Yes. Longing kneads my stomach like hunger pains. My limbs buzz like they did on the temple rooftop. The feather bracelet jangles around my wrist.
Fly, fly, fly, Enebish.
No. The risk is too great. Ghoa and hundreds of warriors are down there. Not to mention scores of monks from Ikh Zuree, sniffing out infractions. And the king himself. I clutch my arm to my chest and shake my head. “Our life is back at Ikh Zuree. That, down there, is a dream.”
“So sleep for a moment. Dream with me, Enebish.”
“It will take more than a dream for this”—I point to my traitor’s mark—“to disappear. The people will recognize me. There will be pandemonium.”
Serik’s eyes soften and he reaches into his satchel, extracting a faded scarf like the one I tied to the sacred mound. I raise my eyebrows at it as he wraps it over my hair and around my face like a veil. “The crowd is so thick. No one will notice you, let alone recognize you. And we’ll only stay for a few minutes. Just long enough to taste the winterberry pies, watch a horse race, and see your eagles fly. Don’t you want to watch Orbai compete?”
Yes. I want it all so badly. I squeeze my eyes tight, fighting the temptation coursing through my limbs like poison. I finger Ghoa’s bracelet and imagine every bad scenario, all the thousands of ways this could go wrong, but all I can see are Orbai’s brilliant brown feathers winging across the cerulean sky.
“Okay,” I whisper, adjusting the scarf to hide my scars.
Serik tilts his head back and whoops. “You won’t regret this, En. Even if we’re trapped for the rest of our lives, we’ll always have today.”
He crinkles his eyes, takes my hand, and we steal down the road to Sagaan.
CHAPTER FOUR
I HAD FORGOTTEN WHAT IT’S LIKE TO BE AMONG SO MANY people. The Grand Courtyard—comprised of the white-and-gold marbled Sky Palace on one side, the bluestone treasury on another, and hundreds of colorful vendor stalls twisting like a serpent’s tail to enclose the remaining two borders—is nearly as large as the entire compound of Ikh Zuree. But even at the edges, we are crammed shoulder to shoulder with festivalgoers. We thrash and fight like fish in a net. Squeeze and sweat like grapes in a press.
I dig my nails into Serik’s wrist, pressing harder and harder until he yelps and looks back. “‘We’ll keep to the shadows, far from the crowds and noise,’” I hiss his words back to him.
He shrugs and mouths the word sorry, though it’s clear he isn’t. His face glows brighter than the marigold lanterns bobbing overhead, and his movements are as frenzied as the blue-and-gold imperial banners snapping in the breeze.
We weave around the edges of the cobbled square. In the center, the crowd throngs around Kalima warriors displaying various powers. Rain Makers create a mist so fine and sparkling, the festivalgoers look to be dusted in crystals. Hail Forgers bring rainbow-colored stones floating to the ground like bubbles, and Sun Stokers juggle blinding orbs of light that are hot enough to melt iron. Beside them, the two most illustrious magic-barren warriors, Toko the Thrasher and Gupta the Brutal, sign leaflets and give weapons demonstrations, all while herding hordes of eager children toward the recruitment tables.
Nearly every child in Ashkar enlists at the age of eleven. Not because they’re forced to, but because they dream of wielding the sky. And if a Kalima power doesn’t present, no matter. They’ll happily claim the fame and adoration won by fearsome warriors like Toko and Gupta. The king is clever, I’ll give him that. The war with Zemya has raged so long, and acquiring the Protected Territories required such a massive effort, he could have easily made conscription mandatory. Instead he painted banners with his warriors’ faces and named holidays in their honor. He made the upcoming generations want to enlist and give their lives to Ashkar.
Bitter bile stings my throat and I turn my back on the warriors, but the rest of the festival offers little comfort. Men in polished leather vests tower above me, readying for the eagle competition—an event I spend the entire year training for but will never compete in. Beautiful women twirl lacy parasols and trail the cloyingly sweet scent of rose and citrus. I choke and cough on the perfume, hating the admiring eyes that follow their every movement. Hating that I will never look like them. Hating that I want to look like them.
