Our footsteps sloshed as we made our way back to Hasda and his men.

Or, rather, Hasda.

Dawn was hot on our heels as we broke into the clearing where only Hasda remained, sitting against a tree and picking at the soggy ground.

He flicked a stick away as we exited the shrubbery, his gaze northward. “How much further?”

“Perhaps no more than a day or two, if you’re no longer encumbered.” Gunarra eyed him warily.

I frowned. “Where is your man? And the bodies?”

“Gone.” He patted the ground, which made wet plops. “A goddess buried them, said she’d give them a proper send off when she returned. Except for Moriun. He wasn’t doing so well, so I sent him with her. Didn’t think he’d make it to the river.”

Gunarra nodded. “You were wise. Frijorro takes good care of her own.”

He finally turned, his face pinched. “Can we make the Stitcher by sundown?”

Shifting her weight, the half-form glanced between me and Hasda. “Were the path clear, and you able to run as I, it would still take more than a day to reach the border of the Hall of Balphar. Exhausted as you are, and stuck in this wretched form as I am, I do not think we could move as quickly as you wish.” She spread her hands apologetically. “And we must needs wait for my jackals to gather to me. A pair answered my call last night and shall join us by midday. But they must scout ahead before we can move with any speed.”

I knelt next to him, facing the same direction. “Don’t smother your grief under action. Rashness will only lead to mistakes, and there is no greater disrespect to the dead than to spit upon their sacrifices.”

He snapped another twig before meeting my eyes. “I would run until my legs gave out if it meant killing the Stitcher tonight.”

“And that would almost certainly end in the opposite.”

“I know.” His jaw worked. “If I had abandoned the Trial, could you have healed them?”

“Hasda, second guessing will eat you alive, but only as long as you let it.” I sighed. “I know the pain hurts. That’s natural. You must be strong, in order to keep it from consuming you. But don’t rush it.”

“But I have to keep going.” His face hardened. “All other branches lead to failure, right?”

My eyes narrowed. “Where did you hear that?”

“A little bird told me.” His face was still unflinching, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. “I know you’re trying to help, Dad, but you’ve told me the grief speech so many times you’ve probably lost count.”

I folded my arms, trying not to show how his rejection hurt. “It can’t have been that many times.”

He folded his fingers over his thumb as he counted. “When I found the dead rabbit. When I made my first kill hunting. When Serena drowned in the pond. When I forgot to refill Squiggle’s bowl and he dried out. When—”

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“All right, I get it.” I sighed. “I’ve just seen what happens when good men bottle it up for too long.”

“As you’ve also said before.” The saddest smile I’d ever seen slipped across his face, and it nearly broke my heart. “I appreciate it. I really do. But no amount of speeches can change how much of a failure I’ve been thus far.”

I frowned. “You’re not a failure.”

He shook his head. “Not a single soldier survived under me. One alliance failed before it got off the ground, and the other hides knives beneath her cloak.”

Gunarra glanced at him sharply. “Again with the baseless mistrust.”

“My djinn recognized you,” Hasda shot back. His grin turned harsh. “True, betrayal led to your downfall, but you wore a jackal’s reputation with pride before favor fled. And he’s had enough with leashes.”

“One of Arali’s spawn, then.” Gunarra gave him a sour look. “He should understand how dangerous an untethered galla is to his existence. Marudak would burn him like incense into the ether if he knew your djinn had broken free.”

Hasda bared his teeth. “He would try. But the return of his divestment of the tuzshu will come with interest.”

Sighing, Gunarra shook her head. “We share the same side, honored tuzshu. Yours is not the only djinn I offended executing my duties. If I knew the affront, perhaps I could seek to make amends.”

“You fish for more information with the subtlety of a toddler.” Hasda curled his lip at her. “Of course any djinn old enough to know your past would be galla. The third and fourth generations wouldn’t have the history to understand why what you did was a betrayal, rather than an execution of your duties. And none of the girru survived.”

Her nostrils flared. “Even beyond the grave, Kakka Me-Me flings her barbs. But the callouses you seek to pierce have calcified, just djinn. As I have told your tuzshu, so say I to you: for naught but company and inquiries met would I usher unto him his expressed desire.”

