The Whitefire Crossing - By Courtney Schafer Page 0,42

top of another giant boulder. He started to his feet, thoughts of Pello momentarily banished by wonder. He’d reached the lake.

So much water! And so different from the illustrations he’d seen. Books portrayed lake water as blue, or perhaps clear. But this water was a strange, milky green, like sunlit jade. High peaks surrounded the lake on three sides, their snowfields stretching down unbroken to the ice that still covered much of its surface. The ice was smooth and snow covered on the far end of the lake, but buckled and broken and fluted into strange shapes where it turned to open water.

Though the sun still stood a handspan above the western peaks, the air was already cooling fast, and a chill breeze wafted off the lake. Kiran shivered and pulled his overjacket tighter. He scrambled forward to the boulder’s edge. The water rippling against the rock below was too far down to reach, but perhaps from the next boulder he could—

“An amazing sight, isn’t it?”

Kiran froze. He’d had no warning of Pello’s approach—curse the man, how could he move so quietly over such difficult terrain? He turned, careful not to lose his balance. Pello stood only a few feet away on the boulder’s broad top. A water jug dangled from one hand, and a patchwork wool cap contained most of his curls. Though his grin was friendly, his dark eyes were fixed on Kiran with an intensity that prickled Kiran’s skin.

Pello gestured with his jug at the lake. “Not even the hanging gardens of Reytani can compare to such a wonder...or so I’m told.”

Kiran shrugged, carefully. His face felt rigid as stone. Of the thirteen highside districts, Reytani was the one Ruslan called home. Had Pello mentioned it at random? Kiran’s unease swelled.

“Shy of me, are you? Never fear, I carry no scorpion’s sting.” Pello sauntered closer. Kiran couldn’t help a glance over his shoulder. No retreat that way; only the lake. The long drop off the boulder’s top to the fanged rocks on either side was more than he dared attempt. Pello blocked the only route off the boulder. He’d trapped Kiran as neatly as a thrice-spiraled ward.

Out of the roil of his emotions, power uncoiled, silent and seductive as a courtesan’s dance. No. Kiran smothered the flame deep within. He focused grimly on the scuffed leather of Pello’s boots.

“I once saw a man with skin and eyes as pale as yours,” Pello said, in a musing tone. “In Prosul Varkevia, when I was a child. But he had hair black as Shaikar’s heart, not brown, and spoke no civilized tongue—the shuka dancers whispered he hailed from far over the eastern sea.”

Kiran raised his eyes before he could stop himself. He’d long known that his looks were unusual in the city. He’d once spent precious stolen hours searching without success through the contents of Ruslan’s library for any mention of a people that might hold his heritage.

“Ah, that caught your attention.” Satisfaction shaded Pello’s smile. “Were you a talented boy, then? Sold off by the mother you never knew, as Dev was?”

Talented. Kiran’s stomach curdled. Deliberate word choice, or not? Regardless, Pello now skirted terribly close to the truth. Silence was no longer an option—Kiran had to quash this line of thought. He recalled the cover story Dev had insisted he memorize, and lifted his chin.

“My parents are bookbinders, in Kulori district.” A sliver of curiosity pricked through his anxiety. Had Dev truly been sold as a child? And if so, to whom, and why? Dev’s ikilhia was dim as that of any untalented man.

Pello clapped his hands. “He speaks!” He cocked his head. “Bookbinders, you say...and what distant city left such a unique stamp on your family’s tongue?”

Kiran knew his speech bore the influence of Ruslan’s gliding vowels and harsh-edged consonants. Remnants of Ruslan and Lizaveta’s native language, from a city Lizaveta had told him was no longer remembered except in tale and song.

He jerked his shoulders in another shrug. “I should get back,” he mumbled. Even if he hadn’t bought Dev enough time, he dared not linger. Had he really been so arrogant as to think his identity safe because Pello lacked mage talent? He truly was as prejudiced as Ruslan.

“Of course,” Pello said genially. “Forgive my curiosity. Dev rarely keeps such interesting company.” He took a single step to the side.

Kiran squeezed past, doing his best to ignore Pello’s proximity. He sat down in preparation for sliding down the steep rock slope to the top