Betrayed: Magi Rising Book 1 Page 9

  Ouch. “I’m still deciding.”

  “Sure,” he bit out, picking up the pace.

  We left the market, staying clear of the platforms which allowed access to the treetop castle of the kümdâr. Generations of leaders had dwelt in the sprawling residence, and as young magî, Zîyanâ, Zîvrünê, Zerôn, and I had played hide-and-seek, tag, and other childhood games in the abandoned areas. Now my sister and Zerôn dwelt there. The thought brought a mixture of hurt and sadness to the surface, feelings I thought I’d already dealt with.

  As soon as we stepped into the jungle, good to his word, the Serîk dropped the illusion. His leather pants were now black, and my green tunic appeared exactly as it felt, baggy and ill-fitting. I followed as he wound through the barely discernible path until we hit the crumbling stone statue of The Carkom—the group of magî who’d led our kind out of Kânkarä. In the years since I’d left, the jungle had become a wall of foliage, thick and dense, appearing impenetrable from this angle. I closed the distance to stand by the Serîk’s side, and his expression tightened.

  “Do you know where we’re going?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he hissed. He pivoted and stared down at me. “But I don’t have access on my own.”

  Whether he knew it or not, the lack of free access told me Zîvrünê didn’t trust him either. I frowned, but before I could say anything, the Serîk spoke.

  “I’m not asking you to show me if you have a key,” he growled. “We’re just waiting for—”

  “That’s not what I—”

  “Zädîsa.” Bîcav stepped out from behind the statue, relief in his deep voice. He waved us forward. “I’m glad you came. Thanks, Bêrde. I can’t believe you found her.”

  The Serîk beside me snorted. “She looks a lot like her sister, and you were right about the tunic.” He glanced at me and frowned. “It’s practically swimming on her. It wasn’t hard to pick her out of the crowd.”

  “Hey,” I said. “I left in a hurry.”

  “Come on,” Bîcav said. “Let’s not stand out here tempting fate.”

  My attention returned to Zîvrünê’s first as Bêrde ducked past. Bîcav had been with Zîvrünê ever since I could remember—certainly a decade, probably more. I’d always liked Bîcav because even though he could read thoughts, he’d never betrayed my confidence. For being burdened with the weight of everyone’s worry, he’d remained upbeat and optimistic—in the past. The last two years had changed the guard: his blond hair was darker, the skin around his pale-blue eyes was creased with worry lines, and his quick smile had yet to make an appearance. So different than before.

  “Is the Serîk awake?” Bêrde asked from farther up the trail.

  Bîcav’s relief evaporated, and heavy trepidation slammed down on my shoulders as he shook his head.

  “No. His wounds are healing though, slowly. Perhaps another few days…” Bîcav looked at me intently. “We have one of the kümdâr’s Serîk here.”

  The admission made me roll my shoulders. He’d just admitted to treason—of some sort. Frowning, I scrutinized the Serîk. His tattoos seemed darker, which meant he’d spent a lot of time indoors, very atypical for the magî I’d once known.

  “I see judgment in your eyes and hear it in your thoughts,” he said with a long sigh. “You’re all grown up.”

  I stepped past him and into the haven, throwing my response over my shoulder. “Two years will do that. You look terrible.”

  He grunted.

  “Were you all here this morning?” I asked. “I didn’t hear anyone when I went inside.”

  Shaking his head, Bîcav said, “Only the kümdâr’s Serîk. The rest of us probably just missed you.”

  Sure. I scanned the surrounding jungle, looking for Ruin. “What’s wrong with Rünê?”

  As soon as the question was out of my mouth, I grimaced, wanting to smack myself. Pathetic, Zädîsa. As if I needed confirmation that my pining feelings for the former heir weren’t resolved, I realized I practically named my pet—well, not mine really, but still—after him.

  Bîcav raised his eyebrows, communicating volumes, and I blushed.

  “You knew before and kept it a secret,” I muttered. “You better not say anything.”

  A spark of Former-Bîcav appeared as he grinned. Pulling me into a crushing hug, he whispered into my hair, “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ve missed you, Buttercup.”

