But as she squeezed the life out of him, as he fell silent, she felt no satisfaction. Only a vague sense of emptiness. A hunger for something more.

  Div’s hand settled on her back, heavy and cold. Aiz sighed, thankful for the comfort.

  Then she used the wind to rip Tiral’s head clean from his body. The crowd gasped as she held it up, blood pouring from the stump.

  “I am Aiz bet-Dafra,” she roared with the same conviction with which she’d told the Nine Sacred Tales in the Tohr. “Daughter of the evening star, tale-spinner of the Tohr, and chosen of Mother Div. I am your Tel Ilessi.”

  She said the words because she knew they were true. Had she not healed herself from her fall at the Aerie, months ago? Had she not dreamt of Quil discovering the chamber, seen into his very mind? The skills might be rusty, perhaps, but—

  “You will learn,” Mother Div said. “I will teach you. Your people need a leader, Aiz. They need you.”

  The Kegari roared their approval; the flight squadrons looked on, uncertain of what to do now that their commander was dead. Aiz wondered what Quil would say if he could see her now. My Ilo. It felt like a different life when he said those words.

  Am I still your Ilo, covered in blood, Quil?

  One day, she would travel to the Empire, not as a fugitive but as an envoy of the Kegari. She and Quil could speak as equals about the sacrifices required to save one’s people. If anyone could understand why she did what she did, it was a fellow leader.

  Footsteps approached. The Triarchs. She threw Tiral’s head at their feet as some in the crowd roared, “Kill them! Death to the Triarchs!”

  Aiz was unsurprised when Triarch Hiwa, Tiral’s father, stepped over the head, appearing only mildly perturbed.

  “We thank you for freeing us from the farce that my son inflicted on us with the support”—he glared at High Cleric Dovan, on her knees and regarding Aiz with awe—“of these so-called clerics. You will be rewarded.”

  Div prowled behind Hiwa, hand on her nose as if to ward off a foul stench.

  “He plans to kill you and the clerics,” Div said. “Already he has made a pact with the others. End him, Aiz. Before his poison spreads.”

  A rush of power filled Aiz, cool and sweet. She did not use it. As awful as the Triarchs were, they understood the running of Kegar and its armies. After hearing Quil speak of all he had to learn, Aiz knew the Triarchs would be useful.

  “Tiral manipulated the Nine Sacred Tales for his own gain,” she told the Triarchs. “He burned the cloister, murdered Snipe children, and imprisoned and tortured our clerics.” Aiz nodded to High Cleric Dovan, who bowed her head. “They supported him out of fear. That doesn’t make them weak. It makes Tiral evil.”

  “Yes, yes,” Triarch Oona said. “He was a fool and a cheat, but it was the clerics who—”

  “You are no better!” Aiz’s anger exploded. “You cast away Snipes and Sparrows alike as if we were nothing but dirt.”

  A roar of agreement from the crowd.

  “You’re supposed to lead us. Care for us. But you don’t. It’s the clerics who protect us. There are so many who would have nothing if not for the cloisters.”

  Aiz wrapped the wind around the necks of the Triarchs. They all reached for their own windsmithing immediately, but Aiz yanked it away.

  “No more.” Aiz’s voice trembled. “I am the Tel Ilessi, and thus I declare that we are all children of the evening star. We are all beloved to Mother Div. No Kegari shall suffer more than another simply because of where they were born.”

  The Triarchs’ silence was strategic. They would eventually plot against her. But she and Div could tackle that. If the Triarchs knelt, so would the rest of the highborns.

  She transformed the wind into fists and turned them on the Triarchs’ backs. Oona gasped, resisting; Hiwa paled. But then Triarch Ghaz dropped to his knees, bowing his curly head. The rest followed, and Aiz didn’t have to exert her will upon the clerics or the pilots, on the people in the airfield, or those who, hearing that something momentous was occurring, now streamed from the streets of the city to watch.

  By tens and hundreds and thousands, her people knelt.

  A familiar and beloved voice spoke up from among the pilots. Cero stood, hand on his heart. He thumped his chest three times. “Tel Ilessi!” he shouted. “Tel Ilessi!”

