XLVIII. CLEAVED

  Nia’s eyes watered from the smoke clouds that hung over the lower neighborhoods. The raw emptiness of the aker’s absence was an all consuming wound. She was simply gone. Severed from her body, leaving a husk in her wake. When she finally passed out from dehydration, the prince’s dark condemnation echoed throughout her hollow chest and into her dreams.

  You did this. Clavo seethed, dropping his hand to reveal a mangled eye socket. You did this Cythe cried as her son was wrenched away from her chest by the prince’s legionnaires. You did this, the princess sneered as she ordered purple capes through the streets. You did this, the Peddler sang as he sliced the flesh of her palm. And yet, her brother said nothing. Nia approached the golden shroud cautiously, and peaked underneath it. She screamed at the empty vessel of his body.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Nia ran, far from the fires that consumed De-Asha and into the great expanse of the Dunelands. Up ahead, the dwindling light of a campfire at the bottom of a rocky ridge. Nia stumbled towards the campsite, her stumbling in the ever shifting stands. The stranger watched her curiously as she collapsed near his campfire. The strangers kaleidoscopic gaze dissected her through the roaring flames. It was a gaze she had recognized before, assessing and strangely familiar. His name flooded her with warmth. “Peddler?”

  “Oh tomb raider.” The Peddler regarded her wistfully. “You have become a feather.”

  Nia choked back the sob as she sat upright. The memories came rushing back to her. “The Conqueror, he, broke me.”

  “He cleaved you of your aker.” The Peddler’s voice gentled. “But you did not break. Look now.” The Peddler drew her attention to his side, where the lioness dozed at his feet. Nia watched as the Peddler ran a palm through the aker’s golden fur. Nia reached for her aker, hissing as the flames prickled against her hands. She stood and walked around the fire and knelt down. The pools of molten gold met hers as the aker lifted her head curiously. All she wanted was to touch her, to be reunited with the other half of her wyrd. Nia reached out, knuckles first.

  Her fingers slid through the mirage. Nia sobbed as the aker bolted into the dunes. Peddler gripped her shoulder and rose. “You will not be able to catch her. You’ve become a feather.” He removed his cap and dusted it against his pant leg. “Follow the breeze, tomb raider, and the goddess will guide you home.”