“Ah . . . that is why the gods abandoned us. Greed. Selfishness. A disrespect for nature. The more people who join us and the more we tend to the land, the more clearly we prove that we are worthy of the gods’ blessings. And when we’ve proved that, when the gods touched walk among us once more, the gods will return from the stars. They will descend on this land and make it green. Water will be so plentiful, I’ll be able to open the dams, let it flow across all the wastes. But until then, we must be loyal to the earth and the stars. And if I must dam the water to do that, the least I can offer those beyond Bedrock is a chance to join our cause.”

The General whistles, and his falcon returns, landing on the ledge and tucking her wings in place. A beady eye stays rooted on me.

“You don’t believe me,” he says as he strokes the bird.

“I was bound, brought here in a caged wagon, and shoved into these meeting chambers with a bag over my head.”

“Yes. I’m sorry about that, but it was a necessity. Reed believes you are quite valuable to our cause, and I happen to agree. We couldn’t risk your refusing to join us.”

The map on my skin prickles. He hasn’t asked to see it yet, but we’re getting there. “Why’s that?”

A small smile. “Reed tells me you have a scar on your back. I’d very much like to see it.”

I step away from the window. “I’d rather not.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

He signals to the guards lining the room, and before I can shout in protest, fingers pinch my shoulder.

I clasp the front of the jacket, squeezing the buttons. Another guard is immediately at my side, grabbing my arms and yanking them behind my back. In a single exhale, the jacket is ripped away and I’m thrown face-down on the wooden table. The pitcher topples, spilling water and soaking my torn shirt. I don’t have a scrap of energy left. I’m held there, pinned down, my brand bared to the men.

The General’s clean smell floats over me, and then a finger touches my bare skin. I hiss out a breath as he traces the raised parts of the brand, memorizing my secret, seeing everything I’ve been told to keep hidden.

“I’ve seen this map before,” he croons, “and I was not careful enough with it. I will not make the same mistake twice.”

A sheet of scrap metal is slapped down on the table, the edge nearly taking off my nose. I’m held in place as a guard copies the map, each squeal of his knife on the material like a wedge digging into my skull.

When he’s finished, I’m yanked upright and spun around to face the General.