Hope patters in my chest. A blazing trail of need burns up my throat, and I shoot to my feet. “Are you in earnest?”
Before she can answer, my bad leg gives out and I crumple against the trunk. Thanks to the zurig, I’m even more wobbly and lopsided than usual—like the gnarled, windswept trees dotting the grasslands.
I stare down at my feet. “Look at me. It’s laughable to think I’m even capable of hunting Temujin. You watched him scale the Sky Palace and soar through the banners. I would never be able to keep up. I’m a shadow of the warrior I used to be.”
“Strength can be regained.” Ghoa unsheathes her saber and holds it out. The etched steel glimmers in the low light, and my fingers ache to take the grip. To feel the perfectly balanced weight of the tang and shaft in my hand. To feel my old calluses, buried so long ago, rise back to the surface.
But it’s impossible.
I clutch my arm to my chest. “Why are you even suggesting this? I can’t be out there on my own—you of all people know that.” The crowds’ vicious taunts still ring in my ears. I can see their snarling faces and feel the monster’s claws thrashing through my skin. “I was barely able to restrain myself,” I admit.
Ghoa gently moves my injured arm and taps the stone embedded in my collarbone. “Have a little faith—in the moonstone and in yourself.”
“I stopped having faith in myself when I massacred innocent merchants. Why not go yourself? Or send Varren or any member of Kalima?”
“Because Temujin and his Shoniin are always on guard. They avoid anyone who remotely resembles a warrior. But someone like you …”
Someone hideous and broken and despised. Ghoa doesn’t say these words, of course, but she might as well. They pound my ears like war drums.
“He saved you,” she presses, as if it means something. “It would be natural for him to recruit you. No hunting required.”
We need you. Find us.
I peer at Ghoa through the corners of my eyes. She was at the bottom of the palace steps. She couldn’t have heard. And I’m certain Temujin has no intention of keeping his word anyway. What need would his rebel group have for a weak, washed-up warrior? “He was only trying to rile the king. It had nothing to do with me specifically.”
“I don’t care why Temujin saved you.” Ghoa sheathes her blade then smooths a curling wisp of hair from my forehead. “I only care that he did. He’s rescued two other criminals in a similar manner—one from the stockade and the other from a prison wagon—but both vanished before we could convert them to our cause. This time, we’ll be ready. All you have to do is act like a grateful, eager recruit. Then, when Temujin welcomes you into his band, you will lead us to their hideout.”
“But—”
“You have to accept,” she blurts. “It’s more imperative than ever that I capture the boy swiftly, and the best way to do that is to send someone to infiltrate his ranks. Please, En.” Ghoa’s voice catches, and that weakness, that wobble, splits my chest down the center. She twines her fingers through my penance robe as if it’s the last shred of rope and she’s dangling over oblivion. “You can do this. I need you to do this. For me and for Ashkar.”
I gape into her bloodless face and pleading eyes. I have never seen Ghoa this unnerved. Not once in ten years. And it sends a cold rush of fear snaking through my bones. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“We’re losing,” she whispers.
“What do you mean, we’re losing? Losing what?”
“The war! Ashkar! The Unified Empire! All of it! This is about so much more than my position. The Zemyans are over the border. They’ve taken eight cities already. And with Temujin weakening our ranks and dividing our efforts, we’re poised to lose even more ground. I am failing,” she grinds out. “Failing my king, my country, my family. Which is why I need your assistance. I need you to save me as I have saved you. It will benefit you, too,” she adds. “If you succeed, I’ll convince the Sky King to forgive your indiscretion today. I’ll convince him to forgive all of your indiscretions. You will be released from Ikh Zuree and reinstated in the Kalima.”
My breath hitches. My heart stops. “Could you really do that?”
Ghoa slips to the floor and kneels before me, reversing our roles so thoroughly, I can do nothing but gape. “I swear on my life, I will see you reinstated. I persuaded the Sky King to spare your life two years ago, did I not? And again today?”
“Yes …”
“Please, En. Don’t you want to be together again, fighting side by side?”