  I punched him in the stomach—much like punching a granite wall. Shaking my hand, I grumbled as I pulled away. “Why did it take you so long to get in touch?”

  “Zîvrünê didn’t want me to bring you back. Not until it was safe.” He tucked me under his arm and led me down the overgrown path. “But there’s too much at stake, and I think we need you or we’ll fail.”

  Bêrde barked a low, dark chuckle and said, “You hope we won’t fail, but it might not even matter. We don’t know—”

  “What?” The two of them were talking in riddles, and contradictory ones at that. “Is it safe or too late? And was that Basvîk who spoke in my head? Where is Zîvrünê? And what’s wrong with him?”

  Bêrde disappeared around the bend without answering a single question.

  I craned my neck and studied Bîcav. “I have a million more and can’t even get one answered?”

  “Let’s go back to the hut. Someone needs to clean up in there; it stinks like wet animal. Something big must’ve wandered into the glade and marked—” He pulled up short as my thoughts went to Ruin. “Oh no you did not. That thought about a pet is a panthera?”

  I’d meant to clean up after the large cat but forgot in my hurry to get to the market. “I’ll help you tidy up,” I promised. “And you can tell me what’s going on while we work, just like old times, right?” I barely took a breath in my rush to change the subject. “My first question: Why is Zerôn holding another kirinî?”

  “Nope. Nice try though. You’re not getting off that easy, Dîsa, and we’re not changing the subject yet. You made friends with a panthera?” He picked the thoughts out of my head and added, “Wait… a blind panthera?” Bîcav ran his hand through his hair. “Zîvrünê is going to be… unhappy.”

  Oh well. Zîvrünê hadn’t been happy with me ever since the night he bound my magîk and made me a zeta. I shrugged and continued down the path. Not like I owed him anything… except maybe a new tunic or two and some towels.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked with false bravado as we approached the bend. I skipped ahead and shouted back to Bîcav, “Zîvrünê will love it: magî and animal living harmoniously; it’s like his dream come—”

  I turned to look ahead and froze mid-sentence, my heart flipping in shock. Sucking in a breath, I stared at the male magî who’d been my world up until a year ago when I’d finally convinced myself I didn’t care anymore. I was such a liar, a really bad liar.

  Zîvrünê stood just outside the doorway of his retreat hut, wearing nothing but his black leather pants. His dark hair was pulled back, making his blue eyes even brighter, but several unruly locks brushed against his jaw, his very tightly clenched jaw. He appeared thicker than I remembered. Perhaps he’d filled out more. His skin was pale, worse than Bîcav’s, and something was off. Rünê was every bit as attractive as I remembered—actually even more—but… My mouth dried as I drank him in, silently studying every inch of the magî. Several moments passed before I pulled myself together enough to mentally smack some sense into my head. And then I grimaced. Because the former heir’s skin was pale enough that I should’ve seen the faint pink scars immediately. Dozens were visible—all over him.

  I blinked, and the ghostly shape of a panthera’s soul stood next to him, there one second and gone the next.

  My jaw dropped.

  “What the fetid rot,” Rünê snarled, echoing my thoughts.

  He marched up to Bîcav and jabbed at him. “Why is she here?”

  11

  Two and one half years ago

  “Are you afraid?” Zîvrünê ask
ed, voice heavy with concern as he settled on the stone next to me.

  His question was ironic, considering our circumstances. Although, after six months of touring Qralî, maybe he’d adjusted to this new normal.

  But for me, by the end of the day, my cheeks ached from all the fake-smiles and false-platitudes. I was tired of lying about all for the best and things have a way of working out. Here in the cover of night, away from the kümdâr’s and könserî’s entourage, I could relax and drop my mask of joy. Unfortunately for me, as soon as the mask and the pressure to perform disappeared, the truth wormed out of its box and crawled through me.

  “You’re not?” I responded, scooting over a few inches to give Zîvrünê more space. “Are you not listening to your brother’s speeches?”

