Mirage (9 page)

“No, of course not,” Dantai replied smoothly. “Calliope and I were just discussing the intricacies of leadership.”

“Fascinating,” Aluna said. Her eyebrow tried to rise again, but she forced it back down into its normal position. “I didn’t realize that . . .
Calliope
. . . cared so much about leadership.”

Calli laughed nervously. “Well, truthfully, I haven’t had much interest before. But I
am
the daughter of the president, and someday the burden will be mine, whether I want it or not.”

“And so, better to embrace the unique challenges that come with leadership,” Dantai said, folding his hand into a powerful fist. “A leader does not have the luxury of indifference nor the time for selfish indulgence.”

Calli nodded. “It’s true! And what have I been doing for so long? Ignoring my duties. Causing my mother no end of frustration. Skyfeather’s Landing has other scientists, but I am my mother’s only daughter. I must learn to live up to my legacy.”

“Well spoken!” Dantai said, and Calli beamed.

Aluna wondered if they’d been nattering like this the entire time she was gone. She wasn’t surprised to see that Hoku had bolted. Dantai reminded Aluna of her brothers — especially Pilipo — and Hoku could never tolerate being around him for more than a minute or two.

“I hate to change the subject,” Aluna lied, “but I saw a strange horse a few minutes ago, gray and black with white spots? It wandered outside the horse enclosure.”

“That would be Tal,” Dantai said. “Her story is a sad one.”

“Sad? How so?” Calli asked.

Dantai grew somber. “Because you know Dashiyn, you are already familiar with our concept of
aldagha
, a mistake. This is an Equian formed incorrectly during the birthing process.”

Aluna ground her teeth together. “I’d rather not hear anyone use that word for Dash ever again.”

“I agree,” Dantai said smoothly. “The word is merely intended to be descriptive. Usually less than one percent of all our births result in . . . someone like Dashiyn,” he finished carefully. “Dashiyn is an Equian, but born missing half of himself.”

He’s still worth more than you
, Aluna thought. Calli stared at her, eyes wide, and Aluna took a long, slow breath to still the churning in her thoughts.

Dantai continued, oblivious to how much Aluna wanted to wrap a talon around his neck and pull. “Occasionally, another type of
aldagha
is born. It happens rarely, and I know of no others in the desert at this time,” he said. “Tal is the first in our herd. The first Equian of our bloodline to be born without a Human side.”

“Tides’ teeth, she’s an actual Equian?” Aluna said. No wonder the horse seemed to understand what she was saying! “Why doesn’t she have her own tent? Why isn’t she treated like . . . She refused to use the word
mistake
. “Why isn’t she treated like Dash?”

The Equian shrugged. “The offer has always been open, but once Tal was capable of feeding herself, she has always chosen loneliness. She lets none of us near her, and yet she never strays far from the settlement.”

“How old is she?” Aluna asked.

“She is not yet three,” Dantai said, “but we do not know if her mind is aging as a horse or a Human. It is possible she is still a child, but we cannot know for sure.”

“What does her name mean?” Calli asked.

Dantai spoke easily, as if the answer were the most appropriate and natural thing in the world. “She was born without her Humanity,” he said. “
Tal
is our word for
half
.”

Aluna’s hands tightened into fists. She didn’t even release her talons or reach for her knife. There wasn’t time. She needed to punch every last bit of condescension off Dantai’s face, and she needed to do it immediately. Words bubbled up in her throat.
Disgusting
.
Heartless. Cruel
. But she couldn’t find the control to speak them.

Suddenly Calli stood between Aluna and Dantai, her wings half open and creating a barrier of feathers. The girl spoke quickly, but Aluna could barely hear her through the haze of her own anger.

“I’m sorry, but I’m feeling very tired,” Calli said to Dantai. “Would you mind giving me and Aluna some time alone to prepare for the celebration?”

“Certainly,” Dantai said, “but I must state that —”

“Excellent,” Calli interrupted. She grabbed his arm and propelled him toward the tent’s exit. “We’ll see you later. Please give our regards to your sister and father.”

When his tail had disappeared out the tent flap, Calli turned but continued to block the door.

“He doesn’t understand,” Calli said quietly. “He doesn’t know how it sounds.”

“Oh, I think he knows exactly how it sounds,” Aluna said. “I think they all do.”

B
Y THE TIME
the sun had fallen into the mountains, half a dozen bonfires blazed, casting the whole settlement in a warm, flickering glow. Equians of all ages thronged to the flames. They passed food in baskets and on sticks, filled one another’s cups with fruit-infused water, and wished each other “safety until the sun.” Aluna watched a group of yearlings chase one another through the crowds, tossing a ball and laughing when they came close to hitting someone.

“Hoku, where are you?” she whispered. He and Calli had gone on ahead, hoping to find someplace for them to sit that was close to the festivities but safe from errant horse hooves.

She tugged at her new clothes. At least she hadn’t spotted any new tough patches of skin on her legs. No new scales, either, although she was certain that the area by her knee was ready to bloom with them. She’d have to be careful in the tent with Calli so close. Her nightly examinations would have to wait until the bird-girl fell asleep. Thank the ancients for giving Kampii dark vision and keeping it from the Aviars.

“Finally done changing? Are you sure you don’t need another hour?” Hoku whispered back, but then he let it go. “Head to the west side of the bonfire. Tayan saved us a spot.”

“That’s Tayan khan-daughter to you,” Aluna said, and was gratified by his chuckle.

“We’ve got a surprise for you,” Hoku whispered. “I think you’ll like it.”

“As long as it’s not the company of Dantai khan-son, I’ll be thrilled,” she said.

He laughed again. She hadn’t heard him so happy in a long, long time. What kind of day had he had?

