It’s such a backward scenario, the Zemyan heir warning us about his own generál supreme, I laugh. Everyone stares at me, but I can’t stop. It feels like the permafrost and the glaciers beneath it are melting under my feet. The entire world is sliding, and I can’t get my footing.
“Do you think the kings will agree to join us to the Kalima’s rendezvous point?” Ivandar asks.
“They’ll have no choice.” Enebish tugs Serik toward the advancing kings.
I want to run in the opposite direction. I personally ousted these men from their thrones, I systematically exploited their countries, and now they’re joining with people I knowingly enslaved and forsook. I am the common enemy. The one thing they all share.
It reminds me of a joke that warriors tell at the war front—if you can’t pinpoint who’s smelling up the encampment, it’s you.
I am the stench. A fact I’ve always known but refused to acknowledge. Because acknowledgment requires responsibility. And responsibility requires change.
Enebish glances back, and her dark eyes flicker with warning: Don’t ruin this. Don’t make me regret trusting you.
I want to roll my eyes. Or walk away, to prove she doesn’t command me. But the longer Enebish stares, the more the fist crushing my chest tightens. With a bone-weary sigh, I follow.
The reunion is gallingly sweet.
The little Verdenese princess clings to King Minoak’s waist and cries, “You came, you came, you came, you came.” She can’t stop repeating herself. Nor can she stop burying her face in his side. But I’m more drawn to his reaction: the tenderness in his eyes and the fierce pride he exudes as he pats her back.
It’s all so achingly familiar—the smiles and whispers of encouragement that always left me hungry for more. Pushed me to aspire. Would my parents be as proud of me for establishing peace as they were when I conquered? Would the people of Ashkar revere me more for defending them in battle or for calling a cease-fire?
Focus, Ghoa. White sprays the edges of my vision, bringing me back to the moment. The throbbing in my head resumes, punctuating a stern reprimand: Don’t forget the Kalima. Your revenge and rebirth. Nothing else matters.
But if it doesn’t matter, how do I explain the restlessness in my fingers when I accidentally look at the shepherds? Or the swelling in my chest when Ivandar gives me a small nod of approval?
Enebish bows to her king and the Namagaan ruler. “Our apologies for the hostile greeting, but we assumed you were Zemyans. After our expulsion from the marshlands, we had no reason to believe you would join us.”
“The weather was too foul to send word, even by eagle.” The desert king gestures across the frozen steppes.
It’s no longer snowing, but everything is glittering white and the wind claws at our cloaks. I’m the only one who isn’t hunched into a coat or cowering behind a sled, but with the amount of ice I’ve been collecting to lessen the chill and harden the path beneath the sleds, even I will be shivering before the day is through. Though, I’ll die before I admit this to anyone. I still don’t know how or why Enebish suspected my involvement. She should know me better than that.
Evidently, she knows you better than anyone.
“We followed your tracks and prayed we’d catch up before we were too late to help,” King Minoak continues. “But you managed to liberate the Chotgori without our assistance.” He admires the large hodgepodge group.
His approval feels like a targeted jab. The Unified Empire was never meant to be “unified” by anything other than Ashkar’s rule.
“Why come at all?” Serik blurts. “What changed?”
“You discovered I was right, didn’t you?” The little Night Spinner jabs a finger into her father’s chest. “Yatindra was lying. She betrayed Enebish to the enemy!”
The girl is self-assured and spirited—the type of warrior I would have welcomed into the Kalima.
Minoak places a loving but firm hand on her shoulder. “My sister was trying to protect us the best way she knew how. But yes. I discovered her hand in casting these people from Namaag and decided to make amends. I should have followed my brave daughter into the swamp the day you left. But I’m here now. And King Ihsan generously decided to join us.”
“With my forest in shambles, we’re in no position to defend against Zemya without aid. This is the only way forward—for everyone.” His gaze sweeps across the crowd, halting abruptly on me and Ivandar. His craggy face turns as red as his frostbitten nose.
