“No,” I groan as I gain my feet, knowing my resentment is unfair. My expectations were too high. It was naïve to think the Chotgori would charge into battle against Zemyan sorcerers when they were weak and traumatized from the ore mines. When they hardly knew us and had no reason to believe we would succeed. It’s a moot point besides; we still managed to save the gods without them. And if the Lady of the Sky can forgive them, I should do the same. I’m trying to do the same. I don’t want to reconstruct the fortress around my heart. I don’t want to let Kartok wound me anymore than he already has. Which is why I stitch a smile on my lips and plod across the room to join Serik, hoping I look contented. And hoping, even more, that I truly feel that way in time.
“Would it help if I told you the Chotgori brought you a gift?” Ziva appears behind Serik. I don’t know if she’s been there the entire time, hidden in the wisps of darkness that still respond to our call—though, they grow fewer by the day—or if she just bounded up the steps to join us.
I chuff out a laugh. “What could they possibly bring me?”
“If I tell you, it will ruin the surprise. Come on.” Ziva takes my hand and practically drags me down the stairs. Bouncing and giddy, even as her bandaged wounds continue to seep and dark exhausted circles hang beneath her eyes. She’s no longer a girl but not yet a queen. Caught between worlds, like so many of us. Hopefully, now that the war is over, she has time to find herself in both.
When we burst out into the courtyard, I squint skeptically at the long line of travelers until my gaze lands on a cart in the middle of the procession, on top of which sits a crude cage that holds the world’s most beautiful golden eagle.
“Orbai.” I choke on her name. I hadn’t let myself hope. I presumed the Chotgori would kill her after we disappeared into the realm of the Eternal Blue, the way Kartok was forcing her to behave. But she’s here, rumbling into the city, and I don’t know what’s flying faster, my legs or my heart.
I wrap my arms around Ziva and hug her tight. Then I elbow through the crowd, gaze fixed on my eagle’s flashing yellow eyes. Ears attuned to nothing but her high-pitched shriek as the cart clatters over ruts in the road.
Keep your head. Temper your expectations. Prepare for the worst,the logical part of me insists. But love cares little for logic. And faith cannot exist without hope. It’s probably wrong to beg for more after all of the miracles the First Gods have already performed, but I send a silent plea up to the Lady of the Sky anyway. Because this is the only thing I’ve ever asked for that’s wholly for myself. And because I know She cares about these seemingly small requests. She’s my mother and sister in every sense of the word.
I throw myself against the crude bars of Orbai’s cage, crying her name, wishing I could squeeze myself through the slats and bury my face in her feathers. Orbai lets out a deafening shriek, and the man pulling the cart trips and curses me. I ignore him. No one exists beyond me and my eagle.
“Skies, I’ve missed you,” I gush. I slip my fingers through the cracks and burst into jubilant tears when she doesn’t attempt to bite them off. But my joyous cries morph gradually into heartbreak because she also doesn’t hop closer or click her beak. She doesn’t gnaw on the bars of the cage, trying to reach me. She stands there, as aloof and guarded as the day the trappers brought her in off the grasslands and committed her to my care at Ikh Zuree.
Tears slide down my face. I don’t know if they’re happy or sad. I never seem to know what I’m feeling anymore. Orbai is alive. And no longer under Kartok’s influence. But she’s no longermine, either.
I walk alongside the cart until the caravan comes to a halt in the center of the square. The travelers scatter to procure food and baths, but I remain there, beside my eagle. I can’t bring myself to part from her. As I sit there, speaking in soft tones and letting her smell my fingers, watching her eye me curiously, I decide to focus on gratitude, rather than bitterness. This isn’t the reunion I wanted, but it’s better than the worst I feared. It’s a starting point. A new beginning. And like the city of Sagaan and the Protected Territories, and even Zemya, all will be rebuilt with time.
Serik and I aren’t invited to take part in the official peace negotiations—something he can’t stop grumbling about, but I’ve never been so relieved. Let the kings argue and angst over how to manage their unruly people. I’d much rather hide away in the treasury or fly off to the stables, where I’ve converted an empty stall into a makeshift mews for Orbai.
“You’ll prefer this,” I tell Serik as I slide the barn door open. “It’s so quiet and peaceful.”
Except the barn is neither quiet nor peaceful at the moment.
Ivandar paces the center aisle, muttering and pulling at the crown of seagrass resting atop his white-blond curls. He jolts when he spots us, as if we caught him pilfering the royal coffers. “What are you doing here?”
“What areyoudoing here?” Serik asks with a mischievous smirk. “Aren’t you supposed to be counseling with the other leaders?”
Ivandar groans and leans against the nearest stall door, soiling his seafoam green suit.
“I thought you wanted these responsibilities …” I say, venturing closer.
“I do.” The prince sighs. “But I didn’t want them immediately. And not at my mother’s expense. She isn’t coming—she isn’t strong enough to journey from Zemya. According to our healers, she collapsed at the time of Kartok’s demise and didn’t rise for five days. And she has no memory of the past eight years. Her attendants say she mumbles and talks to walls. They say she sings strange songs and strokes her neck and laughs at nothing.”
“Honestly, you’re lucky if that’s the worst of it,” Serik says with an exaggerated shake of his head. “Can you imagine Kartok sifting around in your mind foreightyears?”
I shoot Serik a glare, tempted to pinch his ear and drag him away like the abba used to at Ikh Zuree. “I’m sure your mother will return to herself soon,” I tell Ivandar, even though I’m sure of no such thing. But I refuse to accept anything else.
Danashtiwillcome back to Ivandar because I need Orbai to come back to me.
“But what if she doesn’t?” Ivandar presses as he squints through the barn door, trying to hide the wetness pooling in his eyes.
“Then you’ll lead your people,” I say simply. “You’re more than capable.”
“But am I ready?”
“Stop dithering and focus on what you can control.” Serik presses his palms against the prince’s back and shoves him out the door. “If you want to honor your mother and those who suffered and sacrificed, do it by becoming the best damn emperor Zemya has ever known.”
Ivandar peers over at Serik, a bemused expression crinkling his usually harsh features.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Serik demands.
“Because you sounded just like Ghoa.”
