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“What was that thing that entered our tent last night, Reza?” Xerxes asked as a physician dabbed his injuries with cream smelling of tea leaves and mild spices. The cut at his chest stung with soft prickles, but it was nothing compared to the dagger of unease in his mind. All morning he’d wrestled, wondering if he’d imagined the pure white skin and dark eyes of the intruder, if he’d made up his own version of what had really happened with the moving sand. He didn’t have the heart to tell his men about it. “I know you recognized that creature. Was it even human? Or was it something that crawled up out of the Dozakh?” He glanced over to find the General’s face ashen, the man’s drooping eyes gazing off at the desert where Xerxes had been looking. The faint squawks of a bird lifted in the distance, and Xerxes hoped his men would think to go hunt it before it got away.

His fingers traced over his chest muscles. He still hadn’t acquired a tunic after all the events of the night. Dried blood crusted down his abdomen in thin streams where two physicians tried to dab it up with cloths. They also tried scrubbing the ink off his neck, arm, jaw, and hands. Not a dot of ink came off, like it was made of celestial magic.

Magic. Xerxes had a whole army of skilled warriors in B’rei Mira scarlet to outmaneuver and a ruthless warlord hiding in the shadows, waiting for something Xerxes couldn’t guess.

Now he had to deal with magic too.

“Human?” Reza finally grunted a response. The burly man kicked the sandy floor. “I hardly know where they came from or what they are. Those beings are called the Vafat. Most who cross them don’t live to tell about it. They’re not regular soldiers.”

Xerxes studied the General, wondering how Reza knew of such spiritual things. He eyed Reza’s expensive-looking cape in particular, a rare kind of rich green silk that could have only come from one of the western provinces with the lushest dyes. Reza was the only soldier in the army who wore a colour other than the Per-Siana navy blue and silver. It was one of the first things Xerxes had noticed about him when the man showed up at the palace and insisted they have their pre-war meetings in the Temple of Eos instead of on the palace grounds.

Xerxes folded his arms. For someone who regularly pretended to sleep to avoid basic conversations, General Reza was an odd, mysterious man when it came to desert legends. “I’m not afraid of unusual, beastly creatures,” Xerxes said. He slid his jaw to the side, considering how ridiculous it would be if he was. “Why have we not crossed these Vafat before? And more importantly, why have I not been informed about them even once? This never came up in our preparation meetings before we entered the desert.”

Physicians milled about, stealing unsubtle glances at the King, not hiding that they were eavesdropping. At least the medical student volunteers were wise enough to keep their distance during a private discussion—a flock of them hovered by the far end of the medicine tent sorting apothecary bottles and boxes of healing herbs. Xerxes bristled. If these physicians had been this brazen back in Per-Siana, they would have been scolded for it, or worse. Everyone had relaxed too much out here.

“I think most men believe they’re just creatures of lore, not real beings.” Reza pulled a handful of his emerald cape around and fiddled with the threads. “They appear in old legends from hundreds of years ago. They’re even in fairytales.”

“But they found me, so they’re real. I want to know why they’re here.” Xerxes waved away a physician who returned with more curing creams. Xerxes’s whole chest was already a mess of white globs. He leaned back against the bedframe to let it dry.

Soldiers outside complained loudly about the lack of options at breakfast, and Xerxes’s gaze cut toward them.

“I’ve heard whispers these last years about Vafat sightings in the B’rei Mira capitol city, but I wasn’t sure what to believe until now.” Reza’s broad shoulders shuddered. “There’s something wrong with them, Xerxes. They can do incredible, horrifying things. Countless legends of their wrath prove they’re unstoppable. If…”

Xerxes glanced back at the General when he didn’t finish. A few physicians stopped what they were doing too, as if they didn’t want to set down a bowl too loudly and miss what Reza would say next. The whole tent held its breath.

Reza’s throat bobbed. He patted his belly, then he ran a hand down his beard.

Finally, Xerxes couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t care if the doctors were all listening. “Just spit it out, Reza. I want to know what I’m up against.”

