“Then let me come with you.” Ileem jerked his chin at a stable boy, who bowed and disappeared back into the rambling whitewashed building to fetch him a horse.
“I can’t wait,” she said.
Light flooded the courtyard, shimmering in the folds of Ileem’s blue and gold robes. Eda caught the sudden scent of citrus oil and sun-warmed figs. His eyes bored into hers. “I’ll stay if you tell me to.”
Her body screamed at her to go, go. Niren’s life depended on it. But her traitorous heart whispered that it would be nice to not go alone.
Eda pulled Naia away from the stable, nudging her toward the gate. “Come, then,” she called back to him.
Their horses ran, hooves pounding the hard ground, long legs eating up the miles of desert that stretched endlessly ahead. The only thing that marred the dirt were rocks and scrubby bushes and the occasional ironwood, jagged and black against the colorless sky. The rush of air made the heat easier to stand, though Eda could feel every inch of exposed skin slowly burning. She tried to let her mind go blank, tried to just focus on the wind and her horse and the mad pace of her heart, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Niren. Eda whispered a prayer to Ahdairon, the wind goddess, to lend them speed.
But their mounts couldn’t keep running indefinitely, and Eda and Ileem were soon forced to pull them back to a walk. Glancing behind her, Eda realized that she and Ileem had vastly outpaced her guard. She wasn’t sorry, but she knew they’d better let him catch up.
“How much farther?” said Ileem, loosing a water skin from his saddle and taking a long, long draught.
Eda undid her own water skin and followed suit. The water was warm, but it tasted sweet. She wiped the sweat from her forehead. “A good six or seven hours, due south. I think.”
“You’ve never been there before?”
Eda shrugged. “It’s an ancient holy site. Raiva’s Well. Although anyone who knows anything about the gods knows that Raiva—”
“—is supposed to be on Od somewhere,” Ileem supplied.
“Perhaps it dates back to the time before the continents were formed.”
Ileem patted his stallion’s neck, and Eda noted his long arms glistening with sweat. Her thoughts turned to soft lips in softer moonlight, and she rubbed her own arm to distract herself from the heat spreading up her neck.
“Why are you seeking Raiva?” Ileem asked.
“Because Tuer will not hear me.”
“When we get to the well, I’ll invoke him for you.”
“Does he come every time you call?” Anger and jealousy rankled her. She had promised Tuer everything, even more than Ileem had offered. Why did Tuer snub her?
“No,” said Ileem tightly. “Not every time.”
“But he does speak to you? Tells you what he wishes you to do for him?”
“He speaks to me in visions and dreams. In stories and songs. In the words of others and the fire of a sacrifice. He speaks to me in many ways, but not always when or how I wish him to. And you, Your Imperial Majesty? Does he speak to you?”
“Only once, long ago when I was a child.” She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice.
“And you want him now to save your friend’s life.”
Her chest hurt. “Yes. Raiva is second only to Tuer in power. Maybe she can do something for Niren.”
“The gods are at work there, aren’t they?”
Eda nodded, wholly miserable.
“Somehow, Niren’s life is bound to the temple. That’s why you want it built so quickly. That’s why you’re so angry with your Barons for halting construction. And that’s what had you so frightened last night.”
He saw so much, when no one else saw anything at all. “Yes.” The word was hard and tight inside her throat.
“Why is Niren’s life bound to the temple?”
This time she told him the truth. “I offered it to the gods as earnest, in case I didn’t fulfill my end of the bargain.”
