For the first time since Cailu had arrived in Nyarlea, he dreamt of Naeemah.

  The sheer red fabrics that dangled from the four posts of the bed in her chambers swayed with the morning breeze. He brushed her bare shoulder with his fingertips, watching her sleep through the sunrise.

  Naeemah stirred, and her emerald eyes settled on his face. She raised her hand and touched his cheek. “I love you.”

  He moved his hand to her head, fingering her ear before letting his fingers trail through her hair. The sliver of sunlight through the window framed her dark skin in a warm aura, and he smiled. How could he have denied her for so long?

  She bit her lip and traced the line of his throat. “Don’t let this be my last memory of you, Cailu.”

  Why…?

  “Cailu!” another voice cried behind the door. “Cailu! Sir! Please wake up!”

  Naeemah vanished, and the scene shattered into a thousand fragments. Consciousness returned, and Cailu shot awake.

  “[Combat Mode],” he snapped, lunging to his feet in one swift movement. He drew his sword and rushed to the tent’s opening. “Zahra? Are we under attack?”

  “No, Sir Cailu. A thousand apologies for waking you.” Zahra bowed until her braid nearly touched the ground. “Something is amiss with Kirti.”

  Did you truly wake me to share common knowledge? He frowned and breathed through his irritation. Zahra was not so crass as to mindlessly stir him. “What do you mean?”

  “She… She’s crying, sir,” Zahra said softly.

  Cailu gaped. He recovered by the time Zahra straightened and sheathed his sword. “Where is she?”

  Zahra pointed at the tent without meeting his gaze. “She’s still inside.”

  He left Zahra where she was and strode to their shared tent. Ceres had made her own personal camp, and for a moment, he envied her undisturbed slumber.

  He entered without warning, suspecting that Kirti would not respond to his summons. The devil-woman was on her knees on the floor with her [Cat Pack] spilled out beside her. A book, a handful of her glowing stones, and the disconcerting card game she’d had them play lay sprawled around her. She stared down at them, as silent and stone-still as a statue, unresponsive to his entrance.

  “Kirti,” he began, then hesitated. Not long ago, he would have dismissed both Zahra and Kirti from his Party over such an otiose scene. Now, he stood in a crying woman’s tent, searching for the words to comfort her. “Why are you crying?”

  Kirti chuckled and looked up. Her eerie orange eyes were bloodshot, and the dark stains on her face were proof of her sobs. “Why are you here?”

  Cailu worked his jaw, then said, “[Civilian Mode].” Returned to his more accommodating attire, he stepped forward and sat across from the [Witch Doctor]. “Zahra worries for you.”

  “And do you?”

  “Yes.”

  Kirti searched his face for a long time, her wry smirk disappearing from her lips. “Goddess above, you truly do,” she whispered. She sniffed and lifted a smooth, unlit stone. “I fear I am the Benzi, Cailu.”

  There was a significant piece of himself that had grown certain that Kirti feared nothing. She’d faced the Chikara with wild laughter, maintained her composure in the tunnel collapse, and always spoke her mind to any in her vicinity. To hear so much pain in her voice and see her brought to her knees was unnerving. “What happened?”

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  She shook her head. “There is so much that I fear to say.”

  Cailu frowned. “I cannot assist you if I do not know what troubles you.”

  “Assist me? You would…” Kirti laughed. “You…” She looked up, and her glowing gaze bored into him.

  Each time her expression appeared as such, he felt as if she was sifting through his thoughts. From her idle mentions of his daughter and his feelings for Naeemah, there was little doubt that reading him was exactly what she was doing.

  “How much have you perceived of me, Kirti?” he murmured.

  “Enough,” she said. “Enough to wonder if you’re really here to ‘assist’ me or to kill me.”

  “You would already be dead.”

  Kirti snorted. “That’s what makes me want to believe you.”

  “Then tell me what has brought you to this state.” Cailu shook his head. “You have uncovered more about me than any in this world. Allow me to know a fraction of you.”

  Kirti was silent for some time. Cailu waited. As much as his actions went against the conditions he’d set for himself and his Party. As awkward and unnatural as it felt to ease the mind of a catgirl. He waited.

  At last, she held her arm out with the unlit stone in the palm of her hand. “I had Magni’s essence.”

  “‘Had?’”

  “Yes. It vanished shortly before Zahra woke you.”

  Cailu knit his brow and plucked the stone from Kirti’s palm. “I am unfamiliar with [Witch Doctor]. Do these stones lose their essence over time?” He turned it between his fingers. It was smoother than the gravel and dirt beneath the carriages, but it did not have the same allure or shine as a gem awaiting Enchantment.

  Kirti shook her head and picked a smooth yellow stone from her pile, lifting it for him to take. This one’s glow was dull, but apparent. “I’ve held this one for three years.”

  He accepted it and compared the two. “And there was no chance of an accidental Spell? Nothing cast in haste?”

  “No.” She curled her knees to her chest. “I believe another man arrived on Ichi Island, forcing Magni away from this world.”

  Cailu canted his head and set the stones near the cards. “Is that an issue?”

  “I…” Kirti started, but the words seemed to die in her throat. “No.”

  There was something she was not saying. Something more to Magni’s stone than its power potential or Spell capability. He summoned the memory of their traveling in the carriage, when Kirti had mentioned his wife and daughter. She claimed that memories were etched into each person, and that she could see them.

  There would be little to see from a stone. Even if a letter could be carved on its surface. However… There were multiple occasions when Kirti would idly hold a stone to her ear…

  “Can you hear them?” Cailu realized aloud. “Did you hear Magni?”

  “Yes.” Kirti’s voice was hardly above a whisper. “But I didn’t hear enough.”

  Cailu’s heart sped. “Kirti, the final word he spoke was ‘book.’”

  “I know.” Kirti gathered her cards and sorted through them. “Might I entice you into one more game?”

  Her words were still so soft, so brittle, that all Cailu could bring himself to do was nod.

  Kirti didn’t deal him a hand. Instead, she played a card face-up. A cradle, twin tails sweeping behind it. Conception. “Nyarlea’s survival depends on its kittens. My daughter’s name was Muna. She was fourteen.”

  “You told us that Muna lost her life to a Defiled, correct?” Cailu asked.

  “Yes.” Her fingers shook as she raised another card from her hand. Renewed tears trickled from the corners of her eyes as she laid it beside the first card. “I watched it happen, Cailu.” It was the pillar of butterflies emerging from a corpse she’d played in their first game. Transformation.

  Cold seeped into Cailu’s hands and chest. Is she truly insinuating…?

  Cailu stared at the cards. Her suggestion was deranged and outlandish. To think that’s what was in Magni’s ‘book’ was unbelievable. “You and Magni believe—?”

  “Do not say it,” Kirti snapped. “You know as well as I do. There are eyes and ears everywhere.”

  The Defiled are catgirls?

  “Why do the prophets call the Defiled ‘Saoirse’s gift to men’?” Kirti’s voice cracked as she continued. “Why…?”

  She laid the final card from her hand beside the other two. A white half mask was mirrored on the top and the bottom, though the bottom half was cracked. Irreversible. “Why is there nothing we can do?”

  Cailu Raloquen, first of his name, looked down at the cards and felt the cold touch of fear creep down his neck.

  End of Volume 6. . .

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