“Right? He’s going to transform the entire continent. And we will be part of it.”
I nod. Once. It’s all I can stomach. Then I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and stand. “Thank you for the soup. He said you’d let me know when and where to report for assignments.”
“You’re leaving now?” Inkar’s brow crumples as if she’s truly sad to see me go. I blink down at her. She’s sonice.So warm and affable.Do you know who you’ve sided with?I want to say.You never should have gotten mixed up with the likes of Temujin.Instead I readjust my scarf to hide my scars—and my smile, which grows thinner by the second.
“I’m exhausted.” I gesture to my arm and leg. “Training the children takes a lot out of me.”
Her eyes dart across my scars and she looks away sheepishly. “I’m sorry. Of course. I didn’t mean to pressure you. I just thought you’d like to meet some of the others now that—”
“Next time,” I promise, feeling slightly guilty thatnext timewill most likely involve a raid that ends with her bound, facedown, on these sticky floors. But she made that choice when she cast her lot with a deserter’s.
Can you blame her?something deep inside me whispers.Wouldn’t you have done the same if Serik had perished in Gazar?
As he very well could,Temujin’s voice taunts me,in three days’ time.
My throat closes. I need to get out of here. Away from this deafening tavern and Temujin’s loyal followers so I can actuallythinkabout what to believe. And what to do next.
“I’ll see you soon,” I tell Inkar. Then I let myself out into the night, limping quickly through Sagaan. Clusters of darkness lie in wait down every greasy alleyway and they lunge as I pass, clinging to me like leeches. More and more and more, until it looks like I’m trailing a massive cloak of midnight.
“Not now. Leave me be!” I wave my arms behind me, but that only earns me a strange look from a shoe shiner, perched on a stoop.
When I arrive at my lean-to, I collapse into the leaves, close my eyes, and place my hands over the moonstone. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Temujin’s lies have me flustered, which makes me agitated, which prods the monster, which beckons the night.
If I am calm and rational, the cycle will stop.
Everything will be fine. Everythingisfine—better than fine. I’ve done what Ghoa asked; I found Temujin and his hideout. All I have to do is send word, and my crimes will be forgiven. I’ll be reinstated in the Kalima.
But the cacophony in my head refuses to quiet. The lonely dark of my lean-to is even worse than the busy tavern because, here, there are no distractions. There’s no ignoring the possibility that Temujin is telling the truth.
He isn’t.
Could you live with yourself if you’re wrong? If Serik’s bound for Gazar and you did nothing to stop it?
I press my hands over my ears and scream.
Orbai dives into the lean-to and blinks at me with her pale yellow eyes. I wait for her to peck my hand, looking for the scraps I forgot to bring her. But she hops over to my satchel and pokes her head inside.
“There’s nothing there but barley cakes,” I say with a groan.
She continues digging anyway, and when she drags my Book of Whisperings out into the leaves, I immediately burst into tears. “You brilliant, beautiful bird.” I scratch her neck as I place the fragile book in my lap.
The quill wobbles in my shaky fingers, but I manage to scrawl my question:Who should I trust?Then I banish all thoughts of Temujin and Serik and Ghoa and refugees and allow myself to tumble headfirst into the peaceful nothingness of the Lady of the Sky’s embrace.
Dawn is creeping across the horizon when the burning answer finally appears:It’s a heavy thing, living with regret.As the words disintegrate, the letters form an image, only visible for an instant, of Serik below ground, behind bars.
I snap the book shut, reach for a quill and parchment, and dash off the message to Ghoa. Three words. No groveling. No greeting:
Come at once.
Then I hurriedly lash the note to Orbai’s leg and send her off before I can change my mind.
CHAPTER TWELVE
GHOA COMES SWIFTLY.
Alarmingly so.
I swear only a handful of minutes could have passed—hardly enough time for Orbai to deliver the letter and return—but I hear the distinct crunch of boots on snow.
