Day 8 of the War

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Ashor remained quiet throughout lunch while Zalyn made it his mission to make sure Ayla knew how sorry he was for hurting her. Ohorshina sipped on her tea with her back to the windows, the seven crystal towers of the northern castle soaring into the clouds behind her. Shamash requested his competitors, two therians and a mageian, for the evening’s meetings. They represented the last three competitors to visit the gods.

After today, everything would change.

Ayla focused on the current task at hand: Ashor and she had to escape Zalyn without alerting Loran to their plan. She didn’t know if it was possible, but they’d try.

“…Are you sure you’re feeling well, Ayla?” Zalyn asked, a sheepish look in his eyes. “I just want to make sure…”

Somehow, his concern made her happy, but she stuck to the script. “I’m fine. The nurses healed me and I got some rest.” She smiled. “Honestly, I haven’t felt this good since I arrived in Esagila. Don’t worry.” She rubbed his arm. “Maybe you did me a favor.”

Ashor scoffed next to her—a real scoff, not a rehearsed one. “I don’t think giving you a concussion is a favor, Ayla.” He glanced at them from his cup of earthy coffee. “He should be worried. And you shouldn’t be so quick to forgive.”

“It was my own fault.” She took a quick sip of her own coffee—they’d both need the extra energy later. Another part to the plan. “I haven’t been taking proper care of myself.”

“You’ll be more careful now, right?” Ashor asked. His eyes slid to her, their usual olive color a clear evergreen.

“Yes.” She finished her coffee and set the empty cup down with a clunk. “I’ve learned my lesson.” Or at least, that’s what she was supposed to say. Sneaking out of the castle wasn’t considered careful. She didn’t wonder why.

“So, you’ll be eating and sleeping more?” Zalyn sidled next to her. “And I won’t have to worry about hurting you?” He grabbed the coffee pot and drew it to her cup.

“No,” she said, wrapping her fingers around her cup as he poured. “I promised Naramsin I’d be sending you to the infirmary next.”

He laughed, finished refilling her cup, and kissed her on the temple. He remained by her ear, his husky voice sending hot air into her hair. “You can try.” He leaned away, a dimple in his cheek as he smirked. The feeling of his lips lingered.

Loran glowered from across the room. He stood and left, leaving a cup with steam curling from its rim. Ashor let out a ragged breath. Now they didn’t need to worry about Loran. Just Zalyn.

Ayla took a sip from her refilled cup and then jerked upright as Ashor had instructed her. Zalyn turned to her, his eyebrows raised into his forehead.

“Um…” She took a big breath, hoping the one time she didn’t have to lie for her dad’s sake wouldn’t be her worse lie ever. “I think Banipal wanted to talk to you.” She flashed a smile. “You know, about the fights…”

“He talked to me yesterday,” Ashor said, leaning toward Zalyn across her body. He nudged her, as if telling her to do a better job. “Guess it’s your turn, Zalyn.”

Ayla nodded. “Yes, he talked to me yesterday, too…” She sounded so stiff! She could’ve rolled her eyes at her own obviousness.

Zalyn looked from their faces and then turned to look down the long table. “He already left.” He sighed before gulping down the rest of his coffee. “Guess I’ll get it over with.” He hopped to his feet. “I’ll see you two later. Training?” He ran his fingers through her curls.

She swallowed. He fell for it? “Maybe tomorrow.” She tipped her neck back and stared at the bone in his neck. “I have a feeling that Naramsin is going to really drive me to the ground today.” A soft smile lifted her cheeks. He’d missed a spot shaving under his chin, a patch of light hair catching the glow of the sunlight filling the room.

His expression froze, and then it softened as the slightest smile drew onto his lips. His hand moved from her hair to her cheek, his finger caressing her skin. He slid his eyes from hers, and he removed his hand. “Good luck with that!” He grinned as if he’d never been happier. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” He drew away from her, heading toward the door.

“Yes,” she said, watching his stiffened back until the door shut behind him. “Tomorrow…” She glanced at Ashor, trying to ask him if she’d said something strange without saying a word.

He shrugged, finished his cup, and nodded his head toward the door. He stood and offered her a hand. She took it and then followed by his side out of the door. He leaned against her arm, his lips close to her ears. “Lead the way.”

Ayla led Ashor up the spiraling stairs on the second floor toward the part of the castle housing the mageian trainers. She’d scoured the southern quarter trying to find her dad and that was how she’d found it. The window from her dad’s stories that overlooked an unattended portion of the wall surrounding the ice castle.

