We turn down two more streets, then the children break into a run. They dash up a walkway to a tavern that looks no different than the other storefronts around it. The paint is fresh. The steps are swept. The lights are on and the door is propped open, spewing a steady stream of customers. I wouldn’t have picked it out from the other identical establishments around it, were it not for the sign creaking on brass rings above the door:
THE RAM’S HEAD.
I suck in a breath and Inkar gives me a little wink.
“Your hideout is in a tavern?” I whisper, trying not to sound disappointed. Technically, there’s nothing wrong with this. Taverns are chaotic and crowded; with so much coming and going, it’s easy for faces to pass unnoticed. And there are so many alehouses in Sagaan, it’s hard to distinguish one from the next. But I had expected something grander from a group that has outsmarted Ghoa and the Kalima for so long.
I glance up at the sign again, swinging gently in the breeze. How did I miss this? How has Ghoa missed this?
“Sometimes we’re so focused on a greater goal, we miss the truth hidden in plain sight,” Inkar says, guessing my thoughts.
By the time we shove into the packed common room, the children are seated at a maze of long tables, gulping down bowls of soup. It looks thin and watery, but it smells of grilled onions and my stomach gurgles. Compared to barley cakes and stolen military rations, it looks like a feast.
I reach for a chair, but Inkar grabs my arm and leads me through a pair of double doors, down a long hallway, to an aged door with a cloudy glass knob. “We have a different sort of offering for you, Enebish.”
The way she says offering makes the hairs on my arms prickle. My toes itch to leap across the threshold as the door whines open.
The room is dark, without a single window. If I could access my Kalima power, I’d be able to grip the threads of blackness and see everything perfectly, but I edge forward, squinting into the oppressive shadows like a magic-barren warrior.
My uncertainty rises by the second. “What’s going on?” I ask.
In the center of the room there’s a small rope bed, a dressing table topped with a washbasin and an unlit oil lamp, and a simple chest of drawers. My boots scrape through a thick layer of dust and mouse droppings, and my nose crinkles at the stench of stale air.
This feels like a trick.
Or a trap.
“This couldn’t possibly be your headquarters—” I turn to say to Inkar.
But it isn’t Inkar who stands behind me in the doorway.
It is Temujin.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HE SLAMS THE DOOR, ENTOMBING US IN DARKNESS.
“Thought this would be more comfortable for you,” he says in a playful tone. As if this is some sort of twisted game.
Sweat stipples my face and pools beneath my arms, yet somehow I’m freezing cold. I stagger back as far as the tiny room allows. “What’s going on? Y-you told me to find you….”
When Temujin doesn’t answer, I flatten my body against the wall and clutch at the moonstone, as if it will protect me.
He must know what I’m really up to. That I’m working for Ghoa.
There’s a quick scratch, and a second later a flame bursts to life. Temujin’s face is a hand’s breadth from mine. His hot breath spills over my cheeks, and his smile is feral and twisted in the flickering glow of the match. His hand moves closer and I flinch, but he reaches past me and lights the lamp on the dressing table.
“Relax,” he says with a chuckle. He snuffs the match with his fingers and flicks it to the dusty floor. Then he leans back against the bedpost, surveying me as a weak yellow glow fills the room. “Are you always so jumpy?”
“Are you always so cryptic and unnerving?” I bite back.
That makes him laugh. “I like to make an entrance—if you couldn’t tell from Qusbegi.”
I shake my head and draw my first full breath since he trapped me in this room. “Well, you certainly did that.” I busy my hands brushing off my cloak and peer at him out of the corner of my eye. He’s wearing a gray tunic, like he did at Qusbegi, and the five golden earrings climbing his left ear gleam in the lamplight.
“You’re from Verdenet,” I blurt before I can help it.
“So are you.” Temujin nods at my leggings, which are bunched up from my scramble across the room, revealing curls of my family’s tattoos. He lifts his breeches to expose the blue ink encircling his own calves. His design has slashes and points, like a barbed-wire fence, while mine alternates between spirals and diamonds.
