“Keep your voice down,” Temujin growls. “He’s gone. I know that’s hard to accept, but you can’t go chasing every passerby who bears the slightest resemblance. It’s dangerous.” He takes my arm and tugs me toward the door.
“But—” I cast around in desperation.
“Let him go,” Temujin says again. “He’s with the First Gods now.” His voice is gentle, but his grip is uncomfortably tight. He pulls me back another step. We’re nearly to the door when fabric rustles behind us.
“Show yourself!” Temujin’s voice is a vicious snarl, and he pulls a hidden dagger from his belt.
Slowly, a hooded figure steps away from the far wall. Blood thunders in my ears as they inch forward, one excruciating step after another, until the dim patch of moonlight finally illuminates the golden hem of their cloak.
I sag against the nearest table. “Serik! Why didn’t you answer before?”
“How is he alive?” Temujin demands.
Serik continues forward without speaking, gliding between the tables like a ghost.
“Serik?” My voice is a faint, rattling whisper and I take an instinctive step back.
The door slams shut behind us.
“Trap!” Temujin shouts as I shriek and stumble into a stool.
Out on the street, Chanar and Inkar throw themselves against the door, but the iron bolt clangs into place, locking them out.
And sealing us in.
Shadows shimmer to life along the walls. Tall, hulking shadows that smell of leather oil and creak ever so slightly.
Lamellar armor.
Cold sweat drips between my shoulder blades as the warriors edge toward us. Slow and deliberate, like spiders stalking their prey. One familiar face after the next, until the whole of the Kalima surrounds us.
Serik enters the circle last, clapping slowly.
Temujin’s breath comes in bursts and he turns to gape at me. “Didyouhelp him escape and burn the supply shack? I knew he would betray us!”
“Serik wouldn’t betray me.”
“Then who, pray tell, isthat?”
“I don’t know!” I snap, even though there’s only one possibility. Only one other person who knows how much Serik loves that cloak. Who knows it would lure me like an eagle to a rabbit.
Ghoa removes the hood with a dramatic flourish, and I flinch, even though I was expecting it. Dread thumps my chest like the hilt of a sword. Because Serik would never give her his cloak. Not willingly. Which can only mean …
Temujin swears and raises his dagger higher.
While the Kalima chuckle, I realize I have a far stronger weapon.
Thousands of midnight threads writhe in the corners of the tavern. I thrust out my hands, and the darkness slings across the room like glossy black spears, but before I can catch them, Ghoa yells and tattooed arms encircle me from behind.
The impact knocks the breath from my lungs, and I gulp and gag as Varren drags me backward. At the same time, three Kalima warriors lunge for Temujin. They swing their curved blades at his head, but he drops to the floor. Their sabers whistle past, so close that his fur cap hits the ground in shreds.
I thrash against Varren and call the night again, but he slaps a damp cloth over my nose and mouth. It’s gritty, like sand, and it smells earthy and sweet. Familiar somehow.
When the tendrils of night slide through my fingers, and the numbing emptiness that shrouded me for two years at Ikh Zuree returns, I howl with indignation. I don’t know how they’ve done it, but the cloth is coated with crushed moonstone.
Temujin vaults over a table and parries with one Kalima warrior. But as soon as they tire, another takes their place. They attack in waves, from every angle. Not even bothering to use their powers. Temujin blocks strike after strike, but each one makes him weaker.
I scream and flail harder, but the more I fight and pant, the more the tingling in my throat vanishes.
