Serik brushes past Ghoa, tugs the straps of my pack, and guides both me and the mule through the gates.
Ghoa sends us off with an enthusiastic wave, but her other hand worries that strip of leather at her hip. “One of my warriors will be waiting at the crossroads,” she calls. “Give the birds to her and come directly back. No dawdling, no detours, and no going into Sagaan.”
“We know.” Serik waves over his shoulder. “All business. No fun.”
But just being out here, in the wide-open space, will be more fun than either of us have had in ages.
We’ve been walking for less than ten minutes when Serik peers down at my leg. Already it throbs to the beat of the mule’s hooves and we’re hardly down the first hill. I ball my hands into fists and silently curse my wounds. It seems like a different lifetime, or another person entirely, who marched in full armor across these endless fields. Now I can hardly keep up with this poor gray beast that stumbles over every pothole.
“Are we going too fast?” Serik pulls back on the mule’s rope, but I smack his wrist with my staff.
“I’ll tell you if I need to slow down,” I say, even though we both know I never would. Admitting I need help is the same as admitting there’s something wrong with me. And if my physical ailments are real, that means the ones inside me are real too.
“Hey.” Serik nudges my side. “I didn’t mean it like that, En. I only thought you might want to conserve your energy.”
I continue charging forward, keeping my gait even, my chin high. I won’t let my injuries hold me back. Not today. While I’m out here.
Free.
I drink in the vastness and beauty of the plains; the wavy grass topped with the first snow of fall, like sugared icing; the Ondor Mountains in the distance, biting the Lady of the Sky with their sharp indigo teeth; and the looming shadow of Sagaan, the needle-thin spires of the Sky Palace rising above the colorful houses and shops.
From my perch on the temple rooftops, it all looked so uniform: a distant smudge of ashen buildings, brown grass, and white snow. But out here, with the last of the round yellow globeflowers bobbing in the breeze and the smell of wet grass filling my nose, it’s alive and teeming with details. A sea of endless possibilities, and I want to drown in it.
I take a deep breath and let it rush through my insides. “I wish we could stay out here forever.”
Serik shoots me a devious grin. “We could, you know.”
I roll my eyes. “Since that worked so well for you the first time …”
The monks at Ikh Zuree often leave the compound to travel the continent and record infractions, but the one time they let Serik beyond the gates, he didn’t come back. They found him two days later, masquerading as a shepherd, and never let him leave again.
“I’d be smarter this time! Ashkar is so vast, with all of the Protected Territories. We could ‘accidentally’ take a wrong turn and end up in your old village in Verdenet. Gone, gone, gone, and the Sky King and the abba could do nothing about it.” He smiles his squinty-eyed smile and elbows me.
“Only if we wished to perish. We have no supplies—no shelter or food. We wouldn’t last two days, let alone make it to Verdenet.”
Serik is already wagging a finger in my face. “Wrong! Remember the letter you sent me from Guvee? We have the only provision we need.” He pats the mule’s lumpy neck.
Just the name of that wretched town makes my stomach turn. When I was fifteen, my division of the Kalima was caught in an avalanche and stranded in the foothills of Guvee. We had no supplies and, worse, no Sun Stokers to melt the snow. In order to keep from starving or dying of thirst while we awaited the thaw, we made nicks in our horses’ necks and drank the blood straight from their veins. Just enough to prolong our lives and not enough to endanger theirs. We’d sew the wounds loosely back together each night, then open them again the next day. My teeth were stained red for weeks.
I must be turning green, because Serik is biting back a wicked smirk. “Well, what do you say, En?”
“I say you’ve lost all sense. This sorry beast is no warhorse. He hasn’t enough blood for himself, let alone both of us, and the grasslands are so flat that they would never believe we got lost. The white walls of Ikh Zuree can be seen from ten leagues away, brighter than the guiding star. And just think how disappointed Ghoa would be.”
Serik lets out an exasperated breath. “I know it’s impossible, but you could have played along. Sometimes I miss the old Enebish.”
I slam my staff into the ground. “The old Enebish murdered an entire caravan of innocent merchants. I’m certain you’re the only one who misses her.”
Serik hauls back on the mule’s rope, and my eagles caw and rattle in their cages. “That’s not all you are. I miss the Enebish who arrived from Verdenet burned and terrified but brimming with the fires of vengeance, determined to vanquish the Zemyans who killed her parents. The Enebish who helped me see that I didn’t have to be defined by my father’s crimes. The Enebish who stole winterberry pies that were meant for the matron and refused to give up that little ratty straw doll. The Enebish who sat with me beneath the larch trees and dreamed of something more. Don’t you want to escape the monastery and actually live the lives we imagined?”
Yes. More than anything. But I shouldn’t want such things. I cannot want such things. So I shake my head. “Let’s just enjoy today.”
Serik drops the lead rope, grabs my shoulders, and leans in close. “You are good, Enebish.”
“There’s no denying what I did….”
Serik’s breath puffs against my cheeks and his hazel eyes bore into mine. As if he can see into me. Shivers flash down my spine, and I try to squirm away. While I appreciate his confidence, it hurts all the more because his faith is so misguided.
His fingers tighten, like he knows my thoughts. “I don’t care what happened. To hell with the past. I’ve known you since you were eight years old. I know you better than anyone, and I know—”
