“I’m alone,” I say.
He opens his eyes, and I can tell by the chiseled set of his face that the old Dineas is still here.
“How much of that did you overhear?” I ask.
“Kurosh has rose plague,” he says.
I nod.
“It’ll be bad if he dies,” he says. The irony is so plain that neither of us see fit to say it. A week ago, we would have been overjoyed at this news. Now it’s a disaster.
I don’t mention that it’s been eleven days since the equinox festival.
My skirts are heavy around me as I turn toward the shelves. “Your memory will fade soon. Let me get you another dose, and then we can relay the news to Gatha.”
I mix him more potion to keep him with me as he scribbles out a report. When he’s done, I tuck the parchment away to send later. “I’ll likely have to invent some excuse to get you back here in a few days, once we know whether the emperor will survive.”
“Perhaps you could make something up about a new potion,” he says.
It’s strange. Today of all days, we’re cooperating better than we ever have before. And now that the message is written, our earlier unfinished conversation comes back to settle around us. I’m still not sure why he hasn’t taken me to task for what happened at the equinox festival.
Dineas meets my eyes and then looks off to the side. For a moment, it seems as if he’s about to speak, and I steel myself. But he simply returns to his mat and lowers himself down.
“Be safe,” he says, and then he closes his eyes.
It’s only a short while before the new Dineas returns. I send him off quickly, pleading fatigue, and then hurry home.
The sights and sounds of the street press on me as I walk. I do my best to push them aside and get my thoughts in order. It still seems impossible that Mehtap or I could have infected the emperor. We were kept to such a small space, and we were never even within shouting distance of anyone else.
A thought crosses my mind, and I stumble. I was in the enclosure the whole time, but how much did I see of Mehtap that evening?
The courtyard is empty when I get back to the villa. I push through the front door and call Mehtap’s name. She’s not in the dining room or the sitting room. I’m climbing the stairs when I finally hear her.
“I’m here,” she says from her room.
Mehtap is sitting by the window, gazing out over the compound’s dusty streets. She has a scroll in her hand, but she’s not reading.
“Did you hear about the emperor?” I ask.
“I did. It’s a terrible thing.”
She speaks almost as if in a trance, and I don’t know what to do or think. I stand at the door, struggling with my doubts, when Mehtap looks at me again. “Is something wrong?”
“At the equinox festival. You were in our enclosure the whole time, weren’t you?” It feels like a breach of trust even to ask.
Mehtap blinks a few times. “Of course I was,” she says. “Where else would I have gone?” Something about her expression sends chills over my skin, and yet, my suspicions make no sense. Mehtap is the daughter of a respected Amparan commander. She has no reason to harm the emperor.
“Of course,” I say. “Forgive me. I’ll leave you to your reading.”
I can feel Mehtap’s eyes on me as I walk out the door.
The emperor’s illness casts a shadow over the palace. At the training fields and in the barracks, everybody’s talking. Everyone’s wondering what will happen.
“A rosemarked emperor, can you imagine?” says Kosru over dinner one night.
“He’d have to step down,” says Walgash, emphasizing his words with a swig of watered wine. “How would he see dignitaries? Would he have to move into the rosemarked compound?”
Masista chuckles at that, though he catches himself and looks around nervously.
I stir the chickpeas around in my stew. “They have good healers looking after him, don’t they? He could yet live.”
“True that,” says Walgash. “If a scrawny thing like Dineas can pull through, who’s to say the emperor won’t?”
Kosru frowns at his bowl. “Let’s hope he comes out with more of his wits than Dineas did.”
“Ha!” Walgash punches me in the shoulder, and I wince. “In all seriousness though. It’s strange, isn’t it, that the emperor would just fall ill like this? Him and no one else?”
“You think someone got to him?” asks Masista. “A minister? An assassin?”
“If you’re wise, you’ll stay out of the talk,” says Kosru. “Dangerous, to be feeding rumors at a time like this.”
