“Enebish! What are you doing here?” Inkar bustles over to greet me while Chanar and Temujin scramble to pick up the mess. “You should be resting! You need to process and recover from last night’s tragedy. We’ve postponed your missions for a few days at least—”
“No need,” I say brusquely. “I’m fine.”
Inkar nibbles her lip and looks at me with wide, worried eyes. “But—”
“Crying in a tent isn’t going to change the fact that Serik’s gone.” I purposely avoid the worddead.If I don’t want them to lie to me, I probably shouldn’t lie to them. But the longer the Shoniin assume Serik is dead, the safer he will be.
“I know I wasn’t able to be there for you last night like I should have been.” Inkar places a tender hand on my forearm and steers me toward the door. “But now I can stay with you as long as you’d like. You must have so many emotions you want to work through.”
“What I want is to stop the Zemyans and finish this.”
Inkar looks back at the boys, who are shoving the last of the mess into a drawer. I don’t know why they bother; Temujin’s tent still looks like a cyclone tore through it.
“I’m ready,” I insist.
The three of them exchange a look like I’ve lost my mind, and maybe I have, but I’m afraid if I pause, for even a moment, the doubt and fear will catch up with me. Or I’ll somehow miss my opportunity to defeat Zemya and redeem myself. All of this will be for nothing.
Chanar is the first to speak: “Stop mothering the girl, Inkar. If Enebish says she’s ready, she’s ready.”
Inkar frowns, and I try not to be annoyed. Her hesitance is born of concern, which means I should probably be offended that Chanar is willing to toss me back into the fray so quickly. But I don’t want to be coddled and protected. The time for timidness has long since passed. We must all take risks. Make sacrifices.
Temujin studies me, and for the first time since I met him, I do not squirm or bumble or retreat. I look him dead in the eye, and a slow grin spreads across his lips. “Sometimes action is the best medicine of all.”
I live and breathe for nothing but my missions. I sneak into Ashkar every other night and shepherd dozens of recruits from encampments along the war front. Then I sleep the entire day and night in between. Never stopping, never thinking. Reveling in the blackness of exhaustion—where the pain of missing Serik can’t reach me.
I expect my success to slowly fill the howling emptiness in my chest, but the pain grows more acute with each mission because I catch myself scanning every face, hoping Serik changed his mind. My eyes snag on every cloak, looking for the golden sunbursts.
As the weeks wear on, the Shoniin try to cheer and distract me. Inkar takes me to train the children, which I love, but I cannot watch them wave their sticks without thinking of the little boy and girl who used to spar on Ghoa’s parents’ estate.
Oyunna drags me to the bonfire revelries and paints my face with thick white makeup to hide my traitor’s mark, like the noblewomen in Sagaan, but all I can think is that Serik would hate it.
They’re turning you into someone you’re not. Someone I don’t recognize.
Not even Orbai can fill the void. Mostly because she’s always up in the clouds. On the rare occasion she does answer my call, she screeches and beats her wings against the walls of the tent until I release her. I don’t blame her. If I could sail through the infinite blue skies with the Lady and Father, I wouldn’t want to be trapped on the ground or confined to a tent either.
Surprisingly, Temujin is the one who offers a small measure of comfort. Despite his busy schedule, he sits in my tent and recites songs and tales of the First Gods. Sometimes he distracts me with reports of the recruits’ training progress or asks for help drafting more missives to Ghoa. When our scouts in Verdenet bring word that King Minoak’s golden suit of armor vanished from Nashab Market—where it has been kept for the last seven hundred years, and can only be unlocked with the king’s signet ring—we spend the day speculating excitedly, brainstorming all the places he could be hiding.
“He would obviously head straight for Namaag,” Temujin says. “His younger sister is married to the vice chancellor. They would give him asylum.”
“But the Sky King would expect that. He’d have warriors waiting along the caravan routes,” I argue.
“The Sky King would have to pull warriors from the battlefront to do that, and thanks to us, he doesn’t have many to spare….”
“True, but I still don’t think Minoak would risk it. And he wouldn’t just abandon his people. He’s somewhere close. Where he can watch the imperial governor and regroup.”
“You speak as if you know him personally.” Temujin chuckles. “I hope you’re right, but how can you have so much confidence in a king you’ve never met?”
“The same way I devote my life to a goddess I’ve never seen. The same way I trust a notorious criminal to save our people.” I nudge him with my elbow. “Commitment born of perfect knowledge lacks the most powerful factor of all—faith.”
Temujin studies me thoughtfully before his face scrunches with exaggerated shock. “Do my ears deceive me, or did you just admit that you finally trust me?”
“Maybe.Partially.But don’t let it go to your head.”
I expect him to come back with a witty reply, but he reaches into his satchel and removes his Book of Whisperings instead. “Enough for this?”
He holds it out and I suck in a breath. The leather is so old and crinkled, it looks like the ear of an elephant. It’s smaller than my family’s book, and held together with a long leather strap instead of a metal clasp, but the same hum of energy emanates from its pages. An overwhelming sense of peace and strength.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
