey outfit and then gave him a hearty pat on the chest. He glanced at Ayla and then turned on his heel, heading toward the front courtyard.

“Let’s go, kids.”

Her dad slipped his hood over his head as he offered Ayla a hand. “I’m older than you, Maron.”

Ayla took it with a soft smile, but a twist in her gut.

“I don’t care,” her uncle said. “You still act like you’re twenty.”

Her dad rolled his eyes, their dark steel color still foreign to her. He grinned at her, leaning down and kissing the top of her head. “Did you have a good time training earlier?” he asked.

“I did. Zalyn fights a lot different than I’m used to. Even Loran’s fighting style seems polished in comparison.”

“No holding hands,” Maron demanded. He breezed past the guard, ignoring their well wishes. “Behave yourselves for once, will you?”

Her dad chuckled and eased his hand away from her. “Sorry, grandpa. I’ll try to be a good boy today. Do I get a prize if I am?” He smiled and waved a goodbye to the guards.

Ayla followed him, thanking the guards as they wished her a safe return.

Maron grunted. “What do you think, Afrem?”

Her dad sighed as he moved to the slim shadows of the high wall around their estate. “Your games are no fun, brother.”

Maron ignored him and rested a hand on Ayla’s shoulder. They walked at a brisk pace toward the gate. “I’m not surprised about Zalyn,” he said after awhile. “Malko was a beast.”

She paused. “You knew his father?”

“Yes. We both did.”

Maron didn’t continue. They walked in silence down the main drag and out of the gate, toward the market. It buzzed with life like the avisport in Baghdad, people bristling from one cart to another. The vendors seemed louder today than what she remembered before. A boy shoved a newspaper into her side with a headline about Zalyn.

Maron snatched it away from her.

“Why’d you do that?” she asked.

“There’s no reason for you to read that junk,” he said. He hurled the paper behind him onto the ground. “They’re treating Zalyn like the next Afrem. The city’s hopeful, the golden child.” He scoffed. “Your father hated the attention, the interviews, the stares.”

“Anyone would…”

Maron gave a gruff laugh, looking across the crowd. “Malko and Afrem were best friends. Malko would’ve done anything to get the same attention. It’s ironic his son has it now. It should be you, but we kept you away.”

Her uncle’s arm slipped from her shoulder as he pushed a few wondering mageians out of their way. “Malko and your father were best friends until Afrem met Ilesina. Malko despised her.”

Ayla frowned, trying to understand why anyone would hate her mother while she tried to maneuver through the crowd without bumping into anyone. She worked to keep up with her uncle’s long legs.

“Did she do something to him?” she asked.

“No,” her uncle said as he pushed a rather large man away. “It was what she stood for that he hated. Zalyn will hate you, too. He was raised no differently.”

Ayla opened her mouth to ask what he meant by that, but she bumped into someone else. She winced and turned, ready to apologize. The girl’s grey eyes stopped her short.

“Diyalam?” she asked. Her magic spread across her skin. A coldness massaged her shoulder, repairing what could’ve been an instant bruise.

The girl froze for a few moments before her face melted into a smile. “Ayla.”

“Sorry I bumped into you. I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Don’t worry,” Diyalam said. Her smile brightened, pushing her cheeks into rosy balls. “It’s nice to meet you again. Do you have a bodyguard or are you alone?”

“My uncle,” Ayla said. “He’s…” — she took a sweeping gaze of the crowd — “…somewhere. Are you here with anyone?”

Diyalam nodded her head. “I have a bodyguard. Why don’t you stay with me for awhile? It’s not good for competitors to be alone out here.”

Ayla wanted to cringe at hearing that warning again. “I’ve heard.” She glanced to the shadows and spotted a dark grey cloak lurking nearby. She looked back to Diyalam. “I think I’ll manage, though.”

Diyalam blinked, as if surprised. “A-are you sure?”

Ayla smiled. She felt appreciative of the girl’s concern. “Yes. Thank you. Have a good time shopping.”

“Yes, thank you. I guess I’ll see you later.”

