Intermix Nation (36 page)

Adamek shrugs his on easily, but Nazirah
struggles with the fat buttons. Finished, she looks at them,
seeking their approval. “Well?” she asks.

“Keep your hood up,” Luka says, sighing.
“And say a prayer.”

#

Nazirah rips off her coat as soon as she is
alone, growling, popping several buttons. They fall to the floor
like suicide jumpers, plunging eagerly to their deaths.

Nazirah sympathizes.

She tosses the coat carelessly onto a
solitary chair. Her room here is cramped, even smaller than her
bedroom in Rafu. Nazirah could walk it entirely in three paces.
It’s also freezing. Yet the draft feels like the kiss of an angel,
because she is so relieved to be free of Luka.

From the garage, they were escorted straight
into the manor. The jackets were for additional concealment only,
unfortunately. Nazirah wasn’t allowed to step even a foot outside.
After a detour to the kitchens for a brief meal, they were directed
to their quarters.

Nazirah thinks guiltily of Cato as she sets
the photo of them on her small bed. He’ll be returning early from
recon about now, finally reunited with his family at headquarters,
preparing to defend them against Ivan’s troops that are slowly
burning their way towards Krush. Nazirah sits on the squeaking
mattress, placing the mason jar of black stones next to the picture
frame. She also pulls out her parents’ wedding photo, completing
the triangle of bittersweet memories.

Nazirah traces her mother’s silhouette,
thinking of Niko, hoping there is a cottage for them to return to
when this is finally over. She thinks of Caria and Cayu, of how
scared they must be right now. She wonders if their paths will
cross at headquarters, maybe by luck, perhaps by fate.

Nazirah stares out the small window. The sun
hangs low in the sky, the day nearly spent, only a few hours of
light remaining. For a race so fair, every Ziman seems driven by
cold and damp darkness. Nazirah touches her platinum locks
thoughtfully. She is a child of the sun, not of the snow. She
doesn’t belong here.

There is a pounding at the door. Nazirah
stuffs the photos and jar under her mattress, crosses the room
swiftly, letting Adamek inside. Aldrik bumbles behind, plopping
down heavily on the chair. “Fucking freezing in here, Nation,”
Aldrik gripes. His breath condenses before him as he complains.
“Why didn’t you light a fire?”

“I didn’t know how to,” Nazirah explains.
They never had a need for their fireplace at home.

Adamek rolls his eyes. He picks up some logs
from the corner and tosses them into the fireplace, bending down to
ignite them.

Aldrik rubs his hands together. “Moving on,”
he slurs. “Let’s make it quick?” He has clearly tapped into his
flask. Nazirah doesn’t blame him. She would do the same thing, if
she were married to Lady Luka.

“Go for it,” Adamek tells him.

“To reiterate,” Aldrik says, “Morgen and I
meet tomorrow afternoon with the mine owners. If we can’t bribe
them to help us, we can at least bribe them to stay quiet.”

“Sounds promising,” Nazirah says.

“Shut it, Nation,” Aldrik grumbles. “I’ve
had enough of you today to last me several lifetimes.”

“Anything else?” asks Adamek.

“That’s it,” Aldrik says. “We leave the
following morning for Valestream. Morgen, you do not leave your
room except for the meeting tomorrow. Nation, you do not leave your
room at all. Your meals will be brought to you. Think of it as a
reward for your hard work, ceaseless enthusiasm, and unparalleled
charm.”

Nazirah glares at him. “Wonderful.”

“Excellent,” Aldrik says, rising from the
chair. His stiff joints crack and clack. “Oh, and Nation? Welcome
to Zima.”

Aldrik slams the door shut and Nazirah faces
Adamek. “Is he still upset about this morning?” she asks.

“Most definitely,” Adamek says. “But right
now, I think he has more … preoccupying concerns.”

“Like how to get back into Luka’s good
graces?”

“Like how to get back into Luka,
period.”

“Ew.”

Nazirah makes a face, but can’t stifle a
grin. Adamek stands before her, leaning casually against the
bedframe. Nazirah is painfully aware they haven’t been alone since
this morning. And the events of last night beat on her mind,
restless little drummers, not letting her forget.

Adamek gently tugs a loose, platinum
tendril. “What do you think of your new look?” he asks.

“I hate it.”

“Me too.”