People knock into my shoulder and brush against my back. Hands graze mine, and I recoil with a gasp. I can’t remember the last time someone touched me, other than Serik and Ghoa, and it feels so foreign, so slippery and hot and wrong. I shove my hands inside my cloak and bite my lips together to keep from shouting a warning:
Keep back. It’s dangerous. I am dangerous.
“You look like you swallowed a handful of rocks.” Serik laughs and slings his arm around me. He smells of incense and pine ink and old prayer scrolls. Smells I thought I despised, but now they feel so familiar. So safe. I nestle into the crook of his arm and scrunch my eyes. “Relax, En. The chaos is a good thing. We’re specks in the crowd.”
This isn’t just a crowd. It’s a stampede, a swarm. We’re ants on a teeming hill, surrounded by thousands of other ants all vying for the same crumb. I tug furiously at my collar, suddenly hot. How did I ever feel comfortable here? A few short years ago I plowed through these masses like a charging bull. Now I’m a squeaking mouse. If it weren’t for Serik holding me up and pulling me forward, I’d be trampled.
“Maybe something warm will calm your nerves.” Serik steers me toward a vendor cart, and, as promised, we purchase winterberry pies. Though I haven’t a clue where Serik got the money and I’m afraid to ask because he probably stole it from the alms box at Ikh Zuree. I may not support the Sky King’s religion, but I would never steal from a church. Serik purchases another slice, devours it in two bites, and licks the sticky purple juice from his fingers.
I take my time with my pie, relishing the rich, buttery crust and the explosion of warm, tart berries in my mouth. When I exhale, some of my worries rush away with my breath. A hint of a smile spreads across my lips.
“See? This isn’t so bad.” Serik nudges me.
I nod as my heart slowly slides back down into my chest. He’s right. Everyone’s attention is on the festival and not the scarred wisp of a girl hidden beneath a faded scarf. Shining horses prance toward the fields to ready for the races, and performers dance with ribbons or play lutes. One old woman has trained pygmy goats to do tricks, their tiny hooves fitted with bells. It’s not as grand as celebrations in Verdenet, which continued day and night for nearly a week, with fire dancers and parades featuring towering statues of the Lady and Father. But this is a close second.
The only thing that blemishes the ethereal, dreamlike fantasy are the scores of people fighting against a line of mounted warriors blockading the northern entrance to the square. I tug Serik’s cloak and point in their direction. “Why aren’t they letting them in?”
“Maybe there’s no room? We’re lucky we arrived when we did.”
“They never turn anyone away from Qusbegi….” I squint at the commotion, but it’s a blurred swirl of homespun tunics.
Serik pulls me into the center of the square, where a lively game of tug-of-war is underway, one side teetering dangerously over a deep pit of mud. It’s always one of the most anticipated activities of Qusbegi, and the rowdy spectators sway back and forth with the flow of the game, hollering and exchanging bets. Serik stands on his toes and looks longingly at the men and women straining against the rope, but true to his word, we keep our distance and head back toward the edge, where the crowd is slightly thinner.
“Are you glad we came?” Serik asks, even though it’s obvious. I haven’t smiled this much in years. I didn’t fully appreciate the beauty of Sagaan when I lived here. I’ve grown so used to the monks’ scornful stares and biting remarks, part of me forgot that people were capable of laughter and cheer. The entire city is kin for the day, and I am part of it. A tiny stitch in the corner, but a thread in the tapestry all the same.
Serik points to a small stage wher
e stringed puppets prance across fields of green velvet, but before we can move in that direction, the crowd heaves sideways. Shouts whirl around us and I nearly fall to my knees as a group of men in filthy homespun elbow through the throng. They overturn a cart of candied fruit and nuts, scoop the sweets into their tunics, and jostle past us, the mounted warriors close on their heels. The last thief, a boy no older than I am, glances up when our elbows brush. His eyes widen and he gasps as he dashes away.
My hands fly to the scarf, which is thankfully still in place. But an ominous, bone-deep dread still makes me drop the last bite of my pie. The boy was a warning from the Lady of the Sky. I grip Serik’s wrist with the crushing strength of Orbai’s talons. “We should go.”
