I watch them, smoking their lichen pipes and drinking their steaming ale. They certainly don’t look like warriors who’ve recently learned of the fall of their empire. But they could be keeping up pretenses to fool the Chotgori, until instructions and reinforcements arrive.
Beyond the outbuildings, heaps of dark earth, taller than any building in Sagaan—including the Sky Palace—pepper the snowy expanse. At the base of every mound, a gorge is cut into the earth, wide and deep enough to hold an entire battalion of warriors. Never-ending lines of Chotgori workers file in and out of the pits, some pulling carts loaded with rubble. Others stoop beneath the weight of enormous boulders, which they unload into a massive circular furnace—the source of the oppressive black smoke. The Chotgori workers are so caked with dirt and soot, their vibrant red-and-gold hair is the color of clay and dried mud. Their skin is almost as dark as mine and Temujin’s, when they’re naturally almost as pale as the Zemyans.
A host of imperial guards hang over the railings and patrol the rims of the mines. Their numbers may be fewer than ours, but they are trained and well-fed and haven’t been traipsing through the bitter cold for weeks.
“How do we even begin to stop this?” Bultum asks when we rejoin the group and describe the conditions. “We’ll never be able to contend with that many imperial warriors.”
“Which is why you need the help of the Shoniin and Zemyans,” Temujin declares, earning him a swat across the head from Serik.
“If your ‘allies’ are so honorable and dependable, why haven’t they come for you?” Serik asks.
“I’m certain they’ve sent search parties,” Temujin fires back, but the defensiveness in his voice hardly suggests certainty. “They’re coming.”
Serik laughs. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, deserter. As for a way to take out the guards … that furnace is all the ammunition we need. We escort the workers from the mines under the cover of darkness, as Enebish did at the war front, then lure the guards close to the refinery and I’ll blow it to pieces.Boom!Laborers freed, adversaries vanquished, mines collapsed, all in one explosion.”
I slap my palm to my forehead. “Why do your plans always involve blowing things up?”
“Because it’s effective,” Serik proclaims. “And because I’m a Sun Stoker. It all makes so much sense now.”
I roll my eyes and give him a tender, but firm, shove. “The guards will notice if there’s suddenly only a trickle of prisoners carting rocks back and forth. We’ll be much better off entering the mines beneath the cover of darkness and rallying the laborers to rise against the imperial warriors with us, as planned.”
The group is quiet, fidgeting. Most of them won’t even look at me, and the few who do are shaking their heads.
“I know it seems more daunting now that we’re here, but with the Chotgori workers, we’ll outnumber the imperial warriors at least three to one. And they’re already armed with shovels and picks.”
“If it were only about numbers, the Chotgori would have risen against the imperial warriors long ago,” Iree exclaims.
“Maybe not.” I force my voice to stay strong with conviction. “Maybe they haven’t attempted to rebel because they feared they would just be recaptured and punished if they tried. But once they learn the empire has fallen, once they see all of us—”
“They’ll know there’s no hope!” Azamat calls, which earns several hysterical laughs and a death glare from me.
“Once they see all of us,” I repeat, “they’ll have no reason not to rise. It’s the best opportunity they could hope for.”
I twist my tunic through my fingers and hold my breath, waiting for at least one person to nod with reluctant agreement. To be the pebble that starts the ripple through the pond.
But it’s Emani who eventually speaks. “We’re going to die, aren’t we?” she wails.
And the group devolves into chaos.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
GHOA
FIVE EXHAUSTING DAYS LATER WE FINALLY CROSS FROMZemya into Ashkar.
There’s no jarring shift in the landscape to delineate one country from the other. In fact, the transition between the rocky, weed-littered fields to the lush, sprawling grasslands is almost seamless. As if the earth is somehow blissfully unaware of the chasm that exists between our people—the centuries of endless war. There aren’t even any sentries patrolling the border, since there’s no border to speak of. Not with the Zemyans occupying Sagaan and a good majority of our cities.
But I sense the change immediately—the welcoming tug of my country. My boots sink deeper into the dark soil. My spine straightens, lengthening toward the infinite sky. And the icy core in my chest, which has been steadily hardening since my escape, crackles with recognition.
I glance over at Ivandar, curious to see if he felt the shift. If his love for his country runs as deeply as mine.
But of course it doesn’t.
He’s plodding along, more concerned with rubbing his shivering arms and moaning through his chattering teeth than noticing the terrain—and it isn’t even cold enough to snow yet! I smirk and shake my head. It would be impossible for him to possess the same level of devotion when the foundations of Zemya are so inherently flawed. Yet a small, bewildering droplet of unease trickles down my neck because I can’t deny the quiet moments of humanity I saw in Torinth. Or how Ivandar’s healing ministrations eased the effects of the hot-spring water. Or the Zemyan prisoner who comforted the young Ashkarian warrior with her illusions.
Their magic is vile. Iknowthis. But what I know and what I’ve seen aren’t adding up. I can’t reconcile the Zemyans I’ve battled for the past twelve years with the Zemyans I’ve seen these past twelve days.
I stop abruptly, refusing to carry even an inkling of doubt into my country. “If Ashkar attacked first and your people were only acting in self-defense, as you claim, why did theycontinueto attack Ashkar after the initial battle?”