“Not that it matters,” I say, tugging the leggings down with a jerk.
“Of course not. We are all ‘One army, one nation.’” He repeats the Imperial Army mantra with a saccharine smile. “One big, happy family.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard….”
“What is it you’ve heard?” He pushes away from the bedpost and saunters toward me. “Why are you here, Enebish?”
His bluntness throws me off balance, and I grapple for an answer. I knew he’d ask these questions. And I know what I’m supposed to say. But nothing could have prepared me for the way his golden eyes pin me in place, like Orbai honing in on her prey.
“Y-you saved me from the Sky King and my sister,” I finally bumble. “You told me to find you. That you need me. I thought—”
“You thought I’d have mercy on any stray dog that wandered in off the street?”
“Yes? No. I don’t know—” I scrub my hand over my face.
Burning skies, Ghoa was right. I don’t even have to try to act weak and pathetic. Apparently, every last vestige of Enebish the Warrior is gone.
“Relax,” Temujin says again. “I’m just teasing you.” He ruffles my hair in a way that would be friendly if we were actually friends. But since we only just met, it feels almost condescending. Like I’m a clueless puppy chasing its own tail. “The Shoniin aren’t like the Sky King. We welcome all, regardless of their strength. Or past.”
I duck away from his hand. “You could have led with that.”
“I have a reputation to keep up. It’s exhausting, being the leader of a rebel gang. So many expectations …”
“You’re clearly crumbling beneath the pressure,” I jibe as I move away from the wall. “So this is the infamous Shoniin hideout?” I crinkle my nose and wave around the shabby room.
“What? You don’t like how I’ve decorated?”
I swipe my finger across the chest of drawers and hold it up, displaying a thick coating of dust. “I thought you have a reputation to keep up?”
“Only for the people I lie to. Those in my inner circle get the real picture, the whole truth. When people think you’re flashy and brazen, they’d never expect you to operate out of a run-down bedroom at the back of a tavern. It’s all about showing one thing, then serving something else. It seems you know a thing or two about that.” He traces three fingers down his face, in the same pattern as my traitor’s mark. “Terrifying on the outside, but soft as freshly carded wool beneath. Inkar told me you’re a natural with the children.”
I shrug. “They’re too excited about swinging their wooden sabers to pay attention to my scars.”
“Your scars aren’t the first thing I noticed either.”
“Liar.” I stare Temujin down, but he stares right back.
“I swear to the First Gods, I didn’t have a clue it was you in the zurig until we cut you down. I watched you for a while first, from the rooftop of the Sky Palace, to see if you were the type of person we’d want to recruit. You were so stoic, hanging there and quietly taking the pain. Enduring the ridicule. It was incredible. And when you prayed to the Lady of the Sky, I knew it was fate. She had guided me to you.”
“How do you know I prayed?”
“I know another believer when I see one.” He huffs down on the bed and pats the space beside him. I carefully ease down, trying to sit close enough to look like an eager recruit, but not too eager. Temujin smells of leather oil an
d tea soap. And this close, he’s so handsome, he’s hard to look at—like the vivid blue heart of a flame. I don’t even have to try to blush and look flustered.
“I’m going to be blunt and cut right to the chase,” he continues. “We could really use someone with your particular skill set….”
Of course. He wants to use me for my night spinning—like everyone else.
I let the enchanted expression wilt off my face and slowly bring my hand to the moonstone. “If you’re referring to my Kalima power, it’s impossible. Even if it weren’t, it’s too dangerous.”
“What if I told you there’s a way to ensure you maintain perfect control?”
“I’d say you’re mad.”
“Would you be willing to try?”
I stay silent for a moment so he thinks I’m actually considering it. But I will never spin the night for a deserter. Not even one who’s feeding starving refugees and training helpless children. A few good deeds don’t erase the bad. He has forsaken Ashkar. Worse—he is actively fighting against it. We are losing the war with Zemya for the first time in centuries.
