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Ryn cleared her throat. “What about the rest of my division?”

“I don’t own many weapons—I’m more of a philanthropic artist—but I’ll give your division whatever I have. And,” Liothin waved a hand toward his stone palace, “feel free to use my baths! I’ll feed and clothe you, and tonight we’ll feast and celebrate this victory!”

When she was young, Ryn had watched other girls pass by on glass carriages from the window of her house. She wondered about their starlight gowns and the celestial revelries and the dances they would attend. She’d imagined what it might be like to wear those girls’ gowns, to wear the colours of nobles. To wear gold—even though she knew that gold wasn’t for commoners like her.

With washed, brushed hair for the first time in months, Ryn twisted her damp locks into a long braid and draped it beside her neck as she listened to Heva holler back and forth with the men around a raging bonfire. Meat was roasted and platters of bread with sugar and dried fruits were carried out from Liothin Karimi’s palace. Everyone gobbled it down in a near-savage way, too hungry to care about manners. Heva raised her glass and offered toasts, keeping up with the men like she was back in the Folke training building. Her raspy laughter rang over the grand fire where joy turned the night into a bright place long after darkness had settled over the desert. Servants played lyres and flutes, and fresh platters of roasted meat kabobs and sweet breads were brought out as soon as one was emptied. Even Yusuf roared in laughter as the men exchanged wild stories. The two other women in Burn Division Twelve sat quietly, like Ryn.

Faro shared that he had a family in the ninety-ninth province of Per-Siana. They cut off ties with him when he was arrested for stealing in the market to feed his poor neighbours. He blushed and looked away when he explained how he was dragged out of his noble house before witnesses, and how he hadn’t seen his family since, nor had he received a single letter over the years.

After his confession, one of the quiet women, Dolem, spoke up with a soft voice, calming the noise around the fire. She’d been part of the Adriel choir from the fifteenth province Adriel Priesthood Temple. The whole choir was arrested for singing in the streets, and the Temple was given to the Weylins, now used as a training centre for revelry dancers. She used to write songs, but since being arrested she suffered from a constant headache that prevented her from doing so.

When the conversation shifted, Yusuf told of his wife turning him in to the Folke, believing him to be unfaithful even though he wasn’t. But Ryn kept her gaze on Dolem instead. Dolem reminded Ryn of other Adriels she’d crossed as a child, friends of her mother’s. A timid, middle-aged woman with thin limbs and short stature, thrown into this mess even though anyone with eyes could see she wouldn’t survive here.

Bastone sat quietly beside Ryn. His navy cape and armour were gone, same with his belt of weapons. He said nothing at first, just sipped on a drink in silence, probably relieved he hadn’t had to shoot a fellow Per-Siana citizen in the back today. After a minute, he leaned toward Ryn, his minty fragrance tickling her nostrils along with the sweet drink on his breath. “I’ve sent our senior soldier away to report on what happened here this morning, but honestly, I don’t think anyone will believe him. I wouldn’t have believed it unless I’d seen it with my own eyes, Commander Adassah.” The firelight made the scar on his chin glow.

“Would you really have killed me today if I’d tried to run?” she whispered, remembering that moment on the dune where her insides screamed at her to flee.

A long string of silence hung between them, badgered with the rising chuckles and shouts of the division. But finally, Bastone said, “Yes.”

Ryn swallowed and tapped the gold flute at her chest. The sand had grown cold beneath her toes, and the air was becoming too cool for comfort. It would be a difficult night trying to sleep in the desert winds without blankets. “And if I try to run away at the next battle, will you kill me then? Even after what’s happened?”

Another pause. Bastone set his drink down without a word. He stood and left, his dark leathers dissolving into the blackness of the desert. Ryn took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was answer enough. Orders were orders.

Men in high spirits sang and gossiped. Stars were beginning to show overhead in sparkling clusters. Ryn rubbed her forehead. It was dangerous to listen to these people, to pay attention to their stories when she knew she may have to watch them be killed—maybe as early as tomorrow. She wished she didn’t know Dolem was an Adriel, that Faro had been trying to save his neighbours, or that Yusuf had been wrongfully imprisoned.

It made her wonder why El would ask this of her. How was she to lead these people when she could hardly move forward herself?

“I don’t understand what you’re doing.” Her quiet breath was a rasp in the night wind. “But I’m going to do this with you, not for myself, but for them. So don’t you dare leave any of them behind,” Ryn finished.

El was silent. Maybe she was demanding too much.

Ryn knew that if she died out here, no one would miss her. Even Kai’s presence was long gone, like all his teachings were a faded memory that had left with the tide. He’d never know what had happened to Ryn or where she disappeared to. He probably had his own problems to deal with now if he was alive. He probably didn’t think about her anymore the way she thought about him.

But she wanted her division to live. After today, after hearing about Faro’s generosity and Dolem being arrested for singing Adriel songs, and even Yusuf being betrayed by the person he loved most, Ryn wanted them to make it, even if she didn’t.

7

KAI

The Mother City was dark and overcast for four days straight, turning the alleys into shadowy hiding places Kai was getting well acquainted with. His hood flapped around his face as he moved through narrow spaces, taking only the turns that would mark a path unnoticed by the new Folke patrols. The cobbled streets glistened with rain, hosting the muddied reflection of a priest who hadn’t been able to wear his emerald robe in a long time. Beggars slumped along the roadsides, sleeping, shivering, some crying silent tears for the future that wouldn’t change.

There were three times as many beggars lining the main roads this week as there were last week. At this rate, half of Per-Siana would be on the streets by the year’s end. The Intelligentsia had raised taxes, had raised food prices, had made homes nearly impossible to buy. The sacred temples across the city had turned into banking centres where ordinary citizens could apply for loans with high interest rates that only shuffled more money into the Intelligentsia’s pockets. None of the revenue was ever distributed back to the people. It all mysteriously vanished into special Intelligentsia-approved organizations while the Intelligentsia put up posters and hired heralds to speak messages filled with lies to further convince the people of their goodness.

But that was what happened when clowns were running a kingdom. In the end, everyone lost. The Weylin nobles who bought into the charade and endorsed the Intelligentsia could deny it all they wanted, could choose to see only the delusion they wanted to see, but they too would eventually run out of money. The leaders of Per-Siana didn’t care who starved, as long as they were still in control.

A loaf of bread hid beneath Kai’s cloak, gifted by one of the last Adriels he knew who still possessed a home. And that was only because the old woman lived on the outskirts of the city and had no neighbours to point her out. The bread had been warm when she’d handed it to Kai earlier. It was cold now; a stale lump against his side after he’d carried it all the way through the rainstorm.

Kai stepped out from the cover of the buildings, breaking into a jog over the open road toward a wide stone bridge over a gushing river. He scooted down a hill and came beneath the bridge where the rain could no longer reach him, and there he pulled the bread from beneath his cloak as he shook out his hood.

“I’ve brought food,” he said over the roar of the river, and three heads of young men half-sleeping against the wall lifted to greet him.

Theo climbed to his feet first. His hood was down, his hair wet. A defeated look filled his brown eyes that brought a rush of cold against Kai’s bones. “Kai,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” Kai lowered the bread back to his side.

Theo swallowed, then said, “They got Saturn.”

For the first time, Kai’s gaze darted to the faces of the other priests beneath the bridge, realizing Saturn’s wasn’t one of them. His throat thickened and he glanced off at the river. “What do you mean they got him?”