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A series of snickers lifted from the pews, and Kai twisted to see even more priestesses there now, their long sweeping dresses shuffling as they clasped their fingers over their mouths, hiding grins. They looked him over, bringing his attention down to the maidens’ cloak he wore.

He ripped it off immediately and tossed it over a pew. When the girls continued giggling, he cleared his throat and marched down the hall toward the room Geovani had pointed to. His cheeks were warm, but he refused to fan them in front of the priestesses. He stopped before the door where a sign outside written in the Adriel alphabet said: HEVA. He tilted his head, wondering why the High Priestess told him to hide in her ward’s room, of all places.

Maybe she really didn’t expect Heva to come back. Maybe she didn’t expect Ryn to come back either. Maybe Kai was crazy to even hope he’d see his cousin again after where she went.

After he’d learned Ryn was sentenced to prison, Kai had gathered information on the Mother City inmates. He’d calculated the exact sort of criminals Ryn was up against in there. It was a shock to him when he’d discovered that Heva, the dominating Folke girl Geovani had raised, was inside the prison too.

He pushed the door open and came inside to find a narrow bed with a neat blanket, a bedside table with some Adriel books, a half-melted candle, some folded clothes on a dresser, and a few silver beads; the kind he vaguely remembered seeing laced through Heva’s hair.

He closed the door behind him and sealed his eyes shut, reliving that moment by the river when Theo had told him he’d surrendered. After everything.

How was Kai to stay here, hiding among the priestesses? Didn’t the High Priestess know the danger she was putting herself in by having Kai in her midst? Didn’t she realize if she was discovered hiding a wanted man, she would not only be exiled from her position in the palace, but she might also go to prison herself? Didn’t she know the sorts of things that happened in prison?

Kai dragged his hands down his face. He wasn’t sure if he could do that to an old woman, even if she was strange. And he had no idea how to behave in a temple full of young women—especially if they didn’t want him to keep his dagger. Who would protect them if the Folke came, which was increasingly likely at the rate Adriels were being arrested? Who, if not Kai?

Something itched in his ear. But when he twisted his finger inside, nothing was there.

8

XERXES

One hundred and sixteen.

It took Division One a full day to reach the oasis. The oasis was a bittersweet discovery: green palm trees, melons, lush plants, and even a deep blue pond, things Xerxes forgot could exist in the miles of pale sand that made the desert. As soon as they reached the oasis, half the division collapsed in the shade of the palm trees and messengers were sent out to bring the two nearest Per-Siana divisions to add to Division One’s numbers.

Tents were set up quickly, and men plunged into the deep, rock-walled pool to bathe. It was the first moment of bliss Xerxes had experienced in months, and everyone was in slightly better spirits after they were clean. The water did nothing to remove his bright violet ink though; the marking practically glowed in the sun like a light of its own.

He’d kept one eye pinned on the desert behind them the whole journey, expecting plumes of smoke and chariot-riding warriors to sneak over the dunes. But no red armies or white-skinned figures in hoods came for him.

So, he attacked.

The small B’rei Mira army in scarlet by the salt cliffs didn’t see Xerxes coming.

When Division One and their new Per-Siana army counterparts flooded the cliff and trapped them in, the B’rei Mira unit was overturned, just like Xerxes planned. Enemy chariots were tossed, horses stolen, weapons broken. Per-Siana men patted each other on the back, and scribes wrote of the events that had taken place for their reports. Everything happened the way Xerxes meant for it to.

The report of victory, though small, was sent out across the desert in the hands of Per-Siana messengers.

9

RYN

The morning came with rumbling in the distance, the desert-dragon breathing gray clouds against the land and stealing all blue from the sky. Ryn stared across the flat bed of crisp, toast-coloured sand at a line of B’rei Mira warriors in red linen kilts, some with brass breastplate-sized pectorals and wrist amulets, others with cloth headdresses. Horse-drawn chariots stretched across her vision in impressive numbers, the warriors standing in them rolling whips in their hands. They whispered to each other in the B’rei Mira language.

Rain began pattering over the desert, hitting Ryn’s face mask with a soft melodic sound. Yusuf vomited down the line and Burn Division Twelve released moans of disgust that mixed in with their prickling nerves.

Ryn rolled her shoulder, adjusting the armour Heva insisted she wear. Her flesh was covered in dried sweat beneath the gold plates that had glowed like fire in the morning sunrise when she first put them on. The fresh, dim overcast brought relief to her warm body now, the cold rain sliding down her neck, soaking her hair. She only wore the armour to remind her men of their first victory, to ensure that even in a dire situation, Burn Division Twelve might believe victory was possible with the God Original.

And they needed that reminder today. Because today, it was a dire situation.

Last night, Bastone got a command for Burn Division Twelve to rush to Burn Division Thirteen’s aid; another division from the Mother City prison. Ryn’s division had grabbed every supply Liothin Karimi had gifted them and fled over a vast expanse of flat desert, but by the time they crossed the sandy sea, Burn Division Thirteen was already wiped out.

Ryn avoided looking at their bodies tossed into a heap beside the thick line of B’rei Mira warriors all clapping their spears and curved blades together in an intimidating ruckus. She recognized the beige Mother City prison garments, but the bodies were too far away to see faces.

She dropped her gaze to the shallow waves of ground between her and the B’rei Mira army who’d just annihilated four dozen Per-Siana citizens. Not a single B’rei Mira man looked injured after what was probably a short fight. They didn’t even wear helmets now, as if they wanted Burn Division Twelve to see the smirks on their faces.

Ryn glanced toward the dunes where Bastone and the other young Per-Siana soldier watched from a safe distance, crouched behind a sand pile, arrows nocked and aimed at their own people.

Ryn wouldn’t think about them. She drew her sword; a long, beautiful thing Liothin had presented her with at the bonfire. She gazed at the sparkling silver of the blade as rain crashed over it and turned it slick, and the glittering handle of gold with a single blue gemstone. It looked more like an art piece than a weapon; something that belonged up on a wall, not in a desert battle.