“You’ve killed for less.” Hasda’s voice was as hard as his face. “Your whimsy is equal parts fickle and lethal. A seat among a den of scorpions is a surer thing than a bed among—”

“You have more than made your point,” Gunarra snapped. Her eyes flashed in the early morning light. “You are the only one who has suffered since Marudak’s usurpation, yes? The only being who endured the hardships and loss of those you held dear stripped from you? A metaphor no more in Marudak’s hands.” Fists clenched, she shivered. “You may scorn the ghitti and the gudhu as your lessers, Kakka Me-Me may have fostered no love between you and them, but others, others cared.” Her eyes snapped to Hasda’s, and if her hands had still born claws, she would have been flexing them. “That misbegotten son of a bitch used my mistress’s own honor guard to bind her, before he dashed them to pieces. My tuzshu were shredded in spirit before the flesh as my eyes were prised open, you soulless piece of shit. And as you claim to know me, I also know your kind.” She jabbed a finger at Hasda. “Arali had good reason to create the ghitti. Tell me, tuzshu, has your djinn disclosed how many of his former hosts shriveled and collapsed beneath the full bond? How many lives he drank, not because they could not handle the strain, but because he relished in watching them buckle beneath the unequal yoke? The one mistake Arali failed to rectify from the girru was their bloodlust, and how unrelenting it remained.”

“That’s enough.” Hasda managed to encompass his armor in the command. Watching the half-form quiver, he sighed. “My spirit is stretched too thin to find the line between my own grief and my djinn’s thirst for revenge. We should rest while we wait for your jackals to arrive. An olive branch.” He held out his hand. “You’re not the only one mistrusted here. There’s a reason I haven’t fully bonded with my djinn.”

Gunarra looked at his hand, and then the soft flicker of purple fire that flashed across his chestplate. “Not for lack of nirarin?”

Hasda shook his head. “I haven’t had nearly enough sleep. I don’t know if you need rest, but I will take some after I forage some breakfast. Hopefully I’ll be more alert by the time your jackals arrive.”

And with that, he set off westward into the forest.

When he was out of earshot, I folded my arms and faced down the half-form. “What was that about?”

“Which part?” Her eyes tracked Hasda’s progress.

I scowled and slid between them. “The time for wordplay has long since passed, jackal. I knew a tenth of the terms you used and recognized even fewer names. Explain.”

Ducking her head, she rubbed her arm and looked away. “It is…uncomfortable, dredging up such history again. And the pain that accompanied it.”

“Then start with the least and work your way up.”

She shot me a dirty look. “Alone the Sea Mother is not in the train of eldritch gods, nor was her love of procreation exclusive, either. Arali favored the incorporeal. Four generations of djinn he fathered—girru, galla, ghitti, gudhu. Each flawed, and every successor slightly diluted, until the last could barely fulfill their duties as tuzshu.”

My eyebrows shot up. An elder god made the djinn? That would explain how they could kill gods.

“A portion of the ghitti were gifted to my mistress, who entrusted them to me.” Her eyes glistened, with pride and with tears. “I’ll never forget that day. The smell of charred flesh mingling with the sour tang of roasted flowers. The rainbow of the hanging gardens blackened and smeared across the browns of my jackals. Or when that piss stain of a cow—” She clacked her teeth. “Once he’d overthrown the Sea Mother, he tore the tools of revolution to shreds. My ghitti, my flesh and blood, my pack. Everyone, save my mistress. Her, he would never wound.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” And I was. Being forced to watch them brutally destroyed must have been horrible to endure. “Marudak is no friend of ours, either. When Carthia has finished its work in Curnerein, we would appreciate your help confronting him.”

“If you slay him, you will never imprison the Sea Mother again.” She barked a harsh laugh. “You wish to stop her, yes? Her warden has escaped, and she will return to the mortal plane. Puff your feathers as you wish, she would simply pluck them for her pillow.”

I scowled. “We’ve already rebuffed her once. It’s imprisoning her that’s the challenge, a thing we might determine with your knowledge.”

In the distance, Hasda screamed.