make up lies to ensure my loyalty.”
“What reason would I have to lie?” Temujin asks with a vicious smile. Then he sweeps out the door and slams it behind him.
I stare at the large particles of dust drifting like snow from the door frame. My hands are shaking. My legs, too. I grip the bedpost and slowly wilt to the mattress, digging my fingers into the faded quilt.
Temujin’s lying. He has to be. Ghoa would never sentence Serik to the same fate as his father.
And Temujin has every reason to lie. Of course he’d try to poison me against Ghoa and the empire. That’s what he does. I should have been more prepared. But I barreled right into his carefully constructed trap. If I truly despised Ghoa and the empire, I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn they have committed yet another atrocity. And he knows I can’t question her about Serik. She would be furious and deeply hurt by my lack of trust. She’ll know I’ve spoken to Temujin or one of his Shoniin and that I believe them over her … at least to some degree. Enough to doubt.
Which is why I must ignore Temujin’s lie.
How could it be anything else? He has no reason to be keeping tabs on Serik or Ikh Zuree. He’s baiting me, and I refuse to bite.
I heave to my feet and stomp back to the bustling common room. It’s still packed to the hilt with customers, though the children are gone—leaving behind a graveyard of empty bowls tipped on their sides. Only Inkar remains at the table, sitting alone at the far end. She waves me over when she spots me.
“How did it go?” she asks, kicking out a chair for me.
“Excellent,” I say through my teeth, hoping my expression resembles a smile more than a sneer. I drop into the chair and inhale the bowl of soup she saved for me, partially so I don’t have to talk and partially because I truly am starving.
Inkar swivels sideways, so she’s facing me, clearly waiting for me to gush and prattle on and on about how wonderful Temujin is.
I drain every last drop of salty broth and return it to the table with a clank. “He’s even sharper than I expected,” I eventually say.
“Right? He’s going to transform the entire continent. And we will be part of it.”
I nod. Once. It’s all I can stomach. Then I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and stand. “Thank you for the soup. He said you’d let me know when and where to report for assignments.”
“You’re leaving now?” Inkar’s brow crumples as if she’s truly sad to see me go. I blink down at her. She’s so nice. So warm and affable. Do you know who you’ve sided with? I want to say. You never should have gotten mixed up with the likes of Temujin. Instead I readjust my scarf to hide my scars—and my smile, which grows thinner by the second.
“I’m exhausted.” I gesture to my arm and leg. “Training the children takes a lot out of me.”
Her eyes dart across my scars and she looks away sheepishly. “I’m sorry. Of course. I didn’t mean to pressure you. I just thought you’d like to meet some of the others now that—”
“Next time,” I promise, feeling slightly guilty that next time will most likely involve a raid that ends with her bound, facedown, on these sticky floors. But she made that choice when she cast her lot with a deserter’s.
Can you blame her? something deep inside me whispers. Wouldn’t you have done the same if Serik had perished in Gazar?
As he very well could, Temujin’s voice taunts me, in three days’ time.
My throat closes. I need to get out of here. Away from this deafening tavern and Temujin’s loyal followers so I can actually think about what to believe. And what to do next.
“I’ll see you soon,” I tell Inkar. Then I let myself out into the night, limping quickly through Sagaan. Clusters of darkness lie in wait down every greasy alleyway and they lunge as I pass, clinging to me like leeches. More and more and more, until it looks like I’m trailing a massive cloak of midnight.
“Not now. Leave me be!” I wave my arms behind me, but that only earns me a strange look from a shoe shiner, perched on a stoop.
When I arrive at my lean-to, I collapse into the leaves, close my eyes, and place my hands over the moonstone. Deep