I knelt by his side. My ruler’s lips were gray like the ash that had showered his skin. I swept it off his face and held his hand. I had no love for him; nothing I said would comfort him. And yet, for this moment, I wished I could do something to ease his passing.
His cheeks puffed with one last breath, and his eyes went hollow. He was the last of his dynasty, and with him passed the end of an era. He had been selfish and ruthless, but in a way, I understood. He had even been cruel, but when it came to his country and his people, he hadn’t been devoid of heart. Not like I knew the shansen would be.
When Khanujin’s father had died, the entire country had spent a hundred days mourning him. Every shop and home had covered its windows with ivory sheets to honor Emperor Tainujin’s death, and I had tied a white band around my sleeve as a little girl.
Khanujin would have no such honor.
The shansen’s men hoisted the warlord’s banner. “Long live the emperor,” they chanted. “May he live ten thousand years!”
To my surprise, the shansen did not puff up his chest with pride, nor did he spit on the emperor’s corpse, as I half expected him to do. Instead, while his soldiers celebrated his victory, the shansen circled me, his boots leaving indents in the dirt behind him.
Crimson veins glittered across the warlord’s amulet. I wondered how much blood he had promised Gyiu’rak in exchange for her magic.
“For one so devoted to her country, you do not seem to understand that A’landi’s future lies with me. I extend my invitation to you one last time, Maia Tamarin. Accept, and I will spare your family. Refuse, and they will die.”
The ultimatum resounded in my ears.
I did not succumb, but neither did I resist. “Where are they?”
The shansen tilted his head, and my father and brother were brought to the square.
I watched apprehensively. At first glance, I wasn’t sure it was them. All I saw were two men, one younger and one older, chained together, rice sacks over their heads.
“You don’t know them,” observed Gyiu’rak, the words cutting me like a knife. “You’ve already forgotten.”
Anguish gnawed at my heart. I shouldn’t have needed to see my father’s and brother’s faces to recognize them, but she was right. I did not know them.
A guard struck the back of Baba’s legs, and he cried out in pain.
“Do you recognize his scream, Sentur’na?” Gyiu’rak taunted.
I recoiled. I did not know the sound of Baba’s scream because I’d never heard it until now.
But I did know the sound of his voice. “Keton,” he uttered weakly when my brother tried to defend him. Snow-covered boots pinned my father and brother to the ground, and I heard Baba whisper, “Don’t fight.”
Slowly, the memory of Baba came back to me. Even now, under these terrible circumstances, he was calm. He was tender. At last I recognized the slight bend in his frail back, the defined knuckles on his hands—hands that had spent years teaching my own how to sew.
I recognized my brother, too. The way his heels rocked back and forth when he limped forward, the uneven cut of his pants—hemmed awkwardly by himself while he wore them—the elbows that jutted out whenever he was frightened or on edge.
I faced the shansen. “Free my father and my brother.”
Gyiu’rak snorted. “Or else?”
“Or else I’ll kill you,” I said coldly.
Gyiu’rak’s eyes flickered with amusement. Sharp tiger fangs protruded over her bottom lip, and as she stalked toward me, I could see the muscles swelling across her arms and legs. She made a point of dwarfing me. “I’d like to see you make good on that threat.”
“Don’t,” Edan said, touching my arm. “If you go down this path…”
He didn’t need to finish his warning. I knew what he meant. If I let Gyiu’rak goad me, I’d be surrendering to my demon’s desire for vengeance.
I would become like Gyiu’rak.
But how I wanted vengeance.
I whirled toward the shansen, ignoring Gyiu’rak. “Let themgo.”
“You try my patience, tailor,” he replied. “I gave you a chance to join us. You were unwise to dismiss it.” He inclined his chin at Gyiu’rak, whose eyes had darkened with bloodlust. “Kill them.”
