Page 54
He shook his head, washing away his smirk as he left the feasting tent, coming out to a fresh new day, the colours of the camp a little brighter than before, the sun’s beastly rays less cruel, the sky a sweeter blue.
The morning passed quickly. First, Xerxes ran into his Heartstealer maiden on her way out of the burn division tent. Through no fault of his own, he spilled a full cup of water over her head, then kindly offered to help her remove her mask to get dry. She leveled her deep brown gaze on him in a way that made his insides tighten and drew out the warmth in his beating chest. But naturally, she refused—not with words, but simply by passing him by and carrying on with whatever she was doing.
Next, he sent Joshua to test her with questions about her upbringing. Joshua asked innocent little things like, “Have you ever been to the palace?” and “Do you have any family? A cousin, perhaps?” Xerxes leaned against the cliffside around the corner, listening. But, of course, Ryn didn’t take the bait. Xerxes bristled when she politely told Joshua she didn’t like to speak of her past. What a wonder it was to hear her be polite to a mere foot soldier when she was so rude to the King of Per-Siana. He had half a mind to march out from hiding and point it out.
After that, he settled on the oasis rock high above the camp and watched the legendary Gold Maiden lead Burn Division Twelve toward the training grounds in the dunes. The prisoners were a gangly, uncoordinated bunch, not fit to be soldiers. Some of them were even pink-cheeked women who clung to each other as they passed by men’s tents. Xerxes slid down from the rock when they disappeared behind the strategy tent toward the desert. He fiddled with the sheath at his side, then tugged at the breastplate he’d traded for the lovely royal coat he’d adorned himself with for breakfast that morning. The afternoon sun was meaner than the sunrise, heat puffing over the camp in ruthless waves.
He marched by the strategy tent just as Reza came out. “There you are,” Reza said. “Where have you been all morning? I’ve been looking for you.”
Xerxes opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. Reza didn’t need to know. “I’ve been busy,” he settled on.
The General followed him into the desert sands where grains drifted over a golden plain in hot gusts of air. Burn Division Twelve stood in a semicircle. A particular female-shaped soldier in a silver helmet was leading them through a series of fighting moves. Xerxes eyed her technique. It reminded him of Folke drills, but the thought sailed away with the breeze when he spotted a maiden in bright gold standing off to the side, watching. Ryn didn’t train with her fellow criminals. She didn’t try to improve her craft. She even looked a little bored.
He would change that.
“Soldiers, assemble!” he called over the sand. The burn division abandoned their training and moved into a straight line. Xerxes stopped before them, eyeing a tall fellow with crooked teeth who held his sword by the blade as he waited for instructions. For a moment, Xerxes wondered what, by the Divinities, he’d been thinking when he decided to bring this awful division with him to face the great War King.
He rubbed his forehead. It was too late now.
Xerxes drew his sword and watched the sun’s reflection travel down the blade as he lifted it. It reminded him of the glow he saw on the Gold Maiden’s blade when she’d arrived with reinforcements over the hill at the Final Stand. His gaze darted to Ryn as he wondered if that glow was real. It bothered him more than anything that he didn’t know what he’d really seen that day. But if Ryn had been glowing, if her blade really had been wielding a light against a backdrop of shadows, he could recreate the scenario and make it happen again. He was made of shadows, wasn’t he? Even his heart was a shadow. She was made of light. They were opposites in every way, even beyond heritage.
“Burn Division Twelve!” Reza called over the group, dissolving any ideas Xerxes had about picking a fight with Ryn-Adassah. By the look on the General’s face, Xerxes could tell he was also wondering why this pathetic assembly of soldiers had been chosen for the most important task in Xerxes’s life. “We’re going to run some drills. But first we must talk about the risks involved with the upcoming meeting. Not only do you need to be aware of close threats, you also need to be on the lookout for enemies stationed covertly at a distance. Your King could be shot from an enemy hiding behind an outcropping of rocks, or…” Xerxes closed his eyes and blocked out the rest, the old man’s voice echoing like a distant clapping beneath a pool of water. Somewhere beyond the cliffs, the wind picked up, roaring over the dunes. Xerxes imagined what the Intelligentsia would do once they got the news he was dead or captured. He imagined Damon rejoicing behind closed doors. He imagined the Intelligentsia rushing to their Room of Knowledge to come up with ideas of how to stop Alecsander. As if they could. Or maybe they were foolish enough to believe the war would never reach them in their comfortable palace. Maybe they’d ignore the threat and focus on finding a new king instead, right up until the moment Alecsander took Per-Siana from their clean, polished, soft little fingers.
“Commander Adassah.” Her name danced along Xerxes’s lips, tickling his nerves. He liked saying her real name far too much.
When he opened his eyes, the entire burn division was looking at Ryn. So was General Reza.
“Your Majesty?” Her voice sailed into him.
How impressive that she’d had enough self-control not to call him “King” this time.
“Let’s spar,” he invited with enough authority that she couldn’t protest.
Reza must have been in the middle of a glorious rant. The man’s mouth still hung open in some sort of mid-sentence stance.
Xerxes cared not. There was nothing the General could say that would make King Alecsander less powerful, less desperate for Xerxes’s spilled blood. Xerxes had three days left, and he cursed the Celestial Divinities at the thought of spending them listening to Reza’s rants instead of taunting the one person he actually wanted to be around.
Xerxes moved into position in front of the division, sand brushing over his boots. He waited as Ryn wandered from the group, leaving footprints. She drew her sword—a flashy, heavy-looking thing that was over half the size she was.
“What is this about, Your Majesty?” she asked. Her hair was bound into a high ponytail now with a thin braid on one side. He wondered which of her criminal friends knew how to braid so well for Ryn to always have impressive hair like this. She looked more interesting now than she did in the palace in sweeping ballgowns and gold latched sandals. Truthfully, she looked like a queen. Like a queen who could defend her kingdom. Like someone who belonged on a throne more than he did.
Xerxes chewed on the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want to pray to the Divinities, and he didn’t know how to pray to her god. There were a lot of reasons he was prepared to meet his end in three days. But if he had to watch her die at that meeting…
“Your Majesty?” Reza’s thin voice reached Xerxes’s ears. He felt the General nudge his back.
Xerxes cleared his throat and crouched with his sword raised toward Ryn. “Do you know how to spot an arrow sailing toward you in the sky, Commander?” he asked her. “Do you know how to look into an enemy’s face and discern what his next move will be? Do you know what to do in an ambush?” He imagined Bastone Issacs had gone over at least that much with the burn division since—
“No,” she admitted.
Xerxes stood straight again. He stared. Then he yelled, “No?!”
The prisoners shifted on their feet, looking off toward the desert. Xerxes’s glare cut toward Bastone Issacs. The Per-Siana soldier was back in his navy uniform, the silver details of his armour glimmering in contrast to the beige outfits around him. Bastone cleared his throat, his cheeks turning a slight shade of pink as he dropped to a knee and bowed his head.
“Apologies, Your Majesty. Burn Division Twelve never needed training.” The words came out clear and precise. Another soldier with a black band around his forehead stood beside him—he also bowed his head and looked at the ground.
Xerxes pulled a hand through his hair, messing up the perfect style it had been in at breakfast.
He supposed he shouldn’t be angry. Bastone would have witnessed Ryn kill a giant, on top of everything else. Perhaps he considered her to be invincible. But no one was invincible.