“We can’t go now. It was just a few petty thieves. The warriors will catch them. Plus the parade is beginning.” He points to the glittering steps of the Sky Palace, where the eagle hunters strut back and forth, preening like peacocks. The first stage of the competition is a display of costumes to determine which hunter is the best turned out. Though it’s hardly a contest. All the men look fine enough in their ceremonial vests and polished boots, but they’re nothing compared to our illustrious ruler, in his cape of golden eagle feathers and bejeweled crown lined with fox fur.
“The king wins every year,” I say, “and you promised we wouldn’t stay long.”
“But the trials will start any second,” Serik whines. His lips look extra full when he frowns. Not that I make a habit of looking at his lips. They’re just pinker than usual from the cold. “And look!” He grips my arm excitedly. “The Sky King has chosen Orbai. Don’t you want to watch her compete?”
My heart flutters at the sound of my eagle’s name. “Of course he chose her.” I lean up on my toes to see around the women chatting in front of us. Orbai sits proudly on a perch beside the king, her sleek brown feathers flashing in the sun. “Isn’t she stunning? Look how she holds her head. See how she beats her wings to intimidate the others. She knows she is the finest bird in the competition.”
Serik snorts, but I prattle on like a mother preening over her child. I can’t help it. Orbai is the smartest and quickest, the largest and fiercest of the birds in my mews. She is an eagle fit for a king.
I take a deep breath and look from Orbai to the road out of Sagaan. My heart at war with my mind. Go now, the lingering dread warns. You’ve seen her hunt a thousand times before. This will be no different.
But it is different. I want to watch the king admire her. I want to hear the multitude exclaim at her speed and grace. I want to watch her win the competition and share in her victory. Because it will be my victory too. The only small victory I am afforded these days.
“Fine. We’ll stay a little while longer—one event, maybe two.”
Serik lets out a cheer and claps me on the back. I peer over my shoulder again, but for once I’m like everyone else. A single blade of grass amid the vastness of the prairie.
“The test of speed will commence!” shouts the royal jester. The round-bellied man has always overseen the Qusbegi entertainment, and each year his act grows more ridiculous. With a sly grin, he extends his arms and flaps them up and down, releasing purple-and-green panels that are sewn to his tunic. He looks like a very ugly bird, and the audience roars with laughter as he “flies” across the stage to usher the competitors into position beside their eagles.
Once they’re settled, he signals them to untether their birds. Out in the field, a rabbit springs from a cage. Its small brown body bounds through the frost-covered grass and the eagles screech with anticipation. The jester drops his arms, and the hunters whistle commands.
I hold my breath and lean forward as the birds take to the air. I’m tempted to flap my arms like the ridiculous jester to make Orbai fly faster, but she doesn’t need my help. She tears through the sky like the rockets they launch from the rooftops each year in honor of the king’s birthday, but instead of blue and red, she is a streak of solid gold. Using her brute size, she veers in front of the other eagles and seizes the rabbit in her talons, shrieking at her victory.
I scream back, cheering louder than everyone around me. The ladies in front of us turn and stare and the man beside me mutters under his breath, but I pump my fist and bounce up and down as Orbai settles back on her perch, because she won! My bird won.
“She was amazing!” Serik lifts me off my feet and spins me around.
I laugh. “She’s an amazing bird.”
“That’s because she has an amazing trainer.”
I blush and pull the blue scarf tighter around my cheeks. Serik sets me down, and his hazel eyes rove over my face. Lingering. Did I smear berry juice on my cheek? Is my traitor’s mark showing? I cock an eyebrow, but he continues smiling like he has a secret. It makes my skin feel itchy, so I become engrossed with my boots until the jester raises his voice again.
“His Majesty, Tyberion the Third, the Sky King of Ashkar, has won the first event!”
The square erupts with applause, even louder than before. The king waves his large hand and smiles. His cheeks are pinched pink from the cold, and his blue eyes sparkle like lapis lazuli. I may not agree with his religious leanings, but there’s no denying he is striking and powerful. A good match for my Orbai.
“Next we will have a test of agility,” the jester proclaims when the applause dies down. Again, I glance at the dirt path that will take us back to Ikh Zuree. The longer we stay, the more likely we’ll be spotted. But agility maneuvers are Orbai’s true talent—I have never seen her equal; she cuts like a saber and dives like a comet. I bite my lip and turn back to the steps of the Sky Palace, vowing to drag Serik away directly after this, no matter how he protests.