The middle-aged man’s eyes were pale beneath his droopy eyelids. He raised them to Xerxes. “I’m worried that mark on your neck means they’ll return.”

Xerxes gave his attention back to the desert outside. He imagined something sinister coming over the dunes. Monsters of the Dozakh, the underworld. Beasts of legend that didn’t belong among mortals, ones that might send his men running, deserting this war, and leaving him alone. Now, Xerxes regretted having this conversation in front of eavesdroppers. “When?” he asked, voice quiet.

Reza shook his head, his beard catching on his leathers. “Ink only lasts so long. I imagine they’ll come before it wears off. A week at most, probably less.” He released a watery cough, holding tight to his middle. “Xerxes, I haven’t heard of anything as horrifying as the Vafat, and I never imagined we’d see one out here. Maybe you should think about going back to the palace.”

Xerxes closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath through his nostrils. He’d rather die than become the first deserter in Division One. “I want to retaliate,” he said instead, causing a nearby physician to gasp. Xerxes glared at the doctor who flushed, bowed in apology, and fled the tent.

Reza dropped his cape and put his hands on his hips. “Your Majesty, how can you be thinking of that right now? You need to think about yourself! You know what will happen to Per-Siana if something happens to you! You know the kingdom will fall the moment you’re…” The General bit his lips together.

Xerxes ignored the comment Reza almost made.

He threw his legs over the bedside and went to fetch a white physicians’ tunic off a folded pile. It was tight when he pulled it on, but it covered him well enough. Someone spilled a box of herbs at the nearest table and the whole tent filled with a tea-like fragrance.

“Our reports yesterday said there’s a small B’rei Mira army hiding by the salt cliffs. I was going to avoid them, but I think we should send a message.” When Xerxes realized every physician and medical student in the tent had stopped what they were doing to listen like he was giving a speech, he waved them away. Only after the tent was empty did he turn back to the General. “If the Vafat are monsters of legend, then I’ll be a monster worthy of them. I’ll ensure they know they can’t push me around.”

“Xerxes, even in history, no one has been able to stop the Vafat. Not your grandfather, not your father, not even our ancient Weylin heroes. All our kings knew better than to go near them. Maybe it’s time we face the facts.”

Xerxes scowled at the General. “What facts?” he demanded. “The fact that we’re outnumbered? The fact that Alecsander will take Per-Siana?!” Reza blanched when Xerxes said the last one. “What facts, Reza? We’ve been doing everything despite the facts thus far. If you want to stare the facts in the face, this army is going to lose the only shard of hope we have. Our armies across the desert are barely hanging onto their hope as it is—if you start sputtering nonsense like that, we’re done for. The men need hope. Not facts. They need a win. Not facts.”

A long and dreadful silence followed. Faint smells of sweet breakfast rice and vegetable skewers wafted into the tent, mixing with the scent of the cream on Xerxes’s chest and the spilled herbs.

Then, Reza said the unthinkable. “Xerxes, are you forcing yourself to stay out here because of what happened at the palace during the Heartstealer trials?”

Even in the desert heat, cold rippled through the tent, finding the back of Xerxes’s neck and slithering up into his hair. Xerxes’s gaze sharpened on the General, a man who was getting old and looked particularly frail and easily breakable in this moment. “What. Did. You. Just. Say?” The clipped threat couldn’t be mistaken for anything else.

Reza’s whiskers ruffled as he exhaled loudly. “I heard about what happened during the Heartstealer trials, and the years leading up to it—with your mad rampages, and the rumours. I was thoroughly briefed on everything when I arrived in Per-Siana to accompany you out here. I know you’re upset about everything that happened at the palace, Your Majesty, but—”

“Stop talking, Reza.” The bite of Xerxes’s words was the snapping of a beast. He drifted over the sand, coming to his full height as he stood before the General. He realized his hands were balled into fists. The only thing missing was the cool watery feeling over his flesh, the greying of his skin, the twisted voices telling him to do dreadful things. “You were right. I’m in charge here, not you. Don’t ever speak about any of those things again without my permission.”