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“I’ll take Burn Division Twelve with me.”

Gasps of outrage flooded the strategy tent.

16

RYN

Earlier, Ryn caught Xerxes muttering numbers as he walked, ignoring everyone while holding up his fingers for calculations that left questioning looks in soldiers’ eyes. She’d concluded that Xerxes either didn’t realize, or he didn’t care what the men thought. And from what she knew of him, she guessed it was the latter.

Last night, she’d been determined to leave. She’d raced into the burn division tent, hands out to shake Heva awake. But as she stood there over her former guardswoman, watching Heva’s chest rise and fall in peaceful slumber, Ryn had backed away instead. What would Geovani say if Ryn tore Heva across miles of sand, forcing Heva to be labelled as a deserter and hunted down by her own kingdom?

“El,” Ryn had whispered softly into the harsh darkness. “I want to leave. Tell me how to leave before he figures out who I am.” She murmured it as she made her way back to her cot where her blanket was tangled into a knot, mimicking the disorder of her heart. “I don’t want him to find out I’m here.”

In the waves of slumber through the night, a warm breeze fluttered over her shoulders along with a voice that said, “You were made for more than running away. Rebuke the fear. Go forward.”

Now, as Ryn stood in the brightly lit strategy tent where army commanders scowled back at her with whispered objections, she wanted to melt into the sand. She should have run last night, regardless of what Heva, Geovani, or El might have said. At the very least, she shouldn’t have attended this meeting of potent wine, spineless tension, and confusingly present egos.

“I’ll take Burn Division Twelve with me.” It rang in her ears like clamouring warning bells. For a split second, she wondered if she’d only daydreamed the words.

But from the desk he sat on at the far end of the room, Xerxes stared at Ryn like no one else in the tent existed, waiting for a reply. Possibly knowing that she couldn’t refuse either way. It was what confirmed to Ryn once and for all that he didn’t care what his men thought about him. It was also what confirmed that he’d really chosen Burn Division Twelve for this task.

A small sound of disbelief escaped her, muted by her mask. Only a crazy king would choose a bunch of criminals to accompany him on an official political exchange. But Ryn gave a small nod to break off the stares of the complaining men around her. “Burn Division Twelve is ready,” she said.

Xerxes never would have asked if he knew who she was.

The King lifted from the desk, giving her a full picture of the glittering, sapphire-studded armour he wore today, along with a dark blue cape that perfectly matched his eyes. But most notably, Xerxes wore a frown. With the way he angled toward the tent opening, she expected him to run off and disappear without an explanation like he’d always done at the palace, but the flap shuffled and a young soldier in a pale blue messengers’ sash entered with a scroll. His furry eyebrows tilted inward as he handed the scroll to Xerxes.

“Your Majesty,” the young soldier rasped, quieting down the remaining mutters in the tent. The soldier glanced over at Bastone briefly, then back to the King. The glance turned something in Ryn’s gut. “We’ve just received news,” he said.

“Tell me,” Xerxes’s deep voice filled the space. He opened the scroll, his gaze falling upon it as a gust of hot wind entered the tent, rattling the papers inside and fluttering Xerxes’s cape behind him.

The messenger’s cheeks flushed. “It’s been confirmed that all the burn divisions the Intelligentsia sent into the desert have been completely wiped out,” he rasped, looking over at Bastone again. Then Ryn.

Dozens of heads turned toward the back of the tent. Heva’s small gasp filled Ryn’s ears, and the sand beneath Ryn’s feet teetered. She grabbed the corner of an end table so she wouldn’t lose her balance, and Bastone’s arm flew out, catching her shoulder and steadying her.

“Only Burn Division Twelve has survived, Your Majesty,” the messenger finished, quieter than before. “And the Intelligentsia has agreed not to form any more burn divisions at your request.”

Xerxes’s shoulders stiffened at the word ‘request’. His jaw flexed and he began rolling the scroll back up, but he paused, his deep blue gaze lingering on something in the report.

Heva glanced at Ryn through her perforated helmet visor. Divinities, Heva had been right. Ryn’s chest tightened when she considered the likely fate of those she’d come to care for had she not won the Fall Order.

The sound of a scroll falling to the sand pulled everyone’s attention back to Xerxes standing stone-still with an ashen face. He looked like he wasn’t breathing.

Before General Reza could ask a question, Xerxes threw aside the flap and fled the strategy tent, racing through the camp, his cape flailing at his back. The commanders leaned toward the opening to watch as he leapt over a boulder at the end of the path and disappeared behind a towering storage tent.

“Where is he going…?” General Reza squinted after him. A dark-haired soldier holding a crate of melons stood directly outside the opening, blinking in the direction Xerxes had disappeared. General Reza tapped his fingers against his belly. “Wait… is he going—”

“He’s going to the horses!” the dark-haired soldier finished for him, and the General grabbed the crate from his hands, dumping melons into the sand.

“Follow him, Joshua! Take every soldier you pass! Hurry!” General Reza’s raspy shout filled the air, followed by the soldier racing down the path, shouting orders over a collection of silver bells rattling on his belt.

A second later a horse broke away from camp. Ryn watched as Xerxes left behind a cloud of dust, his horse sprinting between dunes, his dark hair and blue cape vanishing into the desert.

Hours went by and Xerxes didn’t return. Neither did the men who went after him. Whispers floated around campfires, by the pools, seeped out from tents. Soldiers speculated that the King had abandoned the army. Some wondered if the Vafat marking had driven him crazy. Only a few clung to the belief that he was coming back with a solution to save Per-Siana.

Dinner was served in the feasting tent, but Ryn couldn’t take off her mask to eat. Burn Division Twelve nibbled quietly as they always did, apart from Kiran and Yusuf arguing about something unimportant. Heva folded some rice into a palm leaf and slid it into her pocket for Ryn to eat later. When the division decided to make a bonfire, Ryn took her leaf of rice and scaled the cliff walls around the oasis instead. She stood over the camp for a while, watching the desert. There wasn’t so much as a wave of dust lifting in the distance to indicate anyone was coming. Finally, she sat on a rock, lifted her mask, and ate. The seasoned rice was cold, but still better than the prison rice had been.

Even though the sunset was bright, Burn Division Twelve was drifting off to sleep when Ryn returned. Only a few were awake eating melons and playing games when Bastone charged into the tent. His hair was dripping wet and his sleeves stuck to his arms like he’d just taken a bath. Kiran and Yusuf were bickering over who was cheating at cards, and Heva was already snoring beside Dolem under the same blanket, so no one noticed Bastone or his heated march. Ryn had just taken off her boots and armour to go to sleep, but she stood from her cot, brushing her fingers through her knotted hair as Bastone rushed through the rows of mats toward her.