Fortunately, I reached the Coupling grounds before the crowd grew chaotic. Men and women still propped up deerhide tents circling the field. At the center of the circle, a life-size gold statue of the Three-Legged Lion reared back on its hind legs, its single front leg clawing the air. Scattered around the magnificent centerpiece, small groups lifted mugs to lips and chatted in subdued tones, still too sober and exposed to scope out options.
Unfortunately, Izra was already with another woman.
While most of the women present donned fancy gowns or frocks, ornate jewelry, and elaborate hairstyles to celebrate the Day of Blessings, Izra's raven hair hung loose over a simple tan tunic and trousers. I noticed the subtle caress of the fabric over her hips and the swish of her hair when her head turned. With the detached ease in her stance and gaze, her simple attire was not a show of humility.
It was brazen disregard.
The other woman stood a head taller than Izra. A green gown swaddled her broad shoulders and outlined impressive biceps, and dark brown curls piled above her head. Anywhere else, she would have demanded attention. Standing beside Izra, she was only an overgrown child.
I felt Izra's gaze move my direction before she even moved her head, and I averted my eyes. Princess Paranila had instructed me on a new tactic I would use tonight. According to the Princess, people like Izra required a challenge. Tonight, I would not approach Izra.
Tonight, she would come to me.
I strode toward the middle of the circle, where a ruddy-cheeked man filled mugs of prak from a barrel. His tunic bulged over a generous belly as he twisted to set each mug on a large stump. When I neared him, fumes of spicy alcohol mingled with pungent body odor.
I cleared my throat. "Excuse me, how much for a mug of prak?"
He swung toward me, flashed a toothy grin, and scratched his armpit through the torn seam in his tunic.
"Usually two coppers, but for you? Free with a kiss."
I slapped two coppers down on the stump and snatched a mug. "Thank you."
As I turned away, I took a swig—and I gagged. Lurching to a halt, I stared at the contents of the mug. Gold flecks swirled in amber liquid like prak, but this biting, repulsive liquor was nothing like any prak I had imbibed.
I thought I felt a magnetic gaze pass over me, but when I glanced at Izra, her eyes fastened to the woman speaking to her.
"First time drinking, love?"
I jerked my head to the left, where a shorter woman smiled up at me. A shimmering blue gown stretched tight over her generous hips and plunged open to reveal an expanse of cleavage. Her bronze skin pouched under her eyes and sagged beneath her chin.
I shook my head. "No, I've had prak before."
"Sure you have." She leaned forward and whispered near my ear, "You know, inexperience is nothing to be ashamed of. Some of us even prefer it." Then she squeezed my arm just above the elbow.
I resisted the urge to pull away from the ticklish touch. Paranila had instructed me to attract the attention of an alluring woman. This woman was sufficiently alluring, at least in dim lighting, but I wasn't sure what to do next. Izra remained focused on her suitor, one hand over a cocked hip and the other tilting her mug at her lips. If I followed someone else back to her tent, I very much doubted Izra would intervene.
The woman beside me huffed a snort. "Drawn to the infamous pair, are you? Which one are you eyeing—Denavin or Izra?"
"I'm... not eyeing..."
"Trust me, you should avoid Izra. Women become obsessed with her, and then she never beds them again. I think Denavin is the only one she has taken for more than one night."
"I see."
"Now, Denavin is more my type, personally—rough and strong." Her fingers crawled up to grope my bicep. "Speaking of which, how did you earn this beautiful definition?"
My eyes dropped to where her fingers prodded my tricep and bicep. "I plow potato fields."
"Oh really. And do you ever plow..."—she slid a slow tongue over her lower lip—"Anything else?"
"Ah..."
My eyes flitted to Izra once more. This time, her eyes met mine dead on. The corners of her lips twitched.
And she winked at me.
A flush warmed my neck and burned across my cheeks. I forced my gaze back to the woman still grasping my upper arm and cleared my throat.
"Not really, no. Just potatoes."
She rolled her eyes. "Fine. I suppose you are in poor humor because of the famine. I know this drought has been especially hard on farmers."
I blinked at her. Famine? Drought?
