“Would you quit push—”
But Yassen held his finger to her lips.
“We’re exposed here,” he whispered.
He motioned for her to follow, and they weaved through the pillars and scrambled up a boulder, watching as the lights in the distance grew bigger. Shapes moved within the valley, but Elena could not make them out. She turned to Yassen and saw the color drain from his face.
“What is it?”
He did not answer. He did not need to, for she heard it then—the whine of a cruiser.
A soldier crested the stone slab where they had stood a few minutes ago. The cruiser’s metal hull shone in the night with an uncanny glow, and she spotted a winged ox stamped on its side. The soldier turned, studying the shadows. A long, jagged blade with two metal tongues hung down his side.
Elena breathed in sharply. Only the Jantari carried zeemirs.
Yassen gripped her hand and tugged. They sidled down the boulder as the soldier drew closer. For a split second, Elena thought he would jump off his cruiser and search the pillars, but then he turned and sped off to the south. To Rani.
Her hand tightened around Yassen’s.
“The city,” she whispered.
They crawled back up the boulder, and Elena finally understood what had been there all along—the Jantari army. After the scout, more cruisers zipped out of the valley, heading toward the capital. The cavalry came next: men dressed in navy, their zeemirs glinting in the darkness. Soldiers on metalboards flanked the formation, their faces as rigid as stone. Tanks brought up the rear. She watched as they crushed the scraggly brush that grew within the valley.
As they passed, the buzz grew louder, closer. Elena stilled as two large metal hovertanks came into view. Thick and blocky, they obstructed her view of the desert beyond. Three soldiers stood in the armored cockpit of each hull. The blue light of holos outlined their gaunt features while thick metal cables latched on either side of their temples. They moved in unison, as if they were one body.
When they were finally gone, Elena let out a shaky breath.
The Jantari were marching through her desert. But they weren’t just regular soldiers. Farin had moved past mutilating himself to turning his men into machines.Mother’s Gold, how will we beat them?Elena slipped down the boulder, all strength leaving her body.
“We should move,” Yassen said, but when he walked forward, she did not follow.
“Did you know?” Her voice was a whisper.
He stopped, his back to her.
“You knew about the Arohassin, but did you know about the Jantari? That they were coming like this?”
He turned around, and the regret in his eyes broke something inside of her.
She slapped him hard. His neck whipped to the side, an angry red mark blooming on his cheek. She beat him with her fists, kicking, tearing.
“How. Could. You!” She rained punch after punch, landing in the soft spots that she knew would hurt him: his belly, his cheeks, his chest. She should have killed him on the mountain. She should have shot him that night in the desert. She should have burned him the moment he stepped into the throne room.
He had taken her hand as he followed her through the Phoenix Dance. Held her gaze as she slowly unlooped her dupatta from his wrist. Stood by her side when they had burned Ferma together. Told her that he sawher.But when Saayna rested the crown on her head, and the fire took her father, he had watched it all, knowing what would come next.
When her fist slammed into his right arm, Yassen’s eyes widened, but he did not cry out. He took it wordlessly. It felt like hitting a dummy in the training arena. And at the look in his eyes, those damned, beautiful eyes—pain, grief—she slowly felt her fury simmer and die. Her shoulders slumped, and her fists fell limp against his chest.
“How could you?” she gasped, sagging against him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Blood spilled down from his broken lip. His good hand curled over hers. “I’m sorry. I wish I hadn’t.”
She shook her head. She felt suddenly tired and alone and useless, all at once.
“I couldn’t let you die on that mountain,” Yassen said. “I couldn’t deliver your head to the Jantari king. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
And hearing him beg, hearing him plead to her with his hand wrapped around hers, holding her as if without her, he could become adrift, something broke within Elena.
Because she knew that without him, she would be lost too.