“Really?” she says, raising an eyebrow. “I
thought you preferred blondes.”

“Are you jealous?”

“That’s laughable.”

“Who’s laughing?”

“Why don’t you like it?” she asks.

“You look exactly like everyone else now,”
he says candidly. He untangles his hand from her hair. “It’s just
not you.”

Adamek glances out the window beside them
and Nazirah follows his gaze. It’s snowing lightly. Nazirah presses
her face to the glass, wistful, fogging it up. The room may be a
coffin, but the view is unearthly. The town spreads out below her,
the mountain range rises in the distance, the deep ravine drops off
to her right. Snowflakes melt centimeters away on the other side of
the pane, untouchable, intangible.

“This whole campaign is becoming a
nightmare,” Nazirah says sadly. “I feel completely … useless.
Everyone I care about is in danger. My home is …” she stops, unable
to finish. “And to top it all off, my one day in Zima and I have to
stay inside.”

Beside her, Adamek appears conflicted, then
determined. There’s caution in his eyes, mixed with delicious
mischief. “Can you keep a secret, Nation?”

Can Nazirah keep a secret? Of course she can
keep a secret! Adamek still doesn’t know about her unescorted trip
down memory lane, after all. “Depends on the secret,” she says.

“A very big secret,” he teases, fire flames
dancing across his face. “Lord Luka would probably have a stroke if
she ever found out.”

“But that’s the secret I would most love to
tell,” Nazirah replies, returning his half-smile.

#

Adamek and Nazirah walk quickly through the
frozen hallways. They pass several young maids and a few zimbaba,
shuffling about in saffron robes. Hoods pulled up, heads turned
down, they both go completely unnoticed. Adamek strides through the
large manor easily, knowing the winding stone corridors like the
back of his hand. “Did you stay with Luka while you were in
Shizar?” Nazirah asks curiously.

“No,” he says, turning another corner.

“Then how do you know this manor so
well?”

“I’ve been here several times before.”

“Why?”

“What did I say about asking questions?”

“Don’t ask a question if you don’t want to
know the answer.”

Adamek gives her a meaningful look as they
pass by yet another blonde maid. Nazirah realizes she probably
doesn’t want to know after all. He opens a nondescript door leading
outside. Nazirah walks through, antsy, almost frantic. She inhales
sharply, the deviant frost surging through her, so cold it burns.
Nazirah lifts her arms up, spinning in a wide circle. She tips her
head back, letting the hood fall. The snowflakes melt on her face.
Everything is muted, a hushed whisper.

“I keep forgetting this is
all new to you,” he says. Adamek stands before her, hood also down.
He rubs some flakes off Nazirah’s nose before pulling back and
shoving his hands into his pockets. White crystals frame his
eyelashes, salt his hair.
A devil
disguised as an angel
, Nazirah
thinks.

Or maybe she has it twisted.

Nazirah shivers lightly. “I never thought it
would be like this,” she says, unable to meet his eyes.

“The snow?”

She shakes her head, clearing it.
“Right.”

“What were you expecting?”

“What door did we come through?” she asks
quickly.

“Servants’ entrance.” Adamek shrugs. “Let’s
take a walk.”

They trek along a deserted stone path
overlooking the ravine. The snow has stopped falling, leaving only
a light, crunching dust. Adamek leads them away from Shizar, away
from civilization, and into the wilderness. Nazirah blows into her
frozen hands. “How’s your arm?”

“Fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Where are we going?”

Adamek sighs. “Patience is a virtue,
Nation.”

“So is honesty.”

“So is silence.”

Adamek finally stops. He turns around,
smirking. Nazirah peeks over his shoulder, peering curiously behind
him. “You’re joking,” she says.

“Come on, Nation.” Adamek takes an
effortless step backwards onto the narrow hanging bridge. The ropes
gently give, swaying over the abyss. Wooden planks groan under his
weight. He smiles, completely at ease, wind ruffling his hair.

Nazirah wipes her hands, sweaty palms on
blue jeans. “No way, Morgen!” she squeals. “I’m not into
suicide.”

Adamek takes another step backwards.
“Where’s that Eridian, cliff-diving courage?” he teases.

“Back in Eridies,” she answers
seriously.

“You’ll be fine.”

“What if I fall?”

“I’ll catch you.”

“What if you miss?”

“I never miss,” he says, extending a hand to
her.