The empty lounging room filled her with ease as they hurried to the window on the far right, a high sun spilling a white light across the frost floors and the wooden chairs. She squinted against the sun and across the city, sparkling against the high sun. Estates lined the first streets like in Esagila and transitioned into smaller houses further from the castle. Icy roofs glittered in the light like frozen rivers.

She shivered. The houses coated the mountain top as far as she could see, blurring in the distance like a snowy horizon. Her dad was out there. Somewhere.

“This is it?” Ashor asked, peaking out of narrow window next to her. He grimaced. “That’s a long way down, Ayla.”

“We’ll be fine.” She lifted her foot onto the window’s ledge. “Use your magic. We don’t have much time before someone’ll come down.” Her magic shimmied across her skin and seeped down into her legs. “Let’s go.”

He swallowed. “Ayla, I’m not good like you—”

She grabbed the front of his cloak. “Will your magic into your leg muscles,” she coached. “Let it form around your feet when you land so you don’t break anything. It’ll be like landing on a cloud if you do it right. I promise.”

His wide eyes shifted. “I’m—I’m not sure…”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Trust me.” She released him. “I’ll go first. Don’t make me catch you, Ashor.” She smirked. “Loran’ll never let you live it down.” The wall faced her seven stories down with the snow-packed ground another five story drop from there. Her heart thrummed against her ribcage with adrenalin. Good thing she wasn’t afraid of heights.

She leaped into the air. The frigid wind sliced across her cheeks and her hands. Her skin stung as she dropped like a boulder toward the wall. Her magic whipped around her, covering her skin from head-to-toe. It sunk into her muscles and bubbled around her feet as she met the ground.

Ayla let out a pressed grunt as gravity brought her down to her hands and knees, but she she didn’t register any pain. Her breath came out of her in staggering gasps. Ashor stood in the window. She squinted against his silhouette, raising a hand to her eyebrow as she gestured him down.

He jumped. His cloak thrashed around his body, his arms fighting for balance within the air as he fell. He landed on one knee and his palms against the icy stones of the wall. He groaned as he stood, hunching over. The smell of pine and cedar soared around him.

“Not so bad, right?” she asked, rubbing his back.

“Give my magic a moment to make sure my organs are in the right place…” His hand fell to his stomach. “I feel sick…”

“We need to hurry.” She grabbed his hood and threw it over his head. She lifted her own hood and then peered between the merlons of the wall. The street seemed deserted. A stray cat prowled along the roof of the closest house.

He joined her side. “We’re in the mageian district,” he whispered. “We need to head to the southern border.”

“I’m ready.”

His hand touched her back before he slid past her and jumped to the ground again, landing on both feet in a crouch. She leapt after him before they both headed down the nearest cross street. Her boots crunched in the snow. Past the estates, more people started crowding the streets in heavy furs.

“How does everyone get here?” she whispered, pressing into his body. “Ninhursag doesn’t transport them all, right?”

“No,” he said with a breathy laugh. “Every house has a portal that leads straight to their house in Dilmun. The therians, too. The door can only be opened during the War.”

A heavy breath escaped her in a white puff. She remembered her mom carrying her through a door under their stairs when they lived in Ekarkara. Her mom had been crying, her silvery eyes a smoky brown.

“I remember…” she said, breathless. Her heart clenched into a tiny rock, plummeting down into her stomach. “Do you remember much…?”

His eyes squinted as a frown moved over his face. “I remember it very clearly.” His rough tone sent the rock in her stomach tumbling like an avalanche.

A group of teenagers brushed past them, talking about where they would sit in the stadium tomorrow for the first fight between Anu’s competitors. Dim magic swirled in the natural brown color of their eyes.

“How old were you?” she asked.

“I was six,” he said, his voice shaking. “So was Loran. It was the longest fourteen days of my life, watching my aunt’s chances for survival decrease day by day.”

They passed by a street smelling like garlic and lemon and lined with carts, a loud mass of people chatting and laughing as if they were still in Esagila and under the desert sun. For the first moment in her life, she wished she was one of them. Carefree and happy, watching some spectacle and placing bets on a likely winner.

For them, it didn’t matter who won as long it was a mageian.

“I was too young,” she said, finding it hard to talk, “to remember much. I just remember my mom crying and Maron sitting next to her with his hands on the railing. I thought he’d break it. I didn’t like watching the fight…” Her voice died, faded into a soft crunch of the snow.

“You… didn’t watch your dad in the final battle?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper.

She shook her head. “I didn’t want to watch…” She clenched her hands. “I didn’t like seeing him fight. Especially” —she swallowed against the lump in her throat— “against his best friend.”