I do. Blazing skies, I have never wanted anything more. My entire body hums at the thought of rejoining the Kalima … except for a tiny, pricking splinter buried deep in the sole of my foot.
Temujin saved me. He wasn’t afraid of me.
Ghoa’s expression falters. “Unless there’s a reason you don’t wish to rejoin the Kalima? Unless you support Temujin’s cause? Or feel some sort of loyalty to him now?”
“Of course not,” I say quickly. “My loyalty will always be with you.”
Ghoa takes my hand and squeezes it three times—just as she did whenever we charged onto the battlefield. “Then do this for me. I’ll be with you every step of the way, helping from a distance. Please, En. If you love me …”
She has never asked anyone for help, and if she believes I can do this, if she needs me to do this, I must accept.
I want to accept.
I want to live again. To be Enebish the Warrior, not this pathetic, cowering beast sentenced to a life behind bars.
“Okay,” I whisper.
Ghoa exhales and lays her head in my lap. “Thank you. I knew I could count on you.” After a few quiet minutes, she stands and wipes beneath her eyes. “Rest and recover from the zurig. I’ll return to brief you on your mission in three days. In the meantime, you must stay inside your chamber.”
“Why?” I start to protest. “I’ve never had to—”
“The monks need to believe you’re being kept in isolation as punishment.”
“But what about Serik? I need to check on him. The abba looked so furious….”
Ghoa gestures lazily in the direction of the assembly hall. “Serik is fine. This is no worse than the hundreds of times he’s been punished previously. The abba’s too old to inflict much damage. But I promise I’ll check on him. Rest now.” She plants a tender kiss on my forehead. “I need you at your best.”
As soon as Ghoa’s gone and her frost melts from my chamber walls, the reality of what I’ve agreed to do sinks in. I feel like laughing and vomiting. Like screaming with joy and terror. Waves of dizziness batter me over the head, and my insides twist as I pace from one side of my room to the other. I don’t know yet if they’re the good kind of nerves that carry me fearlessly into battle, or if it’s the monster lifting its head and stretching its wings, readying to overtake me as soon as I venture beyond the monastery walls.
I pace faster, gnawing my lower lip into oblivion. My eyes dart to the trunk, where my prayer doll and Book of Whisperings are hidden.
There’s one way to know for certain.
I blow out a breath and check the door, then I race to my trunk and toss the lid back. If I know I have the Lady of the Sky’s blessing, I can proceed on Ghoa’s mission with confidence.
Tucking my prayer doll to my chest, I kneel facing south and pray until my voice is a rasp. Begging for strength. Asking for guidance. Then I carefully open my Book of Whisperings. The pages are as old and brittle as autumn leaves—half charred from the fire that killed my parents. Ghoa didn’t force me to destroy it when she took me in, as it was all I had left of my family, but she made me vow never to write in it. Just as she made me swear to never attempt bone reading and promise, on my parents’ graves, to always wear leggings to cover the Verdenese tribal tattoos snaking up my calves.
“Such strange Southern traditions,” she said with a terse shake of her head. “Verdenet became a Protected Territory more than twenty years ago; your people are numbered am
ong ours now and should act accordingly. We are all Ashkarian.”
I didn’t want to be a nuisance, and I was beyond grateful for the new life she had given me, so I wore the pants—even in the dead of summer when sweat pooled behind my knees—and stayed away from this book, save for the few times I’ve had to make important, life-altering decisions.
Such as now.
With a featherlight touch, I scrawl my question using my finest calligraphy, as my mother taught me. The words dissolve into the page, like raindrops sinking into the depths of a lake, and I close my eyes, waiting for my question to soar up to the clouds. Into the heart of the Lady of the Sky.
I let the room fall away, tunneling deeper and deeper into my innermost self, until there is only blackness. Stillness. And there I wait for the Goddess to inscribe Her answer on my mind. I don’t know how much time passes—sometimes Her answer is immediate, while other times She requires patience and faith in Her perfect timing.