“You’re not very good at concealing your emotions; they’re written plain as day across your face.” I look away quickly, which makes him snicker. “And you should know I’m not a deserter, as the Sky King claims. I never abandoned my post at Novesti. A band of Zemyans raided our camp during the night, and I was cut to ribbons during battle. My battalion left me bleeding in the frozen grass.”
My jaw clenches at the blatant lie. “Imperial warriors are never left behind, no matter how injured.”
“Tell that to my brothers and sisters,” Temujin seethes. “The magic-barren troops don’t abide by the same rules of camaraderie as the Kalima. We are expendable. Especially those of us from the Protected Territories.” Without warning, he lifts the hem of his shirt to his chin. I tell myself to look away. That’s the proper thing to do. But my eyes are already roving over his lean, chiseled chest and trailing down his golden torso. It’s slashed through with muscle, but on top of the muscle are thick, disfiguring scars. As if someone dragged a white-hot poker through his skin, carving a random pattern of pain.
“You’re not the only one with scars,” he says in response to my gasp. “I lay there for two days, bleeding and shaking in the snow. I tried to bear it like a true warrior and accept my fate, but I couldn’t. I was weak and frightened and everything within me screamed to live. So I called upon the spirit of the Sky King—as we’re instructed to do—but hours passed and our illustrious ruler did not answer my plea. Shocking, I know.”
I accidentally let out a pop of laughter and Temujin’s eyes glint with approval.
“Go on,” I say, my voice wispier than intended.
Temujin scoots closer and the hairs on my arms prickle. “As I lay there, drifting between this life and the next, I couldn’t help but notice how blue the sky was—like a polished sapphire, glinting above me. I knew it was forbidden, but I was dying anyway, so I opened up my pleas to the First Gods, to the Lady of the Sky and Father Guzan.”
“They answered,” I say before I can stop myself. Not a question but a truth. A feeling, deep in my gut. Of course They answered. Unlike the king, the Lady and Father would never forsake a child who had called upon Them.
Temujin nods. “I promised to dedicate my life to Them. I swore to protect others who had been forsaken and wronged by the usurper king, and rekindle their faith, if They would stanch the flow of blood and close my wounds.”
I nibble my lower lip and my rebellious eyes dart again to his chest. Ashkar’s healers are renowned, but not even they could have pieced his abdomen back together without divine help. And he wouldn’t have made it from the battlefield to an infirmary without the intervention of the Lady of the Sky.
Goddess-touched blares like a horn through my mind.
Temujin finally lowers his tunic and continues in a somber voice: “After I regained my strength, I tried to catch up with my battalion, but the Zemyans had attacked again the following morning and slaughtered all three hundred of them. I found their bodies, torn and scattered across the snow, a league south of where they’d left me to die. So I walked, alone, twenty leagues across the freezing grasslands to Sagaan, only to be accused of desertion upon arrival. That’s the only way the Sky King and your sister claimed I could have survived the attack. They were going to execute me, but I escaped and went into hiding. I’ve been running ever since, helping others who have been wronged by the Sky King and his empire. Deserting is disgraceful, I know that, but sometimes it’s the only choice.”
I blink at him, too stunned to speak. In my mind, there has never been a middle ground regarding desertion. Only right and wrong. White and black. Loyal and deserter. But it seems wholly unfair to condemn Temujin when he tried to return to the army—even after they left him for dead.
If he’s telling the truth, Ghoa’s voice hisses. Keep your head.
“And you’re like me. Like us.” Temujin looks again at the damning traitor’s mark. “All of the Shoniin bear similar scars.”
For half a second I want to believe him. I want to feel included and understood. Then I drop my chin so my hair falls across my face. “Except I am guilty where you are innocent. I earned this traitor’s mark and the people’s wrath.”
I try to scoot away, but Temujin catches my elbow. His amber eyes bore into mine, singing to me, hypnotizing me, as bright as a harvest moon. “Our circumstances may differ, but we are all bonded by loss. We are rejected, unwanted. The dregs of the Ashkarian Empire. Unworthy in the eyes of the Sky King. But is it criminal to believe we deserve to be treated humanely? To desire a king who puts the needs of his people above his thirst for power and wealth? Use your night spinning and help me change things for the better.”
