“Flood the air with cold and strip them of their disguises,” I tell Ghoa.
“Gladly.” She flexes her fingers, but before the air fills with cold, a horn blares—a low, humming drone that’s unmistakable.
A kuzu horn. Used only in Verdenet—to summon soldiers to battle.
Goose bumps sweep over my entire body as it blares again.
Ziva drops the darkness. The ribbons slide through my fingers as well as she shoves through our caravan, screaming King Minoak’s name.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
GHOA
NOTHING SHOULD SURPRISE ME ANYMORE. BUT THE UNIVERSEor the First Gods or whatever force is commanding this continent saw fit to upend my world.
Again.
I stare, dumbfounded, as the kings of Verdenet and Namaag stride toward us, flanked by scores of Namagaan soldiers in vibrant orange uniforms.
“They came.” Enebish’s voice is a warbling tremor.
“They came!” Serik whoops and flings his arms in his loud, irritating manner. After which, he kisses Enebish’s scarred cheek and lifts her into an embrace that nearly sends them both tumbling over the side of the sled.
It’s overblown and exasperating, but Enebish smiles up at him—her cheeks flushed, her gaze tender—and reaches for his hand. Their feelings for each other have been nauseatingly obvious since we were children, which is precisely why I made a point to wedge myself between them. I wasn’t about to be the odd one out. Not when I brought them together in the first place.
But there isn’t a sliver of room left between them anymore, and not because they pushed me out.Ipushedthemaway.
I push everyone away.
“What’s happening?” Ivandar asks. “What does this mean?”
“It means we did it!” Enebish exclaims. “Before coming to Chotgor, we tried to convince the Namagaans to rise with us against the empire and Zemya, but there was an unfortunate incident with Temujin and we were cast from the marshlands.”
“It’salwaysTemujin’s fault,” I mutter automatically, and the others laugh. The sound is surprisingly satisfying.
“Between Chotgor, Namaag, the shepherds, and hopefully the Kalima,” Enebish continues, “we’ll easily oust the imperial governor from Verdenet. We can reclaim our independence and rally against Zemya.”
Enebish is still holding tight to Serik. I can’t look away from their interlocked hands. Can’t stop myself from wondering how it’d feel to have someone standing by you through your darkest moments. Especially if that someone wasn’t commanded to be there, butchoseto be there. Choseyou.
Ivandar awkwardly clears his throat. “You mean, your plan will stand a chanceifKartok doesn’t succeed in obliterating the gods….”
The jubilant mood dies like the quick slash of a saber through the neck.
“Thanks for that,” Serik spits. “You couldn’t let us enjoy thistinymoment of success?”
“We can’t lose sight of the greater threat,” Ivandar insists.
It’s such a backward scenario, the Zemyan heir warning us about his own generál supreme, I laugh. Everyone stares at me, but I can’t stop. It feels like the permafrost and the glaciers beneath it are melting under my feet. The entire world is sliding, and I can’t get my footing.
“Do you think the kings will agree to join us to the Kalima’s rendezvous point?” Ivandar asks.
“They’ll have no choice.” Enebish tugs Serik toward the advancing kings.
I want to run in the opposite direction. I personally ousted these men from their thrones, I systematically exploited their countries, and now they’re joining with people I knowingly enslaved and forsook. I am the common enemy. The one thing they all share.
It reminds me of a joke that warriors tell at the war front—if you can’t pinpoint who’s smelling up the encampment, it’s you.
I am the stench. A fact I’ve always known but refused to acknowledge. Because acknowledgment requires responsibility. And responsibility requires change.