At last, there’s a flare in the dark—like a spark devouring the wick of a candle. Bursts of yellow and orange light trace a single word in my mind: Go.
As soon as I’ve seen it, it dissolves into curling wisps of smoke. I sigh as I lie back on my blankets and stare out the tiny window over my bed. The sky outside is as black as velvet, depthless and cornerless. The threads of darkness press against the glass like fog, singing to the monster inside me, but I turn on my side and tug my blankets higher.
I will not listen. I can do this. The Lady of the Sky confirmed it.
Over the next two days, I dress my wounds and rebuild my strength, as Ghoa instructed. I try several times to sneak out to check on Serik, but acolytes guard the dormitory day and night. They shout insults through my door and force me to mumble additional penances every time it opens even a fraction.
By dawn of the third day, I feel like the snow leopards in the Sky Palace menagerie: pacing and growling and scratching at the bars. As anxious as I am to be out on my own, I’m desperate for the freedom, for the possibilities it may bring.
I peel off my blankets and alight from bed. The bruises blossoming across my shoulders and hips still scream in protest, but I am used to pain. It will be my reminder, the anchor to which I will tether my control. I blow out a breath and pace my steps until I’m able to walk to my cookstove without a limp.
A tiny smile steals across my lips. Maybe Ghoa’s right. Maybe my strength can be regained—to a degree. If I’m not afraid to push myself. If I allow myself to truly try.
I brew a pot of ginger root tea, and am halfway through my second cup when Ghoa glides through the door. Instead of armor, she wears an impressive sunset-orange dress embroidered with silver globeflowers and finished with amethyst clasps at the neck. Her hair is a shiny wave of copper tumbling down her back, and the intoxicating scent of lily water trails her like a cloud.
“Good morning,” she says brightly, raising her forearm and curling her fingers into a fist—the traditional Kalima salute.
The gesture is so unexpected, and full of so much meaning, my insides fill with heat that has nothing to do with the tea.
Ghoa slings a bag off her shoulder and rifles through it, humming as she extracts several quills, a fine bronze compass, and a scroll that she unfurls on my bedroll. It’s a detailed map of Sagaan, depicting every temple, road, and stream. It’s so intricate, I’d wager there isn’t a tree that hasn’t been accounted for.
“I have marked in red the locations where Temujin has been spotted, and the green dots represent places we’ve raided, searching for the entrance to the Shoniin’s hideout.”
I suck in a breath and tea sloshes over the side of my cup, nearly splashing Ghoa’s dress. I try to apologize, but I can’t seem to find my voice. The entire map is a spattering of color. The dots spin in a dizzying whirl, and I slump down hard on my blankets.
“I know it looks slightly discouraging,” Ghoa begins.
“What more do you expect me to do?” I wave my hand at the map. “You’ve already torn the city apart.”
“I expect you to stay calm and use the tracking skills you learned in the Kalima, combined with the advantages you’ve gained since your imprisonment.”
“Advantages?” I scoff. “What advantages?”
“You’re far more timid than you used to be … which is a good thing!” she assures me when my face crumples. “It makes you approachable. And the way you move is almost ghostlike—always crouched behind corners and melting into shadows. The people of Sagaan won’t notice you, but Temujin will. It’s like I told you—he looks for the outcasts and fringe-dwellers. That’s why he attempted to rescue you in the first place.”
“So what do I do, exactly?”
“You find him, get close to him, and earn his trust—let him think you’re a grateful, adoring follower after his rescue attempt. Then once you learn the location of his hideout, I’ll move in with the Kalima and attack.”
She makes it sound so simple. So foolproof.
It would be, for Enebish the Warrior.
“Don’t look so unnerved!” Ghoa says. “You can do this. And I’ve arranged a surprise, to bolster your confidence.” She knocks on the window, and a few minutes later Varren enters the room with Orbai on his arm. My eagle snaps at his nose and shuffles back and forth until she sees me. Then she lets out a happy screech. “I thought you’d like to take a friend on your journey.”
Happy tears blur my eyes as I look from Ghoa to my eagle. “Really?”
“Really,” she confirms.