  A second voice rang from the crowd, its strength belying the frail body that carried it. Sister Noa. “Tel Ilessi! Tel Ilessi!”

  Another voice took up the chant and another until it was a roar that shivered the dais.

  “Tel Ilessi! Tel Ilessi! Tel Ilessi!”

  Tears spilled down Aiz’s cheeks as she looked out at their faces. She would not let them remain on this treacherous, lifeless spit of land. She would not let them starve here. They would find a way to their true home. Aiz would get them the Loha to do so.

  They would need bigger Sails. Better ones. Cero was brilliant enough to engineer them. Aiz would reach a hand to the Empire for aid, and if they didn’t reach back, she would force them to give her Loha with her newfound power.

  Div had brought her people here a millennium ago. Now their Tel Ilessi would take them home.

  “Gather the clerics,” Aiz said to Dovan. “I would speak to them. And you—” She turned to the Triarchs. “Call up the leaders of the Hawk clans. I wish them to know the future I see. Are there any Ankanese in the city? Any seers?”

  Triarch Ghaz was the quickest to nod. “Ambassador Danil and his retinue.”

  “Tell the ambassador that the true Tel Ilessi wishes to speak with Dolbra.” Aiz thought of everything the woman had told her, the earnestness of her narrow face as she spoke. “We will need outside allies in this effort, and she has aided me once before. I believe she will again.”

  “Tel Ilessi?”

  Noa’s voice was so timid that Aiz almost didn’t recognize it. But when she turned, her dear friend was making her slow way up the dais stairs, Olnas at her side.

  Aiz enveloped them both in a hug, breathing in the familiar wet-wool scent of them.

  “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” she whispered. “I feared—”

  “Our little Aiz, the Tel Ilessi!” Olnas wept freely, as if witnessing a miracle. “How, child? How did this—”

  “Don’t pester her with questions, love!” Noa batted Olnas away. “Let me look at you, my girl—”

  Her wrinkled old face was full of affection when she took Aiz’s cheeks in her hands. But her smile faded the longer she looked, and after a moment, she dropped her arms.

  And took a step back.

  “Aiz,” she said quietly. “What has this cost you?”

  In that moment, Aiz could have said a dozen things. She could have lied. She could have ignored Noa’s question entirely. But she’d lied for months. Now, facing the woman who was like a mother to her, the truth was all she had.

  “Too much, Sister,” she said. “But it’s too late to take it back now.”

  Cero appeared then, openly circumspect. He would have questions, Aiz knew. More than anyone else, he would prod her about the source of Mother Div’s power. But she would deal with that later. Now she must think only of what was next for her people. Not questions Cero would have. Not the shadow of the little boy who helped her discover Mother Div. Not the Kegari children who’d died moments ago to feed Mother Div’s need. Not Noa seeing something no one else saw, the rot at Aiz’s core.

  But even as Aiz tried to push away her disquiet, one word that Mother Div had uttered gnawed at her.

  Your people need a leader.

  Not our.

  Your.

  * * *

  The images faded, and Quil returned to the war camp, to the Tel Ilessi pacing before him, still absorbed in whatever paltry excuses she was making for herself.

  Strange that the whole world still existed outside this tent when everything he believed had been shattered. Quil felt apart from himself, as if watching from above, because the horror of being in his body and experiencing this betrayal was too staggering.

  The memory told Quil all he needed to know. Ilar—or Aiz—was telling the truth. She was possessed by no demon other than her own ambition. She’d stood by as the creature she’d bound herself to—Mother Div—murdered Ruh and countless others. She’d bartered her humanity for power.

  Ruh! Sweet, trusting Ruh who had tried to help Aiz. Quil’s eyes went hot as he remembered Elias’s broken sobs when Quil told him his son was gone. Laia’s keening. Sufiyan’s silence. All because of this…thing standing in front of him, feeling sorry for herself.

  She might wear Ilar’s skin, but she wasn’t Ilar anymore. She’d never been Ilar. She’d never loved Quil, not truly. And it wasn’t just her betrayal Quil reeled from. The Ankanese had been allied with Kegar all this time. Quil recognized the seer in Aiz’s memory the moment she thought of the woman’s face. Ambassador Ifalu—supposed friend to the Martials. Skies only knew how much damage she’d caused.

