Another surge of magic flew from Wren, a wave of glacial wind that made Lova throw a hand in front of her face, her marigold tunic and trousers flapping.
“A good idea.” Wren pushed the words past gritted teeth. “To poison an entire city.”
Lova cocked a hip, her brows raised. “What were you planning on having us do tomorrow during the attack? Talk to the soldiers? Ask the city’s people to kindly let us take over their home?”
“We were only to attack when necessary—”
“And what is necessary, in a war? Killing one soldier? Two? A whole battalion? What about the innocents caught in the crossfire? What about a shaman boy giving his life to save yours? The murder of a Clan Lady’s daughter? A family of Papers burned alive? A young soldier tortured for information?”
Blood roared in Wren’s ears. Each of Lova’s words impaled her, drove through her like swords.
Why was it truth hurt more than lies? She supposed there was at least comfort in lies. Truth forced you to stare yourself in the mirror, bare in every sense of the word, and acknowledge the person looking back at you as your own doing.
Truth always caught you in the end.
And it was merciless.
Wren looked back over the mess of encampments jumbled across the fields—then on to the city in the distance, where silver mist lifting from its waters made it look as though it were already haunted.
She asked, “How long does it take for the water in the reservoirs to be distributed throughout the city?”
“It’s a two-day turnover. They’ll already have started to drink the poisoned water.”
Wren faced Lova. “Is the attack tomorrow necessary, then?”
“The poison was only to weaken the King’s forces,” Lova replied tiredly. “There’ll be plenty of demons who didn’t drink the affected water, or who aren’t too sick to fight. It’ll still be a difficult battle. Just not quite so difficult as before.”
Wren spun on her heels, making for their camp.
Lova fell in beside her. “You’re not planning to murder Chang, are you?” she asked, her teasing tone not fully convincing. When Wren didn’t reply, she added, “Or your father, the next time you see him?”
Wren stopped, her heart clenching. “Do you know if he poisoned the Black Port, too?”
“I asked Chang,” Lova admitted. “But he claimed he didn’t know and I believe him. Honestly, I doubt Ketai would have risked it. Marazi—it’s the court’s cultural heart. The Hidden Palace is its political one. They’re both symbols of the King’s power. But the Black Port is integral to Ikhara’s livelihood. Every clan and caste depends on the city and its trade. Ketai will want to take it with as little force as necessary.”
There was that word again. Necessary.
“Gather as many of your cats as possible,” Wren ordered Lova. “I’ll assemble shamans and medics. We’re going to spread the word among the refugees they’re not to drink any water they’ve collected from the river. We’ll do what we can to help those who are already sick.”
Lova shook her head. “That’ll take hours, Wren. You need to rest—”
“Then it’ll take hours. And I will not rest.”
“Don’t you think Nitta and I thought of all of this already?” Lova said with an impatient growl. “I’m not as coldhearted as you seem to imagine. But it’s too dangerous. There are bound to be spies among the refugees. They could ambush us, or warn the guards at Marazi—”
“Then those are necessary risks. The court knows Marazi is one of our targets. Our attack won’t come as much of a shock.”
“Even so—”
Wren raised her voice. “I am in charge here, Lo, and these are my orders. Are you challenging them?”
The lion-girl’s bronze eyes flashed. She looked slightly taken aback—but mostly impressed. She lowered her head, a smirk playing on her lips. “No, General Wren,” she said. “I am not.”
NINETEEN
WREN
WREN HAD HEARD ENOUGH SCREAMS in her lifetime to recognize what kind of distress triggered each one.
She was holding a wet towel to the forehead of a feverish Paper child, the boy’s fathers whispering prayers at his side, when they began. High-pitched, quick, sharp; these screams flashed like fire. They came straight from the gut. They weren’t the undulating wails of anguish that had chorused the long night and day Wren, Lova, Nitta, and the others spent tending to the sick and the dead in the refugee camps. These were screams of terror.
Wren handed the towel to the closest of the boy’s fathers and strode from the tent.
The orange light from the sinking sun rolled across the fields like molten gold. In the distance, the striking silhouette of Marazi’s Old City loomed. The faraway cries and yells seemed to be growing louder, a rising tide of panic.
Wren’s horse was waiting for her, a black mare with a plaited chestnut mane named Eve. Wren swung herself onto her saddle. She kicked Eve into movement when Lova rode into view on the horse she’d taken as her own from the Jade Fort, the great black-and-white stallion called Panda.
“Marazi officials are blaming the poisoning on the refugees,” Lova said, pulling Panda around to fall in beside her. They wove through the packed campsite. “Lord Anjiri has ordered the camps to be razed to the ground. I’ve sent Nitta back to warn our people. One of the shamans is rounding up the others who were helping.”
“Have them evacuate the Papers to our camp,” Wren said. “I need you to find Chang. Tell him to ready our soldiers. We can’t wait until tonight—we attack now.” Knowing what was coming, she turned to glare at Lova, drawing one her swords. “I can handle them until the rest of you join me. Go.”
Though she looked reluctant, Lova did as she said.
Wren rode Eve in the opposite direction. Papers and the occasional demon face peeked out from the ramshackle shelters. Many were already fleeing, recognizing the signs of approaching danger all too well.
Wren pulled Eve through deft swerves to avoid crushing the running figures. She lifted her sword over her head so the light caught the metal. “Leave your things!” she bellowed. “The Demon King’s men are coming, and they will not hesitate to kill you! Head south—our people will help you to our camp. Anyone strong enough to assist, carry the sick!”
Wren urged Eve through the increasingly frenetic campsite. Fire bloomed ahead, where tents closest to the city burned. Demons on horses and even war-bears rode through the crush, thrusting torches to set alight both fabric and skin.
Wren charged. Pain screamed from her injury with each buck, and she welcomed it, hunting for the familiar slip into her Xia state—
A throwing star was flying at her face before she could find it.
She moved just in time. The metal star whistled past her ear.
Wren ducked the second, then deflected the next with her sword. She couldn’t see her attacker. Everything was fire-lit, distorted shadows making it hard to pick out individual forms.