THE TOWERING BLACK DOORS OF THE ASSEMBLY HALL SWINGinward. Ready to swallow me.
I dig my nails into Serik’s forearm as we step into the gilt chamber. Flurries of snow blow in on our heels, snuffing the braziers and plunging the life-sized statue of the king into shadow. A senior monk, who’d been reading from a list of transgressions, drops his scroll with a shout. The rest of the acolytes shoot up from their supplication poses and gasp.
Serik and I freeze. It’s hardly the first time we’ve disrupted morning services. Serik has never felt the need for religion, old or new, and I would rather swallow a handful of slugs than whisper about the petty misdeeds of others to cold stone idols. But this is the first time we’ve disrupted a service while Ghoa is in attendance.
Normally, the monks squawk and threaten us with lashes until we press our palms together, mumble the prescribed prayer of penance (May the Sky King, in all his blessed glory, forgive my indiscretion),and join the service. But today they don’t make a sound. It’s so quiet, I can hear thedrip, drip, dripof the icicles hanging from the windows.
Heart thundering, I scan the cluster of robes until I spot Ghoa’s high ponytail near the front. She rises with deliberate slowness, and I gape as if she’s a mirage come to life.
She is just as I remember, but entirely different.
Ghoa has always been beautiful, with thick chestnut hair and large brown eyes, but now she looks fearsome, too. Like a warrior queen in her gleaming leather armor and finely tooled boots. Her battle-ax and bow lean against the wall, but a curved saber still hangs from her hip.
As she turns, fissures of pain and elation tear through my chest. My lips feel as brittle as tree bark, my throat drier than the deserts of Verdenet.
She returned to the war front before I could thank her for convincing the king to spare my life. I never got to explain and apologize for what had happened at Nariin—though I still don’t have an explanation, and all the apologies in the world will never be enough. Does she hate me? Fear me like the rest of Ashkar? She must. She never visited and only responded to my first letter. And she’s so important now; she’s risen so high since my banishment: Commander of the Kalima warriors, the king’s most elite force. Blessed with the ability to fight, not only with sabers and daggers but with driving rain and howling wind. With blasts of bitter cold and blazing pillars of heat.
And, sometimes, even darkness.
It probably pains her to look at me. A shame to the Kalima. Stripped of my abilities.
Ghoa’s eyes flick to Serik, then back to me, traveling the length of the traitor’s mark on my face and down my right arm, which is bisected just above the elbow by a vicious purple scar. A similar scar slashes across my right thigh, the edge of which peeks out from beneath my penance robe like a wriggling earthworm.
Ghoa winces, and I fall back as if slapped.
See me,I silently beg.I’m stillmebeneath these scars. I’m still a girl beneath the monster.But the excruciating silence stretches, wheedling beneath my skin like nits.
I choke back a sob and shoot Serik a wild-eyed look. He stomps past me and positions himself between me and Ghoa, like a shield. “Hello, cousin. I know you warriors are a barbaric sort, but even you should know it’s impolite to stare.”
The monks bristle at his audacity and look to Ghoa, who scowls and flexes her fists. In an instant, the temperature in the hall plummets. Hoarfrost flashes down the marble columns and sweeps across the floor, painting everything glittering white.
“Go.Now.” Ghoa points toward the opulent staterooms at the rear of the temple and advances on us. Billows of frigid air trail her like smoke, and the ends of her ponytail tinkle, singed silver with cold. The monks scramble out of her path. Before I can blink, her hand closes around my good arm, making my robe feel woven from snowflakes rather than silk. She collars Serik and he wails as he slips across the icy tiles.
I had forgotten the sheer force of Ghoa’s power. Her abilities have always been remarkable, even among the Kalima. She is an Ice Herald. With a snap of her fingers, she can turn a summer’s day to winter. With a twitch of her nose, boiling water becomes ice. Her gift presented almost immediately—just days after her eleventh birthday—and though mine presented faster, that’s never stopped her from bragging endlessly when she’s had too many shots of vorkhi.
She has every reason to boast. I’ve seen her fell a hundred Zemyan warriors with a flick of her wrist. And her impassable ice floes have single-handedly kept them from crossing the Usinsk Pass. Ancient legends tell of Ice Heralds who could summon Standing Death—a freeze so cold and sudden that horses, cattle, and even people would perish standing up, frozen forever mid-stride—and for a second I wonder if the stories might be true. The air is so cold, my legs certainlyfeelfrozen as she hauls us around the corner and down the hall.
Away from the service.
My breath hitches. Unlike me and Serik, Ghoa never misses an opportunity to worship at the Sky King’s altar. She would only leave early under the direst of circumstances.
Life-and-deathcircumstances.
“I’m s-sorry!” I stammer. “I didn’t mean to … The monks purposely provoked me—”
Ghoa shoves us through a red lacquered door and slams it behind us. I brace for the hard bite of the tiles, but she releases us and leans against a straight-backed chair. She blows out several long breaths. When she finally looks up, the incoherent babbles wither in my throat because her heart-shaped face is pale and stricken.
“Forgive me,” she says, panting. “This isn’t the reunion I imagined, but you know what my position requires.” She shakes her head several times before straightening and smoothing her leathers. “I suppose I should have expected such a brazen greeting from you, cousin. It’s good to see you.” She flashes Serik a wry grin, but he stares as if bog vipers are slithering from her lips.
After an awkward beat, Ghoa turns to me. A warm smile spreads across her suntanned face, all the way up to her eyes that crinkle around the edges, making her look older and gentler than I remember. “I’ve missed you, En,” she says softly.
My fingers anxiously reach for the moonstone. “You didn’t come to punish me?”
She barks out a laugh. “Why would I do that?”
“Because—”I’ve been meddling with the darkness. Because I’m dangerous and unpredictable. I cut one of the acolytes just this morning.“You haven’t heard?”
Ghoa waves a hand. “I’ve heardtoomuch. The monks have been nattering in my ear since the moment I arrived, detailing every infraction ever committed by every citizen of Ashkar. I’m sick to death of it. As far as I can see, everyone is alive, so it can’t have been that bad. And our little display in the prayer hall should have satisfied them. Now stop standing there, wringing your hands, and come celebrate. The three of us are reunited at last.” She flings her arms wide.