Ayla waved her a goodbye and kept an eye on her father. He weaved among the crowd as if invisible, leading her. She spotted Maron by the statue of Ninhursag once they reached the intersection.

“How could you get lost?” he asked. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “I was standing right there.”

“Sorry. I bumped into Diyalam.” Ayla watched her father slide away from them, snaking back into the crowd toward the road on the left—the one road she hadn’t visited with Zalyn and Ashor.

A hardened look moved over his face. “Diyalam Thoma?” He clenched his jaw and started guiding her through the crowd again, this time keeping an arm around her. “Be careful with her. The Thoma family and Elias family have never gotten along.”

“She seemed nice to me.”

“Just listen to me, brat. I’m always right.”

She rolled her eyes. She didn’t know why her uncle had to be such a pain. Maybe it was part of his job as a Cardinal. Anyone would be an ass if they were paid for it.

Ayla’s gaze wandered around the store buildings of the fourth section of the market. She noticed fewer people and fewer carts. Signs dangled by every door, advertising for furniture, rugs, paintings, or plants. She caught a glimpse of a cloak disappearing into a narrow alley between two three-story buildings. They had to be headed for one of them.

“Maron,” she said, making sure to be quiet. “Is there anyone I can trust?”

He glanced at her. “You will meet them.”

She nodded, understanding what he meant. In one of those buildings hid the meeting room for the Illutu. Her dad never allowed her to attend, even though he’d been the one who’d created it. It had to be one of the only things her father was proud of doing.

Maron took a quick look over his shoulder as he approached the farther building. He opened the door with a jingle and led Ayla inside. Rustic furniture filled almost every available space. The seller glanced from his an armchair with a candle at his side and a book in his lap, tucked into a small clearing in the corner of the store. His gaze fell back to the words on the page.

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Her uncle took her through the shop to the back. He moved his fingers along a dirty wall as if searching for something. She looked across the expanse of the sandstone and found what he was looking for—a tiny engraved raindrop. His finger brushed over it and paused, then pressed into it.

The wall moved to the right much like the door to Esagila. She flinched at the sound of sand grating against sand. He escorted her down the hall as the door thudded shut behind them. The light vanished with it.

“Watch your step.”

The violent turbulence of a portal smashed into Ayla’s stomach. She stumbled forward, but her uncle steadied her. He did not stop walking, nearly picking her up to keep his pace. He removed his arms when they reached the far door, a candle lantern hanging overhead.

The wooden door had Ishkur’s raindrop symbol as well. Maron put a finger to his lips and then pushed it open with his fingertips. A warm glow from the boarded windows welcomed them inside, as well as thirty staring eyes. The door closed with a thump behind them.

Despite the dust lingering in the strips of light filtering through the cracks in the boards, Ayla could smell the distinct forest air of Ekarkara. The dirt ground under her feet molded to her every step. Pejna stood at the front of the room, smiling at her.

Maron deposited her at a small square, wooden table with two boys talking over candlelight. Sapphire eyes slid to her and her heart stopped as she recognized his narrow jaw, pouty lips, and the bump on his nose. Loran smiled and stood as she draped her arms around his neck with a big smile on her face.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and squeezed. He parted from her but kept a hand on her back. She sat beside him, her face feeling flushed, and a million questions racing through her head. She doubted she’d get the chance to ask any of them, especially about his deal with Ereshkigal.

Ashor sat beside Loran, more than his usual half-smile on his face as he greeted her in a quiet tone. Maron joined Pejna at the front of the room. They talked in hushed voices as a few more people trickled in and found seats, swatting cobwebs out of their way and brushing the benches before sitting.

Ayla put her hands between her legs to keep herself from reaching over and touching Loran—he probably didn’t want to be smothered. She whispered, “How’re you?” The most important question on her mind.

He smiled. “Good. Eabzu is different than Ekarkara, but everything is going well.”

Ayla caught Ashor glance at him before turning his attention to his fingernails and the wooden table. That meant Loran had probably told him something he wasn’t telling her. The liar.