I gulp and force myself to look away. Blazing skies, he’s convincing. If I didn’t know to keep my guard up, I would almost be tempted to believe him.
But he’s lying.
He’s lying. I drill it into my brain.
And I have a mission. I know I need to get close to him, but I refuse to promise my Kalima power. It holds too much meaning. If ever I’m given the opportunity to spin the night again, it will be for the empire I swore to serve. For my sister, whose faith in me has never wavered.
“I want to help,” I say carefully, “but I can’t wield the night. The trauma from Nariin is too deep. I understand if you don’t want me to join you, knowing this …”
For the briefest moment, Temujin’s nostrils flare and his fists tighten. But then he puffs out his cheeks, releases a long breath, and shakes his head. “Of course you’re still welcome. Night spinning isn’t your only proficiency. You were a member of the Kalima warriors—you can teach us their tactics, help us avoid them—assuming you’re truly prepared to betray them.” He raises a dark brow at me.
My heart stutters for half a second before my training kicks in. The guilty always respond with anger or indignation, so I slouch lower and stare at my upturned hands, making myself as small and pathetic as possible. “My own sister carried out my torture. Then she dumped me back at Ikh Zuree like garbage and rode away without so much as a backward glance. She will always love the empire and her position more than me. An empire that despises me. I have no one to betray you to.” The words rake the pink flesh of my mouth. Probably because there’s a parcel of truth to the lie. I am despised by the Sky King and the people.
But I won’t be much longer.
“Ghoa and the king have lost themselves.” I fortify my voice with even more conviction. “They’re sentencing our own citizens to freeze on those barren fields, and I won’t be part of it.”
Temujin’s eyes lock with mine for one second, then two. Finally he offers me a hand. “Welcome to the Shoniin, Enebish. Inkar will keep you informed on when and where to meet. Be ready at a moment’s notice; our operation is rather unpredictable.”
He stands, runs his fingers through his jagged hair, and starts for the door.
Again, it isn’t wholly a lie. I’m beyond ready to begin my new life—my old life—and he has just given me the ammunition to do so. When the Shoniin next meet, I will happily join their ranks. But I won’t be coming alone.
“One last thing.” Temujin turns at the door, his hand on the knob. “In case your loyalty should waver, I thought you’d be interested to know that a certain monk named Serik is scheduled to depart from Ikh Zuree on a prison wagon bound for Gazar in three days’ time. Such a tragic story—something about persistent disobedience and failure to respect authority. Apparently there was an incident involving the abba and the commander. She’s the one who signed the arrest warrant. Quite the family scandal. Not the sort of person I’d choose to ally myself with—turning on her own like that.”
“What?” I shove to my feet, ready to fly across the grasslands if necessary to save Serik. When did this happen? What, exactly, happened? Is this why Ghoa has ignored my inquiries about him?
Don’t be foolish, Enebish the Warrior scolds. He’s lying to you. Baiting you.
“Why would you say such a thing?” I make my voice small, hurt, and clasp my hands before me. “I’m with you. You needn’t make up lies to ensure my loyalty.”
“What reason would I have to lie?” Temujin asks with a vicious smile. Then he sweeps out the door and slams it behind him.
I stare at the large particles of dust drifting like snow from the door frame. My hands are shaking. My legs, too. I grip the bedpost and slowly wilt to the mattress, digging my fingers into the faded quilt.
Temujin’s lying. He has to be. Ghoa would never sentence Serik to the same fate as his father.
And Temujin has every reason to lie. Of course he’d try to poison me against Ghoa and the empire. That’s what he does. I should have been more prepared. But I barreled right into his carefully constructed trap. If I truly despised Ghoa and the empire, I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn they have committed yet another atrocity. And he knows I can’t question her about Serik. She would be furious and deeply hurt by my lack of trust. She’ll know I’ve spoken to Temujin or one of his Shoniin and that I believe them over her … at least to some degree. Enough to doubt.
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