  A crawling, full-body disgust gripped Quil. He’d been such a fool. Skies, everything he’d told her about Navium and Antium and Serra. About his aunt. About the drums and the Masks. Aunt Hel thought there was a spy among them. But it had been him. He hadn’t even known it.

  His chest twisted as he grieved again, not just for the girl who died in that terrible chamber, but for the boy he’d been, naive and starry-eyed enough to believe she was who she claimed to be. For Ruh, who had trusted them all, not knowing the fiend they’d allowed in their midst.

  But now Quil knew. And he didn’t have time for questions or stunned disbelief or even horror. That instinct bred into him from birth told him he’d have one chance to kill her. And it would only work if her guard was down.

  So, Quil made himself look at the Tel Ilessi, listen—and wait.

  38

  Aiz

  Standing in the war camp, surrounded by her army, the memory of Tiral’s death seemed so long ago. Now Aiz observed Quil, weaponless and powerless, and her heart ached. He’d been kind to her. Loved her. If not for him, she would have known nothing of Loha or the Empire.

  Aiz was not indifferent. Even now, she wished to touch him. To seek comfort in his arms.

  Get what you need, Tel Ilessi, she told herself. Forget the rest.

  “I have a holy mission to save my people, Quil.” Aiz traced the D carved into her hand. “There are hundreds of thousands of Kegari, but there used to be millions. Long ago, we sent emissaries all over. When we offered our Sails to trade, we were told they were worthless, because only we could call the wind. When we offered our engines, the Mehbahnese took our secrets and gave us little in return. The only country that aided us is Ankana, but we cannot rely on their kindness forever.

  “I’m not a fool. I know that raiding our neighbors will not sustain us. But if we go to our homeland across the sea, we can support ourselves. This is the heart of my holy task—we call it the Return.”

  “How holy can your task be if it requires the destruction of another land?”

  “You haven’t seen your people starve.” Aiz craved understanding the way Div craved hearts. “You haven’t watched children scream as their parents are conscripted, and then die in the gutter of cold and hunger.”

  “No.” Quil met her gaze calmly. Too calmly. “But I have seen them begging for mercy while your army dropped bombs on them and cut them down.”

  “With good reason! For my people to return home, we need Loha to power our Sails. Enough to transport everyone. The Empire has it—the living metal your Masks wear on their faces. I tried to trade for it. I sent messages to the Empress through Ankana, but she refused to negotiate with us.”

  “There are other ways to make a life,” Quil said. “Other places you could go.”

  Aiz was fascinated at how he battled his rage so that reason might prevail. Something about it made her sad—and disappointed. Even now, he sought calm. Control.

  “Are you attempting to treat with me? We’ve scattered your population. Destroyed your cities. Aren’t you angry?”

  “My people are dying. Of course I’m angry. But anger won’t help us reach an agreement—”

  “If your aunt had traded with us, everything would be different. I offered to show your people how we manipulate the Loha—you hardly understand how to use it!” Aiz’s blood boiled thinking about the patronizing tone of the Empress’s letters. “She claimed to want a marriage alliance—offering you up like a lamb to the slaughter. All the while, she was spying on us and likely hiding your stores of Loha—”

  “There are no stores of Loha,” Quil said. “We only have the masks our soldiers wear. When one dies, the mask releases and is given to the next. There is no way to give it to you without murdering our own troops.”

  Aiz could feel the loathing rolling off Quil. She’d told him about Mother Div so he would understand. But it’d only made him hate her more.

  “Is this Return you speak of worth the lives of Kegar’s children?” Quil asked. “Is it worth their hearts?”

  Aiz stilled. She hadn’t told Quil of Div’s price. “How did—”

  “Answer the question, Tel Ilessi. Are your children’s hearts worth the power that monster is feeding you?”

  “I—I didn’t mean for them to—”

  “To die for your cause?” At her dismay, Quil shook his head in disgust. “When you sacrifice other people’s children on the altar of your ambition, it’s only a matter of time before you’ll be willing to sacrifice your own. That’s how evil works, Aiz.”