“How about you?” Loran asked, leaning forward on the table. He put his elbows on the wood and set his hand in his palm, his fingers moving into his messy hair. “Ashor said you’ve got a training partner. How’s she?”

Ashor cleared his voice, grimacing in Ayla’s direction. He must not have mentioned she had a male training partner. Probably to save his own skin.

“She’s a he,” Ayla corrected. “I’m good. Esagila’s different, too. It’s nice, though. It feels strange being surrounded by mageians, but I’m getting used to it. I thought it’d be worse. Training is going well, too.”

Loran’s straight eyebrows twitched. “Your training partner’s a guy?” He glanced at Ashor, who shrank away from him. “Forgot to mention that?”

“Whoops.”

Ayla laughed. “Yes, he’s a guy. I thought he’d be obnoxious, but he’s nice. He’s good, too. Very aggressive and strong. He pretty much fights the—”

“—Exact opposite of you,” Loran finished for her. “That’s good, I guess. He hasn’t hurt you, right?”

She thought back to the first time she trained with Zalyn and the punch that almost sent her crashing into the barrier between the field and the stands.

“Not really. It’s training, accidents happen.”

Loran’s eyes narrowed, their clear color brightening. “Accidents never happened when I trained with you. He has no excuse to hurt you. What’s his name?”

Ayla rolled her eyes. “I broke your nose. That was an accident.”

Loran scrunched his nose. His hand flopped back onto the table. “I let you hit me…”

She gave a single laugh. “Sure you did.”

Ashor chuckled beside his friend. “I was wondering how you got that bump.” His green eyes lifted to Loran’s nose. “How’d that happen?”

“Ayla was probably nine,” Loran started. “I wanted to teach her how to move her magic less noticeably so I wouldn’t be able to tell if she was going to punch me or not before she even did it.”

Ayla caught sight of the grey cloak her father had been wearing as he made his way across the room from one of the three doors in the back of the room, the same one she’d come through. He took a seat at an empty table, his slate blue eyes meeting hers. They twinkled as he smiled under his hood at her.

“She kept getting distracted by my transformations, so I made her an offer. If she got one good hit in, I’d let her pet me all she wanted.”

Ayla shifted her attention back to Loran and Ashor. “You transformed into a tiger. I remember. You were really soft.” How could she deny petting a tiger?

Loran smiled. “You made that pretty clear. You were pretty determined.”

Ashor laughed and Ayla smiled, feeling her cheeks heating at Loran’s smile. They never used to do that before.

“She went for a straight jab. I didn’t see her using any magic, so I figured it was a fake. I raised my guard to block it and as I was about to push her away with a kick, she moved magic into her muscles and her punch went straight through.”

“His nose bled. I felt so bad…”

Loran gave a quick chortle. “No, you didn’t. You were too excited.”

“Right, and then I noticed your nose was bleeding. I still feel bad…You pretended like it didn’t hurt, but then you had a big bandage on your nose the next day.”

Loran looked away, a grumpy look on his face. “It was embarrassing.”

Ashor’s back straightened. He whispered to them, “Ishkur’s here.”

Loran’s eyes drifted from hers to the front of the room. Maron cleared his throat and the whispers quieted. Ayla glanced at her dad, who gave a chiding point to the front.

“Thank you all for coming,” Ishkur said, his tone smooth. “The War will start in three days. I have reset our portal from Dilmun to this room. It has not changed locations. We will meet on the first day of the War and continue our weekly meetings from there.” He folded his arms over his chest, his silky robes swaying with the motion like a waterfall. “I encourage you to prepare slowly. We don’t need to illicit any unwanted attention.”

A murmur of agreement swept across the room and its fifty attendees.

“We failed during the 14th Gutian War, we must not fail again,” Maron said, stepping forward. “Afrem and Evraz have made many sacrifices for the Illutu and we must not let them down. Neither of them is with us any longer because of their dedication. It is with that in mind we need to move forward again.”

Pejna moved to Ishkur’s other side, a hard expression on her face. “We have three competitors who will fight for peace between mageians and therians. Please stand.”

