It takes me a second to realize the buzz of the camp has died down. Although clan members are still rushing about, last-minute shouts for a doctor or a piece of equipment cutting through the air, the mass of arrivals Blue and I spent so much of yesterday inventorying has dwindled to less than a third. I swing around farther, looking to my right.
While we’ve been speaking, the collective army of the Hannos and their allies has assembled. The grounds facing the palace are packed with soldiers; thousands of Papers, Steels, and Moons from a myriad of clans, their colors muted in the flame-charred wind, flags emblazoned with crests flying from the masts of ground-ships and war-carriages and horseback. They are organized in precise blocks, facing ahead to where the Bamboo Forest burns, marking our target.
Ketai dismisses the guard. “Ready?” he asks us.
The others give their assent. Wren’s father’s knowing eyes bore into me as he waits for my response.
Am I ready to die?
Of course not. I want to run back to the camp and find Tien and Baba and hold them until all this is over. I want to go to the girls and keep them safe in a way I never could within the palace walls. I want to tell Wren that I lied to her, that these last few pitiful moments are all we’re ever going to have, and it’s not enough, it could never be enough, eight thousand lifetimes with her would not be enough. Then she slips her hand into mine, and suddenly what I am about to do seems not only reckless but impossible.
I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.
I’m not ready.
“Lei?” Wren whispers. She moves closer. Her fragrance, that fresh ocean scent, once seemingly so exotic but now so wonderfully, bone-achingly familiar, is a reminder of everything I’m about to lose.
And everything I am about to save.
I steel myself, clutching the broken scraps of my soul.
“My love?” Wren speaks only for me. “You don’t have to fight. You’ve done more than enough. Stay here with the girls and your family, if you want. I’ll find him, Lei, and I will kill him for what he did to you. To us. I will kill him,” she repeats fiercely.
“I know you will,” I whisper back.
Then I return Ketai’s stare.
Am I prepared to die?
No. But what is one more lie?
“I’m ready,” I say, even as the words sear my throat.
Ketai nods, and the group splits, everyone heading to their various positions. No one spares time for good-byes or good wishes, perhaps believing like Wren it will bring bad luck—or perhaps knowing it’d be too difficult.
As Nitta joins the Amala, emerald eyes glinting as she flings us one last grin over her shoulder, Wren draws me into her arms.
“We’ll be together the whole way,” she says, soft lips to my brow.
I can’t look at her. It would tear away my last shred of resolve. Instead, I watch the flames in the distance and think of the demon who waits within. I may not be ready to die, but I am ready for him to die, and this is how we make that happen.
Gripping Wren’s hand, I walk forward before my determination weakens. “The whole way,” I echo, knowing with numb, sinking agony that the way won’t be far.
THIRTY-THREE
LEI
WREN’S HORSE, EVE, IS BROUGHT TO us by a Hanno clan member. Wren climbs up first, then swings me onto the saddle behind her. With a flick of her reins, we move past the lines of amassed soldiers to the head of the army. “Hold tight,” she instructs. “We’ll be riding fast. If anyone attacks, don’t worry about fighting. Khuen will spot us. Just keep hold of me.”
My heart hammers so hard I wonder if she can feel it through her back. I suppose not, since I’m jammed against the hard sheaths of her swords and she’s wearing the same pitted leather armor as Kenzo and her father.
My own outfit is notedly different. Armor is heavy and takes getting used to fighting with, so Ketai designed something he felt I’d be able to move easily in. I’m dressed in the Hannos’ signature navy, in a cotton baju set and supple leather boots, a belt at my waist to hold my knife. My hair is drawn back from my face with the same band Wren and the rest of the Hannos wear. Their insignia is stamped across the blue fabric, but while theirs is white as on their flag, mine has been stitched in shimmering gold thread to match my eyes, as well as to mark me as different.
Only Ketai and I know the reason for this, of course. But I feel marked, even without my new Moonchosen outfit. Though the soldiers we pass are probably more interested in Wren—their champion, their prized Xia warrior—it still seems as though they are watching me, each pair of eyes seeing through to the dark truth pulsing at the core of me.
Soon, I will be dead.
As I look back at the soldiers, it strikes me I’m not the only one riding to their death tonight.
Do some of these men and women feel marked, too? Do they also sense a swift blade and sudden rush of blackness awaiting them? Are their hearts also crazed with fear? A voice in their heads crying out this can’t be it, there is so much more they wanted to do, so many years they hoped to have, so many more times they wanted to feel sunshine on their skin and the warmth of their lover’s embrace. To close their eyes at the end of a long day, so certain there’ll be a new one to wake to.
With a rough shake of my head, I blink my eyes clear.
No more tears.
No more pity.
I whisper the words that have always been there for me when I’ve needed courage. “Fire in. Fear out.”
We’re nearing the front of the army now. A row of war-carriages is packed with both soldiers and cannons and other huge metal weapons I’ve never seen before, most likely Lova’s creations. Then, making up the very first three rows in the central block, are shamans.
Even when they’re not casting, they are impressive. Compared to the other warriors, many of them look out of place, too small, young, or old to be in an army, yet latent power ripples off them in a silent wave.
We take our place beside Wren’s father at the head of the army.
Behind us, Khuen, the young Paper archer, rides a speckled gray horse, while to his other side, Kenzo—presumably charged with protecting Ketai—towers on the back of a colossal war-bear. The bear seems far calmer than the ones I heard panting and growling in the stables; it only rolls its thick shoulders side to side, its wet snout smelling the air.
Wren’s father’s mount is a beautiful white mare. His flowing cobalt cape is striking against her snow-white coat. An elegant jian juts past Ketai’s shoulder. I wonder how much blood it has spilled. How much more it will spill tonight.
Ketai tips his chin at us before fixing his gaze upon the flame-wreathed forest, eyes narrowed against the smoke-dark wind. He lifts an arm. A hush ripples through the soldiers.
From overhead comes a rumble of thunder, almost as if Ketai called it himself. A summer storm must be couched behind the clouds.
Wren slides a hand over my linked fingers at her waist.
Half lifting myself to reach her, I press my cheek to hers, closing my eyes. “I love you,” I whisper, urgent.
Wren’s hand clasps mine tighter.
Her father roars.
“FOR THE FUTURE OF IKHARA!”