The royal guards arrived soon after, but it was already too late. They could only observe what Sci already knew: the young Wanderer had moved on. Gone to meet the Gods. The seven of Sin or the seven of Virtue. The accumulation of all his actions in life would determine whether his would find peace forever. Or war.
The guard who pronounced him dead jerked the spear out of the youngster's thigh. The muscle twitched, a final spasm, then blood gulped out of the wound and reddened the already soiled white robes.
"I didn't mean—"
"SILENCE!" barked another guard. The horse on his gilded plate wore a silver crown; he was higher in rank than his nearly identical twins. "Your job is to talk to these people until we take over. That's why you guard the gate. Not the palace."
"The gate got closed," Esen protested. "That man was climbing over the wall. He would have made it into the garden."
"Where he would have been arrested by men and women more capable than you," the guard snarled.
Esen remained calm. "The one closing the gate was one of you."
"You think you're a big man, don't you, boy." The guard came closer to Esen. His nose practically in Esen's face. "The lot of you are here because there's a wealthy hand stroking your cheek, keeping that honour high. You're worthless scum. Return to your post."
"Yes, Sayid," Esen hissed through his teeth.
The guard that had yanked Sci's spear from the body marched towards her with long, aggressive strides. He pushed the weapon into her hands. "I take it you know how to clean this, Scirocco."
"You know my name?" she mumbled.
"Your face—your name. You're—what—barely fourteen. It's not good news that we know who you are."
Sci concentrated on the blood dripping from her spear. Her vision blurred. The scent of sour iron wafted around her. She hated being the ugly girl who always stood out in a crowd. Scirocco with the scar. All she had wanted to do was her duty. Be a soldier.
Esen grabbed her hand. "Sci, let's go back."
She refocused her attention to him, her milk brother who had resented her for many years and now acted like a lost cub. It was no wonder the guards knew who she was. She hadn't led an austere life either. She was the girl who had passed the Raja's test without going to Orchid Hall. She had caused a rift between the Rajas; the Alafin himself had questioned her. And then that desert storm. The scar on her face now accompanied by a scar on her heart that wasn't as visible, but twice as painful.
"Sci?" Esen asked. "Are you alright?"
"I killed someone," she whispered. Her body temperature rose when she realised she might have used magic. "What if... How do I look?"
"Sweaty..."
Then his lips formed an understanding oh. Before he could say anything, the gate rattled open.
A large man, almost as broad as he was tall, stepped beneath the rising spikes. The horse on his plate had a crown of gold. On his belt hung a scimitar, the scabbard shone with a thousand glittering gems.
Sci knew who he was: Walee. The Queen's personal guard.
Nobody outside the royal family got so close to her as he.
"You." He pointed at Sci. "Come with me."
She glanced at Esen, their eyes locked for a fraction of a heartbeat. She found the same fear in him that palpitated through her, filling her ears with the rush of hot blood.
YOU ARE READING
The Witch's Hour (A New Dawn #2.5)
Fantasy[Novella]As a child, Sci was scarred by her own mother for being a witch. While the wound has healed and her shawl now covers her face, Sci struggles to remain deaf to the call of the desert wind. She works hard to get into the Scorian army, taking...