One by one, the eagles are put through a series of maneuvers: dives, climbs, circles, and loops. The king goes last, and, as I knew she would, Orbai performs the sequence faster and more fluidly than the other birds, with the flair and daring that instantly made her my favorite when she arrived at Ikh Zuree. She looks like a flash of sunlight bending and twirling through the sky. The audience gasps and cheers and even the chattering women fall silent. A stooped old man, who must have been a hunter in his prime, wipes a tear from his cheek.
I feel like crying too—big, fat tears of joy. Never have I witnessed anything so glorious. So perfect. This is far and away the best day of my life. Even better than charging into battle or wielding the threads of night. “You were right.” I grip Serik’s forearm and squeeze. “I’m so glad we came.”
He bends down to whisper in my ear. “I’m always right, and I will accept a kiss in thanks.” He winks and puckers his lips.
I swat him away. “You’ve taken vows!”
“Not today. Today I’m just Serik, and you’re just Enebish.” He stares at me again with that insistent smile, fire dancing in his crescent-moon eyes. Why does he keep looking at me like that? And why does my stomach feel like it’s turning backflips?
“I’m sure one of them would be glad to kiss you,” I say with a cough, pointing to a group of girls who are giggling behind their fans and looking his way.
Serik eyes them for a moment and my heart drops into the soles of my boots because I will never be beautiful. No one will ever look longingly at me.
“Let them stare,” he says. “I will only accept a kiss from the winner.”
“In that case, I’m sure Orbai will be happy to kiss you later.”
“She would sooner bite off my nose!”
“That makes two of us.” I tweak his nose, and he yelps and rubs his face. We’re both still laughing when the air above us rustles.
My ears fill with the familiar beat of wings.
A cold knot of dread hardens in my throat as the ladies in front of us whip around.
“Please, no,” I whisper, hoping if I don’t look up, Orbai won’t be there. She’ll be across the square, perched on the king’s arm, readying for the test of accuracy: when the eagles must capture a specific fox or rabbit branded with a marking that mat
ches a tile drawn from a bag.
But Orbai has clearly chosen her own mark.
“What is she doing?” Serik demands.
“I don’t know, I don’t know,” I say in a long, wheezing gasp. But I do know. I may not have my gauntlet, and I’m not wearing the imitation crown I don when training the king’s birds—so they recognize him—but I haven’t treated Orbai like the rest of his eagles, taking them out only for routine training and exercise. I have treated her as if she were mine.
I close my eyes and pray harder than I ever have, begging the Lady of the Sky to whisk her up into the clouds, but my eagle lets out a happy screech and lands on my shoulder. She ruffles her feathers and clicks her beak. The sound is deafening compared to the silence of the courtyard.
Slowly, I look up to find every eye fixed on me, and not on the king who stands on the Sky Palace steps. Forgotten and humiliated.
Even from a distance, I can see his handsome face is no longer smiling.
It is murderous.
CHAPTER FIVE
IT TAKES LESS THAN FIVE SECONDS FOR THE PEOPLE TO PIECE together who I am: a young girl, scarred and limping, a trainer of eagles.
Horrified screams hurtle toward me like spears. Someone throws a half-eaten turkey leg at my face. Hot grease drips down my cheek and pieces of skin cling to my eyebrows. I wipe it off and cover my face with my hands, but their insults still flay me open like the abba’s steel-barbed whip.
Clearly, I haven’t made a new name for myself, as Ghoa claimed. The people of Ashkar will never forget what I truly am: a murderer, a monster.
Enebish the Destroyer.
How foolish to think I could forget, even for a day.
The crowd scrambles back, clearing a space around Serik and me. Flags and banners clatter to the ground. Cups of vorkhi and bowls of spicy stew splash across the cobblestones. Women clutch their children tightly to their legs and men draw their sabers. All the while, tears well behind my eyelashes. I reach up to stroke Orbai. I don’t know what else to do. I will never be able to plow through the wall of onlookers—and there’s nowhere to hide. I’m trapped like the rabbit Orbai crushed in her talons. And the worst part is, I’m going to bring her down with me.
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