When I heard the crack in his voice, my heart wanted to burst. Stay, I wanted to beg them once more, but I knew they couldn’t. My throat swelled. It hurt to speak. “I will.”
“Always seize the wind, sister.”
“I will,” I whispered.
Finlei turned to go, but Sendo hesitated, his forehead wrinkling with concern. He placed a hand on my arm. I couldn’t feel his touch, but the gesture warmed me, like a gentle caress of sunlight on my skin.
“I’ve missed you, Maia.” He offered me a sad smile. “You remember that last day Finlei and I were at home?”
“I was painting,” I said softly. “I spilled Baba’s most expensive indigo on my skirt. I was so foolish then…so, so foolish.”
“No, not foolish.” He touched my nose, and I blinked even though I couldn’t feel it. “How far you’ve come from that little girl with the paint on her nose and fingers. The one who’d cling to my stories when we sat on the pier—you’ve become so strong.” He swallowed. “I’m sorry we never made it home.”
I blinked back my tears. There was so much I wanted to tell him—I had five years’ worth of news and worries, of joys and realizations—and stories I’d dreamed of sharing with him, but now that he was here, no words would come.
“I have to go,” he said, pressing a phantom kiss onto my cheek.
“Wait—” I started.
“This isn’t farewell, sister. Our paths will cross again. Perhaps not in this life, but Mama, Finlei, and I will be watching you. Until then, take care.”
Sendo nodded at Edan, acknowledging him before he returned to Finlei’s side.
Then my brothers were gone.
My lips parted, and I sucked in an unsteady, ragged breath.
“We retreat to the camp!” I heard Lady Sarnai shout. Lord Xina’s body was folded over her horse, and she led the way across the bridge. “Carry anyone you can. We will bury them tonight.”
My skirts fanning behind me, I lowered myself back onto the bridge. Edan wove his arm under mine, finding my hand.
The instant my feet touched the cool stone deck, everything exploded.
* * *
• • •
The world slanted, and my stomach plummeted as the bridge folded in on itself.
I couldn’t see. Dust clouded my vision. Everything was a blur of stippled gray, human screams, and cataclysmic roars from the river.
Bodies tumbled into the water like marbles, and I dove after them, saving as many as I could from the Jingan’s icy clutches.
I frantically searched for Edan, my brother, and Ammi. Keton was downstream swimming toward Jappor, Ammi already clambering to shore not far from him. Edan was safe too, standing on the Jappor side of the bridge—the only piece that had not collapsed—using his magic to delay its destruction.
Relief washed over me. Then I glimpsed Lady Sarnai in the river. Her horse couldn’t navigate the debris and tumbling rocks, not while it carried Lord Xina’s body.
I leapt after her, fighting the hungry river.
Lord Xina’s body slid off Lady Sarnai’s horse into the river, and she started to dive after him, but the waters were fierce. They swallowed Lord Xina, and Lady Sarnai thrashed against me as I grabbed her by the arms, leaping into the air to reach land.
There, on the banks of Jappor, her father and his demon were waiting. Hundreds of his soldiers surrounded us, and thousands more awaited beyond the city walls.
We were trapped. The bridge was gone; we couldn’t retreat to our camp. We were at the shansen’s mercy.
“Welcome to Jappor, Sarnai,” greeted the shansen. “Half your army is lost. You’ve no food or shelter. Don’t you think it’s time to surrender?”
Lady Sarnai rose to her feet, anger and hatred twisting her features. She lunged at her father with a dagger, but in her grief, she was unfocused, reckless. The shansen fought her off easily, and threw her to the ground.
He spat at her in disgust. “Pathetic,” he rumbled. I started, certain he was about to kill her, but the shansen withdrew. Without Gyiu’rak at his side, his eyes still flashed black and cruel, but there was something about them…the slightest, most infinitesimal glitter of humanity.
“I give you tonight to mourn your losses. You have until dawn to surrender.”
The shansen and his men receded through the gates of Jappor, leaving us by the river in the bitter, bleak cold.
* * *
• • •
By nightfall, the river had gone still, a thin layer of ice subduing its currents. Snow fell, blanketing everything in white. As we made a meager camp along the banks outside Jappor, torches danced above the city walls, a brutal reminder that warmth and comfort were so close and yet so inaccessible. The soldiers huddled together to stave off the cold, but there was little to be done for food; some grew so hungry they began to eat the snow.
The mere thought of having to fight again in the morning broke some of our soldiers. It didn’t help that Lady Sarnai, their commander, was nowhere to be seen.
After dusk, I sought her out and found her kneeling by the river, holding Lord Xina’s helmet.
“Go away, tailor.”
I crouched beside her. What I’d come to tell her was that the men needed her. She needed to rouse them. But seeing her so forlorn, I said instead, “Come back to camp. You’ll freeze out here alone.”
Her teeth were clenched, and she shoved me away. “What does it matter?” she growled, straining between the words. “I will not surrender. We will all die in the morning”—she spat—“and without honor.”
I understood her pain. The shansen had thrown Lord Xina’s corpse into the river. Lady Sarnai couldn’t bury him, couldn’t mourn him properly.
“Lord Xina wouldn’t want you to believe that.”
“In the North, there are demons….” Her voice broke bitterly. “If the dead are not honored, their spirits will become ghosts.”
I regarded her. During the trial, she’d seemed older than I. Now I felt older. Like I’d lived eighty years instead of eighteen.
“We will not allow that to happen to Lord Xina,” I replied. “If we defeat Gyiu’rak, his spirit will be free of her.” I hesitated. “He was a great warrior. One of the greatest of his generation. Let his death not be in vain, Your Highness.”
For a long time, she gave no indication she’d heard me. Then she reached into her quiver for an arrow and set its feather aflame. She placed it atop Lord Xina’s helmet, watching it burn.