Wetness suddenly bordered her eyes. Luscia turned around, searching for her men around the outskirts of the field. Declan held his post at one end, disguised within the brush, while Noxolo remained in sight beside Rasha’s quartet of guards. Luscia located Nox, a moonbeam among pillars of amber. Sensing her distress, his brow cinched over the bridge of his beaklike nose.

“Rasha, do you enjoy botanicals?” Dmitri asked as Luscia rotated forward, gathering herself once more. “Our garden is a bit of a wonder, and—”

He trailed off when another visitor appeared, curtsying just outside the tent. The dainty lady’s maid lowered her abdomen, staying that way, even though the reprieve of the shade was inches away. Dmitri coughed and waved her in, clarifying, “You may enter,” when she failed to look up.

The Pilarese girl, concerningly slight in stature, curtsied another half a dozen times before she relayed a message to Sayuri in their western tongue. Unexpectedly, Sayuri launched away from the post and tidied the top of her dress. An eager grin broke her smooth indifference as she snatched the girl’s wrist and moved to depart.

“Forgive my brevity, Highness. I’ve an appointment I cannot miss.”

“What did she mean, ‘procedure’? Or was that ‘pirouette,’ perhaps? I’m embarrassed my Pilarese is rather shoddy,” Dmitri explained to the princess. “‘Potbelly’…no, that can’t be right,” he rattled off distractedly.

Remembering Dmitri’s earlier mention of the gardens, Luscia leapt at the opportunity, eager to visit the stables, even if the Najjan wouldn’t be allowed inside.

“Why don’t you escort the princess to the gardens, Your Highness?” she suggested. “I’m sure she’d love to see the Byronia coming in. Very impressive.”

“That is true. Byronia lily, such a remarkable little thing,” he began, leading Rasha in the direction of the hedge maze.

Treading across the lawn past the archery targets, Noxolo’s long stride fell in step with Luscia’s. Under her breath, she relayed the beta’s report.

“On palace grounds,” Luscia murmured angrily, snapping more of Ira’s stray arrows underfoot. “How did this happen? Our Najjan are concealed everywhere, both mine and those with Ana’Mere.”

At his silence, she halted their advance.

“Well, Ana’Sere, you’re the expert.” Noxolo exhaled sharply. “How do you evade us?”

Unwilling to answer, Luscia eased back, allowing him to lead the way through the lake of discarded equipment. Slower than before, her upturned slipper stepped over Tozune’s bow.

“Oh, Lady Boreal, I keep meaning to ask,” Sayuri called, towing her attendant along. “How is that y’siti mutt of mine serving you? Mira, Melda—oh, does it really matter?”

Luscia stopped walking. Sayuri’s lips curled as she passed behind one of the targets.

“Better for cross-castes to keep to their own kind…increased survival rate and all.”

Forgetting restraint, Luscia dove for Tozune’s bow in the grass. Nimble and true, she pivoted on her knee and released an arrow.

Sayuri screamed and grabbed her maid like a shield as the arrow splintered the wood of the target, striking the very top, right in line with her heart. Gasping, Sayuri shoved the girl aside and marched off, shouting in a Pilarese staccato.

At the smell, Luscia glanced behind the archery target. The small maid quivered as liquid seeped down her legs. The girl’s eyes shone with tears as she gaped at Luscia.

Frozen in place, Luscia wondered what she saw.

“Come, Ana’Sere,” Noxolo prompted her to rise. “You’re needed elsewhere.”

Forfeiting the bow, she quietly left the maid crying on the lawn, forcing Luscia to question if she was so different from the al’Haidren to Pilar after all.

THIRTY

Zaethan

   Zaethan flipped the motumbha stick, rolling it between his palms. The ladles on either end hovered in anticipation over the freshly cut lawn.

Jabari whooped twice, running between their opponents. Sliding on his thigh, he tore through the green and thrust the ball of laced hide through the air, dirt and grass accompanying its flight. Zaethan shouldered another player, not bothering to watch him crash to the earth, and lowered the stick, dashing to the middle of the field. Spinning through a triplet of oncoming players, he spied the narrow goal basket.

Without hesitation, Zaethan launched the ball upright and spun the stick. Striking with the backside of the adjacent scoop, it soared over the heads of his competitors. He released a series of similar sounds, summoning his teammate. Zaethan spotted Jabari beyond the cluster guarding the basket, the Andwele warrior swiftly retrieving an arrow and aiming for the flying target.

The crowd voiced their disappointment as the arrow narrowly missed, followed by a steady clap after the ball fell into the mouth of the basket.

“Kàchà kocho, Alpha Zá.” Jabari shrugged and snatched the ball, wiping off a chunk of soil on his relaxed gunja pant. “Eh, uni! Knick a lick, yeah?” The warrior’s accent thickened as he displayed a slash in the hide.

“Zullee.” Wekesa snatched the ball from Jarabi’s grasp and tossed it to another member of his team. A red cord wrapped about his forearm, distinguishing their opposition for the onlooking nobles. Zaethan’s men did not need dye to know whom they were against. “When you run with men, instead of cubs, you’re never in this position, Zaeth.”

Rotating his wrist, the blue cord around Zaethan’s muscle suddenly felt constricting. “What position, Wekesa?”

“Liability.” His rival’s playing stick swung and smashed Zaethan’s calf where it was still healing from the y’siti’s witchiron. Biting down, he refused to show the pain. “Yeye quondai…Alpha Zá?”

“Eh, meme qondai…I understand you’ve been playing a dangerous game.” Zaethan crouched low, awaiting the signal for the pitch. “On the field, and in my city.”

“Think Bastiion’s still yours, Zaeth?” A wailing cry rang out as the ball glided above. Wekesa’s murky eyes widened, exposing their whites. “Kwihila rapiki mu Jwona!”

The blunt end of his ladle socked Zaethan’s middle, causing him to double over. Spitting out a mouthful of bile, he sprinted after Wekesa, both men tracking the lost ball between players. Nearing the bastard’s heels, Zaethan roared. He whipped the stick around Wekesa’s abdomen, pinning the man as he caught the opposite end in stride. Lifting the other alpha off the ground, Zaethan yelled at the throbbing pain in his leg as he careened them to the left and freed the stick, hurling Wekesa onto the green.