Lila shrugs. “He’s Zanyar Zareen. He’s not a man known for his communication skills. He does what he wants, when he wants, and none of them seemed to dare to ask why.”
I stare at Lila, my mind racing. Why would he take two horses? Unless… Unless he was going to find someone else…
Lila notices my intense focus and my sudden, distant gaze. “Arien? What is it?”
I can’t speak. An impossible thought is taking root in my mind. But it’s too absurd, too bizarre. Finally, I force the words out. “What color were the horses?”
Roshana gives me a smug look. “Who remembers the color of a horse?”
Lila narrows her eyes. “One of them was a very distinctive color. A pale gray, almost silver. I remember thinking it was beautiful. A rare breed, I think. The other… I don’t know. Brown, maybe? Why?”
I don’t answer. I can’t answer. I just stare at her, my mind struggling to cope with the impossible realization.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I can see him surrounded by rows of shelves filled with books, scrolls, and ancient texts in a hidden part of the library. His fingers trace the lines of a hefty parchment, his brow furrowed in concentration as he reads it.
Meanwhile, I am lurking in the shadows, trying to build the nerve to approach him. But the thought of actually confronting Zanyar makes me want to run far away and never look back. Gods! Why can’t I just march over there and demand an explanation? Why do I always have to overthink everything?
Questions and doubts swirl in my mind like a tangled mess. Did Zanyar really leave that horse for us in the mountains? My gut screams yes, but my brain is still trying to deny the obvious. Why would he leave the village and his fellow Ahiras to find me? It makes no sense!
He has made it clear he doesn’t want me to join Martysh and wants me to go with him to Aramis, though I still don’t quite know why. So why would he go out of his way to help me? Was it a sudden attack of conscience? A strategic move in some elaborate game I can not fathom?
The more I think about it, the more confused I become. Craving answers, I’ve come down to the library, knowing he spends most of his time here.
“Lost, Arien?” Zanyar’s voice cuts through my internal debate, startling me so badly that I almost jump out of my skin. He hasn’t even looked up from the book he is perusing. How didhe know I was here?
I decide to abandon my hesitations and emerge from the shadows. Only when I’m a few steps away does he finally look up. His mesmerizing emerald eyes lock onto mine with a power that makes my knees wobble. I just stand still, completely forgetting what I wanted to ask.
“What is it, Arien?” His calm tone is a stark contrast to the way my body instantly tenses when he uses my name. It is a maddening mystery, this inexplicable reaction I have to him, the way my breath hitches and every muscle tightens just by his proximity, by the simple act of him uttering my name.
“Uh, well… I have a question.” I clear my throat, trying to regain my composure, and then ask in a single breath. “Why did you leave that horse for us in the mountains?”
There. I said it. Now, all I have to do is wait for an answer that hopefully won’t make my head explode.
Zanyar, the master of dramatic pauses, just stares at me for a moment, those green eyes boring into my soul. Finally, he delivers his answer with the gravity of a king announcing a royal decree: “Because you looked tired.”
And then… he just turns back to his book. As if that is all there is to it. The explanation to end all explanations. As if he’d just delivered a three-hour speech on the intricacies of horse-gifting etiquette. Seriously, what is with this guy? Does he think a single, nonchalant sentence would satisfy my burning curiosity?
His ridiculous answer ignites a fire in my gut that finally gives me the courage I needed to demand an explanation. “That’s not an answer.”
“Perhaps not the answer you were hoping for,” he counters with an infuriatingly calm voice, not even bothering to look up at me.
It’s like the battlements all over again.I was watching you, Arien.Just like that. No context, no reason, no follow-up. As if I’m supposed to just nod sagely, accept his pronouncements, and follow him blindly wherever he chooses to lead. Why? Why does he act as if I’m some inferior being who doesn’t deserve an explanation?
Crossing my arms, I say, “No, it was a dumb answer that only spawned a thousand more questions, and you know it.” My voice is loud withfrustration.
Zanyar doesn’t flinch, but he finally looks up to me, blinking those long lashes of his, and says, “Then enlighten me with those questions, and I shall endeavor to answer them.”
Oh, the sarcasm! I swear, I am a heartbeat away from snatching that book from his hands and throwing it at that beautiful head of his.
“You’re a Fire Eye. And Fire Eyes know how to track people in the wilderness. The village you left Lila in was west of where we were. Which means you must have tracked us to get that far east. You did not just cross paths with us by accident.”
He remains silent. Those maddeningly calm eyes linger on mine with an infuriating calm.
“That wasn’t a question,” he finally points out, as if I am a dimwitted student who’d forgotten how to formulate a sentence.
My anger is starting to simmer, and my eyes narrow on him. “Why? Why did you track us? You clearly declared that you had no intention of helping me win these trials. You even told me to forfeit! So why do something completely different?”
