“We never should have followed you!” an unseen voice grumbles.
“We’ve lost everything!” several more proclaim.
“We’re going to die.”
“So many are dead already!”
Suddenly I’m surrounded by seething faces. Everywhere I turn, there’s more. Shouting and snarling and spitting. A boot strikes my lower back. Another jabs my chest. I gasp, like the fish flopping vainly in the muck, washed from their streams by the raging cannon water.
“I was trying to help,” I babble incoherently. “I was trying to trust—”
“We should kill her and drag her body back to Uzul,” Emani proclaims.
“Maybe the Namagaans will reconsider admitting us if she’s no longer a threat,” Bultum adds.
Tears tumble down my face, and my fingers itch to swipe them away. To hide every vestige of weakness and put on a brave face—the face of a warrior. But I ball my fists and let the drops slide off my chin. I let the shepherds see them—seeme—for the first time since we met: ashamed and terrified, but trying.
It’s useless.
The mob comes at me with twice as much fervor. Hands shackle my wrists and stretch them painfully to either side. Someone presses on the back of my head, forcing my face deeper into the squelching mud. When I try to scream, sludge fills my mouth and clogs my nose. I feel like I’m back at Ikh Zuree, beset by the hateful monks. Only, this is even worse because Serik and the abba aren’t here to stop them.
I squirm and kick as white spots burst behind my eyelids. My head feels like it’s going to explode. I spread my fingers, grasping for the darkness, but my hands are too full of mud. My body is too frantic for air to work properly.
I am going to die—at the hands of my allies.
My flopping becomes weaker and weaker. “I’m sorry,” I say with my last gasp of breath.
All at once, the pressure releases. My body feels as light as the floating lanterns in Sagaan, and as the distorted bursts of light recede, Serik’s perfect freckled face takes shape. He’s standing over me, arms outstretched, heat billowing from his palms.
“Stand aside!” Lalyne booms.
Serik shakes his head.
“Don’t make us turn on you,” Iree warns.
“Because we will!” Bultum joins Iree, standing shoulder to shoulder.
“You have no reason to turn on either of us!” Serik argues, but the shepherds’ bitter laughter cuts him off.
“We have every reason!” Azamat jumps into the fray. “People are dead! Our animals are dead! We’ve been cast from Uzul without clothing or supplies, which means we’ll all perish soon, thanks to her erratic actions.” He points emphatically at me. “She will never be content. She can’t stop meddling and lurking and spying, and look where it’s led us!”
“Enebish has made mistakes,” Serik agrees, and even though his voice is diplomatic, it stings. Because it’s true. I’ve made so many mistakes,toomany, but it’s no longer out of suspicion and stubbornness. I’m trying to learn and change—it’s just always at the wrong time.
“But we’ve all made mistakes,” Serik continues. “Her actions weren’t erratic. She did exactly as we asked and put her trust in the Namagaans, and they betrayed her.Weare the ones who didn’t listen this time.Weare the ones who forced her to doubt her intuition, stay silent, and fall prey to another trap when her concerns were more than justified.” He gestures to the flooded swamp.
“How do you know she didn’t plan this?” someone demands.
“Why would I?” The words bubble up on a surge of indignation. I even manage to hoist myself onto my elbows. “That’s absurd!”
“Because we weren’t heeding your plan,” Azamat accuses. “You could sense we didn’t want to leave the marshlands to fight against the entire skies-forsaken continent, so you decided to force our hand.”
“I didn’t!” I cry at the same moment Serik proclaims, “She wouldn’t.”
I glance up at his fierce expression, those blazing eyes, and my heart squeezes with gratitude. I have never loved him more.
“What proof do you have?” Bultum asks. “How are you so certain that she was betrayed by the Namagaans?”
“I was there when she received the invitation to pray with Yatindra.”
