Page 14

Help. There was no ‘help’ for Heva now. Going anywhere near the priestesses or the Adriel First Temple would get a physician marked by the Folke with the rising persecution of Adriels.

Geovani continued to speak, offering encouragement, verses. Ryn’s hands balled into fists below the table. When Geovani left, Ryn stood and turned for the camp. She passed by the sleeping mats in the sand and marched into the desert where the deep blue sky was scattered with a million stars that brought no warmth, no true light to her soul.

She was barely around a dune when she collapsed and sobbed. “You…” She shook her head. “How could you?” she said to the sky. “El…”

Warmth touched her hand for just a moment, then it went away.

“I’m leaving this army,” she said. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t watch people I care about die.” Her shaking hands dove into the sand, and she lifted a fistful of cold grains. “Who will die next?!” She hurled it; sand slapped the side of the dune, creating tiny golden rivers. “Faro? Bastone? Kai?!”

“Someday, we’ll understand.”

“No, I don’t understand. I don’t want to anymore.” She dug her fingers into her hair at her temples and pulled until her scalp burned. “Be quiet, Heva.”

“Estheryn…” Bastone’s approaching footsteps were careful. Ryn dragged her fingers from her hair as he crouched in front of her, his face pale and stricken. His scar was almost invisible in the dark, but his frown caught the moonlight. She didn’t say anything, so he pulled her to him and wrapped his muscled arms around her.

Ryn felt nothing in his cold, loose embrace. She craved a different sort of hug.

“Bastone,” she whispered. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to make you feel better. And I guess this is my way of begging you to stay here with me. You’re all I have, Estheryn.”

Ryn pulled away and bit down on an angry, doubtful look. He had a mother, a brother—he’d told her so. He had others. A headache bloomed in her temples as she stared, stared, and stared a while longer. “My name isn’t Estheryn,” she said. “And I just want to be alone.”

Maybe that wasn’t true. But Bastone’s light eyes, broad chest, and tea-soap fragrance she’d come to know so well wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted Heva’s coarse laughter and taunting. She wanted Xerxes’s palace soap fragrance and temper. She could have neither. And so, she wanted nothing.

“Are you going to do something crazy like return to the Mother City and challenge the Intelligentsia?” he asked, and she didn’t miss the subtle sparkle of hope in his question.

“Will you fight the Folke at my side?” she asked, and his light eyes rounded.

“Are you being serious—”

“I won’t let you anywhere near the palace if I take it, Bastone.” She breathed in through her nose, and his chest deflated. “And I haven’t decided what I’m going to do. Would you come with me if I went to take revenge upon that Mira Prince? Would you ride into the night to try and cut him off before he makes it home?”

Bastone’s frown deepened like he worried she was serious. Ryn dropped her shoulders and glanced off at the desert, the miles of everchanging paths carved by the wind. “I know I can’t do that.” A cricket squeaked somewhere up the dune. Ryn sniffed and cleared her throat. “My cousin once told me of a cave by the tent folk up in the eastern mountains where the old Adriel Priesthood would hide away for retreats when they needed to reflect in isolation. Kai would probably meet me there.”

A long silence dragged on, and Bastone’s jaw solidified. “So, that’s what you’re going to do next? You’re going to go hide in the mountains?” he asked doubtfully. “Or are you really going to go challenge the Intelligentsia for Per-Siana without me?”

“I don’t know.”

Bastone sighed and pushed her hair out of her face. “Estheryn—don’t do this. You’ll be giving up your title as a commander and charged as a deserter if you flee to the mountains for solitude right now. And what’s going to happen to the border divisions if you leave? Think about Burn Division Twelve.” He dragged his thumb down her cheek, scooping up a tear, and Ryn couldn’t take it anymore. She pushed his hand off as she stood.

“Bastone, there’s a spy in the camp,” she said, and Bastone stood too, sword rattling at his hip. “Do whatever you have to and find out who’s working for the B’rei Mira Prince.”

Bastone chewed on the inside of his cheek. Then a slow smile spread across his mouth. “So, you are leaving. But you’re still giving me orders, which means you’re still Commander Adassah. I guess that means you’re leaving to go take the palace from the Intelligentsia. Is Burn Division Twelve going back to the Mother City?”

“You’re not coming with me,” she stated again, and his smile faltered. “Let me go, Bastone. Alone.”

“I support your decision, Adassah.” Faro appeared around the dune, and Bastone whirled as Faro dragged his feet through the sand, twisting the ribbon at his throat in a fidget. His navy leathers hung loose at his midsection, his belt drooping on his narrow hips.

“How long were you listening?” Bastone demanded.

“The whole time.” Faro clasped his hands, his large eyes downcast to the desert floor. Then, to Ryn, he said, “It’s alright if you need to go. I was going to ask to leave the army for a while, too.”

“What?” Bastone growled.

“Why, Faro?” Ryn asked, and Faro sighed, dragging out a set of papers from his war leathers. “I never made it home to the ninety ninth province to check on the woman I care most about in the whole kingdom. I was going to go alone, but Dolem said she’d come with me now that we have our freedom papers from the Intelligentsia.”

Bastone shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, but Ryn nodded.