Apparently, “everyone” doesn’t apply to the commander of the Kalima warriors or the Zemyan prince.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demands. “What are they doing here?”
The entire group turns to gape at us, including the shepherds and Chotgori, who are well aware of our presence and have been more than happy to accept our help.
“They weren’t with you before. Or part of your proposed alliance,” King Minoak barks.
“We didn’t seek them out,” Enebish responds carefully. “We ran into them outside of Chotgor. They were headed to warn the Kalima about a threat to the First Gods from the Zemyan generál, Kartok.”
The rulers exchange a dubious look. “And you believed them? Why would a Zemyan conspire against his own general?” King Ihsan inquires.
“Because he’s corrupt,” Ivandar says over Ihsan.
Both kings, and all of the Namagaan soldiers, glare at Ivandar. Then at me.
“You can’t possibly trust them,” Minoak says.
“We don’t,” Serik affirms. “Which is why we’re escorting them to the Kalima’s rendezvous point ourselves—to ensure they do exactly as they claim. That way, we’ll have done everything in our power to protect the gods and, hopefully, we can secure the Kalima’s support against Kartok.”
“You’re mad,” King Ihsan says.
“You’re wasting your time,” King Minoak agrees. “They’re deceiving you.”
“Maybe. But would you be able to live with yourselves if the First Gods perished and you could have prevented it?” Enebish asks, respectful but unflinching.
Once again I’m struck by her newfound confidence. By her willingness to trust and hope despite everything that’s happened.
Neither king responds. Their soldiers stand at attention, as if waiting for the signal to turn on us.
Go! the wind howls in my ears, urging me toward the Kalima and the promise of vindication. Say whatever you must to move them along.
Except now an inconvenient seedling of conscience whispers back. Are you certain that’s still what you want?
The headache I’ve been nursing since we left Zemya pummels my temples.
No matter what I choose, I have nothing to gain by standing here, hesitating.
“We’re nearly there, for skies’ sake!” I point at the blue-quartz ice caves less than half a league away. “It would be foolish to turn back now.”
I vowed on pain of death to never reveal the Kalima’s hidden refuge. But my warriors also vowed to never stab me in the back, and they had no problem doing that.
Anything’s fair in war. Whatever it takes to restore my honor.
The trouble is, I’m not entirely sure what constitutes as honorable anymore.
With a terse shake of my head, I lead the rebels to an enormous ice boulder and watch as a dozen men heave it to the side. I could have easily crumbled the boulder, but I won’t expend a drop of my power. I’m saving it for the glorious reunion with my warriors.
The image of their horrified faces as I burst into their stronghold has lulled me to sleep every night for weeks. It’s kept me focused and resilient and hungry. Finally, finally, I’m here.
The entrance to the cave resembles a fox’s den. It requires crawling on hands and knees through a short stretch of tunnel before it opens into a vaulted cavern that’s a gradient swirl of blues. Its grandeur could rival any palace, but I opt not to share this information. I prefer to watch the shepherds balk and cry at the entrance. Half of them choose to stay behind with the sleds and
Enebish’s noisy eagle. The Chotgori, on the other hand, crowd closer to the entrance, marveling that the Kalima’s rendezvous point was hidden so close.
Ivandar babbles with excitement beside me, staring into the ice as if it holds the answers to all of his problems. I sneak a glance at his harsh-cut profile. What if all of this has been a ruse: The feud with Kartok? Rescuing me from the sea? His seemingly noble ambitions? The prince and sorcerer could easily be working together. Ivandar could be plotting to access the realm of the gods to carry out the very plans he’s so intent on “stopping.”
You don’t care, I remind myself. The Lady and Father aren’t your gods.
He’ll never succeed anyway. You’re turning him over to the Kalima.
You’re acknowledging them as gods now?
The back-and-forth is enough to give me whiplash.
“Is there a reason we’re waiting?” Serik calls from behind me. “Shall I go first? I know coming here must be difficult after your warriors rejected you….”
