“Can’t you heal yourself?” Lila asks with a frown.
“Sorcerers can’t bend their own element,” Faelas responds instead of me.
I don’t care to hinder their plan. “There’s no need to abandon your hunt for me,” I say, attempting to flex my undoubtedly broken shoulder. “I can make my way back.”
Darian snorts. “With a broken shoulder and a face that looks like it’s been in a brawl with a bear? Not a chance. We’ll see you safe.”
Once again, his concern leaves me speechless. Is this how he treats everyone? But I’ve seen no such consideration for others during the trials. Even to Lila, who obviously needs their help to collect coins. If his concern is solely directed at me, why? Is it because he perceives me as weak and in distress? If so, I don’t want that. I don’t need it. But what if…
Stop…
I can’t unravel this puzzle at this moment. Between the throbbing pain, emotional exhaustion, and the crushing weight of stress, deciphering Darian’s mind isn’t a battle I am prepared to fight.
Following them in a daze, I find myself propelled out of the arena andtoward the inner ward, feeling a bit like a wounded duckling being herded by its overprotective flock. With five of us, we’re a formidable unit, and no one dares challenge our passage.
“Who did this to you?” Lila’s question brings me out of my daze. She’s looking at the bruise on my jaw with curiosity.
“Kortyz,” I respond curtly.
“You’re a lot tougher than me then.” A nervous laugh escapes her. “I spent the whole time hiding like a scared monkey, questioning every life choice that led me to this forsaken place. Guess I always knew deep down I wasn’t cut out for this. Becoming a Martyshyar was my one shot at escaping my family’s grasp. To avoid becoming another girl married to a fisherman on a distant island.” She sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I knew I was chasing a dream that was never meant to be mine.”
“But you said you didn’t care,” I remind her gently. “That you’d just join the Martyshgard Order instead.”
“It’s easy to call a boat a ship when you’re standing on the shore,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “I thought of the Martyshgard as a simple escape route. But hiding in that darkness, listening to the sounds of fighting… it hit me.” She looks at me, and for the first time, I see real, unfiltered apprehension in her eyes. “That would be a whole other year ofthis. A year of grueling training, of being pushed past your limits, a year of trying to force yourself to be brave when every instinct you have is screaming to be safe, with no guarantee you’d even pass and get inducted… all to be a bored guard at some forgotten gate as a one-starred Martyshgard in a distant Martysh base? When it was just an idea, it felt like freedom. Now that it’s my only reality, it feels like a cage. Going home sounds better…”
I feel a surge of empathy for her plight. Desperation is a brutal motivator, one that can make you believe you’re capable of anything. But reality is a harsh master. It reveals the truth of your own limits, and the heartbreak that follows is a familiar, hollow feeling. I wish I could offer her words of comfort or a foolproof plan, but my own life has taught me that foolproof plans are the first casualty of contact with reality.
“I guess I should be thankful I’m alive, though,” she continues despite my useless silence. “I was certain I was going to die back there. I was hiding for most of it, witnessing others moving around, looking for easy preys. Then I saw you and Darian leaving a cellar. I started running to get to you when four Jamshahis surrounded me. I was about to drop to my knees and beg for my life in exchange for my coin when that sorcerer appeared, and then there was only grunting and steel clashing.”
I frown. “Which sorcerer?”
“The golden Ahira.”
“Zanyar?” I can’t help but gape at her with wide eyes. “He defended you?” I can’t imagine Zanyar attempting to help anyone who is not a fellow Ahira or an Aramisi.
“I don’t know if he was defending me or just fancied their coins. But there he was, fighting it out with four Jamshahis at once. It got so intense I nearly lost control of my bladder. I managed to throw a stone at one who was aiming to attack him from behind, then spotted a narrow path and bolted, eventually bumping into you and Darian again.”
Now that’s a real head-scratcher. Zanyar is no fool; he wouldn’t pick a fight with four Jamshahis unless he had a good reason. Surely there were easier ways to collect coins… like, oh, I don’t know, stealing mine while I was trapped in that cellar? Did he really risk his neck for Lila?
Unsettled, I say, “You didn’t see how that fight ended?”
“No, I made a quick retreat. He seemed to be holding his own, though. I didn’t catch the grand ending, but he looked unfazed by the four-to-one odds.”
Call me crazy, but I’m actually worried about Zanyar Zareen! Something that I would have found as unlikely as Ahira Brutus giggling. He is a skilled warrior, but four opponents, especially Jamshahis, are a formidable force.
I’m still upset with him for what happened in the second trial, but the thought of him in danger makes me anxious, the reasons for which I’m not sure I’m ready to delve into. Despite his actions in these trials, I… I don’t hate him.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I almost miss the fact that we’ve stumbledback into the inner ward. It’s still dark, though there’s a faint glimmer on the horizon hinting that sunrise isn’t too far off.
In the center of the ward, a Martyshgard stands scribbling away on a parchment, looking like he’d rather be in his warm bed instead. The two Gajaris, Othman and Omeer, are standing on the side of the courtyard, chugging water from a table. Beside them are Samira and Olanna, once again proving that their high rank is no accident.
As we cross the courtyard toward the Martyshgard, Lila leaves us and goes straight to the table for a drink. I watch her, feeling a pang of sadness at her defeat.
When we reach him, Martyshgard asks, “Are you all together and willing to share the same rank?”
“Yes,” Faelas replies.
“Show me your golden coins.”