  At every single outpost, Zerôn and Zîyanâ would stand together on a raised platform in the center of the marketplace, and he spoke of a new Qralî. Worse, Zîvrünê introduced them. Every. Single. Time. The once-heir extolled his brother’s virtues and told of his unfailing love for Zîyanâ—how he’d selflessly healed her—a total lie.

  When Zîvrünê finished weaving his narrative, I joined him on the platform with a smile and a wave for the magî. It was all they could coerce from me—and even that was becoming abhorrent, leaving behind the bitter taste of deceit. But I’d continue to play my part. For now.

  “Zerôn has always had dreams for our realm—”

  “So have you,” I snapped. “Or were those lies, too?”

  He stiffened beside me, and I almost regretted the words, but the flash of remorse was swallowed by the ever-present simmering anger. Zîvrünê could’ve said no, could’ve at least tried to deny Zerôn the rule. Instead, Zîvrünê honored his word and acquiesced the throne—just like that.

  Zîyanâ and I had a fierce and bitter fight last night, a thousand times worse than our argument the day she told me she wasn’t going to partner with Zîvrünê. Only this time, when she hit me, I came back at her. An hour later, Zerôn sealed my hatred with a strap of leather to my back. He refreshed my memory of a very powerful, painful lesson from childhood: he was still equally adept at inflicting wounds as he was healing them, just like when we were younger.

  I stuffed the memory away, relieved because of the space between me and Zîvrünê. Far enough that he wouldn’t be able to see into my mind and my shame.

  He sighed, a long exhale that made my soul ache with the what-ifs of younger, more-naive, Dîsa.

  “He will be a good ruler—he and your sister. She will temper his drive, and I have to believe it was the right thing.” He cleared his throat, but his voice remained hoarse. “She’s your sister, and if I hadn’t surprised her… It’s my fault she fell. I had to make it right.”

  I flinched and turned toward him, searching his face—his tortured expression—for answers. “How could you think that?”

  But I knew.

  “Zerôn said that to you?” And just like that—bam—all of my hatred boiled over. I curled my fingers, clenching my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms, and snarled, “And you believed him? How could you believe him?”

  Zîvrünê hung his head, clutching it in his hands as if trying to keep it in place.

  In one blink, all my anger disappeared and fear rushed in. “D-don’t,” I stammered. Choking on the rest of my words, I swallowed and tried again. “Don’t believe him, Rünê.”

  The tension drained from him, and he straightened, eyes wide with wonder. “What did you say?”

  What did I say? “Just… You shouldn’t believe him. He twists things, turns them around, but he’s manipulating you.” I’d heard Zîyanâ spouting his convoluted logic long enough to know Zerôn was a master at manipulation, even if it wasn’t his magîk. “You shouldn’t believe it when he lies; there’s no power in words.”

  Zîvrünê shook his head. “Not that. You called me Rünê.”

  “Sorry,” I said, wincing at my breech in manners. “I didn’t mean to.” He’d earned the “Zîv” when he’d become a zeta, and to drop it was a terrible insult. Technically, he could challenge me over it. “Please don’t make me fight you.”

  He chuckled, and the deep, throaty laugh made my insides squirm.

  “Would that make you afraid?” he asked, still smiling. “To have to fight me?”

  I snorted. He wouldn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t even stand up to his brother. “No.”

  His smile disappeared under now-pursed lips, and the mirth faded from his eyes. Turning his gaze to the upper canopy, he said, “And that is why Zerôn will do better as kümdâr. To rule, one must have the respect of his subjects… and his partner. I had neither.”

  I opened my mouth to protest and blinked as the truth of his statement sank in.

  “You can close your mouth, Dîsa. What’s done is done.”

  But I pushed forward, refusing to accept what was done. “But you’re so good, and he’s… not. I thought good always won, that bullies got their just dessert. What happened to that?”

  The throaty croaking of the nocturnal frogs swelled, and an owl hooted overhead. The cacophony of the warm night wrapped us in its soft embrace, cocooned away from the rest of the group, but their presence still hung around my neck, strangling me. If Zîvrünê wouldn’t do anything, I couldn’t.

