The door swings open again, and Asha stands there. “Good, you’re ready. Let’s go.”
She turns, expecting me to follow.
“What about Em and Tahira?” My fingers ache as I clutch my satchel closer. “Are they coming with—”
“—they’re fine. Let’s go.”
My feet drag as we pass Emerin’s door. Through the thick wood, I hear her humming—that sweet melody she always sings when lost in her writing. My hand lifts, poised to knock, to call out, to hear her voice one last time. But Asha’s rigid shoulders and clenched jaw make me drop my hand.
Tahira’s room comes next. Light spills from beneath her door, and the soft rustle of pages turning reaches my ears. She’s probably curled up with one of her books, lost in another world.
Olah, please watch over them.
Keep them safe while I’m gone.
Don’t let anyone hurt them.
The blisteringsun beats down on me as I follow Asha to the outskirts of Bakva.
Our horses ride side by side, but there’s nothing harmonious about the moment. Nothing sisterly.
It’s happening!
Everything I have feared.
Everything I knew would happen.
Sweat beads on my brow and trickles down my back, dampening my surcoat and making it cling uncomfortably to my skin. I ignore it as Asha leads me toward a massive army assembled outside the city gates. Brathen and his Watchers of the Dawn sit on horses at the very front. Aleksander, the bastard, is beside them.
I raise a hand to shield my eyes from the blinding sunlight and scan the endless sea of warriors. There must be thousands gathered here, their armor, swords, and spears glinting like shards of broken glass under the punishing sun.
The moment I pull my horse to a stop near Asha, I ask the question that has been burning in my mind since she dragged me from my bed. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to finish this war.”
What war?
The war you started?
The words beg for a voice, but I swallow them down. Asha wouldn’t appreciate them.
“Finish it how?” I ask instead.
“By crushing House of Crimson,” Asha replies, her words as sharp and unforgiving as a double-edged sword.
Even though I’ve seen this coming for weeks and heard her discuss war yesterday, I am still unprepared to hear those words come from her mouth. Crush House of Crimson. Crush Jasce. Crush my happiness.
Olah, help me!
“Asha, you can’t. The cost, the lives lost—”
“—will be nothing compared to what we’ve already suffered,” she says, her voice cold and pitiless. “This ends now.”
I grit my teeth and don’t respond, even as Asha gives the signal for her army to move.
Does Jasce know what’s happening?
Please know.