It’s a small gesture, but it says so much. Ghoa knows me. She wants me to succeed and realizes I am braver and more capable when I’m not alone.
“Use her to send messages of your progress. I expect a nightly report.”
I nod. “Orbai is an excellent messenger.”
“Of course she is. You trained her.” True pride brims in Ghoa’s eyes as she helps me into my gauntlet.
“Thank you,” I choke out when Varren places Orbai on my forearm. Confidence bleeds into me from each of her curved talons; my injured muscles strengthen beneath her familiar weight. For the first time, I allow myself to believe that I may actually be able to do this.
“When do I leave?” I ask. “May I say goodbye to Serik? I want to make sure—”
“No one can know of our arrangement until the mission is complete,” Ghoa says with a furtive glance at the window, as if someone might be eavesdropping. And considering we’re in a compound full of overzealous monks, they very well could be. “Varren will be keeping guard outside your door while you’re gone—to keep up the pretense of your punishment—which is why you cannot speak to Serik.”
“The monks don’t know I’m doing this?” The question comes out more skeptical than intended. Of course I don’t want them tracking my every sneeze, but not telling them about the mission makes it feel wrong, almost.
Ghoa slashes her arm across her body, sweeping my worries away. “Those old fusspots don’t need to have their hands in everything. I am Commander of the Kalima warriors, and this is a confidential matter of state.”
I grunt my agreement, but my gaze still slides to the window. It seems strange to keep something so pressing from the abba. And it feels wrong to leave without knowing if Serik is all right. “Can’t I please see Serik quickly? He promised to come, but I haven’t—”
“The abba is keeping a tight leash on him, but he’s fine,” Ghoa assures me. “I’ve seen him at morning supplication. His arms are bandaged, but he’s already back to being his obnoxious, disagreeable self.”
“Probably because he’s had to endure your company,” I jibe.
While Ghoa chuckles, I take a deep breath and let it crackle through my lungs. Let it fill me with confidence and purpose, but most of all, gratitude. “Thank you.” I drop to a knee and press my forehead to the back of Ghoa’s hand. “For trusting me, for believing in me. I’m the one who brought you low, so I will be the one to raise you back up. That’s the divine purpose of family—to
fall and rise as one.”
“It is,” Ghoa agrees. She takes my chin, lifts my face, and tenderly traces my traitor’s mark. “Go. Find Temujin. And raise us up together.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
I LEAVE IKH ZUREE THAT AFTERNOON WITH ORBAI ON MY arm and an overstuffed satchel on my back. I scan the compound for Serik as Ghoa spirits me through the gate behind the bathhouses, but most of the monks are sequestered in their temples for midday supplication, and the few who are hurrying down the paths are too old or too young. Too short or too fat. Not Serik.
“Remember, the fewer people you interact with the better,” Ghoa says as she adjusts the fur cloak around my neck. “You must listen and spy. Blend into the shadows. And when you do locate Temujin, stick to the stories we came up with: you slipped a sleeping draft into the monks’ supply of holy vorkhi, broke out of your chamber, and scaled the wall. You’re being hunted, of course, but not outright, as the citizens of Ashkar would be in a frenzy if they knew such a dangerous criminal was on the loose. But most of all, you must make them believe you hate me. That there’s no way, in this life or any other, that you would return to me or the Sky King.”
She rubs my hands vigorously, though that only causes them to grow colder. If it were anyone else, I would bristle and snap at being coddled like an infant, but it feels so good to have Ghoa’s hard-won confidence, I savor every touch.
Finally I will redeem myself.
Finally I will make her proud.
“I’m sorry I can’t make arrangements for you to stay at an inn,” she continues, “but you would be too recognizable in such close quarters. And a Kalima warrior should be able to manage something as simple as shelter.”
“Of course. You needn’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“To reclaim your rightful place in the Kalima.” Ghoa claps me on the shoulder.
My entire body stills—my heart most of all—every time she says that word. The grin that spreads across my face is so wide, it tugs at the scars on my cheek. “My rightful place,” I whisper.
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