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Despite how she tried to forget, the sweet, toe-curling aroma of burning leaves trickled into her nose like Alecsander stood before her, watching her with his flickering golden eyes.

She tossed her mask onto the path beside her with a clatter.

“El,” she whispered. “Why is my heart so troubled today?”

Was this what freedom was supposed to feel like?

Footsteps sounded over the boardwalk at her back and the boards shifted beneath her. “You denied their invitation?” General Reza’s voice came out higher than normal, and Ryn glanced at him over her shoulder, the grass sticking out of her mouth. She raised a brow in question as he put his hands on his hips, a crumpled piece of paper poking out of his fist. “The Heartstealer invitation?” he elaborated. “The one the Intelligentsia sent you even though you already denied their first invitation to come visit?”

Ryn spat the grass out. “Oh. That.” She turned back toward the desert, her mind wandering to that silvery embellished card she’d thrown underneath her cot the moment she saw it. The one with the familiar Heartstealer crest on the back—a symbol she never thought she’d lay eyes upon again in her lifetime.

“I was hoping you’d accept,” General Reza said. “There’s trouble in the palace, Adassah. I need a soldier to go where I can’t.” He released another watery cough, and the boards beneath Ryn wobbled.

The muscles in her back tightened but she shrugged one shoulder, keeping her gaze away from the General. “It’s the Folke’s job to deal with trouble in the palace.” She flicked through the stalks of tall grass, plucked out a new one, and stuck the end in her mouth. It had a sour herbal taste like ripe tea.

She realized she forgot to put her mask on when she glanced over at it, and her chewing slowed. She picked it up slowly, watching the General’s reflection in the gold.

“I’ve received a letter from the King saying the war isn’t over. He’s calling me to the palace.” The General scratched behind his ear. He fidgeted with a strand of his brown-gray beard then patted his belly.

Ryn glanced back up at the desert. She couldn’t see the cloud there now, like the sun had chased it away. “Should we call back the divisions then? Should we be ready to put up a fight at the border?” She scanned the camp for Burn Division Twelve members. She hadn’t seen any of them yet today.

“I hope King Xerxes is wrong, but if he’s right and the Intelligentsia won’t listen, then we’re all in trouble. Which is why I need to know what’s going on in the palace before I call all our men back, and I can’t get inside the palace without an invitation.”

Ryn raised a brow, turning around this time to study his gleaming armour and the emblem on his chest. “Surely you could walk in whenever you want.”

General Reza shook his head and released a gruff laugh. “Why do you think I wear green, Commander Adassah?” He reached up and unclipped his cape from his shoulders, bringing it around and draping it carefully over his arm. “It’s the colour of my priesthood.”

Ryn stared at the cape. Her jaw dropped as her mind raced back through moments she’d spent with the General. He was the leader of the whole Per-Siana army. He was the King’s right hand at war. “You’re… an Adriel?! That’s not possible—Xerxes hates Adriels. He’d never… He wouldn’t…”

“He never asked, so I never told him.” The General shot her a knowing look. “But that’s why I can’t enter the palace. You, however, have been personally invited. Twice now. And they know full well what you are.”

“I still won’t go,” Ryn stated with a bitter chuckle even though she couldn’t muster a smile. “I won’t dress up in their blue starlight dresses and parade around like a noble maiden when I’m not.” She waved toward the camp. “There are lots of Weylin soldiers here that would make more suitable spies—send one of them. I won’t wear the navy of the Weylin King as long as I live.”

General Reza extended his cape toward her, the deep, rich green fluttering in the cool mountain breeze. “Then be gold. And wear green. They know you’re an Adriel, so wear our colours, not theirs.”

Ryn realized how serious he was when he didn’t pull his cape back. She didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. General Reza had no idea that going back to the palace would be a death sentence for her, that it would destroy her—like it did the first time. She turned away from him, her hands balling into fists. It wasn’t meant to be a sign of disrespect, but she couldn’t help how it might have looked to the General.

“Heva and I are leaving in the morning on a scouting mission. We’ll be gone for several weeks. You’ll have to send someone else, General.” She climbed to her feet, sliding her mask on as she did. Maybe she and Heva would leave tonight instead. They were already packed. She didn’t tell the General that their scouting mission wasn’t actually going to be in the mountains—that they were going to sneak into the desert and follow the great, black cloud to find its source. Now that the war troubles were over, Ryn wanted to see for herself what the cloud was made of and investigate if there was a way to dissolve it.

General Reza’s chest deflated. He nodded and squeezed the parchment tighter in his fingers, finally pulling his cape back to himself. “I understand. Obviously, I can’t command you to go since this army looks to you now just as much as they look to me. So I’ll respect your decision and ask Joshua to go.” Without another word, the General headed back down the boardwalk and disappeared into a supply tent on the far side of camp.

Ryn took in a deep breath and let it seep out as she brushed dirt and grass from her hands. Faro’s terrible singing lifted from his tent across the boardwalk. A fire sparked to life far down the path.

“El, the war has ended. I went to that meeting with Alecsander like you wanted,” Ryn whispered. A second later, she scratched behind her ear. “So why are all the signs telling me something is still coming? Even Xerxes can feel it.”

A warm breeze trickled over her skin, sweeping her hair off her neck. Ryn’s nose scrunched as her gaze soared up to the desert. High above the rolling hills of pale brown sand, the glimmer of a roaring cloud of smoke flashed in her vision. It brought the hairs on her arms to stand on end and made her feet dig into the dirt. “I’ll go hunt that cloud for you. That’s how I’ll guard the Per-Siana border.” Her hand fell to the hilt of her sword, the other one falling against the whistle at her chest. “If that’s your will, then I will stay right here in the desert where I belong.”

“Be careful you don’t decide what my will is, Adassah.”

27

XERXES

Time melted together, a tapestry of thick and thin air, hot and cold, smells, colours, blurs.

Xerxes hardly heard when an organizer came to his bedroom door and informed him that the Intelligentsia had ‘summoned him’ for a council meeting. The King—being summoned.

He felt nothing on the walk. The organizer spoke to him, giving him details on items to be discussed, but Xerxes didn’t hear any of it. He entered the oval Council Hall and went to the same plush black seat he’d been using for the last decade of his life. He sat. He didn’t move for a long time as men and women around the coliseum-style room lifted their voices, shared their opinions. Made decisions without him. They spoke of the Heartstealer trials. Xerxes’s throat flexed to challenge them, to object, to force them to listen. But it relaxed a second later, his voice crawling deep within himself. He never stopped them, and an hour into the meeting, his fate was sealed.