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Ryn’s hand flew to her tight scarf and she pulled at it, breathing through her nostrils. The Vafat creatures angled their long necks, their swords quivering as they watched Ryn find her breath. Her hand fell over her flute and she fought the impulse to blow it.

Behind Xerxes’s back, a shadowed smile brushed over Alecsander’s face. Xerxes rotated toward him again when crackled whispers lifted from the Vafat: “We shall honour a peace deal with Per-Siana, but only with conditions.”

Murmurs of surprise came from Burn Division Twelve, blending into the howls of wind overhead. A snap of lightning broke through the darkness, and a low rumble followed that echoed out into the desert.

Xerxes blinked. “What are your conditions?” he asked through his scarf, and Alecsander’s golden gaze flickered.

“You will pay a large tribute to B’rei Mira in gold, silver, cattle, and spices every new year to establish order between the kingdoms. If these conditions are met, we will lay down arms against Per-Siana,” the Vafat chanted, their swords tapping together as they shifted restlessly in their line.

A beat of silence followed, all eyes drifting to Xerxes who adjusted his footing. “That’s all?” He didn’t bother to hide the doubt in his voice.

“We are an empire of riches accumulated in this way. This is what we want,” the collective voices said.

Xerxes pulled off his hood and scarf, revealing his dark mess of hair and his mouth tipping down at the corners. “Then I shall see to it. Per-Siana is happy to pay a tribute to your empire in exchange for safety.” He hesitated, the toe of his boot inching forward. When the Vafat said nothing else, he stepped to the chariot and offered a handshake to King Alecsander. Wind sailed between them in a sharp whistle, crimson leaves smacking the chariot wheels. Xerxes’s hand came back down to his side when Alecsander didn’t take it.

“We shall send you our requirements in writing. The deal is made,” the Vafat said, sliding their swords away with slow, sharp sounds. “Under the watchful eyes of the gods, this deal cannot be undone.”

The B’rei Mira foot soldiers began slithering back off the platform, their boots trampling the sand, the chariot crunching down the stairs after them. Ryn’s jaw hung open as she watched the party in red and bronze turn toward the dune and creep back up. Several minutes of silence washed over the Per-Siana burn division while the enemy left, Ryn’s gut twisting as every last Vafat crawled back over the hill and disappeared from sight. The great cloud left with them, the sky morphing into a clear white-blue, the cool air becoming densely hot.

Burn Division Twelve erupted in cheers. Ryn didn’t turn and celebrate with them as they shouted, “Congratulations, Your Majesty!” Xerxes didn’t turn around either. He stared at the dune. He stared until the last members of Burn Division Twelve made their way off the platform and began parading back through the desert toward camp with songs and whistling. He stared until it was just him and Ryn left.

When Xerxes finally turned around, he hardly noticed Ryn standing there as he walked past and descended the stairs, pulling off his cloak and yanking away his scarf.

Ryn followed, her heavy boots dragging slowly over the stone.

She was the last one to make it back to camp. When she got there, trumpets were blasting, lunar bells were ringing, glittering confetti was being thrown at the sky, and chants of praise to the Celestial Divinities rang over the oasis. She stopped beside a path of cheering soldiers in a parade, her hand sliding over her stomach, unable to determine whether she was hungry or nauseous. When Heva danced toward her with a long pink ribbon and wrapped it around Ryn’s shoulders, Ryn’s stiff face broke into a smirk. Heva pulled her scarf down and hooted toward the sky, tangling Ryn’s limbs up in knots until Ryn burst out laughing and swatted the ribbon off.

“The war is over, Ryn!” Heva exclaimed. “And we survived! That means we’re free!” She began shouting down the path, “Burn Division Twelve! Prisoners to no one!” repeating it until all of Burn Division Twelve sang it amidst the army of navy capes and silver breastplates. Somewhere on the other side of camp, a prisoner was waving the Burn Division XII flag over the celebration.

The morning air was crisp and cooler than most. A messenger with furry eyebrows ducked into Burn Division Twelve’s tent and performed an awkward bow before where Ryn and Heva polished their armour at the mancala table by the entrance. His light blue sash drooped until he stood and handed Ryn a navy card with silvery lettering that reminded her of the glittering Per-Siana streets back home. She turned it over, studying the fancy strokes of Weylin letters. Then she handed it to Heva.

“What is this?” Heva asked, tossing her helmet over her shoulder into a heap of armour with a clatter and taking the card.

Ryn shrugged as she grabbed the polishing cloth and scrubbed her shoulder plate. There were so many nicks and scratches in the gold, she wondered if it would ever be used again by another soldier in its condition.

“It’s a special invitation from the Intelligentsia,” the messenger answered shyly, and Ryn’s hand slowed her scrubbing. “They wish to invite Per-Siana’s war hero to the palace. They want to meet the Gold Maiden in person and deliver a reward. Shall I tell them you accept the request?”

A beat of silence moved across the table as Ryn glanced up at Heva who looked back at Ryn through her tangled mess of bangs. The corner of Heva’s mouth tugged upward.

They both burst out laughing. Heva waved the startled messenger away, her raspy chuckles making everyone in Burn Division Twelve look their way. Ryn lifted her shiny shoulder plate where the reflection showed her the smile she hadn’t seen on herself in a long time.

Faro moseyed into the tent, nudging past the messenger who hovered by the door, and forcing Heva out of the way as he sat down beside her. He picked up a mancala stone off the table and rolled it over his fingers.

“W… What shall I report to the Intelligentsia then, Commander Adassah? Shall I tell them you… refuse their invitation?” The messenger’s cheeks grew rosy, his large brows twitching inward.

“Yes, tell them that,” Heva answered. “Tell them Commander Adassah officially declines their invitation and her mind won’t be changed.” She gave the startled messenger a wink, turning his cheeks even redder. The messenger bowed and left the tent without another word.

Faro scratched his nose. “Everyone is heading home tomorrow, even the King. The General said the King is returning to Per-Siana to marry some pretty noblewoman and have children.” He nodded toward the tent entrance and grinned, showing all his crooked teeth.

Warmth crept into Ryn’s belly, but she kept her attention on her shoulder plate, rubbing over a scratch with her thumb.

“Are we going back, Adassah?” Faro tugged at his red ribbon.

Ryn lowered her shoulder plate. Heva was looking at her too, and Yusuf peeked an eye open from where he napped nearby.

“What will happen to us if we return?” Faro asked, stating Ryn’s fear aloud. “Do you think the Intelligentsia will keep their promise after our efforts?”

A hush passed through the tent. Ryn didn’t want to be the one to tell him they might be hunted down regardless of the Intelligentsia’s promises. The sages couldn’t exactly have criminals wandering the cities, and on top of all that, half of Burn Division Twelve were Adriels. And Ryn had lied about where she was from—with no actual family waiting, she couldn’t go to the seventy-fifth province or she’d live on the streets there.