Naro was going to die. He was going to die, and I couldn’t help him.
I felt Atrius’s presence behind me before I saw him. And yet, despite feeling him so acutely, he still was better at sneaking up on me than anyone.
I froze. He stared. Neither of said anything for too long.
I had finally started to gain Atrius’s trust. Maybe more than that. And then I had pulled away. That had jeopardized everything I was here to do.
I started, “I was just—”
Atrius held out his hand. A small velvet pouch sat in his palm.
My mouth closed. I didn’t need to open it to know exactly what this was.
“Take it,” he said. “This is what you’re looking for.”
It was pointedly not a question. He knew exactly what I was doing, and the depths of my shame swallowed me up.
But I wasn’t so ashamed that I didn’t take it.
I closed my hand around the pouch. In turn, Atrius’s closed around mine, stopping me from pulling away.
“I’m destroying most of it,” he said. “All but the smallest amounts we can keep on hand for the people who will die without it. But even they likely won’t live long.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, tight with grief and anger.
No. That was the greatest cruelty of Pythoraseed. Warlords liked it because it made their soldiers sharper and easier to control. Soldiers liked it because it made a short, terrible life more tolerable. But in either event, it was a death knell. Withdrawal would kill you. But so would the drug itself, slowly eating you alive from the inside.
Naro would die if he did not have Pythora.
He would die if he did, too. Maybe just a little slower.
As if reading my face, Atrius said, “It is a cruel substance.”
“Yes,” I agreed.
He let go of my hand. I tucked the pouch into my pocket.
“Give him only what he needs,” he said. “Parse it out.”
I nodded, and we didn’t say another word to each other.
Later, I went into Naro’s room and emptied the pouch into my palm. The seeds were so tiny, each one donning a little fungal sprout. Most preferred to grind it up and snort it, or smoke it, but ingestion would be enough to keep Naro alive.
I took a single seed and pressed it into Naro’s mouth, until his teeth parted. I dripped some water between his lips to make sure he swallowed.
He still didn’t wake—I had given him the bare minimum to keep him alive, not enough to make him functional again. But I held his hand for the rest of the night, so grateful for the way his tremors subsided that I couldn’t even feel guilty.
{Sylina.}
I had fallen asleep by Naro’s bed. At first, I thought the Threadwhisper was a dream.
I lifted my head. It was heavy. Naro was fast asleep, peacefully for the first time in a week.
{Sylina.}
I snapped upright. It had been months since I’d Threadwhispered. The sensation was strange now.
Asha. I recognized her voice, even distant—she was far, probably beyond the bounds of the Thorn Palace. But that still meant she was here, in Vasai.
{I’m coming, Sister,} I told her, grabbed my boots and my cloak, and quickly hurried to meet her.
It was late afternoon. The sun was low in the sky, tinted dusky orange by the thick cloud cover. I found Asha waiting beyond the bounds of the city limits, where buildings gave way to the harsh, rocky plains. I hadn’t spent time out here since I’d arrived in Vasai. For a moment, the memories of the time Naro and I would spend out here as children, scavenging for discarded trash or small animals we could kill and eat, overtook me.
But those thoughts quickly disappeared when I found Asha.
Because she was not alone.
The Sightmother was beside her.
I almost stopped short. The Sightmother never came to check up on missions personally. A part of me was grateful to see her, like a child relieved to be reunited with the safety of their mother. Another part of me balked, my palms starting to sweat. Suddenly all I could taste was Atrius’s kiss on my mouth. Suddenly all I could feel was the Pythoraseed in my palm.
But when I drew closer, and the Sightmother’s comforting presence, strong and stable, surrounded me, those insecurities withered away.
“It is so good to see you, Sylina,” the Sightmother said, giving me a warm smile and reaching out to grasp my hands.
Weaver, I missed them. My Sightmother, my Sisters. It was like I’d drifted away over the last few months and now had been reminded of home. I’d worked long missions before, but never this long, and never alone. I had forgotten how effortless communication could be with those who understood me so implicitly.