She left camp quietly, moving through the forest. She thought she heard one of the Shield call her name, and she hurried her pace. But no one followed, perhaps not thinking her valuable enough to chase, or assuming she would wander back on her own accord since she had nowhere to go.
But she did have somewhere to go, and she crossed a small wooden bridge and found herself at the outer gates of Hokaia. There was a steady flow of foot traffic, and she blended in easily. The city was more diverse than even Cuecola. Nevertheless, she kept her blue hood up, but no one looked twice at her. Perhaps Teek were not such a strange sighting on this side of the Crescent Sea, after all.
It was easy to know her destination; the great mound towered above all else. Her only hindrance was her legs. They still ached, especially after two days without her makeshift sea broth, and they made her slower than she liked, but eventually she came to the lagoon at the base of the mound that she had spotted from above. She passed near the black ships, and a mix of emotions flooded her when she confirmed they were indeed Teek. Longing, hope, a wild panic that she might be found out. She imagined herself at the helm of one of those swift beauties, and her heart sped up. She spied a woman lounging on the captain’s bench, no doubt there to make sure no ships were stolen. She would have to get around her, but she’d find a way.
She reached the base of the mound stairs and looked up. Any joy she had felt at seeing the ships drained away. Her legs already hurt, and this would be torture, akin to Titidi’s harbor steps. Someone bumped her shoulder, and she realized she was holding up traffic. She exhaled, braced herself, and climbed.
By the time she reached the top, her knees shook, and her breath came in short bursts. But she had done it, and that was all that mattered. She spied the great eagles still on the open grass, seemingly content and well trained enough to wait patiently for their riders to return. A curious resident approached one of the giant birds, hand extended as if to pet the creature, and almost lost his head to a snapping beak for his effort. She didn’t see any Shield but circled wide anyway, looking for a side entrance into the palace. What she found was the outdoor kitchen.
It was half as long as the Grand Palace itself, and it bustled with activity, women bent over fires and boys hauling water, another woman butchering a four-legged beast with which Xiala was not familiar, and another slicing open great trout from the river. She kept her head down and her step assured, and she flowed into the controlled chaos, letting herself be buoyed along until she was inside the palace.
She followed the servants carrying trays of food down a long hallway that ran the length of the building. Doorways appeared at intervals, all leading into the same interior room. It was huge, a space that could host a thousand people. Massive tapestries hung from wooden walls bearing colorful geometric patterns. A thatched roof arched high above her head, its apex lost in the darkness above. To her right she spied what she was looking for. There was a feast in progress, one that had likely been going on since they had left Nuuma and her party here. Dozens were seated on benches around the largest table Xiala had ever seen. It looked carved whole from a single massive tree trunk and must have weighed as much as one of Cuecola’s great canoes.
She ducked back into the hall and made her way closer to the table. As she drew near, she heard a woman speaking. Her tone suggested she was giving some sort of speech. Xiala had hoped to find them at the part of the feast where music and perhaps dancing reigned, but she dared not wait. If she was wrong about the Shield at camp and they guessed her destination, they could be on the mound to retrieve her in minutes. Not only would she be returned across the river, but she would also lose her opportunity for escape.
She peered into another doorway, this time searching for a distinctive face, one with a cap of black hair and quick, intelligent eyes. At the next doorway, she found xir. Iktan was seating with xir back to her, a man in a boxy headdress on xir right and Terzha on xir left. She did not see Nuuma from her limited vantage point but was sure she was near. The speaker droned on, something about an epic battle and glory won that sounded stultifyingly dull.
She pressed her body against the wall, as small as she could make herself, and crept forward, as close as she could get to the seated party.
“Iktan,” she hissed.
She waited a moment, but xe didn’t respond. Frustrated, she tried again, this time louder. Still nothing. She needed something to get xir attention over the oration. She reached into her pocket, searching. Her hand closed on a hard pebble. She pulled it from her pocket and gagged. It was the eyeball, now dry and shriveled, that Ziha had given her, the wages of justice. She swallowed down her revulsion. It would have to do.