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chatter of the guards. There’s an entire choir’s worth of noise, ranging from sobbing to laughing to shrieking and giving thanks.

Minoak is propped up in bed, haggard and dull-eyed, but alert enough to brush Yatindra’s fussing hands away. “Enough! You’re my sister, not my mother,” he says, voice scratchy with disuse and tinged with annoyance. Though, a broad smile overtakes his bearded face.

“We both know Mother would have wrapped you head to toe in eucalyptus leaves and forced the entire country to kneel in prayer until you arose. My ministrations are mild by comparison.” Yatindra reaches out and smooths a lock of graying hair behind his ear. Minoak grumbles but his smile grows.

“The Namagaan look suits you.” He tugs on one of her long cattail braids. “I’ve always meant to visit.”

“Don’t lie. Ziva had to drag you here—literally.”

“When did you get so strong?” He turns to Ziva, who’s sitting on the bed beside him, tucked beneath his arm. Minoak’s gaze is the definition of tenderness, and tears glisten in his eyes as he gazes down at his daughter. “You saved me, my brave, beautiful girl.”

Ziva bursts into tears and lays her head in his lap. The jostling makes him flinch, but when Ziva tries to pull away, he holds her there. His big, weathered fingers skim across her cheek.

“On behalf of Namaag, welcome back to the land of the living,” King Ihsan says. He stands at the foot of the bed with Murtaugh. Behind them, Ruya and five soldiers, as well as a handful of dignitaries, line the wall.

So much for only permitting the royal family to visit.

“We have much to discuss,” the Marsh King continues. “I’ve received some very interesting reports from my scouts.”

My stomach drops as if the branch snapped beneath my feet. When did his scouts return? What did they report? And why weren’t we informed? It takes all of my restraint not to fling myself through the window and interrogate him.

“King Ihsan is going to help us seize Lutaar City from the imperial governor,” Ziva cuts in.

Murtaugh turns so pale, it looks like he should be laid out on one of the sickbeds, but Ihsan laughs heartily. “Your daughter is quite the politician, Minoak.”

“Skies, Zivana!” Yatindra scolds. “Don’t pester your father about marching into battle when he isn’t even well enough to stand. There will be plenty of time for our kings to discuss these things and form a plan. You needn’t worry yourself over such heavy matters any longer.”

Her smooth dismissal of Ziva makes me bristle, but I don’t know if it’s because her comments warrant suspicion, because I simply don’t like Yatindra, or because I am suspicious and distrustful, looking for betrayal in every little word.

Ziva doesn’t seem troubled in the slightest. She smiles and rolls her eyes as Yatindra ruffles her curls. Making me doubt myself more than ever. Prompting me not to breathe a word about Minoak’s revival to Serik or the shepherds, lest I look like a paranoid spy. Which is feeling more accurate every minute.

When King Ihsan finally announces the good news two days later, I act as surprised and overjoyed as the rest of the shepherds—hugging and toasting with sap wine at the celebration held in Minoak’s honor. The cooks prepare both Namagaan and Verdenese delicacies, and a trio of our very own shepherds, including Serik, play lively dance songs on fiddles.

Halfway through the revelry, King Minoak shuffles out onto a high platform overlooking the chaos. He still requires the aid of two healers and a cane, but when he takes his place beside Ihsan, you’d think he was an illustrious warrior marching across the battlefield, the way the crowd roars.

“We are celebrating more than the recovery of this great man,” Ihsan booms. “Today also marks the birth of an even deeper alliance between Namaag and Verdenet.”

Serik takes my hand and squeezes, his eyes as bright as the lightning bugs buzzing in the jars overhead. “It’s really happening.”

I squeeze back, finally letting myself smile. Finally releasing the breath I’ve been holding since we left Sagaan. I hadn’t realized how close I was to suffocating until the rush of fresh air hits my lungs. It’s so light and invigorating, I tilt my head back and yell at the top of my voice. I stomp my feet and chant with the writhing mass of shepherds.

The Marsh King waits for the crowd to settle before continuing. “The very empire that vowed to protect and strengthen us has turned their backs on the Protected Territories. An imperial governor sits on the throne of Verdenet, the Chotgori people are imprisoned in the ore mines, and the scout we sent to Sagaan never returned. We must assume the worst of the Sky King.”

Serik and I exchange a worried glance. There’s no way of knowing whether the scout was silenced by the Sky King or the Zemyans. If Sagaan still stands or if it fell to Kartok and Temujin as easily as they’d predicted.

If it did fall, how much time do we have?

All around us, the Namagaans roar their outrage and disbelief. This time, King Ihsan stokes the flame until the canopy quivers and every bird takes flight. “Together, we will stand against the deceitful Sky King and free the Protected Territories!” he cries.

I’m gripped by the feeling I expected to have when I found Minoak. For the first time since leaving Sagaan, I allow myself to truly hope. To let go of my doubt and distrust and completely believe.

We begin preparations, and I assign Iree and Bultum to procure and organize provisions for our return journey to Verdenet however they see fit. When Azamat volunteers to scout ahead and sneak into Lutaar City to raise the portcullis for our arrival, not only do I give him my blessing, I refute Murtaugh’s arguments that Azamat is too old and frail until the Namagaan chancellor finally tosses his hands in the air and storms out of King Ihsan’s study. I check in regularly with Ziva through the

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