We fall silent, each lost in our thoughts.
Two days later, we’re out in the training fields when things inexplicably go still. I lower my practice sword to see a palace herald at the entrance. Instead of his usual gold robes, he wears a rough garment of pale brown cloth—mourning clothes. Little by little, a wave of silence overtakes the field. Only then does he speak.
“I announce this news with the deepest grief. Emperor Kurosh, seventh emperor of the House of Katana, has passed this morning into Zenagua’s arms.”
At least three fights break out in the barracks over the next few days. Had they kept the training fields open, things might have been different, but we’re forbidden from training during the mourning period. So instead, we sit in the barracks or wander the city, wondering what the emperor’s death means for us. Rumors abound. One day we hear that Kiran will disband five battalions. The next day, that he’s launching an expedition across the Great Sea.
After the week of mourning is over, there’s a call for all Sehmar’s troops to assemble on the training field. It’s the first time I’ve seen all the units lined up, over fifteen thousand of us shoulder to shoulder, from elite units up front to new recruits at the sidelines.
Though not a particularly warm day, it’s sunny, and there’s not much of a breeze with so many men around. The air smells of armor oil, and an ache starts to build in the center of my forehead.
Suddenly, the energy shifts, and Prince—no, Emperor Kiran steps onto a wooden platform at the front of the field.
“Hail, Emperor Kiran,” shouts a voice. “May his reign be long and prosperous.”
“Hail, Emperor Kiran,” we echo.
The new emperor lifts his hands to receive our praise. His voice rings out over the fields, echoed by heralds who repeat his words farther down.
“These are hard times in which I address you,” Kiran says. “My father was taken from the world too soon, and we mourn his passing. But you, my soldiers, the lifeblood of our empire, you give me confidence in the future. You have served my father well, and I trust you will do the same for me.
“In a few short days, I will be crowned, and I will start to make changes as befits a growing empire. I will be appointing two new generals: Commanders Vaumitha and Arxa.” Next to me, Walgash nods appreciatively. “I will start my reign by securing our empire. My father had long been too soft on the rebels to the north. Reports from these regions tell of increasing aggression that threatens the very fabric of Ampara. They go so far as to poison our soldiers with disease. My father had been slow to bring them to justice, but I will not allow a danger like this to stand. We will subdue the Shidadi and Monyar Peninsula once and for all.”
He pauses and peers over our heads. “Be proud to be part of Ampara. The empire is fortunate to have you.” He raises his fist. “To victory!”
His words are full of fire. I feel energy gathering around me, and my own spirits lift as well.
As one, we raise our fists, and our response rumbles like thunder. “To victory!”
When I restore Dineas’s memories this time, urgency overtakes him right away.
“How much have you heard?” he asks before the cloud of recollection has even cleared from his eyes. He scrambles to his feet and casts around for the writing implements I’ve laid out on the shelves, then nearly knocks over the ink bottle when he grabs for it.
“Be careful,” I s
ay, though his panic sets my own pulse racing. “What happened?”
He grudgingly sits down. His fingers tap incessantly on the pen. “They’re mustering an attack on the Shidadi,” he says.
I blanch. “How soon?”
“It will take a few weeks to get everything together.”
“Any news of Dara?”
He gives up on sitting still and starts to pace the room. “Nothing specific, but it won’t be pleasant for your people either way. We need to get word to Gatha and Tal right away. Any reply from them yet?”
“No, nothing.”
He writes out two copies of his report. It’s too crowded outside to risk calling the crows, so I call them to my window as soon as I return home that night. Scrawny pecks at my table as I tie the message to his leg, and Slicewing sneaks glances at Diadem’s cage.
“Fly fast,” I tell them. “Don’t dawdle.”
I count every passing hour over the next days. In good weather, the crows can cover in two days the distance it took us a month to hike, but still there are storms and predators. And that’s simply how long it would take for the message to get there. After that, Gatha and Tal need time to decide on a response.