Loran, Ashor, and Ayla rose at the same time. Ayla’s blood screamed in her ears, her breath coming in willowy strings. Pejna’s words added to the weight of being a competitor piling on her shoulders. She felt Loran’s hand touch her back, rubbing a small circle into her skin.

“Ashor Sayad LVII,” Pejna announced. “Loran Amedi, and Ayla Elias.”

A shiver crawled up Ayla’s back.

“The three will do us proud.” Maron’s expression softened from its determined frown. He nodded at them to sit and then looked to Ishkur to continue.

Ayla felt glad to have something solid holding her up besides her own legs. Loran’s hand never left her back, his magic seeping into her spine. His circles became stiff and stopped after a few loops.

“While we want to believe our competitors will easily win together, we can never be certain. Evraz’s sacrifice was a surprise to us all.”

Loran’s hand fell from her back. Ayla lifted her elbow to the table and bit on her thumb. Evraz—her father’s best friend. She heard Loran’s lips part as he sucked in a breath.

“We have been preparing to start a rebellion for twenty years,” Maron said, his voice gaining volume. “And this year, we will. If our three are not standing alone at the end, we will charge the final battle. Be prepared. Lives will be lost.”

“But it will be worth it,” Pejna said, her voice shaking.

“May victory be upon us!” Maron shouted, lifting his fist.

Everyone lifted their fist as well, echoing her uncle. The room erupted in passionate conversation. People stood up, shook hands, and discussed the War and the rebellion they’d finally be starting. Ayla felt eyes on her, but she ignored them.

Pejna weaved through the crowd and Loran stood to greet her. They hugged before Pejna leaned over and hugged Ayla. She gave her a kiss and wished her luck, her eyes looking a bit watery although Ayla couldn’t understand why. Ayla stood as Pejna made her way over to Ashor, lifting her gaze from Loran’s bare feet to his mercurial eyes.

“I miss you,” she whispered.

His lips moved into a flash of a smile as he leaned over and wrapped both of his arms around her. He squeezed, lifting her feet from the floor, and set her back down. “I miss you, too. Promise me that you’ll stay safe.”

She didn’t let go of him, muttering into his shirt. “I’m being safe.”

He rested his chin on the top of her head, although he had to bend over. “That’s not what Ashor told me.”

Ayla pulled back, looking up into his narrow eyes, thick eyelashes framing the clear, ocean blue magic swimming in the depths of his eyes. “I’m being safe, I promise.”

Ashor stepped next to them after Pejna started making small talk with a nearby couple. “Maybe you should be promising us you’ll stay safe instead,” he said to Loran.

Ayla noticed a sharp edge to his eyes. She glanced at Loran, returning her hands to her sides. Loran pulled away as well, but it felt reluctant.

“I’m fine,” he said. His eyes looked challenging, as if daring Ashor to say otherwise.

Ayla could tell Loran was lying, but what did he need to stay safe from?

Ashor’s eyebrows and lips pulled into frown as he stared Loran down. “I don’t believe you, but I want you to be in one piece when I see you next either way.”

Ayla frowned. Why wouldn’t he be in one piece? Loran’s unchanging expression only made his lie more obvious in her eyes.

“I will be,” Loran insisted, his voice pressing for the end to the conversation.

“Well, good luck, then,” Ashor said. “You’ll need it.”

Loran scoffed. “Thanks, old friend.”

Ashor smiled and then looked to Ayla. “I’ll see you later, Ayla.”

When she did see him next, Ayla’d be sure to ask what Loran had shared with him. She nodded and waved as he slipped away into the crowd.

Her uncle approached, giving Ashor a pat on the shoulder as they passed one another. She glanced past him to the table her dad had been sitting at and noticed it was now empty. Her throat dried.

Loran enveloped her in his arms again and kissed the top of her head. “Goodbye, Ayla.” He moved away from her quickly, moving to his mother’s side and maneuvering through the crowd to the back doors with her. He took the one on the far left.

She watched him leave, her jaw slackening, her eyes stinging, and her chest heavy. Ayla never knew how much she hated saying goodbye to Loran until now.