The flight to Caspador provided Zayne with too much time to think.
It was all just too much.
Zayne underestimated how well the Phaedra knew him and how many steps ahead the emperor strategized. By pushing Kira to hate him, he revealed that he cared about her enough to put on this act.
If Zayne learned anything in life, it was never to try to beat the Phaedra at his own game. Never. The emperor schemed in ways that Zayne could never conceive of. Not many in the empire could. That was why he needed to keep Kira away from him, because he couldn't stand to dig his way inside of her and tear her apart.
Then again, the Phaedra expected him to distance himself from her and accounted for it by forcing them together. Was there any hope of escaping his trap?
And if there wasn't, then what about Zayne's plan to take his father's position and destroy the regime? What if his entire life played right into the Phaedra's plans?
Dread filled the marrow of his bones.
Perhaps the most universal and deeply ingrained experience of every person in the empire, from the highest to the lowest ranking individuals, was the feeling of helplessness. The Phaedra not only held absolute power but also outmatched all those who fought against him. People responded in different ways to this, many by capitulating or convincing themselves that everything was fine. Others fluctuated between resisting and hibernating from their rebellion. Few dedicated their lives to the rebellion.
He didn't blame anyone who was unable or unwilling to fight a hopeless war.
If only he could travel back to the times before the reign of the Phaedras and beg the people not to trust those with power so easily. Not to sell their morals and freedoms for the false promise of security and greatness.
But even if he could go back, no one would listen. They had the history of the world—the collapse—embedded in their hearts. If that testament failed to deter a person from marching to their own ruin, what could?
Zayne wanted to believe it was possible to change people and avert the endless cycle of war and tyranny, but he never held onto much hope. Someone like Kira believed it. She believed it enough that she might make it possible. That wasn't Zayne, though.
By the time Brock and Zayne landed, he worked himself into a particularly foul mood. His friend often jested or tried to pull him out of the anger, but this time the other man offered him space, likely recognizing the severity. They didn't speak until they were traveling to secretly meet with the only ally Zayne trusted to help with Kira.
Ashantae Reed, a former captain in one of the deadliest militias in the empire. They once lived in the anarchy of the north, putting up some of the greatest resistance to the empire he'd ever seen. But those days were long gone, just like Ashantae's militia. His father had seen to that personally after their militia captured Zayne and his comrades.
He helped Ashantae escape the wrath of the High General. Now his friend lived in Antor, the kingdom bordering Caspador, where the Phaedra focused his most deadly assaults. Despite it not being Ashantae's home, they gave everything to the people of that country.
If anyone could help them derail the Phaedra's plans for the Followers and Kira, then it was Ashantae. His partnership with them began in blood, and it wouldonly ever be severed by blood. He trusted them with his mother's safety, and that was not something he could say about anyone except for Brock.
Ashantae proved their character after discovering the violent interrogation of Zayne and his squad. In the end, they saved his life and the lives of every soldier who escaped that room alive. For that, his friend lost everything.
A knot hardened in his chest.
“You're sure Reinard masked our location well enough?” Brock pulled beneath the covering of the tree line a mile out from their destination.
“Yeah. Don't worry.” He struggled to keep his mind in the present. “We'll be fine.”
Zayne and Brock hiked to the cabin that Ashantae and their wife, Imani, rented for today. Meeting in a third location provided the most security to all involved, but he remained diligent every step of the way. Once they reached the secluded cabin, Ashantae stepped into the doorway.
His friend wore the same dark pants and tank top they always fought in, with the matching jacket likely thrown on the ground inside, knowing them. Thick scarring twisted their shoulder and toned triceps from the airstrike that nearly took their arm two years ago. Instinctively, he always scanned Ashantae for new scars, never sure what piece of themself they may sacrifice for the people of Antor next.
This time, he didn't see any marks he did not recognize. Everything about Ashantae looked the same as a year ago, from their closely shaved head to the silver wedding band they wore on a chain around their neck. Ashantae grinned widely and kicked the door open more.
“Imani,” they called, “the boys are here.”
Brock ran ahead of Zayne and scooped Ashantae into a hug that lifted them off their feet. The two laughed and squeezed another before Brock continued past them into the cabin.
By then, Zayne slowed to a stop right in front of Ashantae, meeting the deceptively kind eyes of one of the most dangerous soldiers he knew. “You're not dead,” he said.
They nodded, grin crawling again. “Neither are you, kid.”
Zayne smiled back and clasped their shoulder to grab them into a hug, except the sound of running froze them both. Imani squeezed past her partner and plowed into Zayne, nearly knocking the wind from him.
He laughed low at how tightly she wrapped her arms around his middle, and he patted her back. “Hi, Imani.”
“Don't.” She jerked her head back and glared at him. “I know exactly how close you two came to dying. We will not act casually about it. Ashantae keeps getting into trouble, too.” One more fierce hug, and then Imani released him. Her long twists fell back over her shoulders. The edges of her hair lay slick against her tawny skin in ornate swirls. “You all will be the death of me. All of you.”
