Serik wheezes and starts to argue. But then he bites his lip and looks down at his feet. A small grin tugs his lips. “For the first time in my life, I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
After Ivandar plods across the debris-littered courtyard to the tavern where the negotiations are taking place, I collect my eagle from her perch and take her into the abandoned gardens behind the scorched Sky Palace. Serik follows, settling beneath the larch trees to watch.
I’ve spent as much time as possible with Orbai, reforging our bond. In a way, it’s like time has unraveled and I’m reliving our early days together—except even better. Without the Sky King’s other birds, I can focus solely on Orbai and appreciate every little milestone.
Last week, I burst into happy tears when she flew to my glove for the first time. And every time she inches up my shoulder and clicks her beak in my ear, I can’t help but coo and praise her in a ridiculous, high-pitched voice.
I wait for Serik to tease me, but he doesn’t say a word. He just watches, a small grin on his lips. So much quieter than before. More introspective.
“What are you thinking about?” I often find myself asking him.
“What do youthinkI’m thinking about, in the face of such beauty?” He winks and points deliberately at Orbai instead of me. Though, I catch him staring at his palms when he thinks I’m not looking. Two nights ago, I spied him trying to start a fire by rubbing sticks—like the rest of us. Praying for divine help, for power that continues to lessen every day.
It’s during one of these quiet training sessions, on the fifth day of negotiations, that Ziva hikes up the hill to where Serik and I sit, watching Orbai loop overhead. Ziva and Ivandar have kept us informed of plans moving forward: all nations will have open borders and trade contracts and arrangements to send Ashkarians to Namaag and Chotgor and Verdenet for apprenticeships. So they can learn to hunt and fish and cast gold—actual trades by which to make a living, rather than sucking the resources from other nations. It’s a complete reversal; the very people Ashkar set out to “stabilize” are best equipped for success and self-sufficiency. They always have been.
“The council wants to see you,” Ziva says to me.
“Why?” I furrow my brow. “I have no place in these negotiations.”
I don’t want a place,I add silently.
“You’re obviously going to be punished …” Serik wags his eyebrows. “You led a rogue rebellion and committed dozens of crimes against each country and ruler.”
Ziva laughs and rolls her eyes at Serik. “They want to see you, too.”
He hooks his elbow through mine and gives me a surprising peck on the cheek. “Just as well. If they plan to take one of us down, they’ll have to take us down together.”
The entire council stands when Serik and I enter the small room at the back of a tavern. The space is unremarkable in every way—small and cramped with too many tables and benches, everything soaked in the smell of ale and oiled wood. Which would be pleasant enough if it didn’t make me think of another group that met in the back of a tavern and their tiger-eyed leader who helped me find the strength and confidence to fight, only to become my opponent on the opposite side of the battlefield.
King Minoak steps forward. Behind him, Ivandar sits between King Ihsan and his orange-clad guards and the Chotgori clan leaders. Varren and the other Kalima warriors round out the group—the closest thing Ashkar has to a ruler at present.
Minoak waits for Ziva to rejoin him before addressing me and Serik. “We owe you both an incredible debt. Through your bravery and determination, the entire continent is free and united for the first time in centuries. In order to maintain this peace, we have unanimously decided to retain a group of Kalima warriors—”
“But how—” I interject.
“You may not be able to wield the sky,” King Minoak speaks over me, “but the need for an elite group of warriors, comprised of members from each country, is undeniable. And we would like you, Enebish, to lead this new battalion with Serik as your second, if you’re willing.”
Serik’s hands tighten around my arm and he wheezes, “We are willing!”
But I can’t bring myself to immediately agree. My eyes feel as if they’re bulging out of my skull as I look from face to face. From Ihsan’s craggy complexion, to the golden skin of my rulers from Verdenet, to the blizzard-white Zemyans to the flame-haired Chotgori. All so different, yet not different at all. Not in the ways that truly matter.
My fingers drift to the traitor’s mark on my face, then down the old, purple scars on my arm. “You wantmeto serve as commander?”
The title carries so much weight and responsibility. So much longing and resentment.
“You’ve proven yourself more than capable,” Minoak says, smiling proudly at me. They’re all smiling proudly. Restoring my honor and position, exactly as I’ve always wanted. More than I could have dreamed.
But the words of an old Verdenese proverb fill my mind. One my mother used to sing when we were plagued by summer droughts or when Zemyans raided Nashab Marketplace, or when I complained about my chores and the sweltering heat:
The desert is the cruelest cradle. Sun and sand strip flesh from bone.
But bone can break and then rebuild, making man as strong as stone.
There’s no denying that the past few months have broken me. Shattered me into a thousand tiny pieces. And only one place is harsh enough and unforgiving enough to cleanse and harden and reshape me. To knit me back together, joining the dreams and aspirations I’ve always had with this new person I’m becoming.
“I’m most grateful for the honor,” I say, bowing to each respective ruler. “But I don’t wish to return to the army.”
“What?” The smallest flicker of heat surges from Serik’s body as he turns to gape at me. I can’t bring myself to look at him. I’ll be tempted to change my mind if I do. Anything to avoid the disappointment and betrayal undoubtedly haunting his eyes. But I can’t disappoint or betray myself either.