It wasn’t hard to find the khan’s fire, not with the golden flames leaping half a dozen meters into the darkening sky. The official ceremony hadn’t started yet, but the Equians had certainly gotten a head start on their celebrating.

She followed Hoku’s directions, darting between dozens of huge Equians and heading toward the clearing around the fire. She didn’t even bother to look for Tal, now that she understood more of her upbringing. An Equian celebration was the last place an outcast would choose to be.

She spotted Hoku and Calli sitting together on a low pile of rugs and pillows. Calli’s wings seemed to radiate light in the growing darkness, as if they were made of glowfish instead of feathers. And maybe that’s why it took Aluna a moment to notice the dark figure sitting next to her.

“Dash,” she whispered.

Hoku looked at her from across the clearing. “Surprise!” he whispered back. “They’ve given him the night off from prison.”

Aluna could barely hear Hoku over the thudding of her heart. When Dash saw her approach, he moved over so Aluna could sit between him and Calli. She sat on the far side of him instead. She wanted him surrounded. Physically inside their tiny group. Protected.

“Hey,” she croaked. Stupid voice.

“You look so clean,” Dash said. “I had no idea your hair was that color.”

She grinned. Firelight danced in his dark eyes. The effect made her brave. Or weak. She wasn’t sure she could tell the difference tonight.

“Did you do it?” she asked. “Did you do what Tayan said?”

His lips pressed into a line. Just when she thought he wasn’t going to answer, he did.

“The spies we captured,” he said, “they were a mother and her son.” He spoke so quietly that she could barely hear his voice amid the revelry surrounding them. “They had left the hidden Serpenti city in search of medicine. She had a young daughter, and the girl was ill. None of their own remedies had worked.”

Dash looked up at the fire, his expression difficult to read.

“The woman died that night, before the khan could get any answers.” He took a deep breath. “They had not realized how exhausted she was and how little food she had eaten. Her body could not survive even the smallest of tortures.”

Aluna tore her eyes from his face and studied the Equians surrounding them. They spoke of honor. They fought like warriors. There was so much about them that she admired. And yet they treated Dash and Tal like mistakes, and they could torture a desperate woman to death. She could make no sense of them.

She felt a hand on her arm and looked down. Dash’s warm fingers gripped her wrist. “Do not judge them too harshly. I can see it in your face. You do not understand the war. You do not know how many of us they killed.”

Yes, yes. She understood, because she’d seen the war between her own people and the sharklike Deepfell. She’d seen firsthand how death multiplied when things like honor and justice were used as war cries.

“So you helped the boy escape,” Aluna said. “And you gave him medicine for his sister.”

“Yes.” Dash left his hand on her arm. Every second it stayed there, the heat intensified. “We were saving that medicine, and I chose to give it to him. I thought I was doing the right thing, that I was opening the way for peace between our people.”

“You did do the right thing,” Aluna said. Once upon a time, she’d given her breathing necklace to a dying Deepfell they’d found wounded on the shore. The Kampii needed every necklace they had. And yet if she hadn’t done it, would Prince Eekikee have saved them later? Would they have become allies? Would Fathom have fallen? “It’s harder to stand against your own than to stand against an enemy. You were brave.”

“I was naive. When I told the khan what I had done, a part of me thought he would understand. That perhaps he would see how the Serpenti were no longer our enemy.”

“It didn’t go like that, did it?” she said.

Dash grunted. “No.”

“You still honor him. The khan.”

He nodded. “He did what he felt was right for our people. I may have done the same in his place. I accepted his judgment and thanked him for condemning me to exile instead of death.”

“But this time . . . ?” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

Dash squeezed her arm gently, then released it. She could still feel his heat even after his fingers were gone.

“I broke exile,” he said simply.

They sat quietly and listened to the crowd.

Eventually Dash spoke again. “My family came to see me today. Well, most of them did.”

“Your family? You’ve never mentioned them before.”

“Our families are . . . not like yours,” he said. “Any number of Equians may make a family and live together. I was raised by eight parents — three of them elders — and have four brothers and sisters my age and younger. We all share the Shining Moon bloodline, but we are not siblings. Not like you are with Daphine and your brothers.”

She thought about this. “No, you’re siblings like me and Hoku. Siblings by choice.”

He grinned. “Yes. We are a family by choice. That is a good way to phrase it.”

“Will they talk to the khan about your situation?” she asked. She liked the idea of having so many new allies. But Dash shook his head.

“My family defended me at my first trial, but I will not let them do so again.” He pulled on a tassel from one of the pillows with his mechanical hand and twirled the fabric between his fingers. “There is no defense for what I have done, and I wish to save them from further hardship. I have asked them to step away, and they have given me their promise.” He turned to look in her eyes again. “Please. Do not try to involve them. It would hurt me if you did.”

She nodded, wishing they were back home. Promises idly given under the waves were not so binding. Back there, a Kampii’s word did not feel heavy as a whale, and it was easily washed away with the tide.

“I am worried for Erke and Gan, though,” he said. “I am told that my fathers left the settlement to look for me shortly after I was exiled and have not returned. We were always so close. I would have liked for you to meet them.”

“They’ll be back,” she said with feigned ease. “I’ll meet them then.”

“If they come to harm because of me . . .”

“They won’t,” she said quickly. “They raised you, so they must be good fighters. They can protect themselves.”

He laughed then. A surprisingly light sound given their conversation.

“Oh, Gan can’t even lift a sword,” he said. “Erke is decent, but unexceptional. My sword skills came from a need to defend myself at an early age, not from parental teaching. No, our family specializes in animals. Our falcons are renowned across all the desert.”

“The birds in the enclosure,” Aluna said. “I haven’t gotten a chance to see them yet.”

“Falcons are sleek and smart, quick and deadly. They are also far too stubborn for their own good. It is no wonder we took to each other early.”