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Ziede nodded to Trenal and Hartel as she passed them. They didn’t stop her from entering the room they stood guard in front of, and she hoped that didn’t mean more people were inside it.
She pushed open the door. The windows let in the fresh sea air and the evening sunlight to light the room, making the papers and maps spread out on every surface legible without the use of lamps or candles. She found only Bashasa and Kai. Good. Ziede would have personally torn the skin off anybody who tried bullying their way past the guards, especially after today, as long as it had been.
Bashasa looked up from the small writing desk in front of him, his face creased with the type of fatigue he hid from most people. He’d never tried that with Ziede. She’d been a teacher in the temple cloisters for too long to be fooled by false levity and cheer. Besides, she knew how difficult the last few days had been for him, trying to keep up the army’s morale after each new piece of bad news as if he carried the whole world on his shoulders. It was worse with Kai’s absence, even if Amabel was able to reassure them that Kai and the dustwitches were well. Bashasa fussed horribly and hid it worse.
The troops were in better spirits, at least, having taken the fort with few casualties and found another Hierarch dead. Anyone who wasn’t at the Summer Halls now knew the irrifutable the truth: the Hierarchs could be killed. Kai had done it twice.
“Ziede,” Bashasa greeted in a whisper. He put down his pen, though he didn’t move the hand that was threaded through Kai’s mass of curls. They were a mess from the wind, the sand the dustwitches called still knotted within it.
Kai’s head rested on Bashasa’s lap, a coat draped over him as a blanket. He looked terrible, his face shadowed even while asleep. Ziede didn’t blame him. She had wanted to drag him to Bashasa’s side earlier, but there was no point. Kai needed to wait to make sure none of the demons who willingly fed on humans survived, and Bashasa had no time in the immediate aftermath of the battle to think about anything but orders and reports.
“How long has he been asleep?” she asked, speaking just as quietly.
“Not long enough,” Bashasa muttered.
They’d all been awake all night, but Kai and the dustwitches were killing their way through the fortress they now occupied. The rest of the army only marched. It was no wonder Kai was tired. Ziede suspected that the only reason he didn’t fall asleep sooner was because he didn’t want to leave Bashasa, even just to retire to Bashasa’s new chambers. At least Kai did stay. Ziede was half worried he would come up with an excuse to leave, hiding away to lick his wounds privately like a skittish cat. It said something about trust that he didn’t, or maybe about exhaustion.
Kai wasn’t meant for war. None of them were, really, but he was painfully young compared to the rest. Not much older than Dahin, in Ziede’s mind. He wasn’t much older in Tahren’s mind either, not that they ever told him as much. He’d only been in a mortal body for, what, two or three years before the Saredi were killed? Barely any time, for an immortal. Yet there they were, a Witch, an Arike Prince-Heir, and a fallen Immortal Marshal, caring for Kai in place of the family who should have been there for him. Ziede was still angry on his behalf, even if she knew what she saw between Kai and the other demons at the Summer Halls was something better left unmentioned.
She swept closer and sat on Kai’s opposite side. He didn’t stir at her proximity, which only proved how exhausted he was. Kai woke easily as a general rule, a skill cultivated by his time with the Saredi, or maybe the war. It was almost impossible for Ziede to return to their shared tent without waking him.
There was a long pause where Ziede and Bashasa sat, breathing in the sea salt and listening to the seagulls cry overhead. She thought about Kai, and suspected Bashasa did the same. For all the horrors they had experienced, neither of them had endured quite what Kai did. Between the fall of the Saredi, the Cageling Demon Court, and now this, Ziede didn’t think there was anyone who experienced what he did.
“Do you think any of those demons were of Kentdessa?” Bashasa finally asked.
Ziede had considered the possibility herself. She pressed her mouth into a thin line. “I don’t know; I don’t know if Kentdessa had any demons other than Kai.”
Was the one who tried to kill Kai in the Summer Halls from Kentdessa or a different Saredi clan? She didn’t know. Kai so rarely spoke of his people or the time before the Hierarchs came. Ziede understood. It was painful for her to think of the Khalin Islands too.
“Attacking the Hierarch alone was reckless,” Bashasa suddenly said, glaring at the floor.
“And stupid,” Ziede agreed. “But all of this is stupid. It was also his only real option, we would all be dead if he didn’t.”
They would probably still die anyway, but at least that was one more Hierarch going down with them.
Bashasa huffed, looking annoyed. “He could have brought the dustwitches, or his cadre.”
“And if any of them died, he would even worse off now,” Ziede pointed out. She folded her hands in her lap, waiting for Bashasa’s inevitable argument. The conversation wasn’t new. They’d had it a dozen times since leaving Kagala, in private spaces where they knew they wouldn’t be overheard. Sometimes others took part, like Tahren or Mother Higari. Once, even Salatel was there to raise her concerns.
“He acts as if his life holds no value. He’s too willing to be hurt or killed for what he thinks I want,” Bashasa said. His voice was even, but Ziede could hear the frustration barely contained by his teeth.
Bashasa held a great deal of power over Kai, more than Kai consciously realized, probably. Ziede would have been more concerned if Bashasa didn’t worry about it so much. She covered Bashasa’s hand with her own where it rested in Kai’s hair. “He’ll be alright,” she said, squeezing it softly. “We’ll look after him.”
She’d make sure of it, and she knew Bashasa would too.