“And if shedid,” he relents, “she would at least know how to do it safely. Just think about it, En. We’ve nearly accomplished what we set out to do, and this could cement the alliance. King Ihsan has agreed to investigate our claims, but he’s much more likely to view the findings in a good light if we appear invested.”
I whirl around and poke Serik in the chest. “What happens when the Shoniin and Zemyans show up before Ihsan’s scouts return? We both know they’re coming; we don’t have weeks to wait. And once they attack Namaag, nothing we’ve said or done will make a sheep’s dung worth of difference. So I’d rather not waste my time. Or compromise my integrity.”
“Keep your voice down,” Serik growls, pulling me away from the homes and shops built into the enormous trunk of the tree we’re in. All around us, Namagaans bustle about the day’s chores, so he leads me down another bridge, deeper into the canopy, where there are fewer ears to overhear. “We don’t know if or when the Shoniin and Zemyans are coming, so we proceed with the plan until then. It’s our only option. And you’ve required so many sacrifices of me and the shepherds, it would be nice if—”
I slam to a halt and gape at Serik, the bridge swinging erratically around us. “You don’t think I’ve made sacrifices?”
“I never said that.”
“That’s sure how it sounded….”
Serik drags his fingers through his hair and puffs out his freckled cheeks. “Burning skies, En. Of course you’ve made sacrifices. I just meant … Never mind. We should be celebrating the fact that King Ihsan agreed to consider our proposal, not fighting over Ziva. I’m sorry,” he adds as I resume limping across the bridge.
“I’m sorry too,” I grudgingly admit. “I just hate feeling like I’m disappointing you. I wish I could be the courageous mentor you want me to be. But I can’t.”
“You’re everything I want you to be,” Serik insists, reaching for my hand.
But the words sound as hollow as the flute reeds whistling in the swamp below, and I shove my hands into my pockets.
The shepherds don’t utter a word of complaint when Serik announces we’ll be staying in Namaag for a time. In fact, their joyous cries and jubilant hugs are nearly as excessive as when we first arrived in Uzul. It bothers me—even though I’m just as relieved. We desperately need the rest, and it’s a miracle King Ihsan is considering our proposal. But as I watch the shepherds gleefully unpack their trunks, unease burrows beneath my skin, hollowing me out like a brood of termites feeding on these ancient trees.
The need for my Book of Whisperings is bone-deep—a twisting pain in the center of my chest. With it, I could ask the First Gods directly what to do, if we’re still on the right path. I’d even be grateful for something as simple as a prayer doll. Anything to soften the razor edges of doubt. But since my Book of Whisperings was lost on the winter grazing lands, and my prayer doll burned in Kartok’sxanav,I have to find another way to commune with my gods.
“I’m going for a walk,” I tell Serik.
“Do you want some company?”
“Do you mind if I go alone? I just need a moment of quiet….” I nod at the shepherds, pressed all around us.
“Go. I’ll be here when you get back.” He smiles, but it’s thin and watery and doesn’t reach his eyes.
Guilt nibbles the edges of my heart but not enough to stop me from fleeing the barracks.
Outside, the sun shines directly overhead, and warm light sifts through the canopy of leaves, dappling my skin and shimmering across the wooden platforms. I pull the humid air into my lungs and let it out slowly, feeling instantly lighter as I strike out across the nearest bridge. I don’t have a particular destination in mind, and I don’t know where anything is located in this treetop kingdom anyway, so I drift from platform to platform, past bustling markets and quieter clusters of homes. The Namagaans eye me curiously. A few offer tentative smiles or nod politely in passing, but no one attempts to talk to me. I’m so grateful for the reprieve—to not be summoned or scolded or shunned—I could cry.
After wandering for a good hour, I find myself standing in front of a long, boxy building that’s unremarkable save for the bundle of aloe leaves hanging over the door. The plant is expensive and rare, since it grows only in Namaag, so only the best imperial healers can afford to carry it on the battlefield.
I smile up at the bright green parcel. The Lady and Father always know just what I need. They have led me to the infirmary. To my king.
If Minoak is awake, he can fix all of this. He will be more forceful in his negotiations with King Ihsan and ensure we march on Verdenet before the Shoniin and Zemyans arrive. Seeing him alive and well will remind the shepherds that we never planned to hide out in the marshlands while the rest of the empire crumbles.
I limp up to the door, more eager than ever to see my king, but as I reach for the handle, the door swings inward and I stumble into a sobbing mess of a woman. Her turquoise dress is rumpled, the makeup across her eyebrows is smeared, and she catches herself against the door frame, as if her legs are too weak to support her weight.
She looks so disheveled, a long moment passes before I realize it’s Yatindra.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone was leaving,” I say. “Are you okay?”
Is Minoak okay?I try to peer around her into the infirmary.
Yatindra glowers down at me, nearly a full hand taller. “My brother still hasn’t stirred, so no, I am not okay.”
“Oh.” I look away, trying to mask my disappointment. “I was hoping he’d be much improved by now. We all were.”
She gives a harsh little laugh. “Don’t pretend he matters to you.”
“What are you talking about? He’s my king. Of course he matters.”
“He matters inasmuch as you can use him. You don’t care about the actual man beneath the crown.”
