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10

O pen your eyes.

My breath comes quick and shallow. I’m panting like a dog, my head swimming and my pulse thundering in my ears.

Wake up.

Stars smudge the black sky. Then Jadon’s and Olivia’s faces block that star-smudged sky. But Olivia isn’t looking at me. Her gaze lingers on my neck.

The amulet has hypnotized her.

“Olivia,” I whisper. “Stop.”

She blinks, pulled from her dream. “Thank Supreme, she’s alive.” Clear-eyed, she sits back on her haunches.

“You scared us,” Jadon says, scooting away from me.

I sit up. To my left, there’s a stump with a hatchet on it. Lengths of cut wood lie scattered about. My forehead feels tight, my scalp stretched, my stomach sour. “What happened?”

Jadon grimaces. “You fainted.”

Olivia smirks. “Jay has that effect on women—I was hoping you were immune.”

Jadon makes a face at her.

Olivia’s eyes flick back to my pendant.

I cover it with my hand to break the spell before it even starts. The gems vibrate beneath my fingers, and I remember:

Walking to the forest for wood. Spotting that woman, Sybel, holding a golden bucket. Talking to Jadon about his hand. The amulet. My mind filling with white light as we touched.

“Was it the pendant?” I tap the moth. “After you handed it to me?”

“But why would you react to something that’s yours?” Olivia asks.

“Maybe because she’s been without it for too long?” Jadon says pointedly to his sister.

“That’s ridiculous.” Olivia snorts. “It’s not like it’s medicine.”

“Says who?” I snap. “You don’t know what it is and what it does. To me. For me.” Hell, I don’t even know that myself.

Olivia shrinks back.

I press my fingers harder against the stones, trying to make sense of it. The moment Jadon handed the amulet over, I felt so protected, closer to being my name and not just remembering it. Why would this pendant hurt me?

A woman’s scream pierces the air.

A horse neighs. Men shout.

I twist toward the sound.

Twenty men on horseback, wearing copper-painted mail and plate armor over blue tunics, gallop toward the dilapidated oak gates of the village. All of them, even the steeds, glow with blue light. Healthy. Fed. Strong.

“Who are they?” I push off the ground, ignoring the intensifying vibrations against my chest from the moth pendant as I stand.

“Emperor Wake’s men,” Jadon says grimly. “From Brithellum.”

Just yesterday, Olivia told me that the emperor’s men would find Maford. She also told me that the colures would protect them. But these soldiers don’t care to ask who the villagers worship. They charge right into town, torches burning, fiercely shouting, “For Brithellum,” as they spread throughout the village.

Olivia presses a trembling hand to her chest. “They’re gonna kill us. They’re gonna kill us.” She says this over and over again, her eyes getting bigger, her breaths getting shallower.

“Olivia,” I say, surprised by my calm, “take it easy. Slow down. Breathe.”

Behind us, villagers scream as they dart from cottage to cottage, seeking hiding places.

The soldiers dismount and draw swords. The lead soldier, a tall, muscular man with bulldog eyes and a turnip-shaped nose, turns to the growing crowd of villagers. “By order of Emperor Syrus Wake, the Manifestation of Supreme, Lord of Vallendor and All Realms, the Divine and Most Holy, the town of Maford is now a part of the blessed kingdom of Brithellum. Either bend the knee, declaring your fidelity to Supreme and turning away from the false King Exley, or…die.”

The villagers gape at one another. Two step away from the others and drop to their knees.

Fucking cowards.

A soldier marches over to the two men, yanks them to their feet, and pushes them away from the others. Bulldog sneers at the remaining standing villagers and shouts, “Are there no more?”

“This is our town,” a man yells. “We already have the colures up. We already pray—”

Bulldog knocks the man’s head back with the pommel of his sword.

“How dare you!” a townsman shouts as the villager crumples to the rocky dirt.

“I’ll ask one more time,” Bulldog warns. “Are there any others who are ready to declare their fealty to Supreme?”

For all my hatred of Mafordians, I feel horror at the callous quickness with which the Brithellum soldier killed that villager.

“What should we do?” Olivia whispers to Jadon.

Jadon spins to his sister. “Hide. Now .” He looks at me. “Go with Livvy!”

“No,” I say. “I don’t run. We have to defend ourselves.” The roots of my hair tingle, and my shoulder blades itch. My amulet pulses, and my entire body screams, Fight! Fight! Fight!

“You have to hide, Kai,” Olivia says, big eyes bigger. “They won’t hesitate to gut you.”

