“Youwere imprisoned in Zemya?” Serik says at last, looking at me with a dramatically cocked brow. “How did they capture you? Where were your loyal minions?”
Of course he’s the first to respond, and of course that’s the detail he latches onto.
Enebish remains much more focused. “You honestly couldn’t concoct a more believable lie? Neither of you care about the Lady and Father! You don’t believe They exist”—she points at me, then asks Ivandar—“and shouldn’t youwantKartok to succeed in avenging Zemya?”
“I don’t have to believe in your gods to want revenge,” I say curtly. “Kartok tortured me for weeks. And he’s trying to seize my power.”
It’s near enough to the truth. I may not plan on thwarting Kartok by protecting their old gods, but if that’s what’ll convince Enebish and Serik to follow me to the Kalima, so I can reclaim my position, so be it.
Ivandar shoots me an irritated look, as if he expected me to press my face to the earth and grovel at their feet.
Which is precisely what he does.
He bows his fair head, presses his palms together at his chest, and kneels as if praying. Or pleading. As if my cousin and former sister outrank us both. “Just because I worship Zemya doesn’t mean I want to see the Lady and Father deposed. TheycreatedZemya—They created everything. Surely there would be consequences if They perished. Please, don’t slow us any further by forcing us to engage with you.”
The shepherds murmur among themselves. I haven’t a clue if they’re believers like Enebish or if they’re loyal to the New Order, as the law decrees. And I suppose it doesn’t matter, now that the Sky King is gone. I try not to think about what it means, that a god on earth perished without consequence. Without a breath of acknowledgment from his land or people. Almost as if he were as ordinary as any one of these shepherds.
“You’re actually serious,” Serik guffaws, seconds away from laughter.
Enebish, on the other hand, looks skyward, and even though her lips don’t move, I know she’s praying for guidance.
The shepherds murmur and jostle, and it’s all a waste of time.
“Stand aside and let us pass,” I order. “Or … if you truly wish to be heroic … help us warn the gods and defend the continent from Kartok. What good will freeing the Chotgori do if the sorcerer brings the heavens crashing down on all of us?”
Several shepherds actually nod, but then a weak voice rasps from the rear of the group, “They’re lying!”
The low, cocky timbre makes every hair on my body bristle with contempt. But at the same time, it’s music to my ears. Another piece of the puzzle to restore my honor. Thefinalpiece.
Temujin.
The crowd of shepherds parts and everyone glances back at him, sitting in the snow. He looks utterly wrecked—hands bound to his feet, bruises mottling his face, and a burn blazing down his neck.
I love it.
I haven’t a clue what created this rift between Enebish and the Shoniin leader—the last time I saw them, she was willing to risk her life and destroy Sagaan to save him—but I’m positive I can use this fracture. Deepen it to suit my purposes. Just as I did with Ivandar and Kartok.
“I’ve been allied with Kartok for years.” Temujin’s voice gains strength now that he has an audience. “And he’s never mentioned anything about infiltrating the actual realm of the Eternal Blue or deposing any gods. Do you think I would have allied with him if any of these lies were true? I am a devout follower of the Lady and Father. Kartok wants equality. Magic for all. Which is in Ashkar’s best interest. There will be no more exploitation of the magic-barren. No reason to send warriors into battle at all…. Don’t forget who helped me raid the supply wagons to deliver you rations. And he was responsible for saving so many young, mistreated soldiers from the war front.”
“Spare us your lies. You’re anything but devout,” Enebish snaps back at him, her voice teeming with even more hatred than when she addressed me. It fills me with the tiniest flicker of satisfaction. Pride, even. She knows I was right about the deserter. “Howisthat magic he ‘gifted’ you?” she continues, limping back to loom over Temujin. “Why don’t you demonstrate your power? Use it to escape?”
Temujin’s eyes narrow, but he says nothing. It’s Ivandar, beside me, who speaks.
“Kartok offered you our magic?” He sounds amused rather than incensed. “And you actually believed he’d follow through?”
“He did! I drank your hot-spring water! I wielded her siphoned darkness and starfire!” Temujin juts his chin at Enebish. “Kartok vowed to give it to everyone who aligned with him.”
“Except you haven’t been able to access the magic again, have you?” Ivandar asks. Then he waits like a disapproving parent for Temujin to shake his head. “Zemya formulated Her magic to be incompatible with your bodies. It’s toxic to any Ashkarian who possesses Kalima powers and all but useless to the magic-barren. Partaking once doesn’t open the floodgates to Zemya, as it does for Her children. You must continually take it into your system, each time you wish to use Zemya’s power. But Kartok didn’t tell you that, did he?”
Temujin stares ahead at nothing, blinking furiously. “Why don’t you tell everyone the real reason you’re here,Prince Ivandar?” he finally explodes. “You’re not worried about the gods or the continent, are you? You’re here for your throne. Because your mother favors Kartok.”
“He’sthe Zemyan prince?” Enebish whips back around and blackness consumes the entire street, broken only by the wavering heat that rises like a fiery blade in Serik’s hands.
His control is impressive for a warrior so new to his power. It feels like something orsomeoneis openly mocking me.
“You’re right. I don’t want my country in Kartok’s hands,” Ivandar begins, but a flood of furious accusations drown him out. The darkness abruptly recedes to reveal Serik, Enebish, and every shepherd on the street surging toward us.
Icy white explodes across my vision, twice as bright as before, and I feel the distinct impression of unseen hands on my back. Shoving me forward.
