But the words don’t come. Theywon’tcome. My lips part, but my mind is slow and sluggish, almost as if it’s frozen. Patterns of frost embroider my vision.
Stay the course. It will serve you better in the end.
As improbable as that seems, I decide to trust myself. Trust my instincts. They’re the only thing that hasn’t abandoned or betrayed me.
“You assume incorrectly,” I finally answer. “I’m not returning to Sagaan quite yet.”
That makes the old man’s frown return. “Where will you go? If the capital is in such dire straits, shouldn’t you—”
“Do everything in my power to defend it. I assure you, I am. In the absence of the Sky King, I must coordinate the many arms of this war. I go where I’m needed most, which is everywhere at present. If you do not wish to accept this honor and promotion, I’ll find another general who’s more loyal to Ashkar. General Akiba would already be halfway across the steppes by now.”
General Akiba is the only magic-barren general whose name I do remember, and I only remember it because he’s a fool. Always bumbling and smiling merrily, as if he’s leading a dance troupe rather than a cadre of warriors. The idea that someone like Akiba could be more competent and dedicated to Ashkar rankles this grizzled warrior precisely as much as I hoped it would.
“We’ll be ready to march in ten minutes,” he barks.
That gives me ten minutes to change my mind. Ten minutes to slip over to the mines and assess the strength and numbers of the Chotgori. Thereareenough of them to outnumber these imperial warriors; Enebish was right about that. What I don’t know is how many miners and shepherds are equal to one trained warrior. At what point would the balance tip in their favor? I’m not about to start a battle I can’t win.
I nod at the general and raise my fist in the Kalima salute. “For the Sky King.”
“For the Sky King,” he repeats with a thump of his chest.
The ore mines are as quiet as I’ve ever seen them. Instead of the slow, thick trudge of Chotgori workers—staggering beneath the weight of their loads like the world’s slowest mudslide—only a trickle of people remain. They shuffle back down into the pit, where I assume Enebish and the others have taken up their “posts.”
I duck behind the refinery and smear the orange soot and dust all over my hair and face and chest to blend in. So I can see what my “new allies” are saying about me when they think I’m not there. And so I can slip away to rejoin the imperial warriors if that’s my best option.
The mine looks like an arena of sorts—crude steps made of red dirt and rock that narrow toward a bottomless central shaft. Like a sunken bull’s-eye, the size of a battlefield. I fall in line behind the workers, the air growing colder and wetter and the light growing dimmer and dimmer as we descend. Enebish and her little fledgling Night Spinner must be loving this.
The mine is twice as sprawling as the last time I visited, and the Chotgori workers are twice as slow. It takes us an eternity to spiral down one revolution. Long enough that I have no choice but to look at the people ahead of me—backs hunched and broken, arms and legs mottled with bruises. A little girl who can’t be much older than Enebish when I rescued her in Verdenet drags a mutilated foot behind her. She can hardly walk, yet the leather boulder straps are still fastened tight around her scrawny body.
It’s their contribution to the Unified Empire,I tell myself.We all must sacrifice. If they would have cooperated when we initially proposed an alliance, things wouldn’t be like this.But now these perfectly reasonable explanations leave me cold—and not in a good way. The maddening voice of the Zemyan prince won’t stop whispering in my ear, telling me the Chotgori were always going to be used like this, whether they resisted or not.
It doesn’t matter. They’re in no shape to retaliate. Not even if they outnumber the actual imperial warriors ten to one. Go back. You’ve seen what you needed to.
Before I can turn, Enebish’s voice echoes up from the depths of the pit. I don’t want to listen, but I have no choice. It’s like a splinter you can’t stop picking, even though you know you’re only driving the shard in deeper. How can she always sound so noble and impassioned? It makes my skin crawl with irritation—and jealousy, if I’m honest. People have always flocked to her earnestness. They happily followed her unassuming lead. She’s never had to resort to threats and coercion and terror to command respect, so she doesn’t know how hard it is for the rest of us. For those of us who have never been seen as anything but hard and heartless for simply going after what we want. For being ambitious.
“You can trust us,” she continues, her voice filled with certainty and hope. “We are citizens of the empire who were used and exploited like you. We’ve come to free you—from the mines and from Ashkar. We just have to wait for the actual warriors to leave Chotgor.”
“Spare us your lies. We’ll never be free!”
“The Sky King is dead. Sagaan has fallen!” Serik’s voice joins Enebish’s. “There’s nothing keeping you here anymore.”
Voices ping around the massive pit, and I don’t understand most of them. Chotgor was the last territory to join the Unified Empire, so fewer of them speak Ashkarian, but there are enough who understand. Judging by their tone, they’re not buying Enebish and Serik’s claims.
I chuff out a laugh. They were daft to think the Chotgori would drop their tools, cry tears of relief, and pledge their allegiance.
But then gasps sound like battle horns. Followed by a few actual screams—of shock, not fear. And I know what’s happening. What Ivandar is doing—peeling away their imperial disguises to reveal the true faces of the shepherds.
I reach the lowest level of the mine in time to behold the end of Enebish’s speech.
“You’re free to leave the mines and return to your homes. Or you can join in our fight. We’re headed north, to the Kalima’s rendezvous point, to warn the First Gods of the Zemyan threat. Then we’ll continue on—”
“The threat isn’t from Zemya!” Ivandar takes a bold step forward. “It’s from the generál supreme, Kartok, who doesn’t represent our entire country. Most of us want what you want—to retake our land and reclaim our lives. We are capable of working together—I used my Zemyan magic to free you. Let’s free the rest of the continent together!”
The whoops and tearful shouts start gradually, but soon it’s as deafening as one of Varren’s downpours. Everyone is hugging and kissing and praising the First Gods.
I could easily slip away. Sprint up the shaft and inform the imperial warriors. Lead them back to stifle this nonsense. Instead I retreat into the shadows and lean against the wall, hands pressed to my thumping chest. My eyes won’t look away from the celebration—this group of people who never should have come together but did—and I can’t fathom betraying them. Even if it would be in my best interest.
I don’t know what that says about my loyalty.