“Nothing about this is difficult,” I lie as I wriggle into the tunnel. The deeper I crawl, the more the ice calls to me. Its energy is intense and feverish, whisking away my anger and filling me with a giddy rush of joy. An immediate influx of certainty.
Whatever waits at the tunnel’s end, I am strong enough to face it.
I will emerge victorious.
The group follows me through the twisting blue quartz tunnels, past stalactites so clear, they look like chandeliers, and down slopes of ice as black as the roads in Sagaan. The swift-moving meltwater that carved the tunnels rushes along beside us, providing drinking water and serving as our guide.
As we walk, I run my fingers along the wavy turquoise walls. I stare up at the ceiling, which rolls like the Zemyan Sea. I’ve only been here a handful of times—there was no need when Ashkar had a firm hold on the continent—and I’m immediately overcome by the beauty of this place and the power it stirs in me. This feeling in my chest that’s both warm and cold. Perfect wholeness and stillness, like the arms of my parents wrapping around me.
Welcome home, it whispers.
But where is home: With the Kalima? With these rebels? With the ice? Or whatever created it?
My feet move faster as we round another bend. The frozen walls are too thick to see or hear through, but thanks to my power, I can feel the body heat of the Kalima warriors in the adjacent chamber. So close.
“How do you want to approach this?” someone asks. It could be Serik or Enebish or Ivandar. Or the kings, who are still naysaying. Or one of Enebish’s outcasts. They’re all talking at once, but I hear none of it. Because none of it matters.
I know exactly how I want to approach.
I raise my hands, inhale a frigid breath through my nostrils, and slam every morsel of hate and hurt and frustration against the block of ice in my chest. Frozen spears hurtle from my palms and obliterate the wall separating me from the Kalima.
The ice shatters as it hits the cave floor, throwing prisms of light across the crystalline walls. Everyone behind me screams, but I hardly hear them over the satisfying plink-plink-plink—the final obstacle between me and victory falling away.
I arc my hands overhead to reinforce the walls so that the entire ice cavern doesn’t come crashing down on us. Then I step through the hole I blasted with a vicious grin on my lips.
There are so many things I want to say. So many quips I imagined crowing as I paraded into this den of traitors:
Surprised to see me?
Did you honestly think the Zemyans could hold me?
You knew I would come for my revenge.
But as the debris clears and their wretched faces come into view, I am once again left speechless.
Despite his mountains of muscles, Varren lies with his head in Cirina’s lap, a bloody bandage wrapped around his chest. Cirina drags a wet rag across his forehead, even though she’s in hardly better shape—gaunt and pale and emaciated. They all are. The Kalima warriors who are present, that is. There are less than twenty of them, and right away I notice Iska, Eshwar, and Bastian are nowhere to be seen. They could be out on a mission or procuring food, but judging from the sorry state of the rest of the battalion, none of them are in any condition to go on missions. Or mount any sort of counterattack.
We stare at one another in horrified silence, and the most absurd thought fills my mind: Perhaps it was a blessing to be abandoned at the treasury. Perhaps there is justice in the world after all.
But if this is justice, shouldn’t it fill me with satisfaction?
“Ghoa?” Varren’s voice is a crackle, and it cleaves my rib cage in two. We’ve rarely left each other’s side for eight years, and now he looks a breath away from death.
Finish him. He deserves it.
Save him. He deserves it.
The war in my mind rages as fierce as ever.
“Did you come to help?” Varren rasps.
“What do you think? She arrived with an army!” Weroneka’s voice is hysterical. She points at the rebels behind me, all of whom have fallen silent. And still. “Of course you’d be the one to thrive in all of this,” she snarls at me.
My arms drop to my sides. The words that crawl from my inflamed throat aren’t the bitter accusations I’d planned but a simple question. “What in the skies happened?”
“The Zemyans happened! They were everywhere when we emerged in the Grand Courtyard after leaving you,” Weroneka continues. “They were on us so quickly—they beheaded Bastian before I could even think to forge a blade of fire. With Enebish fighting on their side, we couldn’t call upon the power of the sky with any accuracy. We lost Eshwar and Iska before we were even out of the square. And Lizbet went back for her sisters in Sagaan and never returned.”
