Then his lips are on mine and his hands are in my hair, and even though our clothes are muddy and dripping, I feel like I’m sprawled across the sand, baking beneath the desert heat. My mouth presses harder against his, somehow knowing what to do despite never having kissed anything other than Orbai’s beak. I’ve never felt anything like this. It’s like the euphoria at the height of my Kalima power combined with the comfort of a heavy wool blanket. I am completely exposed yet completely understood.
I break away to catch my breath, and Serik plants tiny kisses down my jawline, making me shiver. “Where did you learn to kiss like this?” I demand. “It definitely isn’t something they teach at Ikh Zuree.”
“I lived plenty of years before being banished to Ikh Zuree….”
“And I was there for most of them! Who else have you kissed?” I swat his chest playfully. “It was Rhona, wasn’t it? The cook’s girl. Don’t think I didn’t notice how you made eyes at her.”
He shakes his head adamantly. “My eyes have always been on you.”
I melt back into him, our lips moving in a rhythm that feels effortless but ravenous. Smiling against his mouth because I’m kissing Serik.
Finally.
He backs me up against the tree and my fingers curl into his collar, pulling him even closer. I want to stay like this forever—two blades soldered together—but a long, agonized moan makes us freeze.
“What was that?” I whisper.
“Probably just the shepherds.” Serik leans back in, but I shake my head and hold up my hand.
“It’s coming from the opposite direction. It almost sounds like crying…. Do you think there are other survivors still out there?” I squirm free of Serik’s arms and cast off in the direction of the weeping. The closer we draw, the louder and more animalistic the screams become. My toes curl inside my boots, and I have to force my feet to keep moving. I don’t want to find anyone else suffering because of my mistakes. But not finding them would be even worse.
I crash through a particularly thick jumble of undergrowth. “We’re coming!”
“Hurry! Please!” a shattered voice calls.
My legs wheel. My heart thunders.
I hack through the thicket and stop dead in my tracks. “You!”
Serik skids to a stop beside me and we stare up at a figure dressed in Shoniin gray, dangling from the gnarled branches like a broken kite. Golden hoops glint in his ears and jagged black hair flops across his face.
“I didn’t think you were the type to ‘hang around’ after a battle …” Serik laughs wickedly.
Temujin’s tiger eyes find us, and the horrified expression that twists his face is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in weeks. A ray of golden sunshine, slicing through the oppressive clouds.
“Can’t I catch a skies-forsaken break?” he mumbles up to the heavens.
But the Lady and Father ignore him.
As well they should.
CHAPTER TWENTY
GHOA
THEZEMYANSEA IS MORE VIOLENT THAN ANY OPPONENTI’VEfaced on the battlefield. More forceful than every Kalima power combined. The water advances in terrible, crashing waves that fling me back and turn me over. Every time I open my mouth to scream, salt water invades my lungs. When I try to get my bearings, it gouges my stinging eyes.
I have never encountered water like this.
And I have never felt so miniscule. So powerless.
The current sucks me out into the expanse of terrifying blue and green. My lungs sputter as the water smashes me lower and lower. My heart rate increases with the pressure—pounding in my wrists and throat and head. Booming against my temples.
Air, air, air!it screams.
But air won’t bring me glory. Only ice can do that.
I spread my fingers, reach into my glacial center, and pour all of my remaining strength into the swirling water. But the salty surge refuses to cooperate. It’s slow to freeze, and when I do manage to forge a branch of ice, the swells rip it from my fingers. Before I can fully freeze one wave, the next one dashes it to pieces. There isn’t enough ice in the entire world to harden this much water.
