Page 2

Move. Just move.

The pain is sharp, blinding, but I don’t have time to focus on it. The shouts behind me grow louder, the pounding of boots is closing in. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to move. I push up, dragging my injured leg behind me as I crawl forward, fingers clawing at the rough stone.

Dust fills my mouth, coats my throat. My lungs burn. I can’t breathe. But I have to keep going.

A shadow looms over me. Too fast. Too close.

A hand grabs the back of my shirt and yanks me up. Pain lances through my ankle, but it’s nothing compared to the crushing dread that clamps around my chest as I twist in the grip of the Urr’ki guard.

His deep emerald eyes meet mine, flickering with something I can’t name. He’s different— young, his grip strong but not cruel. There’s no empty resignation in his expression like I saw in all the others. But what does that matter? He’s still one of them.

I thrash, trying to break free, but his hold tightens, steadying instead of hurting me. The other guards arrive and form a tight circle. Their glares are unreadable, but the two Maulavi step forward, their expressions twisted with disdain.

“Did she think she could escape the will of the Shaman?” one of the Maulavi sneers, looking at the guard who caught me.

The guard holding me doesn’t respond. His fingers flex around my arm, just for a moment, before he finally speaks.

“She is injured,” he says, his voice deep and quiet, but firm.

“What does that matter?” the Maulavi scoffs.

A pause. A heartbeat. Then the guard speaks again, slow and deliberate.

“The Shaman will want her whole.”

It’s a lie. I can see it in the slight flicker of tension in his jaw. But the two Maulavi exchange glances, considering. One finally waves a dismissive hand.

“Fine. Take her to the holding cells. Let the Shaman decide what’s to be done with her.”

My stomach drops. The holding cells. The guard doesn’t let go as he nods once, then sets me onto my feet. The other guards stand close, watching, ready to act. When my weight comes down onto my ankle I grit my teeth as tears of pain fill my eyes. I try to push through it, but I can’t. I feel the ankle swelling and walking on it is not going to be easy, if it’s possible at all.

The guard who caught me is watching. His eyes narrow. His lips turn down into a deep frown that causes his tusks to bend in until they touch his broad nose. He doesn’t blink. Another guard moves closer. His hand reaches out, ready to push and I flinch from his touch but the one in front of me blocks him. I stare, stunned, as he shields me. Why? It makes no sense. None of this does

His eyes narrow then he lowers himself and examines my ankle. He pokes it with his large, green finger and I gasp, biting my tongue on accident as I try not to cry out.

“She cannot walk,” he says, grunting and shaking his head.

“Carry her,” one of the Maulavi orders.

The young guard rises, his eyes locking onto mine. He holds his arms out. I hesitate, heart hammering, but I have no choice. I wrap my arms around his neck and he lifts me off my feet. My breath stutters, hitching in my chest like a trapped bird. I don’t know why he’s doing this. If it’s mercy or cruelty in disguise.

All I know is that I’m still alive.

For now.

2

RANI

The fire has burned down to coals, leaving the room brittle with cold. The thin blanket does nothing to warm my body but still I try to sleep a little more. I must be rested. I must keep my mind sharp. Everything depends on it. My position here among my former enemy, the Zmaj, is no less precarious than it was in the cells of Kala Tavara, where the Shaman held me.

The Zmaj nominally refer to me as a guest, but they leave no doubt to the reality. I am a prisoner. I am a prisoner, a political prisoner, better treated than I was at the hands of my own people, but a prisoner none the less. It is no less than I deserve. My mistakes and misplaced trust led me to be in this position. It is only fitting that I pay penance for my sins. Thousands of lives weigh on my shoulders.

I never should have listened to Kire, the priest who would become the Shaman. Who would lead my people to doom, but I was desperate. We had been losing the war for generations. My people depended on me, needed me to show them a way forward that wasn’t the end. When he came with his claims of visions and a way for us to survive, I leaped at the chance.

I was a fool once. I cannot afford to be again. Everything rides on my success. If I cannot forge peace with the Zmaj he will win. The Paluga will awaken and this world will burn.

Though I try, sleep slips from me like water through broken hands. I climb off the rough stone cubby that serves as a bed and fold my blanket before going to the low fire pit in the middle of the room. I use the tool to stir the coals to life and add some fuel. The flames slowly catch and illuminate the room in a flickering glow.