“I fear no man,” I say, standing, feeling strength in my legs again. I squeeze my amulet for reassurance. Just then, in my mind’s eye, I see myself with bloody hands, my face to the sky, the emperor’s men at my feet. “We can’t run. We have to fight.”

“You just fainted,” Jadon says. “And even if you didn’t just faint, you can’t fight.”

“The fuck I can’t,” I snap. “And I feel fine. You can’t tell me what to do.”

A guttural scream from the center of town draws our attention. Another soldier has struck a pathetic Mafordian as more soldiers fan through the town square, kicking in doors and cutting down anyone who defends their home.

“Olivia, go hide,” Jadon says. “Kai, please go with her. Make sure she’s safe. I’m begging you. I’ll take care of the soldiers.”

Tears stream down Olivia’s face. “But they’ll see you and—”

A villager with an ax dashes past us. “Ealdrehrt, we need you!”

Other men hurry into the village square with their basic weapons and old breastplates to protect their chests.

Jadon shouts, “I’m coming!” He looks back at us. “Please hide.”

Olivia grabs my dress.

I look in the direction of doors cracking and villagers shrieking, then to Jadon and his sister. “Fine,” I say, “but I’m not hiding. I’m protecting—”

“Fine,” Jadon replies. “Go!”

Olivia and I join a group of women and children hiding in a nearby barn. The inside smells of oily smoke and wet wool as weak light slips through the spaces between the barn’s wooden slats. A few scrawny chickens scratch at the dirt while puffy-coated sheep crowd at the water trough. Sharp, pointy, dangerous things hang from pegs and knobs, threatening to butcher every creature that bleeds—including those of us walking upright.

Some women rock and pray, their eyes squeezed shut. Other women hold small colures to their lips. The rest stare at me, and I feel their heated glares even in this stuffy hot air.

“Violent witch.”

“Barbarian bitch.”

“Vile.”

“Her fault the soldiers are here.”

“She’ll be the death of us all.”

I wish that I could counter these clucking, gossipy hens with the truth, but I don’t know the truth. Am I a witch? Am I a brute? Vile? My instinct is to fight for these people, and yet I know in my heart that they don’t deserve one drop of my spilled blood.

How will I make amends for my failures? Have I failed to defend someone in the past? Did I hide? Abandon them to their fate because I didn’t like them? Am I a coward? Is that what Sybel’s referring to?

Or does she think that I should first seek a more diplomatic solution before choosing violence? Let’s sit down and break bread together. Be reasonable. Now, how can we arrive at a decision that makes us all happy?

But soldiers like the men outside this barn don’t compromise or offer reasonable solutions. They don’t care about anyone’s happiness other than the emperor’s. They fight. And you meet fight with might. Unless that’s wrong, too.

Ugh.

One young woman giggles, interrupting my thoughts, and says, “You see her dress, Ma? She looks so ridiculous.”

“Don’t look at her.” It’s the hag who spat at me as Johny dragged me to that jail. “I can’t believe Olivia brought that disgusting Jundum with her.”

Ice fills my veins, and I blurt, “Call me ‘disgusting’ again, and my Jundum ass will turn you into a toad.”

Shocked, the hag holds her stomach. “She’s threatening me!”

“ Shh! The soldiers will hear you,” Olivia whispers. “And remember what I told you about magic!”

“That was a bluff. I don’t know how to turn her into a toad,” I murmur.

Outside the barn, a man screams. It’s the kind of desperate shriek that chills your bones. We all go still. Near tears, someone whispers, “Who was that?”

All around the barn, the women forget about me, quaking with fear as they peer through the slats to watch soldiers fight their loved ones or kick down cottage doors.

“How did they find us?”

“Why won’t they spare us?”

“The sign of Supreme is everywhere.”

“Quiet down. You’re talking too loud.”

“You see Oric and Tomas on their fucking knees?”

“Hypocrites.”

“I hear the last town the emperor took? No one survived. The soldiers killed everybody.”

The sounds of battle and death crash all around this barn.

Olivia stands at a wall, unmoving, unblinking, staring out between the slats to follow the action. Her specter-energy spooks the chickens clucking at her heels.

“He’ll be fine, Olivia,” I whisper, hand on the small of her back. “Take a breath. You’re gonna pass out.”

Even in the darkness, I see her large eyes peep at me, unbelieving and yet still hopeful. Then she looks back through the slats, but at least she’s now breathing.

