Does he expect me to be offended? In fact, I am a little relieved. ‘I agree,’ I tell him. ‘This was a waste of my time. But if I leave, Yabghu will—’
‘No.’ His grip is almost bruising. ‘You have to go.Now.’ He glances over his shoulder before shoving me forward. ‘Go—’
‘There she is.’ Overseer Negar looms over Cemil, replacing his hand. ‘It’s good that she’s here. Captain Fayez has decided to draft the squadron,now, in the bazaar.’
Cemil presses his lips together and speaks no more. My eyes narrow but I’ve no choice but to obey an overseer’s orders.
As we walk toward the assembled squadron, merchants shutter their stalls and city folk flee toward the temple or find cover in grasping date trees, palms flipped outward in prayer. Preachers seize on the omen. At least this fear, both empires share: rain, a moment for prayer to remember the Great Flood.
Captain Fayez must not fear the rain, for he grins from the centre of the bazaar, calling out to us. ‘What better, more sacred time than during rainfall to announce the underlings of my Marka squadron.’
Wiping my face, I slide on to a flat stone beside Katayoun beneath palm trees. No-Name comes forward.
‘I think we should go,’ she says quietly. ‘I sense something. It makes me uneasy.’
Captain Fayez prowls round the centre, overseers flanking him. To the side stand two captains from other squadrons, here for the show: Madj and Osman.
Fayez begins drafting low-rank warriors. Many are inevitable: Lukhman, Dara, Gulnaz. Thirty rukhs out of over three hundred. In some trifectas, Fayez skimps, and in others, he selects two low-ranks.
Eventually, Fayez reaches our trifecta, the last one.
Rain is frightful for it reminds the people of how Nuh’s nation was forsaken. My head tilts up, taking in Heaven’s grief. Fayez too looks at the sky, and parts his mouth, rainwater trickling in. He swallows andlicks his lips, accepting its curses as if he’s beyond forsaken. Then his eyes come to rest on me.
‘Usur-Khan.’ His fingers fiercely grip the bone-pendant strung around his neck, until his nails bleed white. I stand, watching his hands. ‘You would like to be in my squadron.’
It is not a question. My gaze flits up. ‘Yes.’
‘Will you obey my first order?’
‘Order me.’ I bow.
He unlatches his waterskin and pours it on to his sandals. ‘It’s simple. Lick this kahvah off my feet.’
I unfold from my bow. ‘W-what?’
‘Will you?’
I blink at his condition. A prideful sort. This is a simple decision. As I summon an answer, he suddenly faces the crowd of Za’skar warriors.
‘In the face of an enemy, what does Squadron One do?’ he demands of them.
‘Snip the strings of fate, fan the flames and devour the ones who march against us.’ The torrid wind carries their chant.
Fayez nods like the script hails from a holy book rather than the mouths of military dogs. ‘Doessheunderstand it so?’
It takes me a moment to realise what he has done. I gaze mistakenly, at the hundreds of eyes drilling into me and then Negar’s slow smile, so I miss Fayez’s quick movement. His iron-fist slams into my torso. I stumble back, legs collapsing to the dirt.
He hit me.The wind screeches, the wet air an invasion rather than a cleansing when it sweeps grit into my lungs.
‘This is the enemy.’ Fayez grounds his heel into the old injury in my leg. Pain blisters up my nerves. ‘As if I would allow an Azadnian into my squadron.’ Then I see it, the deep fury in his eyes – the hate. How was I blind to it? ‘But you were an excellent rival to string along Cemil, bringing him to such potential.’
His foot slams down again, and the iron-bone makes my head flinch against a rock. Distantly, I hear Yabghu yelling. My eyes seek Cemil, but the deceiver is unable to meet my gaze, hands clenched into fists, veins corded up his neck.
‘What potential?’ Glaring at them, I smear away blood. ‘I see no hawkish raven, but a soft yellow tit, or – dare I say – a snakebird. At least have the gall to look me in the eye, Cemil.’
Fayez grins at that and slams his foot a third time, sucking away my words.
‘Captain!’ Yabghu wrenches me upwards and shoves himself between us. ‘She is still my student. And you will incurhiswrath; you do not know that the Sepahbad recruit—’
