I raise my hands, inhale a frigid breath through my nostrils, and slam every morsel of hate and hurt and frustration against the block of ice in my chest. Frozen spears hurtle from my palms and obliterate the wall separating me from the Kalima.
The ice shatters as it hits the cave floor, throwing prisms of light across the crystalline walls. Everyone behind me screams, but I hardly hear them over the satisfyingplink-plink-plink—the final obstacle between me and victory falling away.
I arc my hands overhead to reinforce the walls so that the entire ice cavern doesn’t come crashing down on us. Then I step through the hole I blasted with a vicious grin on my lips.
There are so many things I want to say. So many quips I imagined crowing as I paraded into this den of traitors:
Surprised to see me?
Did you honestly think the Zemyans could hold me?
You knew I would come for my revenge.
But as the debris clears and their wretched faces come into view, I am once again left speechless.
Despite his mountains of muscles, Varren lies with his head in Cirina’s lap, a bloody bandage wrapped around his chest. Cirina drags a wet rag across his forehead, even though she’s in hardly better shape—gaunt and pale and emaciated. They all are. The Kalima warriors who are present, that is. There are less than twenty of them, and right away I notice Iska, Eshwar, and Bastian are nowhere to be seen. They could be out on a mission or procuring food, but judging from the sorry state of the rest of the battalion, none of them are in any condition to go on missions. Or mount any sort of counterattack.
We stare at one another in horrified silence, and the most absurd thought fills my mind:Perhaps it was a blessing to be abandoned at the treasury. Perhaps there is justice in the world after all.
But if this is justice, shouldn’t it fill me with satisfaction?
“Ghoa?” Varren’s voice is a crackle, and it cleaves my rib cage in two. We’ve rarely left each other’s side for eight years, and now he looks a breath away from death.
Finish him. He deserves it.
Save him. He deserves it.
The war in my mind rages as fierce as ever.
“Did you come to help?” Varren rasps.
“What do you think? She arrived with an army!” Weroneka’s voice is hysterical. She points at the rebels behind me, all of whom have fallen silent. And still. “Of course you’d be the one to thrive in all of this,” she snarls at me.
My arms drop to my sides. The words that crawl from my inflamed throat aren’t the bitter accusations I’d planned but a simple question. “What in the skies happened?”
“The Zemyans happened! They were everywhere when we emerged in the Grand Courtyard after leaving you,” Weroneka continues. “They were on us so quickly—they beheaded Bastian before I could even think to forge a blade of fire. With Enebish fighting on their side, we couldn’t call upon the power of the sky with any accuracy. We lost Eshwar and Iska before we were even out of the square. And Lizbet went back for her sisters in Sagaan and never returned.”
It feels like I’ve been stuffed into a chest plate five sizes too small. My lungs threaten to collapse. I can’t even summon a morsel of satisfaction over Bastian’s gruesome death, despite the insolent things he said to me in the treasury.
My entire body deflates. I tell myself it’s disappointment to have traveled so far and suffered so long forthis—there’s nothing gratifying about punishing warriors who have already been so thoroughly beaten.
Finally Enebish breaks the silence. “I wasn’t with the Zemyans when they invaded Sagaan.” She limps forward to stand by my side. The eyes of the Kalima grow wide, but none of them leap to attack. “The generál supreme, Kartok, tricked me and siphoned my power, whichhewielded during the siege. Think what you will of me, but I would never align with the Zemyans.”
“Then why is a Zemyan among you?” Cirina levels an accusatory finger at Ivandar.
“And why have you brought the Chotgori and Namagaans with you?” Weroneka asks.
On and on their questions pepper me, all boiling down to one.
If you haven’t come to punish us, why have you come?
Why have you come, Ghoa?
This is my final chance. I could forge twin blades of ice and force Ivandar and Enebish and Temujin to the ground. An indisputable show of my greatness. Proof I should be leading the Kalima—if there isn’t proof enough already.
But I glance at Enebish, standing beside me as she used to, my sister in arms and of heart. And at the kings and people from the Protected Territories surrounding me, lending their strength despite the freedoms I stripped from them. And at Ivandar’s bright eyes, brimming with something that looks like pride, even though my success is directly tied to his country’s failure. And I know I can’t betray them.
I’ve known it for a long time, if I’m honest.
