I cough and droop back to the boggy ground. It feels like handfuls of wool have been shoved in my ears. Unfortunately, it’s not enough to block out the shepherds’ rage.
“You’re completely out of control!” Lalyne rants.
“They’ll come for us now.” Iree tries, and fails, to gain his feet. “You’ve condemned our families to death!”
“Ziva’s starfire was unstable,” I say desperately. “It could have obliterated us. I had to counteract the threat….”
My voice trails off as the words register:I had to counteract the threat.
It’s exactly what Ghoa said to me at Nariin.
I press my cheek into the wet sand and take big, gasping breaths.
“Her starfire didn’t look any more unstable thanyours,” Bultum says.
“I can’t believe you’d rather sacrifice these innocent people than give me a chance,” Ziva spits out, her voice razor-sharp.
“That isn’t it….” I drape my arm over my face, as if blocking out the horrors will change what happened. “It had nothing to do with you, Ziva, and everything to do with my eagle.”
It’s the truth. And the exact wrong thing to say.
Iree’s eyes do that bulging thing again, coming even closer to bursting than they did over the stolen rations. Which seems like such a trivial squabble now. “The eagle?” He points at the empty morning sky. “You sacrificed us all for abird?”
“No, that came out wrong.” I cast Serik a pleading look, begging him to step in and defend me like he always has, but he continues staring off into the desert, his brow furrowed and jaw tight. As if he’s angry. Or disappointed. But how can he be? He’s the only one who knows what Orbai means to me. And it truly was the safest option. Ziva’s dangerous and untrained.
“We should have known better than to follow Enebish the Destroyer!” The shepherds continue to hound me. “Add a thousand more lives to your death count!”
I should stay quiet—nothing I say will help—but I can’t take their derision and mistrust and ingratitude for another skies-forsaken second. “Ididn’t want to come this way!” Angry words dart from my lips like a colony of agitated bees, stinging everything in sight. “Iknewthe Shoniin would be watching this road. And I warned you. But, once again, no one trusts my judgment.”
“For good reason!” Ziva flings her hand at the sky, where ghostly strands of smoke still stain the blue.
I laugh bitterly and turn away, furious that they could be so obtuse, exhausted from constantly defending myself, and overwhelmed by the horrible possibility that there’s a parcel of truth to their accusations. Despite my good intentions, my efforts alwaysdoseem to result in the loss of innocent lives. I am Enebish the Destroyer no matter what I do.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, my voice small and breaking. But no one answers. I don’t know if it’s because they didn’t hear me or because they’rechoosingnot to hear me. Either way, I give up and direct silent pleas to the Lady and Father instead. They’re the only ones who might take pity on me now.
Forgive me. Strengthen me. Show me what to do.
A lightning bolt of clarity doesn’t strike, and answers don’t miraculously appear in my mind—as they do when I’m writing in my Book of Whisperings—but while I pray, I feel warm, steady arms wrapping around me. Giving me the tiniest nudge. Helping me up off the ground.
“We need to go,” Serik finally says with a tired sigh. “We don’t know where the Shoniin and Zemyans are camped, and we need to be within the walls of Uzul before they arrive.”
“I’m not going anywhere with her.” Emani, Bultum’s terrifying wife, levels a finger at me.
“Please don’t make this more difficult than it already is,” Serik pleads. “It’s easy to cry for blood when that blood won’t stain your hands. We’re all just doing our best. Including Enebish.”
The shepherds mutter and scowl and complain loudly, but they let me follow them back to where the rest of the caravan waits—to hundreds of additional people who will be just as furious with me.
I decide now is not the time to mention the even bigger problem they all seem to be overlooking: King Ihsan will never welcome us into Namaag. Not if he knows the Shoniin and Zemyans are coming for us.
No one speaks to me, or even looks at me, for the rest of the day. Which isn’t so different from before. I prefer it, in fact. It’s quieter, easier, better. Or it would be, if I didn’t have to watch the shepherds praise and coddle Ziva. As soon as we set off into the marshes, they sucked her up into the center of the caravan, petting her hair and offering her water, taking a sudden interest in her story, as if her wayward starfire saved them singlehandedly.
If they want to applaud someone for misplaced bolts of starfire and rash and dangerous decisions, it should be me. But she’s the hero and I’m the monster, no matter that they’d all be dead if Ziva had been leading them from the start.
My waterlogged boots catch on a protruding root, and as I crash to the unforgiving path for what feels like the millionth time, an unexpected thought seizes me: Is this how Ghoa felt when the Sky King began addressing his missives to me? When the Kalima flocked to me, instead of her, for advice? When the crowds in Sagaan cheered loudest for my power?
Of course, I would never maim Ziva or frame her for a massacre, but chills overtake me, despite the much warmer air of the swamp. Where is Ghoa now? What’s happening in Sagaan? I want to know, and at the same time, I don’t. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t part of me that hopes she suffered a horrific death. But if she’s dead, that means Kartok and Temujin succeeded in taking the capital. And the thought of their scheme proving victorious, and knowingIhad a hand in it, makes me nearly as sick.
There is no good option. No positive outcome.