It feels like I’ve been stuffed into a chest plate five sizes too small. My lungs threaten to collapse. I can’t even summon a morsel of satisfaction over Bastian’s gruesome death, despite the insolent things he said to me in the treasury.
My entire body deflates. I tell myself it’s disappointment to have traveled so far and suffered so long for this—there’s nothing gratifying about punishing warriors who have already been so thoroughly beaten.
Finally Enebish breaks the silence. “I wasn’t with the Zemyans when they invaded Sagaan.” She limps forward to stand by my side. The eyes of the Kalima grow wide, but none of them leap to attack. “The generál supreme, Kartok, tricked me and siphoned my power, which he wielded during the siege. Think what you will of me, but I would never align with the Zemyans.”
“Then why is a Zemyan among you?” Cirina levels an accusatory finger at Ivandar.
“And why have you brought the Chotgori and Namagaans with you?” Weroneka asks.
On and on their questions pepper me, all boiling down to one.
If you haven’t come to punish us, why have you come?
Why have you come, Ghoa?
This is my final chance. I could forge twin blades of ice and force Ivandar and Enebish and Temujin to the ground. An indisputable show of my greatness. Proof I should be leading the Kalima—if there isn’t proof enough already.
But I glance at Enebish, standing beside me as she used to, my sister in arms and of heart. And at the kings and people from the Protected Territories surrounding me, lending their strength despite the freedoms I stripped from them. And at Ivandar’s bright eyes, brimming with something that looks like pride, even though my success is directly tied to his country’s failure. And I know I can’t betray them.
I’ve known it for a long time, if I’m honest.
I wait for the pounding in my head to flare. For rime to coat my vision. For the ruthless commander I’ve always been to make a final stand.
But there’s nothing.
Just peace. And frosty resolve.
I link one arm through Enebish’s and reach back with the other to take Ivandar’s hand. Ready to lay down my pride—the last of my weapons.
Before I can speak, laughter filters t
hrough the tunnels—as soft as the drip of an icicle. The louder it grows, the more it sharpens into an unmistakable voice. Echoing and everywhere. The same susurrating voice that hounded me in the fabricated throne room. The voice that’s haunted my dreams ever since.
“Ghoa came because I told her to,” Kartok proclaims.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
GHOA
HORRIFIED SCREAMS FILL THE CAVERN, SHAKING THE WALLS like the behemoth gongs that hung in the Sky King’s throne room. The ceiling groans and crackles. Fractures carve through the ice, so eerily similar to the glass walls of Kartok’s prison—right before they burst. I extend my hand and fortify the ceiling with another layer of frost, but the majority of the shepherds and Chotgori and even some of the Namagaan soldiers are already fleeing back through the caves. Abandoning the fight before we’ve even seen a Zemyan.
I knew building an army of outcasts was never going to work.
“Show yourself!” I turn in a frantic circle, scanning the icy chamber for the sorcerer. But I knock into Enebish and Ivandar instead. They stare at me, appalled, as if they believe Kartok’s claim. “It’s obviously a lie!” I shout.
Apparently, that isn’t so obvious to Enebish.
“Did you betray me again? After everything?” Her lips curl into a snarl, but like a fickle Zemyan blade, the words retract and clog her throat, making her sound small and pathetic. “I don’t know how you live with yourself. Sacrificing more lives—”
“Open your eyes!” I thunder. “Yes, I was furious with you and your rebels for turning against Ashkar and making me look like an incompetent fool. Yes, I wanted to punish the Kalima for abandoning me. But even my ruthlessness has its limits. I would never lead him anywhere!”
“Maybe not knowingly …” Kartok bleeds into view, his long, lithe form crystalizing in the wall of ice directly in front of me. “But the bond between us is strong, Commander. You’ve been very receptive to my promptings.” He looks like an apparition, blending almost seamlessly into this frozen place: blue robes, pale skin, and smiling, bloodless lips.
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