My joints lock down. “But you wounded her.”

“Not wounded, restored. Within her Burner soul is great potential. I provided her a push toward a better state. Alas, you are utterly forgettable.” His conversational tone contrasts his pitying expression. “Dutiful men are all the same—martyrs. You want for everything but take nothing for yourself. You sacrifice your own happiness for others and validate your ensuing misery with your magnanimous loyalty.”

I lick my lips, my mouth dry and sticky. “I deserted the army.”

“By word perhaps, but not by deed. You blended in with my troops without difficulty. You tricked a commander and went so far as to risk revealing your identity to stop a catapult from landing on a group of comrades. You will always be a soldier.”

His statement reverberates too deeply. My godly duty is to serve the rajah, and whenever I go against my purpose, awful consequences follow.

“You hide behind the will of someone stronger than you and call it honor,” says Udug.

I must point out the irony. “You’re hiding behind Tarek.”

Udug concedes with a twitch of his head. “Tarek’s physical form is required for my bargain with the prince. When I am free, I will reveal my true self.” He drinks his entire glass of wine, gluttonous in his feasting.

I anticipate he will inquire about the city’s fortifications or how best to infiltrate the palace, but he asks me nothing. I shuffle closer to Udug and the bread knife. “What part do I play in your scheme?”

“Mankind has no part,” he says, refilling his wine chalice. “You will all disappear when the evernight devours the lights in the sky.”

“And the bhutas?”

A blue flame flashes in Udug’s pupils. “Only Burners will be offered the choice to serve Kur or perish. His ancestry flows through them. They were born of fire and venom.”

A breath of his foul cold skulks over me. Opal thinks Brac got away from the army. But what if he didn’t? “My brother is a Burner. He’s missing.”

Udug’s lips pull upward patronizingly, an exact replica of Tarek’s condescending expression. “Is that why you’ve come? To find your brother? This is tragic. You came all this way, got that boy Galer killed, and yet your brother isn’t here.”

I lunge for the knife. My fingers brush the handle when a blue flame hits the plate. Cold bites into my hand. I rear back, clenching my teeth down on a howl. My struck fingertips turn white like hoarfrost. I puff out quick breaths to drive away the pain.

Udug pings the wine bottle against his chalice, a summons, and Manas appears. “I’m finished.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Manas jerks me from the tent.

I clutch my injured hand. Why are they keeping us prisoner? The army holds captives for few purposes: to await execution, exploit them for labor, or use them as ransom. None of those options are pleasant. “Manas, you have to listen to me. That isn’t Tarek. He—”

His fist drives into my gut, and I bowl over. He grabs my hair and yanks my head back. “You’re alive because of Kalinda. When the rajah realizes you’re worth nothing to her, I’ll finish this.”

“You can hit me all you want. The truth is still the truth.”

“The truth is you lost.” Manas grabs my tunic and hauls me to the wagon.

The ammunition is nearly unloaded. Soldiers position the last of the catapults in a line facing the wall. The army is hours away from launching its attack, yet no torchlights flicker in the city watchtowers. Where are the rebels?

Two soldiers guard the wagon. One unlocks the door, and Manas pushes me inside. I will have bruises from his handling, but they will hurt less than my frostbitten hand.

“Time for your appointment with my dagger, filth.” Manas leans inside and reaches for Opal. He means to let her blood and weaken her powers.

I slam my foot down on his hand, jamming it into the floor. He groans and tries to pull free, but I knee him in the jaw.

The two guards draw their swords. One stabs at me. I twist away, grasp his wrist with my unwounded hand, and pull down. The man tumbles inside the wagon on top of Manas. Yatin whams his elbow into the side of his head. The soldier goes limp.

The second guard attempts to run, but Yatin catches his neck with his bound hands and slams him into the door. Another guard is out.

I pin Manas to the floor, digging my knee into his throat.

“You’ll suffer for treason,” he rasps. “Rajah Tarek will drop you in a den of scorpions. You will feel the sting of a thousand—”

Someone outside the wagon whacks Manas over the head with the hilt of a dagger. I twist to see a soldier with a headscarf draped over the lower half of his—no, her—face.

Natesa lifts the headscarf. “He was irritating me.” She cuts Opal’s and Yatin’s bindings. He scoops Natesa up and kisses her. She tugs fondly at his beard. “We have to go right now.”

An explosion goes off across camp. Fire and embers brighten the night.

I climb out beside Natesa. “You’ve been busy,” I remark.

“Someone had to get us out of here.” She passes me her second dagger and notices my burns. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing. Let’s go.”