My amulet pulses against my chest, surprising me with its intense vibrations. There are pinpricks of light in the dark stone of the moth’s thorax. As though it’s guiding me, I move over to the barn’s low door used by goats and sheep to get a good view of the fighting. Through the torchlight, I watch villagers doing their best with homemade or dulled weapons and mismatched armor. Jadon’s wearing mail and plate, shinier and stronger-looking than his ragtag fighters, easily wielding a gray-bladed broadsword with much more skill and ease than the others. My hands itch to join him.

“Jadon Ealdrehrt was born a god,” another woman coos, peering through the slats. “You see how he moves? How he charges forward? No one else fights like that. A god living among men. If anyone can defeat Emperor Wake’s troops, it’s him.”

“Better be careful talking that way,” an older woman says. “Father Knete’s gonna hear all your lusting and worshipping, and he’ll have you tossed in jail with Jamart’s girl.”

“And gods don’t live in towns like Maford, girl,” another old woman adds. “Gods are born in beautiful castles. Jadon Ealdrehrt only makes weapons; that’s why he knows how to use them. He’s a peasant just like us.”

Olivia scowls at them, mutters, “He’s nothing like you,” and returns to watching the fighting beyond the slats.

I understand the Jadon worship, especially watching him fight. He’s something special.

If only the other Maford men could fight as well. Even if their weapons weren’t rudimentary, they’d still be no match for the highly trained, better-fed soldiers. Soon, the cries of villagers are cut short by the slash and gash of heavy metal.

I tiptoe closer to the low barn door, still watching Jadon through the slats.

He swings his weapon like it weighs less than a thought, and the blade slides into a soldier’s gut like a minnow slips through water.

I may not know who I am or where I’m from, but I do know this: I love a good fight.

Another soldier pushes Jadon from behind, knocking that gray-bladed sword out of his hands and into the bloody dirt. But that doesn’t stop him.

Jadon grabs the man who pushed him from behind and pulls him into a clench, bringing him close. Hands gripping the man’s head, Jadon bends the soldier over, and bam ! Strikes the man’s face with his knee.

Beautiful! Even over the screams and shouts, over the clash of metal against man, I hear the soldier’s nose break, and I smell the new blood now spurting from his shattered face.

Where did Jadon learn to fight like this? Certainly not in the dying burg of Maford.

Two soldiers rush toward Jadon, their swords ready.

Jadon, still without a weapon, slips as he tries to retrieve his sword.

Shit.

He’s in trouble.

I can’t just watch this happen. But I’m also without a sword. I scan the barn and find… that ! I grab the garden hoe from its place in a dusty corner. The vibration from my pendant quickens, as though it’s affirming my choice of weapon. “Hold this.” I untie my pouch from the peacock-blue dress’s sash and hand it to Olivia.

“Where are you going?” Olivia whispers, clutching Jamart’s gift to her chest.

“Out there,” I whisper. “Jadon’s in trouble. He needs my help.”

I creep out the door and over to a bale of hay closest to the action, gripping my hoe like I’ve named it.

Jadon dodges one of the soldiers, spinning to avoid another blow when he sees me rush toward them, hoe high. “What the hell is she doing?”

And for a moment, the soldiers, and even Jadon, gape at me. The two soldiers laugh at my pitiful choice of weapon, but their humor is cut short once I swing that hoe and slam it into the taller man’s neck.

“Laugh again,” I say to the dead man.

“Kai, this is no place for you! Get back inside!” Jadon yells.

The surviving soldier shouts to the sky and charges toward me.

“Are you gonna talk, Jadon, or are we gonna fight?” I swing the hoe in time for the blade to hit its mark—the soldier’s nose—and the impact from the strike makes the handle vibrate.

The soldier collapses before Jadon.

Jadon’s eyebrows rise. “Guess we’re fighting.”

I shimmy my shoulders. “Look at me handling a weapon that isn’t even supposed to be a weapon. And you’re welcome.”

He frowns. “For?”

“For saving your life.” I run past him, then yell back, “Don’t worry about me. I was born to do this.”

Those words— I was born to do this —burn like acid in my throat. I didn’t come out of my mother’s womb knowing how to take a hoe and make it a deadly weapon; I know this much is true. Yet here I am, wielding a hoe like it’s as natural as breathing.

The remaining soldiers have spotted what we’ve done and rush toward Jadon and me all in one wave.

Jadon and I glance at each other one last time before we’re submerged in chaos. I give him a wolf’s smile. “Ready?”

“Show me what you got.” He winks at me before he charges into the fray.

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