"I am not in poor—"
A sugary, spicy aroma burned my nostrils like poison, and a sputtering crackle sliced through the rising din of voices. I spun toward the sound and saw the man who had sold me the prak crouched over a fire pit beside the stump, flipping crisps on a griddle.
I gripped my mug so tightly that my knuckles cracked. "What is he doing?"
The woman beside me dropped her hold on my arm and raised her eyebrows. "Making cinnamon crisps for the Day of Blessings. What is wrong with you?"
My gaze returned to the man. A thin wisp of black smoke curled into the air above the griddle, and a faint acrid odor mingled with the spicy-sweet.
"He's burning them. He's burning the crisps."
"He always ruins them, but people are too inebriated to care."
More batter spattered the pan, and a dark puff billowed above the crisps. With my free hand, I pinched my thigh hard enough to bite into the skin, but the sharp sting failed to harness my spiraling thoughts.
My breathing grew fast and shallow.
"Someone needs to stop him before the fire... before the fire..."
The woman took a step back. "You're not crazy or something, are you? Because I am not interested in crazy."
"No. Maybe. Sorry, I... I can't..."
My body swayed in a rush of sudden vertigo. The mug slipped from my grasp, landing on the dirt with a muted thud. Cool liquid splashed my leg and spotted the bottom of the gown.
I pressed my palms over my eyelids. When my hands dropped, the woman had disappeared. In her place, a grubby boy of ten or twelve held out a platter.
"A crisp for a copper, Miss?"
I staggered back a step as my vision blurred. Blood whooshed in my ears, and a familiar voice pranced in a graceful lilt.
Epsa, be a good girl!
"I tried, Mother."
Epsa, stay strong!
"I can't. I can't save you. I can't even save—"
My voice choked off as the vice constricted over my chest, siphoning the air from my sputtering lungs. The din of fire and voices around me ricocheted in my ears, and the saccharine smell soured in my churning gut. I fought to drag in a breath.
But I found no air.
The world dimmed and pitched sideways, and cold dirt rose up to smack my palms and knees. Around me, laughter. At me or in spite of me, I was unsure. I couldn't make out any faces, but in my mind's eye, mouths full of jagged wooden teeth stretched wide to cackle.
Epsa! Epsa! Epsa...
I jammed both hands over my ears and pinched my eyes shut. My ribs caved, my lungs collapsed, my heart crushed down to a quivering pulp...
"Epsa?"
The voice gurgled as though underwater. I dropped my hands and peeled my eyes open a crack, and a face swam into focus before me—a perfect portrait of olive skin, dark eyes, and sharp angles.
"Epsa, are you alright?"
I tried to tell her I was fine, but only a strangled crackle emerged.
Her eyebrows tugged close and lips ticked down. "Do you think you can walk?"
Throat still squeezing off all air and speech, I jerked my head in a nod.
A hand clasped my arm, and another snaked around my waist. Then a gentle tug brought me to my feet. I stumbled forward, leaning heavily on the firm presence at my side. Faces swung in and out of focus around me, and sounds converged to a muddled blare. Only the voice beside my ear held any meaning.
"There you go—you are fine. Everything is fine. Just keep walking."
The spitting flames and rambunctious voices soon faded, and cool night air brushed my face. Moments later, a red tent materialized before me. The deerhide flap brushed my face, and then the pile of furs cushioned me. A solid pressure on my back pushed my head toward my knees.
"Breathe, Epsa."
In response to the steady command, I sucked in a ragged gasp. Fresh air slathered the searing pain in my chest like a salve, but my heart still thumped a sickening double-time.
Distantly, I became aware of a hand stroking up and down my spine and the soft vibration of an alto hum. As minutes passed, my body relaxed into the gentle touch and melancholy tune, heartbeat slowing and breaths quietening. Gradually, all thoughts fell to the wayside, leaving only her warm touch.
Then reality hit.
"Izra, what—" My voice caught over a rasping breath. "What are you doing?"
The hand left my back, and the furs rustled. Moments later, Izra sank down to sit cross-legged in front of me. "You collapsed in the middle of the crowd."
Humiliation boiled in my gut and seared my face. I fisted the furs enveloping my thighs and shut my eyes. "So you thought you should bring me to your tent?"
She sighed. "Not for... I didn't know where else to take you. If you tell me where you live, I can walk you home."
