“What do you mean? She’s in the next room!”

“Did you not hear me?”

“I’m half asleep, Isoail.”

“The enforcers came for her this morning, before I woke. That was six hours ago. I don’t know where they took her. There are eight camps within a few days’ march of here – north, south, east, west… they could have gone any direction.”

Zezili grabbed fistfuls of her own hair and grunted. Isoail could open the gate. The little dajian could destroy the mirror. And Zezili could use the ensuing chaos to find Anavha. Rhea had handed it to her all in one night, and she’d tossed it away.

Zezili stood. “Come with me.”

“Where?”

“I’m purging every last one of those camps in the coming weeks,” Zezili said. “The girl’s bound to be in one of them.”

Zezili swept into Monshara’s tent completely sober. She was cold but already had her helm under her arm and her gloves off. It showed a measure of trust, she thought.

Monshara stood bent over a field table with a steaming cup of tea clasped in her hands. Her hair was knotted atop her head in a loose tangle. A heavy woolen scarf that had once been blue and was now a washed-out gray swaddled her neck. If she was surprised at Zezili’s appearance, she did not show it.

“I expect the purging of the last camp went well,” Zezili said.

“Has your husband been rounded up and whipped? I understand that’s your way.”

“It’s cultural, not personal.”

“Indeed. Your desertion was reported.”

“You knew where I was and why. We share command. I answer only to the Empress.”

“She isn’t pleased. Nor is the woman I answer to.”

“I’ve spoken with my Empress personally,” Zezili lied. “She understands.” She pulled a piece of paper from her belt and unfolded it on the table. It was a rough sketch of the girl from the lake. Isoail knew an artist in the neighboring town who created it based on their shared memory. She’d passed it on to enforcement offices along the way, but to the enforcers, every dajian looked alike. “She’s asked me to find a dajian thought to be hiding in one of these final camps. We’ll need to circulate this before we run each purge.”

Monshara set down her tea and squinted at the page. “What’s she done?”

“I didn’t ask. You and I only follow orders, remember?”

Monshara leaned toward her. “If you think I’ll forget your desertion–”

Zezili thumped her helm on the table. “If you think you’re my superior, you’re sorely mistaken,” she said. “My business is my own and I answer only to the Empress of Dorinah. My Empress. So watch your tone and do as she tells you.”

Zezili snapped up the page and her helm. She walked out.