Path of Honor by Diana Pharaoh Francis

that. Sodur could just as easily turn the ahalad-kaaslane against Juhrnus as he had her. He would too, if it suited his plans. It would devastate Juhrnus. She knew how much. She lived it every day. And it wasn’t as if there were anything Juhrnus could do for her; there was no point in jeopardizing his entire life because her misery wanted a little company.
    Reisil straightened the chair and drew a deep breath. If she couldn’t make her magic work, she was still a tark and could help the people of Koduteel with traditional healing. She went to her wardrobe and pulled out her pack, dropping it on the table and sorting through her medicines. The apothecary shops had been generous in giving her supplies. It always astonished her how willing they were to acknowledge her as ahalad-kaaslane , giving her the deference and respect she never got from her brethren. But the wearing of the green bothered her. More and more Koduteelians had begun to wear it, as if they too thought she was plotting something and were signaling their favor.
    She could imagine what Sodur would say: You’ve the support of the people. Once you find your magic, the nobles won’t dare challenge you or they’ll face a rebellion. And it was true. But the other side of the coin was that she was a growing threat to the nobles and the court, especially since they already thought she was hatching some treasonous plan of her own.
    She glanced somberly at her green cloak hanging by the door. Elutark had given it to Reisil when she’d become a tark. You are who you pretend to be. But what was she now that someone else was pretending she was something she wasn’t?
    A knock at the door made her start. Juhrnus leaned in the jamb, his beard long since shorn. Esper made an odd hump over his shoulders beneath his cloak. Her chest ached to see him, to think of Saljane. It’s necessary, she reminded herself. And not forever.
    “Going out?” He glanced at the table as she motioned him inside.
    “To the Fringes.” She paused. “Where’s Sodur?”
    Juhrnus shrugged. “He’ll be along. If we leave now, we’ll likely miss him.” His eyes danced, and Reisil warmed at his conspiratorial tone.
    “Then by all means, let us leave now.” She shouldered her pack, and pulled the door wide.
    “It’s cold. You’ll want your cloak.”
    Reisil shook her head. “Not that one. I think it’s time for another. Not so obvious. Something gray maybe.”
    “You women, always thinking of your fripperies.”
    “And you don’t,” Reisil said. “What’s that scent you’re wearing?”
    Juhrnus leered. “Not my scent, little sister.”
    Reisil only shook her head and went out the door. “Try to be careful. I’d hate to have your bits rot off from the pox. Nothing could hide that smell.”
    Juhrnus pulled the door shut behind them and slid his arm around her shoulders. “But that is what you’re for, my favorite tark. You’d never let me suffer that way.”
    Reisil chuckled as he expected, tasting bile on her tongue. There are worse ways to suffer . And she knew that not telling him about Sodur was the right choice.
     
    The gray-haired woman sat naked in front of a blazing fire, eyes closed, sweat making her bronze skin shine in the firelight. Her hands were cupped around something, elbows braced on her knees. She hadn’t eaten or drunk for two days, but she held herself firmly upright, straining forward against some invisible force. The cottage was thick with blue smoke and the heavy scent of burning herbs.
    Suddenly the fire died, the flames falling into themselves as if doused by water. Nurema slumped, opening her hands. Inside coiled a tiny green snake, its belly crimson, its eyes a brilliant yellow to match its forked tongue. Shining faintly in the darkness was a gold sigil on her palm. A gryphon ringed around by ivy.
    “It’s time. We don’t have much time, not going on foot.” Nurema waited, staring down at the snake. It rose up on its tail, hardly taller than