“So you wanted to know if you should kill me, too?”

“You have her mouth,” Kirana said. “Let’s say this secret isn’t one that will be hidden long. Best to see how you took it. Some go mad.”

Zezili could understand that.

Kirana rolled up the map on the table, which Zezili recognized now as a map of Grania. Zezili saw neat lines of Dhai characters scrawled across areas of Dhai, Tordin, Dorinah, and Aaldia. Zezili spoke Dhai but had never studied the written language, so it was just scribbling to her.

Kirana held the map out and Monshara took it. “That’s your battle plan,” Kirana said. “Eight hundred dead to deliver that. Best not lose it.”

Monshara slipped the map into a leather sleeve attached to her belt.

“Who are you battling with next?” Zezili asked. “Wars on multiple fronts never go well.”

“You’ll know soon enough,” Kirana said. “You’re dismissed, Monshara.”

Zezili spared one last look at the Kai, then followed after Monshara down the long stairwell.

When they reached the bottom, Zezili walked out behind the tower, ignoring Monshara’s shout, and gazed down the hill toward the great construction she had spied from the window.

A vast silvery arch split the sky. Distant figures worked in the tattered shreds of some temporary camp near it. She saw long lines of workers carrying baskets of shimmering matter toward the structure. More workers dangled from the scaffolding that skirted its base.

“Why build a mirror?” Zezili asked as Monshara came up alongside her.

“To keep the gate between our worlds open,” Monshara said. “We don’t have enough blood or omajistas to keep a steady gate open without it. The rebels took two hundred of our most promising omajistas a decade ago and hid them across many worlds, but mostly yours, as it’s the closest to ours.”

“How do you lose that many children?”

“It’s a very long story. A few women made a nuisance of themselves, led by an upstart named Nava Isoail. But they’re nearly all dead now. We’re just mopping up.”

Above the arch of the mirror, the blasted black sphere of what should have been Para glowed ominously in the sky.

“Why would she pick me for this campaign,” Zezili said, “when she already killed me here?”

“I long ago gave up trying to understand her motivations. She is equal parts manic brutality and strategic fuckery.”

“There’s no chance she could fail?”

Monshara’s face was a grim mask.

“With a face like that, you’d be good at cards,” Zezili said.