  “I had to bend the Triarchs and Hawks to my will!” Aiz burst out. “I had to ensure victory in our early battles with Bula and Armaana. We needed food, Quil. The deaths of a few to save the many is not a trade any should have to make. But I made it, and I will carry that burden if it means my people have a chance at a future. Do not think I take Ruh’s sacrifice lightly—”

  Quil’s eyes went flat and despite herself, Aiz took a step back. “You keep his name out of your mouth,” he growled. “Ruh was never yours to sacrifice.”

  Aiz’s face burned in sudden shame. There was so much she wished yet to tell Quil. Her loneliness. The hunger within her, the emptiness. Since she’d killed Tiral, that hunger had gnawed at her as if a starving rat had been let loose in her gut. Sometimes, before Mother Div fed, Aiz was so consumed with the hunger that she wanted to tear apart whoever was closest to her to make the feeling stop.

  But looking at Quil now, Aiz knew she’d find no empathy. She’d been foolish to seek it out in the first place. She stood tall; the only thing the Martials respected was strength.

  “I offered your aunt a chance to save both our people. I’m offering you the same. Give us the Loha and we will leave the Empire.”

  “We don’t mine it,” Quil said, jaw rigid. “We don’t know where it came from. I told you that in the desert, and unlike you, I wasn’t lying with every sentence I spoke.”

  Aiz looked down at his arms, strong and corded with muscles. She thought of how she’d once forgotten her troubles in his larch leaf eyes. She remembered the hot days and cool nights and his mouth on hers. She wondered if this woman, Sirsha, was his lover now. If she knew how he loved, with his whole body.

  Aiz wished they could have met under other circumstances. Her, a cleric for a strong people seeking an alliance. Him, the wise prince, open to taking knowledge and offering it.

  She shook the wish away. These were the thoughts of the girl she was. Not the Tel Ilessi she’d become.

  “That metal came from somewhere,” Aiz said. “You will tell me. Or you will sing your secrets to my interrogators and be grateful for the tongue to do it.”

  Quil looked away from her, as if the sight of her disgusted him. “It was better when I thought you dead.”

  Aiz sighed. He was a good man. Kind and giving. Worth loving. But naive and hopeful and weak because of it.

  In that moment, he lunged at her.

  She’d scrambled for the wind, and his knife—where did he get the knife?—was a breath from her throat when she managed to slam him back into the chair so hard it splintered.

  Her mind twitched, and with a suddenness that never failed to leave her gasping, hunger took over, worse than before, violent and overpowering. She could not stand it—she would die from it—

  Then fullness, rich and satisfying, so pleasurable that she bit her lip so she wouldn’t make a sound.

  Div had fed. And Quil was nothing against Aiz’s power. She immobilized him as easily as a child crushing an ant, then whipped his blade away with a rope of wind. “I regret,” she said, “that we couldn’t come to an agreement. Cero.”

  In an instant, her friend entered the tent. His wound was dressed now, and she was relieved to see the color back in his face.

  “Take him to the pens. Get the interrogators working on him. I want that Loha.”

  Cero inclined his head before bending to whisper to her. She turned to Quil.

  “News that concerns you,” she said. “The city of Serra has fallen. Their anti-Sail weaponry has been destroyed.”

  His aunt, Aiz didn’t add, had given away her position. Kegari troops only waited for Aiz’s word to strike.

  Quil’s body went rigid, the closest thing to fear that he’d show.

  “I will not see you again, Quil.” She moved toward him as frustration twisted his features. But no, not frustration alone. Sadness, too. Even knowing that it was Aiz who led the attack on his people, he mourned for her.

  In response, she felt only a mild regret that someone she had once cared for could be so pathetic.

  Aiz swept out of the tent as Mother Div oozed up from the encampment, glutted from her most recent meal.

  Mother Div didn’t speak. She knew Aiz’s mind now and fed her a thick rope of power. Within seconds, Aiz’s skin stung from the wind lash, and the Thafwan coast was far behind her. Serra had fallen. The Empress would soon be hers to question or interrogate as she wished. Quil knew her story, tying off the last piece of her old self. She should feel confident. Grounded.