Page 35

“It’s easy to call a boat a ship when you’re standing on the shore,” she murmurs, shaking her head.

“I thought of the Martyshgard as a simple escape route. But hiding in that darkness, listening to the sounds of fighting… it hit me.” She looks at me, and for the first time, I see real, unfiltered apprehension in her eyes.

“That would be a whole other year of this . A year of grueling training, of being pushed past your limits, a year of trying to force yourself to be brave when every instinct you have is screaming to be safe, with no guarantee you’d even pass and get inducted…

all to be a bored guard at some forgotten gate as a one-starred Martyshgard in a distant Martysh base?

When it was just an idea, it felt like freedom.

Now that it’s my only reality, it feels like a cage. Going home sounds better…”

I feel a surge of empathy for her plight.

Desperation is a brutal motivator, one that can make you believe you’re capable of anything.

But reality is a harsh master. It reveals the truth of your own limits, and the heartbreak that follows is a familiar, hollow feeling.

I wish I could offer her words of comfort or a foolproof plan, but my own life has taught me that foolproof plans are the first casualty of contact with reality .

“I guess I should be thankful I’m alive, though,” she continues despite my useless silence.

“I was certain I was going to die back there. I was hiding for most of it, witnessing others moving around, looking for easy preys. Then I saw you and Darian leaving a cellar. I started running to get to you when four Jamshahis surrounded me. I was about to drop to my knees and beg for my life in exchange for my coin when that sorcerer appeared, and then there was only grunting and steel clashing.”

I frown. “Which sorcerer?”

“The golden Ahira.”

“Zanyar?” I can’t help but gape at her with wide eyes. “He defended you?” I can’t imagine Zanyar attempting to help anyone who is not a fellow Ahira or an Aramisi.

“I don’t know if he was defending me or just fancied their coins.

But there he was, fighting it out with four Jamshahis at once.

It got so intense I nearly lost control of my bladder.

I managed to throw a stone at one who was aiming to attack him from behind, then spotted a narrow path and bolted, eventually bumping into you and Darian again. ”

Now that’s a real head-scratcher. Zanyar is no fool; he wouldn’t pick a fight with four Jamshahis unless he had a good reason. Surely there were easier ways to collect coins… like, oh, I don’t know, stealing mine while I was trapped in that cellar? Did he really risk his neck for Lila?

Unsettled, I say, “You didn’t see how that fight ended?”

“No, I made a quick retreat. He seemed to be holding his own, though. I didn’t catch the grand ending, but he looked unfazed by the four-to-one odds.”

Call me crazy, but I’m actually worried about Zanyar Zareen! Something that I would have found as unlikely as Ahira Brutus giggling. He is a skilled warrior, but four opponents, especially Jamshahis, are a formidable force.

I’m still upset with him for what happened in the second trial, but the thought of him in danger makes me anxious, the reasons for which I’m not sure I’m ready to delve into. Despite his actions in these trials, I… I don’t hate him.

I’m so lost in my thoughts that I almost miss the fact that we’ve stumbled back into the inner ward. It’s still dark, though there’s a faint glimmer on the horizon hinting that sunrise isn’t too far off.

In the center of the ward, a Martyshgard stands scribbling away on a parchment, looking like he’d rather be in his warm bed instead.

The two Gajaris, Othman and Omeer, are standing on the side of the courtyard, chugging water from a table.

Beside them are Samira and Olanna, once again proving that their high rank is no accident.

As we cross the courtyard toward the Martyshgard, Lila leaves us and goes straight to the table for a drink. I watch her, feeling a pang of sadness at her defeat.

When we reach him, Martyshgard asks, “Are you all together and willing to share the same rank?”

“Yes,” Faelas replies.

“Show me your golden coins.”

Faelas, Bahador, and Darian each present their three coins, stepping aside for me to do the same. But I stay rooted to my place.

“Show me your coins,” the Martyshgard repeats.

When I don’t move, Darian asks, “Arien, what’s wrong?”

The Martyshgard warns me impatiently, “You will be eliminated if you don’t show evidence of having two or more coins before sunrise.”

“Arien? What’s the matter?” Bahador reaches out to place a hand on me but stops himself, remembering my injured shoulder.

My mind is clouded with pain, trauma, worry, and unease, and even I don’t understand what’s wrong with me. Why am I standing still like a fool? As I look up at Martyshgard’s frustrated face and the concerned expressions of the Izadeonians, the reason suddenly comes to me.

I know I should think carefully about my next actions, but I’m too emotionally drained to exercise my usual hesitation and overthinking. I reach into my pocket and pull out one of the coins.

“Is that all you have?” Martyshgard asks, frowning. I shake my head and turn to my left.

“Lila,” I call out.

She turns to me, clearly confused. I gently toss the coin to her, and she catches it with wide eyes. Before anyone can react, I turn back to the Martyshgard and show him my other two coins. “I have these.”

He makes a note on his parchment, clearly bored with my theatrics.

Feeling weak and lightheaded, I step aside. Lila is still standing by the table, staring at the coin in her hand. I don’t wait for her to realize what has happened and turn to the Izadeonians.

Faelas is frowning, but I can’t tell if it is disapproval or contemplation.

Bahador, on the other hand, is grinning at me with a fondness that would have warmed me under normal circumstances.

He nods approvingly. Darian’s face is serious.

His eyes linger on me as he opens and closes his mouth, searching for the right words.

Finally, he says, “Let’s get you to a healer. ”

“I can go by myself,” I utter and add before he can protest, “I need a moment.”

There is compassion and understanding in his eyes, as if he knows very well what it means to want to be alone, to process what has happened to you, and to collect your thoughts in privacy. He still looks worried but nods reluctantly. “Find us after you’re healed.”

I nod back, feeling grateful for his understanding and the unusual concern and compassion that have developed between us. As I walk toward the infirmary, I notice Lila approaching the Martyshgard with hesitation, as if she has finally realized that she is advancing on to the next trial.

And then… I see Zanyar, silent and motionless, several paces behind us, clearly waiting for Lila to claim her rank first.

His eyes are on me, emotionless and deep.

I don’t know how long he has been there or how much he has seen, but a sudden and profound sense of relief washes over me at the sight of him safe.

He looks almost too safe, as if he is back from a leisurely stroll in the gardens rather than having just fought four Jamshahis.

The relief is so intense that it takes my breath away. The heat I felt earlier threatens to creep up my neck again as I remember the way he looked at me in the arena, when we were so close, when our breaths mingled and our eyes locked .

But I push the memory away. I am too tired, too injured, too traumatized, to delve into the complexities of my feelings right now.

I hesitate only for another moment, holding his gaze before I turn my back on him and head to the infirmary.