Chapter Forty-Four · A Moonless Madness

By the time Lyra and Sion reached the town, night had fallen.

Sarrakha’s night market ran between rows of low-roofed houses, oil lamps swaying on either side of the street. Smoke from food stalls drifted low over the sand. The crowd wasn’t thick, but it was enough to narrow the path.

Lyra kept one arm around Sion as they moved through the crowd.

“Just a little farther,” she said. “We’ll find somewhere to rest first.”

Sion nodded, though most of her weight had already sagged against Lyra’s shoulder. Her face was pale. Her breaths came short and unsteady.

Lyra scanned the street for an inn.

Then she looked up.

The sky over Sarrakha was black.

No moon.

Not even a thin rim of light behind the clouds.

Lyra’s heart sank.

Sion’s hand suddenly dug into her shoulder.

Lyra stopped.

“Does it hurt?”

Sion did not answer.

Her nails pressed deeper through Lyra’s sleeve.

Lyra turned to her.

“Sion?”

Sion’s breathing had changed. It was no longer short with exhaustion. It came fast now, ragged, as if something inside her had tightened around her throat.

Lyra caught her by the shoulders.

“Look at me.”

Slowly, Sion raised her head.

Her eyes were wide.

Empty.

Then she whispered, barely loud enough to hear.

“There’s sand in my mouth.”

Lyra went cold.

“Sion?”

“Don’t bury me.”

Lyra reached for her.

Sion lunged.

Lyra twisted aside, but Sion caught the front of her tunic. Her grip clamped hard. Then she opened her mouth and sank her teeth into Lyra’s shoulder.

“Sion! Stop!”

Lyra seized her wrists and tried to force them down without hurting her, but Sion only fought harder. They crashed into a stall. Glass vials toppled from the counter and shattered across the sand.

The crowd scattered at once.

No one stepped in.

A few people backed farther away, as if they knew exactly what they were seeing.

Sion jerked against her again, and Lyra nearly lost her footing.

Sion tore one hand free and raked her nails across Lyra’s neck.

Then the air turned cold.

A thin shard of ice flew in from behind and drove into the sand just in front of Sion’s knee.

Sion froze.

Lyra caught both of Sion’s hands, wrenched them behind her back, and pinned her down. Sion still thrashed beneath her, her breathing broken and wild.

A young man released the reins of the horse he’d been leading and pushed through the crowd toward them.

His cloak was coated in dust. A scarf covered the lower half of his face, leaving only his eyes visible.

“Careful,” he said. “She’s not herself.”

The voice cut through the noise of the night market.

Lyra’s head snapped up.

The young man pulled the scarf down.

“Haris…”

She stared at him.

“What are you doing here?”

Haris glanced at Sion, then at the bite on Lyra’s shoulder.

“I had one hell of a time finding you.”

He had barely finished speaking when Sion surged upright, tore free of Lyra’s grip, and lunged for him.

He lifted a hand.

A thin wall of ice rose in front of him.

Sion slammed into it hard enough to crack the surface.

Lyra rushed in from behind, locked both arms around Sion, and held on.

“Don’t hurt her!”

Haris stepped forward and caught Sion by the shoulders, but she whipped around, seized his wrist, and snapped her teeth at it.

He pulled back just in time.

Ice rose between his fingers.

Sion bit into it instead.

Crack.

A woman shouted from the crowd.

“Move.”

She strode forward and threw a bucket of cold water into Sion’s face.

Sion went rigid.

Water ran down her hair and over her cheeks.

Her empty eyes blinked once.

Then she gasped.

“Lyra…?”

Sion sagged, and Lyra caught her.

“I’m here.”

Sion looked around. She saw the crowd, the broken stall, the bite on Lyra’s shoulder, then Haris standing a few steps away.

Her face went bloodless.

“What did I do?”

No one answered.

The woman holding the bucket looked up at the sky.

“She’s taken sand-snake venom,” she said. “The moon’s almost gone tonight. That’s why it came early.”

Lyra tightened her hold on Sion.

“What about tomorrow night?”

The woman looked at her.

“Tomorrow, there won’t be any moon left. It will be worse.”

Sion’s body sagged again.

She could not go much farther.

Haris looked at the woman.

“Do you have a room?”

The woman glanced at Sion, her mouth tightening.

“My house is small. I don’t have a spare room. And…”

She hesitated.

“This is trouble.”

“We only need somewhere to stay for the night,” Lyra said.

“She had a fit in the middle of the market.” The woman’s voice dropped. “Everyone saw.”

“We’ll watch her.”

The woman looked around. The crowd still kept its distance. A few people had already begun to whisper.

“If she bites me or my husband…” Her fingers tightened around the wooden bucket. “The venom can spread.”

Lyra went cold.

She had not known that.

Haris understood at once. He reached into his pouch and took out a gold coin.

“This should buy your household food for a few months.”

From the house behind the stall came a rough cough.

It dragged on, deep and heavy, as if it were tearing its way out of a damaged chest.