Opal slides out, and Yatin helps her stay upright. We follow Natesa through camp. Soldiers rush about, preoccupied with the fire. A catapult blazes in the distance.

“Is that the catapult we pushed here?” I ask.

“I couldn’t let our hard work go to waste.” Natesa glances over her shoulder at her handiwork. “A little bit of lamp oil, and look at it glow.”

We skirt around a group of soldiers. I pick up a bucket, as though to gather water for the fire, and we leave camp. Opal starts to slow from her injuries, so Yatin carries her. I guide us across the sand dunes to the River Nammu that runs through the city. I toss aside the bucket and hurry down the bank. Natesa and I wade into the river.

The cool, shallow water mitigates my stinging burns. Opal hangs on to Yatin’s neck, and we swim upstream. Guards on the outer wall regularly monitor the river for intruders, but no one calls for us to halt.

We reach the culvert and pass through one at a time, fighting the current into Vanhi. I slog out of the water on the other side of the city wall. A stone walking path rims the riverbank. Past it lies a courtyard, and beyond that, the roadways are cramped with huts. I detect no signs, noises, or smells of the living. Everyone has long fled the warlord.

“Where to now?” Yatin asks.

My sight drifts up to the palace. Whether the rebels are with us or against us depends on the outcome of Kali’s meeting with Hastin. I still do not trust the warlord, but we have a better chance of allying with him than surviving another encounter with Udug. “We’ll use the old mine tunnels to sneak into the palace.”

“Do you think the rebels are on our side?” Natesa asks, squeezing water from her braid.

“We’ll find out tomorrow. We’ll need torches or lanterns to navigate the tunnels. Let’s find somewhere close by to stay the night.”

We cross the pathway near the river and venture into the courtyard. Piles of stones litter the clearing. I pass a heap, and my belly clenches. Bits of scarlet from an imperial soldier’s uniform are buried within. The rebels must have stoned the soldiers who were taken captive when they seized the palace. We hasten between the stoning piles, across the courtyard to the tightly packed rows of huts.

The gods take pity on us. The first hut I investigate is vacant except for the rats that flee when I open the door. I enter the one-room domicile and pick up an overturned chair. Sand covers the floor and furniture. I refill an oil lamp and light it. Natesa shades the windows with blankets to seal in the glow. Yatin ducks through the low door with Opal and lays her on a straw mattress. She rolls onto the sandy linens and shuts her eyes.

While Yatin scrounges through the worn kitchen cupboards for food, Natesa brings a dry rag for my hand. She winds the cloth around my fingers and ties it tight. Yatin finds a couple of shriveled limes and cuts them up. The tangy smell carries to me, but I pass on my portion. Natesa and Yatin dine on the citrus, savoring the juice like it’s honey.

I prop the chair against the door and sit with Natesa’s dagger in my lap. We should be safe here until morning, but I trust nothing in this hollow shell of the city I once knew.

Leaning my head against the doorjamb, I fall into old habits, listening for potential dangers. My desertion from the army did not fool anyone. Even Udug recognized my passion. I rely on the orderliness and discipline of the army. The only reason I would leave for good is for Kali. Yet every time I try to force our paths together and turn my back on my oath to serve the empire, disaster befalls me and those I care about. I wish I could say what that means for us, but all I know is that I am needed here to defend what is left of my home.

23

KALINDA

We fly into the night, the mahati falcon undaunted by the dark. Glittering stars chase us, so close they promise the warmth of a thousand wishes but mock me with their unreachable light. The soul-fire I parched from Indah has long since receded, and as she cautioned me, I am colder than before.

My jaw aches from clamping my chattering teeth. Ashwin holds on to me, a rock against my tide of shivers. I thirst for soul-fire. The temptation to parch him or Tinley presses into my chest. If I move my hand to Tinley’s arm—

No. Remember Indah. I will not violate another friend’s trust.

Midway through the night, I drift off into delirium. When I wake later, night still stretches to infinity, and my shivers have stopped. I am not cold; nor am I warm.

I feel . . . I feel . . . nothing. Even the ache in my knee has gone.

Freedom from pain would be a gift, but the sudden emptiness unsettles me. My heart beats slow, a sluggish thump. I shut my eyes and search for the star in my private night. My soul-fire is so tiny, shrunken to a sapphire pinpoint, I nearly miss it.

Dreading what I will find, I hold one hand between Tinley and myself and call upon my abilities. My fingers glow blue. I wait for a shiver, but none arrives. I let the light fade. Udug’s powers have usurped my own, yet my soul-fire must still be there, buried far down inside me, or I would have perished. Or the prince’s heart’s wish is the only thing left keeping me alive . . .