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on the other hand, cross their arms and shake their heads, becoming even more disgruntled when they look across the room and realize they’re in agreement with each other.

Serik is the only one whose expression is unreadable. He stops pacing, and his anger ebbs enough that sweat no longer pours down my cheeks, but his face is completely blank.

“Can you give us a moment?” I ask the others.

Ziva, Lalyne, and Azamat go without complaint. Bultum and Iree eventually leave, but only after insisting on further discussion. Finally it’s just me and Serik, staring at each other, and I can’t tell if we’re standing on the same side of a battlefield or the opposite.

Since he is apparently incapable of movement or speech, I cross the space and lean against the wall beside him. The room is tiny—it has to be, with the thick walls built to keep out the cold—and it smells faintly of salt and cedar. Trinkets sit neatly on the dresser—a silver spoon, a pot of powder, and a bone hair-comb—as if the owner had every intention of returning. “Say something,” I finally plead.

“What am I supposed to say to all of that?” Serik tosses his hands, then drags them through his hair. It reminds me so much of our days at Ikh Zuree, I can’t help but laugh.

“Why are you laughing?” he demands. “This isn’t funny. So many lives—”

“I’m not laughing at you, Serik. Not in the way you think, anyway. I just love you.”

“You love me? And this is the moment you decide to declare it? When my thoughts are scrambling around my head like whisked eggs, and I don’t know what in the skies is true?”

I grab his wrist before he can resume pacing, and tug him close. “This is true. Me and you. Let’s start with that.” I tap his nose gently.

“You really love me?” A wicked grin crinkles his freckled face.

“How many times are you going to make me say it before you say it back?”

“You know I love you! I’ve been telling you for years.”

“Not in those exact words.”

“Because words aren’t the only way. Nor are they necessarily the best way.”

“Agreed.” I twine our fingers together and fit my head beneath his chin. We sit in quiet for a long moment, feeling the drum of the other’s heart. “Why did Ziva’s story upset you so much?” I finally ask.

Serik plunks down on the bed and buries his hands in his hair. “It didn’t upset me. It’s just … a lot. A few months ago I was certain the First Gods despised me. Or had overlooked me,” he amends when I give him a stern look. “How am I supposed to accept that the Lady and Father orchestrated all of this? That They know where we’ll be and what we’ll need, when They couldn’t acknowledge me or what I needed for nineteen years?”

“Better late than never,” I say in an attempt to lighten the mood. “They act according to Their timing, not ours. Maybe you wouldn’t be as strong as you are now if you hadn’t endured those years at Ikh Zuree. It made you resilient. It taught you to question authority and never back down. Maybe you couldn’t be the warrior They needed until this moment.”

“Maybe,” he mumbles, “but why would the Lady and Father have our most hated enemies deliver this information about Kartok? Why force us to work with people who don’t even believe in Them? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe They’re ready to forgive Zemya? And maybe They’re telling us we need to do the same. That it’s time to mend these old, bitter grudges and finally move on. Ghoa fell to her knees when you attacked, Serik. I never thought I’d live to see the day—”

“It was a trick, En.”

I sigh and sit beside him on the bed. It’s stiffer than I expected, and a plume of rancid dust rises from the quilt. I wait until it settles before speaking. “We’ve both grown so much over the last few months…. Why not Ghoa? She was held prisoner in Zemya. There’s no telling how that changes a person.”

“Why not Ghoa? Are you serious?” Serik tilts his head back and groans. “She’s doing what she always does to you. Reeling you in with promises of love and acceptance and greatness only to use you as a stepping stone and cast you aside. Because of her, you’ve spent months mistrusting the people who actually care for you. And now, when you’re finally rebuilding that confidence, she immediately shows up to snatch it away again. And you’re ready to let her. Ghoa is toxic, En. She always has been and she always will be. She arrived with the Zemyan prince, for skies’ sake!”

“But I felt the rightness of Ziva’s story—which aligns with Ghoa’s claims about Kartok.”

“Are you sure it isn’t just your heart wishing for something that will never be?”

“Or is it your heart refusing to accept something that is?” I ask, glancing over at Serik. “We could pray to the Lady and Father and ask for confirmation….”

“Here? Right now?” Serik looks all around, as if an empty, quiet room isn’t the perfect place to pray.

“I can teach you how,” I offer, already sliding to the floor. “It’s simple. We don’t have prayer dolls, but you just kneel facing east and—”

“No, thanks.” Serik stands abruptly and moves toward the door.

“How do you still have doubts?” I accuse, unable to keep my voice from quavering. “Even now that you have a Kalima power? I thought …”

“Just because I don’t view the gods the same way you do doesn’t mean I don’t worship in my own way.”

“Of c-course not,” I stammer. Why didn’t that ever occur to me? Just because I don’t see him communing with the gods doesn’t mean he isn’t. “How do you view Them?”

He blows his hair out of his eyes. “I don’t know. I’m still figuring it out. I know there’s something up there, something more powerful than us all. But I

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