playful nudges; the hours we lay in the monastery grass, planning for a future that could only be together; all the vile curses he flung at my tormentors and the impious jokes he made so I would laugh instead of cry; how he defended me stalwartly and believed in me completely, even when no one else would; how he pushed me to wish for more than my pitiful existence in the monastery.
No one has ever loved me more, or loved me better, than Serik. And I love him too. I have always loved him, since the first moment I arrived at Ghoa’s parents’ estate and found him huddled in his oversized sunburst cloak. But I never allowed myself to consider loving him like that because it was impossible. Our worlds rarely crossed—I was serving in the Kalima and he was pledged to the brotherhood, bound forever to the abba and Ikh Zuree. And when we were finally reunited, I was a criminal, one misstep from the gallows.
But now …
I look up at the endearing crinkles around his eyes and the perpetual crease of his brow. He isn’t obviously handsome like Temujin, but all the little subtleties that only I would notice—like how his copper freckles look like a constellation of floating lilies, and how his ears turn pink when he’s angry, and how his long, taut muscles fill out his holy robes—add up to more than the sum of their parts. He is messy and exquisite, volatile and perfect, and as I grapple for words to adequately describe what he means to me, he steps closer. Closer. Until we’re chest to chest.
Heart to heart.
His hands cup my cheeks, trembling and tentative at first. When I don’t pull away, his fingers slide into my hair. Fire builds in my belly, heating me like a coal, and I grip the front of his red robe, like I’ve secretly imagined doing so many times. I trail my fingers over the stubble of his hair and steal a glance at his lips, remembering how red and full they looked in the cold at Qusbegi.
It’s all so familiar. So right, my heart cries.
I could close the breath of distance between us and press my lips to his. I could follow him back to Ashkar and lose myself in his moon-eyed smile. If I had no one to consider beyond myself. If Zemya wasn’t charging across our border.
If our warriors weren’t being slaughtered like sacrificial lambs. If thousands of people in the Protected Territories weren’t being stripped of their beliefs.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” His eyes are so wide, his expression so anguished.
Tears blur between my lashes, and I force myself to take a step back. Just one step, but far enough that Serik’s hands fall away from my face. It feels like a canyon has cleaved open between us—a perilous gap too wide to jump, too treacherous to cross. There will be no following him.
No coming back.
I reach into my pocket and offer him a blue bonfire stone. “Temujin gave me one extra, in case of emergencies. This will take you back to the Ram’s Head. Go to the globeflower field and toss it into the air.”
Serik studies the stone with a strange expression before tucking it into his fist. Then he backs toward the door.
An icy knife plunges into my heart, carving out my flesh with every step he puts between us. When he bends through the flap, I sob and chase after him. The sky outside is hotter than ever, thanks to the fire, but I can’t stop shivering. “Join a caravan west to Visva. Or I hear you can make a decent living mining copper in the Ondor Mountains. Just get out of Sagaan. Keep yourself safe. And when all of this is over, find me.”
His eyes are pools of water, clear and wet and deep. His voice is thick and warbling. “Goodbye, En. I hope you’re happy. I honestly do.”
I bury my face in my palms so I don’t have to watch him walk away. And so I’m not tempted to follow him. Pain and exhaustion from my mission the night before slam down on me with double the force, like armor made of iron. Tears spill over my knuckles and run down my wrists.
By the time I finally compose myself and look up, Serik is gone. And he took part of me with him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
WHEN I WAKE THE NEXT MORNING, MY BODY FEELS A thousand