The woman turned toward the sound. Her expression changed before she forced it still.

Haris looked that way too.

Then he took out a second gold coin.

“Twice that,” he said. “For one night.”

The woman stared at the two coins.

She did not reach for them.

Another cough came from behind the curtain.

This one was weaker.

Her gaze lowered. Her fingers tightened around the bucket handle.

Lyra spoke more softly.

“We won’t let her hurt anyone. I promise.”

The woman looked at Lyra, then at Sion.

Sion’s voice came out hoarse.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try not to…”

She could not finish.

The woman was silent a moment longer.

At last, she let out a breath.

“Fine. One night.”

Haris placed the two coins in her hand.

She took them, but her face did not ease.

“Follow me.”

They entered the house.

Inside was a cramped room with a wooden table, a coal stove, and a bed pushed against the wall. The woman’s husband lay there, his breathing heavy and uneven.

The woman spread an old blanket in the corner.

“Sorry,” she said. “We don’t have much.”

Lyra helped Sion sit at the edge of the blanket.

Sion would not look at anyone.

“I’m sorry.”

Lyra squeezed her shoulder gently.

“Don’t. Just rest.”

The woman set the bucket on the table.

“If the fit starts again, use cold water right away.” She looked at Lyra, then at Haris. “And keep her away from my husband.”

Lyra answered quietly.

“We understand.”

Haris left the two girls inside.

He went back out to the stall and tied his horse beneath the awning. The night market had nearly emptied.

Haris built a small fire near the wall.

Only after Sion had fallen into a deep sleep did Lyra step outside.

She sat beside him.

“Now tell me everything.”

Haris was quiet for a moment.

Then he reached into the pouch at his belt, drew out Voxath, and placed it in her hand.

The moment it touched Lyra’s palm, Voxath flared bright and thrummed sharply, as if it recognized her.

Lyra went still.

“The Queen told me where to find it,” Haris said. “In your chamber.”

“My mother?”

“She’s being held in the Turquias Chamber, with Obewich.” His gaze stayed on the fire. “They’re holding on.”

For a moment, Lyra could not breathe. Her fingers closed around Voxath.

“I went from Gemariel to Aulith,” he continued. “I followed rumors about two girls traveling with a white horse. Sarrakha was a guess.”

His gaze dropped to Voxath.

“When I got close to town, it started vibrating. So I followed it to the night market.”

Lyra stared down at Voxath in both hands.

Then she looked back at him.

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

Haris looked into the fire.

“At first, I thought it was just panic,” he said. “The King was dead. The palace needed order.”

His jaw tightened.

“But Syveris moved too quickly. Guards were replaced. Doors were sealed. Your mother was cut off from everyone who might have reached her.”

Lyra’s grip tightened around Voxath.

“That did not feel like order,” Haris said. “It felt like a hand closing.”

A chill moved through her.

“Then how did you reach her?”

“I couldn’t go in as myself.” His voice lowered. “So I went in as Orlas.”

Lyra went still.

“You disguised yourself as him?”

“Long enough to pass the guards.”

The fire cracked softly between them.

Haris’s gaze remained on the flames as he told her the rest: the sealed corridors, the Queen’s confinement, the silence spreading through the palace like frost.

And finally, the Queen’s last instruction.

Go to Sonareth.

“No.”

The answer came too quickly.

Haris frowned.

“Lyra.”

“Going back to Sonareth now would only make things worse.” She looked down at Voxath in her palm. “I already have three pieces of the map. There’s only one left. If I find it, I can fully awaken my magic.”

“Fully awaken your magic,” Haris repeated. “And what if you don’t get back in time?”

Lyra said nothing.

Haris did not soften his voice.

“Fifty days after the King’s death, if the heir has not appeared, the regent has the right to take the throne.”

The fire snapped.

Lyra closed her eyes.

“I know.”

“Then why not go back now?”

She opened her eyes.

Firelight caught on her face, drawing the exhaustion into sharper lines.

“Because if I appear before I’m strong enough, Syveris will kill me before the fiftieth day.”

Haris looked at her for a long time.

“And if you still lose?”

Lyra had no answer.

He spoke again, each word deliberate.

“Your mother is still trapped in that chamber. Obewich is with her. My father is still within Syveris’s reach. Sonareth may be the only place left strong enough to oppose him from the outside.”

The words struck where she had no armor.

Lyra looked down at Voxath in her hand. It sat silent there, cold and heavy, as if it understood everything pressing down on her.

“You’re right.”

Her voice was barely audible.

She could return too soon and die before she saved anyone.

Or she could keep going too long and lose everything before she returned.

One choice led deeper into the search for the Awakening Spring.

The other led back to the place where she had already failed.

But she didn’t know which way to turn first.

Lyra rose.

“We should rest. I have something to do in the morning.”

Haris looked up.

“What?”

“Hunt a great serpent.”

Haris stared at her.

Then he stood.

Lyra looked toward the small house behind them.

“Only one of its fangs can keep Sion from losing herself.”

“I’m coming with you,” he said.