Nazirah looks at it, hesitating. It’s his
hand all right. The same long fingers, trim nails, calloused
knuckles, bruised from last night. The same black scratches,
prominent as ever. This hand traced the lines of her face, laced
through her fingers. It helped her fight, saved Cayu. It killed
Riva, Kasimir, and countless others. A hand of life and death. A
hand that gives and takes. And it waits for her to decide, steady,
unshaken.

She grabs it.

The air crackles. Adamek pulls her onto the
rickety bridge. With knees knocking, Nazirah clutches the ropes.
Adamek holds her waist securely, making sure she doesn’t lose her
footing. They begin walking across. “You do this for fun or
something?” she asks, shaking.

“Not exactly,” he replies. “It’s better not
to look down.”

Nazirah looks at him. “Where does this
lead?”

“You’ll find out.”

“If you won’t answer any of my questions,”
she huffs, “why bring me along?”

Adamek steps onto solid ground, shrugging.
“Because everyone should experience snow,” he says, “at least
once.”

“And we couldn’t do that by the manor?” she
grumbles, hopping onto the ground beside him. There is a huge
monastery before her. It is carved entirely into the face of the
mountain. The setting sun, peeking through receding storm clouds,
bathes the monastery in orange and golden light, giving it the
illusion of being aflame. Nazirah knows immediately where they are.
“This is where you trained?” she asks, astonished.

“Who said anything about training?” he says
sharply.

Nazirah swallows hard. “It’s pretty
obvious,” she mumbles. “Luka said you stayed in Shizar, and you
have the dusza.…”

“It’s not that obvious,” he says, “unless
you already knew.”

“Fine,” she admits. “I asked Solomon about
it, okay? I was curious.”

“And what else did Solomon
tell you?” he asks, eyes flashing. “I’m …
curious
.”

“N-Nothing,” Nazirah stammers.

They walk towards the monastery, stopping at
the entrance. “You’re too nosy for your own good,” he says. “You
know that, right?”

“Yes.”

He sighs. “I shouldn’t be taking you
here.”

“Why not?”

“The zimbaba don’t ordinarily let civilians
enter,” he says. “It’s a holy place.”

“Are Luka’s guards waiting behind the door
or something?”

“No,” he says. “Even she’s not allowed in
here.”

“And you are?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he replies,
chuckling a little. “It’s just another reason she hates me. They
agreed to train me, a foreigner, but not her. She’s still pretty
bitter about it.”

“Do you want me to wait here?”

Adamek is silent then, staring at the heavy
doors. They are engraved with the same strange characters as his
dusza. “Screw it,” he says, pulling them open. “It’s not like I
followed the rest of their rules.”

It’s tranquil inside, still and quiet.
Hundreds of statues, honoring unfamiliar gods, line the walls. They
are hewn directly into the rock, calling followers to worship. Wax
pillars light the floor, the windows, spilling prophecies.

Nazirah follows Adamek through several
connected chambers. He onerously searches the face of every zimbaba
they pass. They chant and pray, kneeling prostrate before their
gods. Several stare, expressions ranging from outrage to apathy.
Adamek finally walks into an isolated room, stops. He pulls off his
coat entirely. The room is empty, save for two zimbaba speaking in
a corner, lighting candles. One is extremely elderly, with a round
face and protruding ears. The other is slightly younger and much
paunchier.

Adamek hands Nazirah his coat. “Stay
here.”

Nazirah sits on the nearest chair, watching
curiously as Adamek approaches the two men. The potbellied zimbaba
recognizes him first, his shocked eyes narrowing. “You would dare
show your face here, animal?” he demands.

“Nice as it is to see you too, Monk Ji,”
Adamek says coldly. “I’ve come to speak with my master.” Monk Ji
moves to strike Adamek, who doesn’t flinch. The second, older
zimbaba lightly touches Monk Ji’s shoulder, halting his hand
midair.

“Young Adamek,” this zimbaba says, “you
still have much to learn. The riddle is not if you shall speak with
your master. It is if your master shall speak with you.”

Adamek bows his head. “Please, master,” he
says, “I’m in desperate need of guidance.”

“Brother Yi?” Monk Ji snaps. “Shall I remove
him?”

The elderly zimbaba gently pulls up Adamek’s
chin, staring into his eyes. He shakes his head. “Brother Ji,” he
commands, “give us a moment.”