I hurl my dagger. The tip embeds in the ground shy of the girl’s toes. “That’s far enough,” I call out.
“Kindred.” She drops to her knees, and the boy follows.
“What do you want?” Deven’s voice is sharp and flat, like his outstretched blade.
The girl—I wager age sixteen, and her male comrade a year younger—shows us a sealed letter. “We bring a message from Brother Shaan.”
Brac gets up and snatches the message from her hand. He stalks back to us, his attention locked on the pair, and hands me the sealed letter. I open it and read.
Trust the messengers. They will guide you.
I hand the letter to Deven. He reads the concise instructions and frowns.
“That is Brother Shaan’s handwriting,” he says. Like me, he is not ready to trust these strangers. “And that sounds like him, cryptic and all knowing.”
I consider our young guests and the possibility that they would know who we are and carry a note from Brother Shaan. I lower my glowing hand. “Let’s hear what they have to say.”
Brac does not disengage his glower as the Galers cross into the firelight. Natesa and Mathura lower their steel but keep the blades close. Yatin flanks our visitors, his huge size provoking wary glances from the girl.
“May we sit?” The boy gives a flimsy smile. “We’ve been flying for hours, and our wings are tired.” He flaps his arms for good measure. None of our expressions budge. The boy coughs awkwardly into his hand.
“I’m Opal, and this is my brother, Rohan,” says the girl.
“Please rest,” I offer. Opal sits beside her brother, and I join them. Everyone else remains on their feet, distrustful and wary. “Your flying contraptions are remarkable.”
“Wing flyers,” Opal corrects. “They were made in Paljor.”
Their nondescript attire bears no insignia linking them to the northern tribal nation of the Alpana Mountains, or any nation for that matter. “Are you from Paljor?” I ask.
“Paljor is our mother’s homeland,” answers Opal.
“Where is Brother Shaan?” Deven asks.
“Safe,” she replies. “We flew him to the northern temple where Prince Ashwin was hiding and then took them both to Janardan a few days ago. Per their request, we’ve been searching for you since.”
A light sparks inside me, bright and warm. Prince Ashwin is alive. Mathura sets down her weapon and sits near us to listen, resting her bad knee.
“Why did the prince leave the empire?” Natesa asks, crossing her arms over her chest. “His people need him here.”