But it’s the only option.
Our only hope of escape.
If I can lead the Kalima to safety, we can regroup. Retake Sagaan. I’ll be heralded as Ashkar’s greatest warrior, despite all of the obstacles, andpeople,who stood in my way. I’ll be their savior—the commander who refused to back down after unspeakable tragedy.
“Stand aside!” I cry, fighting my way back to the window. I grip the sill and hiss as the protrusions of glass sink into my palms. My fingers slip as my blood wets the stones, but I close my eyes and envision how the blue marble buttress fit against the wall. A perfect seal. Then I re-create the arch, but instead of an impossibly thin and intricate adornment, I fabricate a rudimentary slab that’s twice as wide as the original. It’s practically a highway. If my warriors can’t make it across, they don’t belong in the Kalima.
Behind me, the angry shouts fall away.
“King of the Skies,” Varren whispers as they watch my creation take shape. The bright bursts of ice slashing through the black are strangely beautiful—like ghosts, dancing across the sky.
“Go,” I croak out. My nose is bleeding. My hands are shaking. The effort of speaking is too much. A small fracture forms in the center of the arch. I have to grit my teeth to smooth it. “Now,” I pant, sweating with effort. But still they hesitate.
Only when the hall door slams open and boots vault up the stairs do the Kalima move.
Bastian looks at the buttress, then at me, his gaze heavy with respect and perhaps a twinge of remorse.Good.He ambles onto the ice and the others follow. With every stomping boot, my energy flags. My vision swirls like blood in water.
Hold on. Just a little longer.
But what if I don’t have longer? The cautionary tales we use to frighten new recruits aren’t entirely false. I watched Enebish’s mentor, Tuva, turn to dust during the Battle of a Hundred Nights, when we conquered Chotgor.
Varren and Weroneka mount the bridge last, just as the Zemyans crash into Papá’s office. Ululating whoops and battle cries fill the room—sounds that have haunted my nightmares for the better part of ten years. I shake my head because I still don’t understand how they marched to Sagaan so quickly. Or why Enebish is aiding them. I watched her rescue Temujin. I know she joined forces with the Shoniin. But the Zemyans are here, attacking us with her night power. Which can only mean one thing:
She’s even more treasonous and deceitful than I realized.
When Varren and Weroneka are halfway across the bridge, I release the windowsill and try to pull myself onto the buttress. But my legs are shaky and my eyes are bleary. When I look down, there are two windows and two buttresses and I can’t tell which is real. The Zemyans surge across the room, smashing Papá’s desk and rending every ribbon and medal.
“Varren!” I shriek. “Help me!”
He turns, his eyes even wider than they were at the sight of the Zemyans—Ineverask for help.
“Please!” I cry as I drag myself forward.
From the safety of the adjacent building, the other Kalima warriors yell something I can’t make out.
Weroneka looks back at them, but Varren keeps staring at me.
Crushing hands close around my shoulders and yank me back inside the treasury. I scream and kick and reach for my cold, but there’s nothing left. I gave every drop of ice to the buttress. I grapple for my sword, but my arms are jelly and the Zemyans easily trap them against my sides. I stare at my battalion across the shadowy distance. Faces I have known for years. People I’ve risked my life for. They owe me this. Ashkarian warriors never leave a comrade behind. Especially not their commander.
The Kalima bark at Weroneka and Varren again, and each word jabs my stomach harder than the Zemyans’ fists: “Melt. The. Bridge!”
Varren and Weroneka exchange a faltering glance. It’s light enough now; they could wield the power of the sky without misfiring and hitting homes or bystanders. The entire Kalima could batter the Zemyans with wind and rain and lightning until I’m free.
But they don’t.
With a grim nod at Weroneka and a fleeting look at me, Varren turns and sprints to safety. Weroneka follows, her smoldering hand melting the escape routeIprovided.
As the buttress falls, my heart falls with it.
No one looks back as the Zemyans wrestle me to the floor.
And no one lingers to hear my screams.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ENEBISH
IFORCE A SMILE AS THE LAST FEW SHEPHERDS DUCK OUTof the cave and into the net of darkness I hurriedly knit. My stitches are loose and clumsy, the blanket lopsided and unwieldy, allowing hooves and wagon wheels to occasionally flash into view. But it’s the best I can do after our grueling journey from Sagaan and the weeks I’ve spent starving, bickering, and spying on the ungrateful and unreliable shepherds.