Six days later, I come home to see Scrawny and Slicewing on my windowsill. I fling myself at them and unravel the parchment from Slicewing’s leg. I read the note once, and then again two more times as equal parts anticipation and dread take hold. Perhaps the crows sense the change in my mood, because they stop hopping around. I fold up the parchment and tuck it into the secret pocket of my apron.
Scrawny comes to perch on my shoulder.
“Do you miss the old Dineas?” I ask him. “He may be coming back soon.”
I can see Dineas’s jaw working as he reads. I’d summoned him back to the compound with some odd story of how the last batch of potion had used improperly dried herbs. Now, with his memory restored, Dineas reads the note several times over. I fidget with my mortar and pestle as I wait for him to speak, but he simply stares at the parchment.
By now I’ve memorized the contents of the letter. We need to stay in the capital, get proof of Kiran’s wrongdoing, and expose him. But before we can do that, we must buy time by delaying the invasion of Monyar. Meanwhile, our peoples are making preparations for the worst. Tal is directing construction of shelters in the mountains, while Gatha is sending messengers to Shidadi warlords in nearby lands, in hopes they might join the fight.
“An army can’t move without its supplies,” Dineas says. “That’s the most obvious way to delay things. I’ll have to find some way to destroy their supply wagons and food stores.” He looks up at me. “Unless you have something up your sleeve. Can you do anything useful with your potions? Poison the army or something?”
My pestle falls still. “I can’t.”
He lifts an eyebrow.
“I took vows when the Goddess’s knowledge was passed to me. I can use my skills only to heal, not to harm.” I wonder if I can still justify this refusal, after all the compromises I’ve already made, but deliberate infection feels like a clear step too far.
I’m prepared for Dineas to argue, but he simply nods. “I’ve always thought wars should be fought face-to-face. None of this poison or backstabbing.”
“I can give you sleeping potions. The kind I use in my blowgun for capturing animals, if you promise not to harm your victims after they fall asleep.”
“That’s a complicated set of rules.”
Is there anything about our situation that isn’t complicated? “Believe me, there’s little precedence for the decisions I’m having to make.”
That gets a chuckle from him, though there is not much mirth in it.
I pour water into my bowl and give it a stir. “You’ll be going back with your memories intact, then. Will you be able to live and train in the barracks like this?”
His shoulders stiffen. “I’ll have to be.” He looks at the bowl in my hands. “Will I be taking potions with me?”
“Twice a day, as before.” I pause, wondering about how he’d hide the vials from the others. “Or, if you prefer, I can restore your memories once and for all.”
He doesn’t answer right away, and a haunted look creeps into his eyes. “No. If I’m caught, it’s better if I’m unable to tell them anything.”
A bitterness on my tongue, though I’ve drunk nothing.
There’s no point in delaying things longer. I portion out the contents of the bowl into clay vials and wrap them carefully. After he tucks them in his bag, Dineas brushes the dust off his sandals and adjusts the sleeves of his tunic.
“Think I can pass for him?” he asks.
“Your eyes look ten years older.”
The corner of Dineas’s mouth lifts in a grin that’s tinged with sadness. The air around us feels heavier. “Until next time, then, Zivah. Take care.” They’re simple words, but he speaks as if he means them.
I don’t pretend to know what Dineas is to me. At different times, in different states, he’s an infuriating ally, a friend, a patient, a missed chance for love. But I do know that I’ll feel his loss deeply if he fails. I take his hands.
“Be careful,” I say.
And then he’s gone.
As I head back to Sehmar City, the many times I’ve walked this path compete for attention in my mind. The very first time had been with my memories intact, trailing Zivah to the compound. That had felt dangerous, a mission through enemy territory. But since then, this land has become my home. The contrast is enough to make my palms sweat and my head hurt.
Slicewing and Preener fly above me, and their shadows cross my path from time to time. After a while, I start looking for them. It’s nice to have friends with me, even if it’s friends with feathers and a beak.
