I’ll only have one shot.
He reaches into his robe. I force myself to make a tiny whimper, even though it kills me to give him that satisfaction. “Please, no more hot-spring water,” I beg.
“Oh, water’s at the ready, if we need it, but thanks to your brilliant suggestion, I’ve decided to tackle this quandary from a different angle.” He flicks his wrist and shards of wood rise from the floor and reform into a chair. His attention to detail is so meticulous, there isn’t a single fracture to show it was ever broken. Once he’s settled, he produces a thick leather volume from his vestment. The book is old and ragged, and the stale smell of dust tickles my nose as he thumbs through the pages.
“Can you tell me what this is, Commander?” Kartok angles the book toward me and taps on a picture of a tall, helter-skelter pile of stones. It looks like it could topple over at any second, with all of the ribbons and bottles and trash stuffed into the cracks. It’s uglyandblasphemous—one of the shrines to the First Gods where travelers used to pray and worship. They’re unmistakable and, thankfully, gone. The Sky King tore them down, making the grasslands far more beautiful.
I’m not about to cooperate, though, so I hum and cock my head. “Rocks?” I say after a long moment.
“Don’t toy with me, girl.” Kartok scoots closer and wags the book in my face. Like I knew he would.
I squint at the picture for another long moment. “Some sort of religious relic?”
“Legends claim it’s a gateway to the land of the First Gods. Have you ever seen one?”
“I don’t know…. Maybe a long time ago? But you can’t honestly believe—”
“Where?” He leans even closer, perched on the edge of his seat. Almost close enough.
“I don’t remember. I was a child. And they’ve long since been destroyed.”
“Allof them?”
“Yes, all of them. We haven’t worshipped the First Gods in generations.”
Kartok blinks as if I just pronounced myself empress of Zemya. “If you don’t believe in the gods, how do you explain your powers? It’s like denying the hand attached to your arm.”
I don’t know why he’s so upset about this—he doesn’t worship the Lady of the Sky and Father Guzan either—but the reason doesn’t matter. When I see an angry purple bruise, I jab my fingers into it.
“For someone who has dedicated their life to fighting Ashkarians, you know nothing about our beliefs,” I say calmly. “We stopped worshiping the First Gods when we realized they weren’t dead or ignoring us—they never existed to begin with. My Kalima power comes from within me.Iam a god. Which is why there’s nothing you can do to take or diminish my powers.”
The long lines of Kartok’s body pull taut and he leaps from his chair. Diving at me.
Finally.
I thrust my hands forward and heave against the ice block in my chest, pressing harder than I ever have before. Digging deeper than I did on the icy buttress. Raging even harder than I did on the plains of Nariin, when I summoned Standing Death. I have to account for my body’s lingering weakness. And it doesn’t matter if I burn completely through my power. Kartok will kill me if I remain here.
The surge of ice that explodes from my palms is spectacular. Horrifying. Thousands of razor-sharp spikes careen toward the generál, and for an instant his face slackens with shock. Fear glazes his demon eyes. His hands move to shield his face, and I scream with murderous glee. But then the spears inexplicably sail past him—throughhim—evaporating into mist. Just as they did the first time I attacked him.
No.
It isn’t possible. Kalima powers have always been stronger than Zemyan magic.Always.
I reach into my core again, grappling frantically for more ice. But I am a quiver without arrows. Completely magic-barren until my power rebuilds.
Ifit ever does.
Kartok squats in front of me, his face rearranged into a smirk, as if he knew my attack was futile. But I saw the pulse of shock and fear in his eyes.
“What did you do to my power?” I demand. “And how?”
“I may not be able to strip your power, but if you use it freely, there’s nothing stopping me from collecting it and repurposing it.”
“That isn’t possible.”
“Isn’t it?” Kartok’s iceberg eyes practically glitter. “This prison cell is axanav—a pocket world of my creation, in which I’m able to collect and store your power. Since you’re not feeling cooperative, I have no choice but to proceed without you. If the stone gateways are destroyed, I must forge another path to the home of the First Gods. Your power will be most useful for that. Just as Enebish’s power was key to taking Sagaan.”
My reeling mind slowly untangles his words—and the meaning behind them. The only reason a general advances into enemy territory is to conquer it—to dethrone the current ruler and place your own ruler in their stead. But Kartok can’t honestly believe he can depose gods. And he said Enebish’s power was key to taking Sagaan … not Enebish herself.
