“I’m a traitor.” It’s not just that I killed my own kin. It’s the patriotic fervor I felt for Ampara when I came back. It’s the shameful fact that of all the deaths in the battle, the one I feel most cruelly is Naudar’s.

Naudar, dead by Gatha’s hand. I never thought I’d be able to hate Gatha, but I do. I feel like I’m being split in two.

“It wasn’t you who did these things,” she says.

“That doesn’t make Pouriya any less dead.” Ridiculous Pouriya, who would repeat his own jokes until I wanted to knock him over the head, but who would always lend me an extra weapon in a pinch. I’d cut him down as he lay wounded on the mountainside.

This wasn’t the mission I agreed to. I was supposed to be in Sehmar City, far away from my kin. Once more, I bury my face in my hands. When did it become such a tangled mess?

“I need to know how much Tus knows,” I say abruptly.

Zivah looks at me, confused.

“Arxa captured one of my tribe. They have him in the dungeon.”

She raises a hand to her throat. “They’ll be questioning him.”

The image of Tus chained to the wall flashes through my mind. Shame curls through me as I remember how I simply looked away.

“Does he know the truth of your quest?” Zivah asks.

“I think so. He didn’t try very hard to kill me, up on that mountain.” I grab fistfuls of hair at my temples and try to think. “There’s a lot of guards in that prison. Four at least at the door, and then others that patrol the corridor.”

“Could you rescue him?”

Oh, Zivah, you are so naive. “Rescue’s impossible in a fortress like this. I’d be lucky if I could put him out of his misery.”

She falls still. “I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I am.” But now I’m going through what I can remember of the prison in my head, and the reality of it settles like coals in my gut. “I’m not even sure I can get in to kill him. It might run a higher risk of blowing my cover than leaving him there. This should be Gatha’s decision.”

Zivah slips on a pair of gloves and grabs a pen and parchment. “We’ll send a crow, then. What else do you have to report?”

I want to laugh at the way she simply moves on. Of course, I’ll ignore the sufferings of my kin and report now like a good soldier. “I fought well. People noticed. Arxa praised me.” My self-loathing sits lodged in my chest.