Emberhawk - Jamie Foley Page 0,64

shifted his gaze to Kira. “Sounds like cloud sickness.”

Excitement flushed away Kira’s apprehension in a wave. “Really? What’s that?”

Lysander watched her mouth as she spoke instead of Waelyn’s hands. “I don’t have personal experience with it, but that description is pretty standard,” he said. “Your mother must be Malaano, though.”

“Navakovrae,” Kira said, then felt stupid for correcting him since he was technically correct.

Lysander glanced at Waelyn’s gesture. “Ah. Well, cloud sickness is prone to the tribal lands, but she could have caught it if she lives near the border. Of course, it could be something else, but that would be my guess.”

“Thank you so much,” Kira blurted. The doctors had suggested several different diagnoses, but she’d never heard of cloud sickness before. Which meant it had a chance of being right. “Do you know anything that can treat it?”

Lysander frowned at Waelyn’s translation. He scratched his short black stubble and looked around as if surveying the pyramid’s offerings. “Yes, but nothing here.”

Kira’s heart sank. “This place is filled with herbs. Nothing here could help?”

“Not really. Herbs grown here aren’t for healing.” Lysander’s glance went from Kira’s lips to Waelyn’s hands. “You should ask the Roanoke tribe.”

“That’s not true,” Waelyn grunted as he signed faster than before. “I’ve been keeping his cousin alive with the yarrow root—”

“Idryon?” Lysander interrupted. “Ryon is here?”

Kira’s jaw fell open. He’s Ryon’s cousin? She gave up on trying to understand Waelyn’s movements as Lysander stared with newfound intensity. Is Ryon short for Idryon?

“Where is he?” Lysander demanded.

Waelyn gestured, and Lysander stormed toward the steps—straight through the flowers.

Uh oh. Kira hurried after him, hoping she hadn’t doomed Ryon to some horrible fate.

“Hold up, now!” Waelyn called, but Lysander either didn’t hear or ignored him.

Kira turned back with an apology, but Waelyn just rolled his orange eyes and waved them away.

Lysander took the entire stairway in a few long strides, and Kira hopped down behind him. He can’t really be the rightful king or whatever, she mused. How would someone like that end up as a d’hakka silk trader? Surely it’s not just because he’s deaf . . . or biracial . . .

“This room?” Lysander asked before Ryon’s door.

Kira nodded and he knocked.

“He’s sleeping,” Kira said, wishing Waelyn were there.

Lysander furrowed his brow, watching her mouth.

“He is sleeping,” she repeated, slower this time.

Lysander sighed and pulled a strip of rolled parchment from a small bag on his belt, then a piece of charcoal from a soot-stained pouch beside it. He handed her both.

Stars, Kira swore to herself. She knew she should have practiced writing in Phoeran as diligently as she’d studied reading it. Maybe he couldn’t read her lips as well because it was her second language. She probably had an accent too—maybe that didn’t help?

He is asleep, she wrote, but we can go in. At least, that’s what she thought she wrote.

Lysander nodded, took his implements back, and opened the door.

Ryon stirred in the bed at the sounds of their entry. He squinted and blinked up at Lysander, then his eyes went wide. “Sander?”

“What are you doing here?” Lysander stopped at the edge of the bed and wrinkled his nose. He turned back to Kira and murmured, “Close the door, please.”

Kira did as he asked and gave Ryon an apologetic look, which he probably didn’t catch as he sat up with a wince.

“Kind of a long story.” Ryon held out a hand, which Lysander took with a firm clasp. “Oh, uh, right.” Ryon released his hand and signed as Waelyn had.

Lysander must not have been deaf for long, Kira thought as Ryon gestured with ease. His voice is strong and clear.

“Tell me later,” Lysander said in a deep whisper. “You have to get out of here. Now.”

29

RYON

Ryon studied his cousin’s body language. Lysander seemed tense. Stiff. Worried. Emotions that all looked foreign on him.

Last time they’d seen each other, Lysander’s features had been carved with rage, just as they had been since his father’s death. The lack of anger almost made him . . . unfamiliar.

Something’s wrong, Ryon thought. Or has he finally accepted his fate and given up on the conspiracy theories?

Ryon pushed himself up into a more comfortable position, wary of his healing wound. It was might be ready for a little movement. And he was more than ready to get out of bed.

Still, he signed Phoeran letters with his right hand to avoid agitating his left shoulder. “Want to tell me what’s going on here?”

“No. Trust me.” Lysander glanced back at the door,