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Xerxes tore away from the table so fast, the nearest sage fell out of his chair. He looked around the room at these men who didn’t know the cost of their wine and books and silks. Or maybe they did know. Maybe they just didn’t care.

Xerxes was across the dining room and out the doors, the walls darkening around him, the palace becoming a dim tunnel. He found himself outside, the floral scents of the palace gardens stinging his nose as he marched toward the front gate. Folke guards opened their mouths to question him, but he ignored them. He flung the front gate open himself and marched all the way back down the Navy Road to the street where he’d left his horse.

“You haven’t eaten anything in days,” Joshua remarked, the only thing telling Xerxes that his soldiers had followed him. “You’re not yourself, Your Majesty.”

Xerxes found his horse abandoned by the Mother City prison gate. He refused to look at that prison as he mounted his ride and turned it back toward the desert. “This is myself, Joshua,” he said. “This is what I was like before the war. When I had to deal with them every day.”

The Intelligentsia acted as if they hadn’t a clue Xerxes would be meeting King Alecsander of B’rei Mira, or that this meeting would decide the fate of their kingdom. The fools either hadn’t been informed or weren’t reading the army reports delivered to them every week. It was so repulsive, Xerxes’s stomach roiled as he trotted past his citizens.

18

RYN

After three days, the army’s faith withered like an unwatered garden, turning hope dry and darkening the air with whispers that shred the remaining calm to pieces. Men wept at night, and whispers claimed everyone would be slaughtered on sight for the King of Per-Siana’s absence when the meeting day arrived. Ryn commanded Burn Division Twelve not to partake in the discussions. “The King will return,” she told her men.

But the truth was she had no idea if Xerxes planned to come back. He hadn’t given anyone a reason for leaving. He hadn’t even sent word from wherever he’d raced off to promising he was alright or alive.

Soldiers stepped out of Ryn’s path when she wandered the camp. They made room when Burn Division Twelve entered the feasting tent too. One soldier even saluted her on her way to a strategy meeting; a salute meant for the highest authority such as the General or the King himself. Even when she and Heva went to spar in a sandy cove they’d discovered past a rock tunnel behind their tent, soldiers crowded into the cove or climbed the cliffs to watch.

It was during a commanders’ meeting it finally occurred to her that the men were looking to her for answers. As if she had some celestial, goddess-like insight into what was happening. One by one, army commanders and Division One leaders glanced to the back of the strategy tent during General Reza’s update.

Ryn was fiddling with her braid when General Reza called upon her, asking her thoughts on going alone to face King Alecsander as Per-Siana’s representative. Every commander looked at Ryn in unison, some turning all the way around.

“I will go alone to face Alecsander if I must. I’m not afraid,” she told them.

“No?” General Reza dragged a hand down his long graying beard.

Ryn shook her head. “Many are fighting. But few are fighting the right battle,” she said. “Though on different sides, Alecsander and I are fighting the same sort of battle, one not of flesh and blood.”

It wasn’t meant to be a riddle, but commanders whispered amongst themselves, discussing her words. She shook her head slowly, wishing she hadn’t tried to explain it. She saw a small smile cross General Reza’s face at the front of the tent though. His smile vanished before anyone else saw it, and he turned to the King’s desk to write something down on a scroll.

Someone in a silver helmet raced down the path and skidded to a stop at the mouth of Burn Division Twelve’s tent hours later. Heva’s hair was a wild tangle of black all matted atop her head when she ripped the helmet off. Through panting, she said, “The King has returned!”

Burn Division Twelve emerged from the tent, falling into a line around Ryn. Every soldier in the camp was outside, standing down the paths, breathless whispers passing between them.

Xerxes stood there. His horse’s reins were in his hands, his dark hair fluttering in the breeze. Speckles of dirt muddied his face around the purple ink, and his eyes were sunken, but he otherwise looked strong. A handful of ragged-looking soldiers were around him, including the one with the bells on his belt.

“We’ve brought supplies!” a soldier with Xerxes declared. “Fresh food, weapons, and wine!”

Men around camp roared with cheers, a few rushing for the wagons behind where the King stood. They lifted bread, sugar jams, fruits, and dried meats from the supply crates and waved them around to show everyone.

“Thank the Divinities! I’m so hungry!” Yusuf exclaimed, and Kiran slapped his stomach.

“You’re always hungry,” he murmured.

Xerxes kept his gaze on the ground as soldiers swept past him right and left. He didn’t give a speech or explain where he’d been, he just started down the path in the direction of his sleeping quarters. When he passed by Ryn’s division, he tilted his face toward them, and he spoke for the first time. “Prepare yourselves, Burn Division Twelve. We begin training for the meeting at dawn.”

Ryn bowed. “As you wish, King.”

Her lips froze over the last word.

Xerxes stopped in his tracks, his back to her, his cape flapping idly and brushing over his shoulder plates.

Heva’s hand came around Ryn’s wrist, and Ryn bit her lips together behind her mask, tasting salt. The sounds of the men’s excited hollering and the horses guzzling from buckets was almost deafening, and Xerxes was several paces away. She didn’t know if he’d heard.

After a moment, Xerxes continued walking, his gold and silver armour burning orange against the setting sun, and Ryn released the breath she was holding. She watched Xerxes head through camp, past the feasting tent, and disappear behind a duo of freshly lit torches.

There was a small celebration for the King’s return. Meat kebabs and bread with jam were served in the feasting tent, but Xerxes never came. Ryn imagined he was catching up on sleep with the crescents she’d seen beneath his eyes earlier.