Ashor grew silent by her side. He drew an arm around her and pulled him into his side. “I didn’t like it, either. Neither did Loran.”

She wrapped her arm around his back, grabbing the fur of his cloak. “How old was Zalyn?” she asked. “And Diyalam…”

“They weren’t much older than you.” His breath clouded her vision. “Diyalam was two. Zalyn was three.”

“We were so young…” She hung her head, closing her eyes. “Why’d the War have to happen again so soon?”

“I don’t know, Ayla…” He tightened his arm around her for a moment. “I wish I did. It’s easier to fight for something than nothing at all. It feels like I’m… I’m just fighting because I have to.”

Ayla’s heart jumped up her throat. “No,” she shook her head. “No. You’re fighting for the same thing I am, aren’t you?” She swallowed hard, tugging at his cloak. “For peace.”

His face melted as he stared into the snow, color draining from his cheeks. His arm loosened around her. “You’re…. you’re right. I am fighting for peace, aren’t I? The Illutu’s counting on us…”

Ayla’s stomach knotted. She stopped walking and pulled Ashor in front of her. His stubble overtook his paling face in a layer of short hair. His pink lips parted, lost for words. The woodsy smell vanished around him. His eyes lifted to hers, a dark coffee color with swirls of amber.

Her heart moved in her chest like a wolverine trying to escape a cage. “Ashor…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Have faith in yourself. I don’t want to lose you.”

His eyes watered, his lips twitching into a pout. He tore his eyes away from her, up to the clear sky. “I don’t want to die.”

“You won’t,” she said. She wanted to hug him and tell him everything would be fine. She wanted to turn around and head back to the castle.

He didn’t need to hear Ishkur telling him how much the Illutu needed him. He didn’t need to feel that weight any more than he already did. She tightened her grip on his cloak, feeling his chest hiccup as it rose and fell with his uneven breaths.

But she had to find her dad. She wouldn’t have another chance once the fights started. This was her last chance.

Ayla removed her hands from his cloak and put her hand in his. “Let’s get to this meeting before we miss the whole thing.”

He ducked his head and began pulling her down the road. He guided her to an alley cleared of garbage. Maron glanced at them, his face diving into a deep scowl. She parted from Ashor, running to him.

“Maron!” she said, wrapping her arms around his torso. It felt good to hug him after not seeing him for a week. “I need to talk to you.”

His eyes sparkled a deep gold, his face darkened by the shadows. “What do you think you’re doing here?” he asked, his voice harsh. His fingers tore into her upper arms.

She flinched, her magic fighting against his strength. Why was he hurting her? “I—The meeting… Ashor said the meeting was today…”

“Guards!” Ashor yelled, voice hoarse. He barreled down the alley toward her and her uncle. “The guards. Maron—”

Ayla’s heart thrust into the back of her throat. Her ears hummed and her skin tingled. Guards? Why—how…

“I called them,” he snarled. He pushed Ayla away.

“You…called them?” she asked, shaking her head. Why would he call the guards?

“You are not allowed out of the castle.” He moved his arms across his chest, his purple robes falling from his body to reveal a silvery fur lining. He dipped his head back, shouting into the sky, “They are in here!”

“But—” Ayla stepped away from him, falling to Ashor’s side. Her heart hammered into her chest like a woodpecker.

Ashor gripped her arm. “We need to leave now, Ayla.” He pulled her, heading toward the other side of the alley until guards marched in wearing black fur tunics, machetes attached to their wide belts.

She tore away from him, her eyes blurring with tears. “Maron…” She swallowed her heart down into her chest. “Dad… Where is he? He’s—”

“—Dead.”

A blizzard roared with in her head, within her chest. His words echoed between her ears. The sting of his words dug into her sides. Her voice choked her throat. “He’s not…”

“Your father is dead, Ayla.”

The alley broke out in the smell of soil and burning evergreen trees. Ashor grabbed Ayla and tore through the guards. They disappeared in a thin, black smoke. A hand grabbed her elbow and ripped her from Ashor.

She didn’t fight it.

“Ayla!” Ashor struggled against the guards using their magic to hide themselves. He swore, his eyes brightening into a light forest green as the alley bathed in the smell of elm and fir. He growled, pushing away from the guards.

Ayla stayed within their invisible grasps. She didn’t care. She tried not to cry, but the tears rolled down her cheeks as she watched Ashor struggle until they overwhelmed him. When they’d both been apprehended, the guards appeared again. They marched them toward the castle, careful to block them from the view of the crowded streets.

Ayla couldn’t care less where she was going or who saw her.

Her dad was gone.