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and now he looks a breath away from death.

Finish him. He deserves it.

Save him. He deserves it.

The war in my mind rages as fierce as ever.

“Did you come to help?” Varren rasps.

“What do you think? She arrived with an army!” Weroneka’s voice is hysterical. She points at the rebels behind me, all of whom have fallen silent. And still. “Of course you’d be the one to thrive in all of this,” she snarls at me.

My arms drop to my sides. The words that crawl from my inflamed throat aren’t the bitter accusations I’d planned but a simple question. “What in the skies happened?”

“The Zemyans happened! They were everywhere when we emerged in the Grand Courtyard after leaving you,” Weroneka continues. “They were on us so quickly—they beheaded Bastian before I could even think to forge a blade of fire. With Enebish fighting on their side, we couldn’t call upon the power of the sky with any accuracy. We lost Eshwar and Iska before we were even out of the square. And Lizbet went back for her sisters in Sagaan and never returned.”

It feels like I’ve been stuffed into a chest plate five sizes too small. My lungs threaten to collapse. I can’t even summon a morsel of satisfaction over Bastian’s gruesome death, despite the insolent things he said to me in the treasury.

My entire body deflates. I tell myself it’s disappointment to have traveled so far and suffered so long for this—there’s nothing gratifying about punishing warriors who have already been so thoroughly beaten.

Finally Enebish breaks the silence. “I wasn’t with the Zemyans when they invaded Sagaan.” She limps forward to stand by my side. The eyes of the Kalima grow wide, but none of them leap to attack. “The generál supreme, Kartok, tricked me and siphoned my power, which he wielded during the siege. Think what you will of me, but I would never align with the Zemyans.”

“Then why is a Zemyan among you?” Cirina levels an accusatory finger at Ivandar.

“And why have you brought the Chotgori and Namagaans with you?” Weroneka asks.

On and on their questions pepper me, all boiling down to one.

If you haven’t come to punish us, why have you come?

Why have you come, Ghoa?

This is my final chance. I could forge twin blades of ice and force Ivandar and Enebish and Temujin to the ground. An indisputable show of my greatness. Proof I should be leading the Kalima—if there isn’t proof enough already.

But I glance at Enebish, standing beside me as she used to, my sister in arms and of heart. And at the kings and people from the Protected Territories surrounding me, lending their strength despite the freedoms I stripped from them. And at Ivandar’s bright eyes, brimming with something that looks like pride, even though my success is directly tied to his country’s failure. And I know I can’t betray them.

I’ve known it for a long time, if I’m honest.

I wait for the pounding in my head to flare. For rime to coat my vision. For the ruthless commander I’ve always been to make a final stand.

But there’s nothing.

Just peace. And frosty resolve.

I link one arm through Enebish’s and reach back with the other to take Ivandar’s hand. Ready to lay down my pride—the last of my weapons.

Before I can speak, laughter filters through the tunnels—as soft as the drip of an icicle. The louder it grows, the more it sharpens into an unmistakable voice. Echoing and everywhere. The same susurrating voice that hounded me in the fabricated throne room. The voice that’s haunted my dreams ever since.

“Ghoa came because I told her to,” Kartok proclaims.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

GHOA

HORRIFIED SCREAMS FILL THE CAVERN, SHAKING THE WALLS like the behemoth gongs that hung in the Sky King’s throne room. The ceiling groans and crackles. Fractures carve through the ice, so eerily similar to the glass walls of Kartok’s prison—right before they burst. I extend my hand and fortify the ceiling with another layer of frost, but the majority of the shepherds and Chotgori and even some of the Namagaan soldiers are already fleeing back through the caves. Abandoning the fight before we’ve even seen a Zemyan.

I knew building an army of outcasts was never going to work.

“Show yourself!” I turn in a frantic circle, scanning the icy chamber for the sorcerer. But I knock into Enebish and Ivandar instead. They stare at me, appalled, as if they believe Kartok’s claim. “It’s obviously a lie!” I shout.

Apparently, that isn’t so obvious to Enebish.

“Did you betray me again? After everything?” Her lips curl into a snarl, but like a fickle Zemyan blade, the words retract and clog her throat, making her sound small and pathetic. “I don’t know how you live with yourself. Sacrificing more lives—”

“Open your eyes!” I thunder. “Yes, I was furious with you and your rebels for turning against Ashkar and making me look like an incompetent fool. Yes, I wanted to punish the Kalima for abandoning me. But even my ruthlessness has its limits. I would never lead him anywhere!”

“Maybe not knowingly …” Kartok bleeds into view, his long, lithe form crystalizing in the wall of ice directly in front of me. “But the bond between us is strong, Commander. You’ve been very receptive to my promptings.” He looks like an apparition, blending almost seamlessly into this frozen place: blue robes, pale skin, and smiling, bloodless lips.

“You’re here! Thank the Goddess,” Temujin mewls from where he lies, tied up like a hog at the back of the cavern. Abandoned by the shepherds who fled. “Release me and I’ll help you take them down.”

Kartok doesn’t even look in the deserter’s direction. “I have all the help I need.” The sorcerer snaps his fingers and hundreds of replicas appear all around him, as if he’s being reflected by dozens of mirrors. We’re completely surrounded by the generál supreme.

Another horde of our reinforcements flee, leaving only Enebish, Serik, Ivandar, Ziva, the kings, and a handful of shepherds and Namagaan warriors.

“We are allies!” Temujin bellows. “Equal partners! Release

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