LEAVING THE SOUTHERN SANCTUARY was harder than Wren anticipated. Five days of respite and care had replenished their group. Lady Dunya and her bird demons looked healthy again after long baths in the healing waters and the shamans’ attention—just as they’d helped Wren’s pain from her injury. Some of the darkness that had clung to Merrin since his return to the Jade Fort had sloughed off. He’d made jokes around the fire at night, and though Wren didn’t join them, the others snorted with laughter, Ahma Goh loudest of all. Khuen had even made friends with one of the bird demons, a pretty hawk-girl called Samira who was a fellow archer. She seemed to have melted his apathy a little, encouraging him to integrate with the group. That’s what they’d become in those five days—a group. And the sanctuary a home.
They left at twilight. No one spoke as they made the hike to the rocky outcrop from where they’d take flight. A few of the shamans came with them to weave enchantments of concealment. Wren had offered to help, but Ahma Goh insisted she save her energy. She didn’t need to say what for.
Though Wren had done her best not to think too much of the upcoming battle or the dark plans her father might have for her Xia magic, trying instead to do as Ahma Goh said and use this rare opportunity to relax, she hadn’t been able to push the war from her mind. Now the anticipation reared again with full force. In less than twenty-four hours, the Hannos would storm Marazi and the Black Port in a simultaneous attack. If things went well, the Hidden Palace would be next.
And with it, Lei.
Wren still dreamed of her every night. And she still woke each morning feeling as though she’d lost a limb. More than a limb; half of her heart.
Half of her soul.
Ahma Goh embraced Wren warmly when they arrived at their departure point. “Good luck, child,” she said. “Remember what I told you.”
“You told me a lot of things, Ahma Goh.”
The old shaman laughed, but her face was serious. She grasped Wren’s hands close. “I mean it, child. Life is a gift from the gods. Do not waste it on war and suffering.”
“I’ll do my best,” Wren replied.
“Well,” Ahma Goh said proudly, “as a daughter of both the Xia and the Hanno, that is a lot.”
They shared one last smile before Wren led her group to the cliff edge. Lady Dunya had proposed to carry Wren herself, and Wren hadn’t the heart to argue. When Wren made the signal, the swan-woman took off with a push of her legs and firm strokes of her feathered arms. There were more wingbeats as the rest of the birds followed.
Wren hunkered low against the wind. She scanned the skies and land for signs of danger. What she found instead was almost as bad.
On their way to the Cloud Palace, Wren, Merrin, and Khuen had flown over a handful of demon-destroyed settlements and places where the Sickness had clearly taken root: miles of dead farmland; riverside towns where once-fishable banks had turned to sludge. Now they were nearing the heart of the kingdom, the effects of the Sickness were even more prominent. They passed fields of rotten crops, burst riverbanks, forests dank with decay. Halfway through the flight, they saw a ruined village. Next to it was a strange mound, flickering with dying cinders.
Even at their height the smell of charred flesh was unmistakable.
Wren’s stomach roiled, hate reawakening dark wings in her chest. The sanctuary had provided her respite from it, too, with its peace and laughter and conviviality. But now her bitterness returned. The way the King was going, never mind a war to decide Ikhara’s fate.
They’d be lucky if there would be anything left to save.
When they reached the tented encampment outside Marazi, Wren’s boots barely hit the ground before Commander Chang was storming toward her, voice booming over the clamor.
“Lady Wren! You’re late!”
Wren swept back her wind-tangled hair, resisting a sigh. She drew herself to full height as he pushed his way through the throng, the bird demons stretching after the long flight. Hanno clan members welcomed them with cups of tea while a few shamans and doctors—presumably expecting the White Wing to be in worse shape after months of imprisonment—wove between them, looking both wondrous and a little lost.
“Who is that idiot?” Lady Dunya asked, smoothing down her pearly coat.
“The head of our army,” Wren said.
The swan-woman shot her a disdainful look. “You trusted a man with that position?”
“Lady Wren!” Chang was still fighting toward her. “We were expecting you at least half an hour ago! This is—oof!”
Khuen had stepped in his way. “Oops,” the boy drawled, sloping off with a disinterested yawn.
Chang strode forward, his cheeks red. He looked between the two of them. “I thought the famous White Wing army would be more organized than this,” he huffed.
Lady Dunya’s glare hardened. “I shall let you deal with… this,” she told Wren, shooting one final imperious look at the Commander before sweeping away.
As Chang began to speak, Wren cut him off, already moving. “Where is my father?”
The war-tent brimmed with activity. Soldiers drank and polished weapons, blue-robed Hannos and warriors from their allied clans alike. In one corner, a kitchen had been set up. In another, a makeshift gambling den had popped up, cheers and groans sounding over the clatter of mahjong tiles. There were many cat demons, and Wren’s mood lifted at the thought of seeing Lova and Nitta again.
The Commander hurried after her. “There’s been a change of plans,” he said. “Lord Hanno is to lead the attack on the Black Port. I have been sent here to oversee—”
Wren whirled. “My father isn’t here?”
“If you’d let me finish, Lady Wren, I was about to explain that, after great deliberation, the council decided it would be better if Lord Hanno leads the Black Port attack while I conduct the takeover of Marazi. With your help, of course.”
A hand clapped Wren’s shoulder.
“What dear Chang here means is,” a husky voice corrected, “your father has chosen you to lead us tomorrow. Chang is simply here to help. He’s to listen to—and follow—every order you give. Isn’t that right, Commander?”
The man blustered, growing redder by the second.
Wren turned to find Lova’s grinning face. Nitta appeared on her other side. The leopard girl had one hand on the wheel of her chair and a half eaten cone of roti in the other, the wrapped bread almost overflowing with the fragrant curry ladled within.
Nitta caught some of the sauce with her tongue. “Nice trip?” she asked, jade eyes twinkling.
“It wasn’t exactly the warmest of welcomes,” Wren said.
“Hope you left a bad review in the guest book.”
Despite herself, Wren’s lips quirked. “You know, it wasn’t exactly high on my list of priorities.”
Nitta and Lova snickered. Commander Chang—chest still puffed like an overstuffed duck at a New Year’s banquet—said loudly, “Lord Hanno personally entrusted me with the care of this battalion—”