  “Why are you okay with letting him rule?” I whispered. My hatred raged, and I gritted my teeth, wrestling with the overwhelming emotion. Tears burned my eyes, and I blinked the moisture away, recognizing the futility staring me in the face.

  He raised his hand, slowly, and when I didn’t pull away, he wiped the escaped tear from my cheek. My skin burned where he’d touched me, searing me all the way to my soul. Even knowing his weaknesses, I loved him.

  “What is your biggest fear?” he asked.

  Losing him. “My biggest fear?” I stalled, trying to come up with something other than the truth. “What I don’t know.”

  He started to nod but then stopped, tilted up his chin, and then his features bunched, slowly at first, but the expression picked up speed, growing deeper until he shook the confused grimace from his face. “You’re afraid of what you don’t know? How is that even possible?”

  I wanted to laugh, but his earnestness kept me from teasing him. “You know the saying ignorance is bliss? Worst saying ever. How is that even possible, to be blissfully ignorant?”

  “But how can you fear something if you don’t know it even exists?”

  Ah. “You’re right. It’s not the something; it’s the lack of knowledge that I fear. If I know what’s wrong, then I can plan what to do about it. I’d much rather act than be acted upon.” It would be nice to be on the giving end with Zerôn, maybe present a knife and drive it through his heart—not that I would do it, but I wanted to. Sadly, I was fairly certain he’d just heal himself. “Like if we knew what the bûyî is, why it’s happening, then we could do something about it. No bliss in our ignorance.”

  He paled and nodded. “Yes, I see your point.”

  “What about you?” I asked. “What do you fear most?”

  Zîvrünê studied me, head leaning to the side and the corner of his lips pulling up into a soft half-smile. The vibrant blue of his eyes deepened in the absence of light, and there was a flash of something almost predatory in the intensity of his look—there one second and then gone.

  “May I hold your hand for a moment? I promise I won’t peek inside your head. I just want to show you something.”

  I flipped my hand, palm up, and extended my arm. “What do you want—”

  He pressed his hand to mine, the warmth of his skin radiating into me, and I knew there was something deeper of us.

  “Do you feel that energy?” he asked. I nodded, and he continued. “With that energy, you know something, right? Some knowledge flashed in your soul, something deep. And whatever it is, you’re completely convinced it’s truth—either about me, you, or… us.”

  My heart did a little happy dance at the mention of us, and I s
ucked in a shallow breath as he pressed his fingers between mine, threading our hands together. He tightened his grip and stared me down.

  “What if you were wrong?” he asked.

  Wrong? The very word made me grimace. Doubt and fear—of losing him—twisted my stomach. But I wasn’t wrong. Not about him.

  He raised our hands in front of my face and held them there. “That is my fear, Dîsa. That the judgments I’ve made, the decisions about someone else’s character or integrity or worth… What if I’m wrong?”

  I stared off into the darkness. I couldn’t lie, I didn’t even want to, but I also wanted to understand. For years, a decade really, I’d tried to reconcile what I saw of Zerôn and the way Zîvrünê spoke of his brother. This was the first time Zîvrünê had expressed any doubt. Was it about Zerôn and Zîyanâ? And if so, what could Rünê do now?

  “Are you saying you doubt what you know?” I whispered as I focused on him once again. “Is that really possible? Can’t you see into someone’s mind—their memories—and see their true character?”

  He brushed his thumb over the back of my hand, and my breath caught. Looking at me through his thick lashes, he inclined his head toward me, a slow confirmation, not once breaking eye-contact.

  “I can. But there are layers—and it takes time. If I know what I’m looking for, it’s easier, but there is the conscious memory, clouded by perspective, and subconscious, buried memories which are more difficult to access, but they’re more… reliable.”

  “Really?” How did I not previously know all that? I squeezed his hand and asked, “But you need physical contact to access them, right?”

  He nodded. “Exactly.”

  I was missing something—something important. I ran through what I knew and wanted to hit myself as the answer stared me in the face. “They won’t let you touch them.”

  “My parents asked me to stop when I was younger. They said there were things young magî shouldn’t know.” He frowned and then laughed ruefully. “Truly, there are things I wish I could forget.”