A wide, toothy grin crinkles Kartok’s face. “Not quite yet.”
Without a word of explanation, he opens the tunnel and sweeps out of my cell, leaving me on the floor in a lake of my own blood.
My hands drift cautiously to my neck, but there’s no jagged wound. No scar, even. My fingers quickly peruse the rest of me, but there isn’t a single new scratch.
Was it all an illusion?
I clutch my throbbing forehead and shut my eyes.
I no longer know what’s real. I can’t trust my own body.
With a growl, I slam my fists against the ground and gasp when they splash into the pool of blood. Slowly, I bring my dripping hands up to my face and lick a finger, just to make sure.
My throat may be intact, but my blood is undeniably real.
Why would Kartok slit my throat then heal the wound?
And how in the name of the Sky King is it possible?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ENEBISH
“ITHOUGHT YOU’D BE MORE EXCITED TO SEE ME,” Temujin calls in a wounded voice.
I stumble back before my mind can command my body to stand tall and strong. To meet Temujin as an equal.
“Perhaps you were hoping to be greeted by adifferentfriend?” He whistles and Orbai dives from the canopy, streaking toward me and the shepherds, who scream and cover their heads. I stand my ground, willing her toseeme, begging the Lady and Father to open Orbai’s eyes. But she tucks her wings and bares her talons, ripping out a clump of my hair when I don’t duck fast enough. My fingers touch the throbbing wound as she circles back to Temujin.
“How strange …” he marvels. “It doesn’t appear she missed you at all….”
Chanar and Oyunna chuckle on either side of Temujin, and the laughter spreads through the rest of the battalion—at least a hundred deep. So many faces I once considered friends. And even more I don’t recognize, with pale hair and eyes and skin. The true faces of the Zemyans who masqueraded as Ashkarian warriors.
“Stay back!” Pillars of flame rise from Serik’s palms, and he takes a bold step forward.
“Ah, Serik, my favorite monk,” Temujin drawls. “Such a relief to see you alive. I believe I already had the pleasure of experiencing your new abilities when you set fire to thexanav.” His voice takes on an edge, and that’s when I notice the angry burn marring his neck, and his ragged hair, singed shorter on one side.
“That was just atasteof what I’ll do if you come any closer,” Serik warns.
“I see you and Enebish have the same policy when it comes to your powers,” Chanar yells. “Attack first, ask questions later. Spare no mind for the innocent.”
“None of you are innocent!” I shout back.And neither was Inkar,I remind myself as her visage rises to haunt me: the metal from the obliterated Sky Palace gouging her side, her smiling eyes and warm praise, defending me even as she died.
“That may be true, but there’s no denying these people’s innocence.” Temujin motions to the shepherds, who have retreated several steps. “It’s a pity you dragged them through so much needless suffering. They would have been safe and well had you stayed in Sagaan.”
The shepherds look from me and Serik to Temujin and his Shoniin. As if there’s any question who they should trust.
“He invaded Sagaan with the Zemyans—ourenemies!” I bark at them over my shoulder.
“You’re much safer here than in a fallen city or freezing and starving on the grazing lands,” Serik adds.
Temujin clucks his tongue and ventures closer, winding through the panicked sheep. “Enemiesis such a polarizing term. Just because people have opposing goals doesn’t make one side noble and the other inherently evil. Time passes, circumstances change. Someday you may find your goals suddenly align, as ours and the Zemyans’ do now—we wish to be freed from the tyranny of the Sky King, and so do they. We wish to coexist peaceably, with freedom to worship as we please, and so do they. I like to think that we’re all allies instead.”
“Just because we all oppose the Sky King does not make you an ally,” I say. “If you’re a friend rather than foe, why did you come for us? Did Yatindra coordinate this with you?”
“I don’t know anyone named Yatindra. I simply received an anonymous note informing us that something we’d lost was hiding in the marshlands. And if we waited patiently, it would deliver itself into our hands. Look, here you are.”
I scoff. Yatindra never accepted King Minoak’s decision, and she never intended to pray with me. She feigned an apology to lure me down to the sheep pens, knowing I’d fall into the hole she’d gouged. Knowing the animals would escape and lead us to the waiting Shoniin. The worst part is, she’ll get away with it. I’ve been so suspicious and distrustful, the shepherds and Namagaans are much more likely to believe I’m casting undue blame than to deem the supportive sister of King Minoak and devoted wife of the vice chancellor capable of such treachery.