My skin crawls as I pass through the city gates. I recognize the guards from all the times I’ve come and gone, but now, as the noise and trappings of Ampara surround me, I remember more. Images of being driven through Khaygal Outpost in chains, guards aiming kicks at my ribs when I stumble, dust from the road caking onto my wounds. Mixed in with these pictures are newer memories of trips to the market, tavern outings with Walgash, coming home after visiting Zivah. I feel as if I’ve lived two lives, and I suppose I have.
At the palace gates, I walk through the three sets of guards. I tell myself not to black out, not to lose track of reality. One step after the other.
And then I’m in. Up ahead of me are the ornate buildings of the palace, and I turn right toward the barracks. Soldiers pass by me. A spearman from Neju’s Guard nods a greeting, and I return it. My blood pounds through my veins. I’m all right. I’m here.
“Dineas!”
My chest constricts.
“Dineas,” Arxa calls again.
Sweat breaks out over my skin. I take a deep breath and turn around. “Commander, sir.”
“Your helmet’s been looking the worse for wear. Report to the armorer tomorrow for a sturdier one.”
It seems impossible that he can’t see my thoughts, sense my fingers itching for my dagger. I could run him through right here, and he wouldn’t think to stop me.
“Yes, sir,” I say. “Thank you.” I should cut off my tongue.
Arxa furrows his brow. “What’s bothering you, soldier?”
It’s maddening that part of me actually feels grateful for his attention. I scramble for a lie, something close to the truth. “Nothing of importance, sir. Just personal matters.” I let my gaze flicker in the direction of the rosemarked compound, let my thoughts go to Zivah. It’s not hard to summon a flash of confusion across my face.
Comprehension crosses Arxa’s eyes. “A good farewell is just as important to a mission as a good sword,” he says. “Weigh your words carefully, and say nothing you will regret. Remember that we fight for those we love. That is what lends us strength on the battlefield.”
Is Arxa capable of love? I see him with his daughter, and then I see him torturing Tus. I lower my head. “Thank you, Commander.”
/>
He walks away. It’s a while before I can do the same.
I know something’s wrong when I return to the villa this evening. Two umbertouched soldiers stand at the door, and they’re not our usual guards.
“Are you Healer Zivah?” the closest soldier asks.
“Yes,” I say.
He holds up a clay tablet. “I have orders to take you under guard, to face accusations of poisoning Emperor Kurosh.”
My mouth goes dry. “You are mistaken.”
He reaches for my arm, and I step back. Every instinct tells me to run.
“It’s not wise to resist, Healer,” the soldier says. “We’re instructed to use whatever means needed to bring you in.”
I’m shaking where I stand, and all around me people have stopped to watch. But the man is right. I’m not Dineas. I can’t fight two soldiers, and there’s nowhere for me to run. “Very well.”
The soldier looks relieved and calls to someone inside the courtyard. “We have both of them. Let’s go.”
I’ve barely taken in his words when two more soldiers step out, escorting Mehtap between them.
“Mehtap!” For some reason, I’d assumed all the suspicion would fall on me.
She walks stiffly, and her cheeks are flushed. Our eyes meet briefly.
“Mehtap, does your father know about this?”
Her lips press into a line. “He will.” She jerks her arm from her escort and marches out ahead.
As they throw plague veils over us and march us out the gate, my mind flies in all directions. I have no idea where they’re taking us, or what lies in store. Diadem is in her cage in my room, and there’s no one to care for her if I’m gone. And what will Dineas do when he finds out? If he finds out?
They lead us to a small mud building outside the city walls. It looks like some kind of old outpost. The dim interior has tables and chairs for guards, and three dusty cells. The soldiers push us inside one of the cells and slam the door shut. The sound rattles my bones.
I press up against the bars of the door. “What are you going to do with us?”
The man who’d been escorting me signals to the others, and they all file out. I pound my fist against the door, though it does nothing except bruise my hand.
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