Ghoa patiently waits for him to stop yelling. “Are you finished?”
“I will never be finished!”
“In that case, take him to Gazar,” Ghoa orders her warriors. “I’ve heard more than enough.”
“Am I going to Gazar as well?” I ask as they drag Temujin away.
Ghoa laughs and pats my cheek. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I send you to Gazar?” But her palm scorches my face and there’s an icy undercurrent to her tone that makes my entire body stiffen.
Ghoa dismisses the rest of the Kalima and we trek alone across the city to the Sky Palace. As we walk, the tendrils of night sense my presence—a trickle of errant threads, at first. But with every step, more and more dive at my face and cling to my coat. Offended that I’m not reaching for them.
Even if I could command them, I don’t know what I’d do. Because I still don’t know who to trust. Ghoa and Temujin are both so entrenched in their agendas, they would do almost anything, hurt almost anyone, to further their opposing causes.
And I am caught squarely between them. A loyal, whimpering dog, desperate for a master—like Serik said.
Thinking of him nearly stops my heart. I picture his moon-eyed smile and mischievous grin. His ink-stained fingers and gold-dust freckles. I try to conjure his voice, try to re-create the exact tenor of his laugh, but it’s already fading. Slipping through my fingers like smoke. Tears stream down my cheeks as Ghoa leads me through a narrow servants’ entrance behind the gatehouses and into the Sky Palace.
I’ve been inside the royal complex many times. When I was a member of the Kalima, we reported directly to the king in his lavish throne room, but now Ghoa leads me to a hidden staircase at the end of the hall. We spiral up, up, up, and the higher we rise, the more the knots in my stomach tighten. I’m unsure whether to be relieved or disappointed that I’ve been spared an audience with the Sky King. On the one hand, it means Ghoa isn’t going to report my defection to the Shoniin. But it also means she isn’t going to present me for reinstatement.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Somewhere quiet, where we can talk,” Ghoa says without looking back.
The staircase opens up into a decadent sitting room. The walls are made entirely of glass, and the flickering lights of Sagaan wink below like fireflies. There are overstuffed sofas around the perimeter, and in the center an intricate bronze stove belches fragrant heat. Behind a pair of double doors, a lacy, golden balcony overlooks the Grand Courtyard.
“We’re up so high.” I place my palm against the glass. The night slams into the barrier—desperate and snarling, like the old days at Ikh Zuree. Only now it’s even worse; they refuse to lie down and be forgotten again. “I didn’t realize there were rooms up here,” I say as I back away from the window.
Ghoa perches on one of the sofas. “The spire salons are reserved for the most important meetings. When it’s imperative that prying ears don’t overhear.”
And where no one can hear you scream, my unease whispers, even though Ghoa’s face is placid, her smile earnest.
She pats the cushion beside her. “Come. We have much to discuss.” She’s been surprisingly merciful and understanding, yet my pulse still jumps at my wrists as I limp across the room. Even though I brought her what she wanted, I didn’t do it willingly. She had to trap me, trick me. “How’s Orbai?” she asks once I’m settled beside her.
“Orbai?” The question is so unexpected, I let out a breathy laugh. “She lives.”
“Praise be to the Sky King.” Ghoa kisses her fingers and holds them up to the heavens. “I’m so sorry I hit her. You must know it wasn’t intentional. I understand why you ran—I don’t blame you for that. What I don’t understand is why you chose to stay away. Why you’ve been helping the Shoniin. I’ve seen the reports, and theonlyway so many deserters could flee the war front is with divine help—if someone were to, say, shield them with darkness….”
I take my time, weighing my options. Do I tell her I was blackmailed? Forced? Or do I tell her about the horrors at the war front?
Which she undoubtedly knows about—like the shepherds.
“I know you were angry with me,” she continues when I don’t speak, “and you had every right to be. But how could you betray me like this?” Her voice wobbles—quiet and raw and bare. “I’ve loved you like a sister. I’ve dedicated my life to your training and upbringing. I’ve saved you so many times: from the ashes of your hut, after Nariin, again at Qusbegi, and I offered you this chance at reinstatement. Is a speck of loyalty too much to ask in return? Don’t I deserve the same show of faith and forgiveness? Do you know how it feels to watch you choose a criminal over me?”
Ghoa has cried exactly one time since I’ve known her—when she cut me down at Nariin—so when she looks away and stifles a sob, it’s all I can do not to throw myself at her feet. My eyes glaze with tears because I am always the source of her pain. And because she’s right. I haven’t given her the same concessions.
But it’s not because of Temujin.
“I didn’t choose traitors over you,” I say, reaching for her hand. “I chose thepeople—after seeing the atrocities at the war front. Ghoa, they’re starving and emaciated and untrained. They’re perishing by the thousands.”
“Because Temujin is depleting our ranks! And stealing our food and cannons!” She flings my hand away, and it hurts more than a targeted blow. “How can we be expected to win the war against Zemya when our efforts are divided? When we’re fighting our own citizens?”
“You know it’s more than that,” I say. “And you’ve been offered a solution—a compromise. But you refuse to accept it.”
“What compromise?” Ghoa demands. “I’ve heard nothing of a compromise.”
“We must be honest with each other if want to get anywhere. If you wish to be a true hero, put aside your prejudices, unite your imperial warriors with the Shoniin, and make a true stand against Zemya. Help the shepherds survive the great freeze and find ways to counteract the wool and meat shortages. Turn the king’s attention away from his next conquest and to the injustice in the Protected Territories. There’s so much good you could do, so many people you could help.”
“Is that what you believe yourbenevolentTemujin was planning to do? That he would swoop in and save us all? Fix everything?” Ghoa slams her palm against the arm of the sofa, and the fabric stiffens with frost. “He has deluded you, Enebish! I understand that he let you play at being a warrior, and I can only imagine how good that must have felt after two years at Ikh Zuree, but it’s a game. A trick. I don’t know what he’s actually planning, but—”