"No." A fresh bout of panic sharpened my voice. I drew another breath and softened my tone. "Sorry, I just—you've already done too much. I didn't mean to ruin your night."
A long moment passed in silence. I began to wonder if she had slipped out without my notice, but when I pried my eyes open, she still sat cross-legged and stiff-backed, eyes on her hands folded on her lap.
Without lifting her gaze, she said, "When I was a child, I used to stutter whenever I got upset. The words just wouldn't come out right no matter how hard I tried. My caretakers used to beat me for it, which of course just made it worse."
A curious tightness closed over my chest, not fear anymore but something else I could not name and did not like. My voice left in a croak. "Why are you telling me this?"
With quiet solemnity, she said, "You haven't ruined my night, Epsa."
Her eyes met mine, and in the soft light of the lantern, I caught a flicker of brown—a touch of warmth in the barren cold. For a moment, silence bonded us, a pulsing stream of voiceless conversation. Then I cleared my throat, severing the connection.
"So how did you make the stutter go away?"
She jerked one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. "I stopped getting upset."
I furrowed my brow, searching for answers in her eyes, but only a dark void remained. "Then... then that's your advice? To not let anything upset me?"
"That was not advice. To be honest, I miss it."
"The stutter?"
"The feeling. I have done things that should haunt me."
Cold swept over me like a wind off the sea at night, and the back of my scalp prickled. Had I really allowed her presence to comfort me just moments ago? Izra's group and the other heathens had murdered guards, terrorized the innocent—even burned down an orphanage. She was a threat to the Kingdom.
A threat I needed to eliminate.
In a carefully measured tone, I asked, "What kind of things?"
Izra's gaze pierced a spot on the floor between us, back rigid and fingernails digging into the skin of her forearms.
I leaned a few inches toward her. "Izra?"
"Well, you seem to be feeling better. I will rejoin the Coupling now, and you can leave this tent whenever you are ready."
Before I could utter a word of protest, she pushed to her feet and swept out of the tent.
* * *
"I failed you." The acidic words scratched my throat like vomit. "I could not do as you asked. I could not serve my Kingdom."
King Makapu steepled his fingers on the desk in his study and frowned at me. Though Darling's delicate hands kneaded his shoulders from behind, weariness still creased his brow.
He lifted a finger to tap his lips. "Perhaps this failure is partly my own fault. I know you wanted to join the Royal Guard in facing the Trogolese, and I took that away from you. That must have felt unfair."
I shook my head vigorously. "No, Your Majesty, I would never think you unfair. Though I would have liked to face the Trogolese, I wish to serve your will in whatever way is required."
Darling's fingers drifted up to gently squeeze the side of his neck, and he shut his eyes and tilted his head to the side with a slow sigh. Then he brushed her hands aside and met my gaze once more.
"In two days' time, I will send the Royal Guard into the forest off of the Paksha Sea to track down the Trogolese warriors from that sunken ship. Would you like to join Pim during this mission?"
My breath caught for a moment before I was able to respond. Was he really offering me the chance to leave this terrible night behind me and move forward with my goal?
"Yes, Your Majesty—if you see fit, I would very much like to serve on this mission. But does this mean you no longer need me to draw information from Izra?"
"You'll return long before the next Darkday, Epsa. At the next Coupling, I'm sure you will find more success."
The mortification of the last few hours crawled up inside my chest. "Your Majesty, with all due respect, I can't imagine Izra will want anything to do with me after what happened tonight."
"Perhaps you are right—and perhaps not. I will allow one more Darkday before making that determination." He twisted slightly to snag one of Darling's hands, and he placed her hand on his shoulder once more. "Good night, Epsa. May the Goddess bless you on this Day of Blessings, sweet child."
"May the Goddess bless you, my King."
I slipped out of his study. Without any input from my mind required, my feet carried me through the hallways and down a stairwell to the servants' corridor. As I settled into the bed, I pieced back together my usual resolve, imagining striking down Trogolese alongside Pim.
But as I dangled over the precipice of sleep, half-cloaked in the embrace of unconsciousness, I remembered how good it felt to surrender to Izra's gentle touch and soothing voice.
To just for a moment not need to be strong.