Page 62

Morning came with birdcalls over pale white cliffs and the smoky taste of ash in the wind. Ryn spent her first hours after waking sitting cross-legged in the corner of Burn Division Twelve’s tent, facing the fabric with her eyes closed, letting the presence of El stir her heart and wash over her soul. Emptying herself, only to be filled with the God Original. No one bothered her or asked what she was doing as she whispered near-silent prayers.

She left her corner when Bastone entered the tent with a jar of the brightest violet ink Ryn had ever seen. When Yusuf asked ‘what, by the Divinities, he wanted to do with it,’ Ryn took the jar, pulled out the cork, dumped some on her pinky finger, and spread it up the side of her face where Xerxes’s ink marks were. Bastone did the same, using a brush to create branches across his forehead beneath his light hair. The rest of Burn Division Twelve followed suit without question. Yusuf got some up his nose and sneezed, shooting violet from his nostrils at Faro who wailed in disgust.

They emerged from the tent with dark scarves covering their mouths and noses and hooded cloaks across their shoulders, stolen from the supply tent at the back of the camp.

It was the first time Ryn left her gold mask behind. She stayed at the back on the journey to the King’s tent, far away from Heva, Bastone, and Kiran at the front, ignoring the looks of soldiers roasting meat kebabs for breakfast. It was as if the soldiers didn’t know what to do with themselves; whether they should salute or cower before the division that would take the King of Per-Siana to his summit that would decide the fate of their kingdom.

When Xerxes emerged from his tent, he paused, blinking at the ink on everyone’s hands. On Bastone’s face. On Heva. His mouth parted when Heva extended a face scarf and hooded cloak toward him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Xerxes asked, but by his expression, it was clear he’d figured out their plan.

“We’re making sure you get out of this alive, Your Majesty,” Heva said.

Xerxes took the items slowly. He gazed at each soldier of Burn Division Twelve as if seeing them for the first time. Then his brows twitched, and his eyes moved faster, like he was searching. When his gaze reached those at the back, Ryn slid behind Yusuf’s large body.

A second later, Xerxes closed his mouth. Without a word, he disappeared into his tent. He came out a second later looking like everyone else in Burn Division Twelve. Ryn slinked through the division, positioning herself behind Bastone and Xerxes as they began their march out of camp and onto the sand plain, but she ducked behind someone else when Xerxes looked back over his shoulder again. “Where is your commander?” he asked Bastone. In the space between two men, Ryn watched Xerxes’s sharp blue eyes take in faces.

“She’s here. Leading us as a silent soldier,” Bastone answered from beneath his scarf.

To Ryn’s surprise, Xerxes didn’t protest as he turned his attention forward. As he waved away a Division One soldier who appeared with a horse and extended the reins toward him. As he led the march past the camp boundary into the unobstructed desert sun.

Ryn thought for sure Xerxes would double back and start yanking down head coverings to find her face. But for once, he kept his back to her, gaze trained ahead. She relaxed thirty minutes into the walk.

“Allow me to do the speaking, Your Majesty,” Bastone said as they came through a narrow path between dunes. Kiran split off from the group and climbed one of them, pulling his bow around. He laid flat at the top of the hill, keeping out of sight as he loaded an arrow. “Tell me what you wish for me to say, and I’ll pretend to be you,” Bastone finished.

“That’s not necessary,” Xerxes said, swatting a bug by his face. He yanked his hood tighter around his cheeks. “If they start shooting at me, just… just run. There’s no need for all of us to die today.”

Ryn shook her head in disbelief.

“Apologies, but we can’t do that. Our orders are to grab you and swallow you into our numbers if there’s a threat,” Bastone informed him in a steady voice. “They’ll have trouble identifying you then.”

Xerxes bristled. “You dare obey an army commander instead of your King?” he asked, though the words lacked fierceness. “What if I command you to flee and leave me to my fate?”

Bastone was the one who glanced back this time. His eyes found Ryn immediately, and Ryn shook her head, her hand sliding over the hilt of her sword beneath her cloak. Bastone gave her a small nod, and she closed her eyes for a moment as she put one foot in front of the other, whispering her last prayer.

Her eyes flew open when she walked into someone’s chest. She blinked against the piercing sunlight outlining a large circular platform in the sand just ahead, arched rock pillars with detailed carvings stretching up from the ground around it like a flower bud. Xerxes faced her, his body blocking half the glorious platform from her view.

Ryn sailed a step away, performing a small, strange bow of apology. Xerxes crossed his arms, his sleeves pulling. With her heeled armour boots, their scarf-covered faces rested at nearly the same height.

“Your Majesty…?” Ryn said. He glanced down at her navy cloak, then back up at her exposed eyes. Burn Division Twelve shuffled around, Heva inching toward his back.

Xerxes reached up and tugged his scarf down, revealing a frown over a hard jaw. “You belong at my side on this platform, Commander Adassah. Not hidden among your men.”

His face wasn’t far from hers, but even this close, the note of familiarity was gone from his eyes. He stared at her like she was a stranger.

“I wasn’t hiding, Your Majesty,” Ryn stated, her grip tightening on the hilt of her sword. “I was keeping a lookout.”

Xerxes’s lip twitched, his jaw sliding to the side. He replaced his scarf over his mouth. “Let’s go then.” He turned and crossed the sand to the platform, ascending a tetrad of stairs, his cloak ruffling at his back.

Bastone followed, his boots clattering over the stone, and Heva nudged Ryn’s shoulder when she didn’t move right away. The rest of Burn Division Twelve flooded the platform, taking up half the circle as they gaped up at the magnificent arches and elegant carvings. They waited for several minutes in uncomfortable silence, the hot sun beating down on their dark cloaks, and Ryn reached up her sleeve to scratch her warm elbow.

Her hand was grabbed. Before she could stop him, Xerxes turned her arm over, his eyes narrowing on the reddened scratch down her wrist from when Bastone had tried to steal her mask outside camp. Xerxes’s scarf hid his expression, but his stare remained there a moment too long before cutting over to the burn division. “I hope you know better than to let your men touch you, Commander.” Down the line, Bastone’s cheeks pinked, the threat in Xerxes voice making all the prisoners shuffle their balance.

Ryn tugged her arm a little, but Xerxes’s grip tightened as his eyes drew back up to hers.

“We all have worse battle scars than this,” she said.

“Yes.” He nodded. “But you didn’t get this in battle, Maiden. Because you didn’t have this yesterday.”