The White Wing’s support in the war wasn’t the worst of what they’d lost on that journey. Not by far. But at least alliances could be repaired—unlike hearts stopped by an arrow, or a young shaman’s bloody sacrifice, or a girl disappeared into the night.
The soldiers packed to the walls to free up space in the pit. Directly across from Wren, Ketai adopted a defensive stance, lifting his oak staff. An invitation.
Wren lifted her own in acceptance.
Her father whirled into action so quickly she’d barely finished her breath before he was upon her. He struck with incredible strength. The impact jarred her teeth. She ground her heels into the dirt as he forced her back. But Wren had been trained by Ketai himself—she knew his fighting style inside out. She responded with a side-duck then a jump-kick, which he rebuffed with one arm before spinning low, aiming his bo at her feet.
Wren jumped. Launched into a flurry of fast jabs that Ketai parried with ferocious grace.
Caen once told Wren she fought like her father: elegant and unrelenting. A dangerous combination. But Wren had one key advantage.
Her Xia blood.
As they continued to dance across the pit, drawing gasps of awe from the watching soldiers, Wren felt her magic calling. It tingled in her fingertips. It whispered in her blood. She held it back, narrowing her focus to her body and movements; the dark flash of her father’s eyes and the grim line of his lips.
Because of the state she’d been in after returning from the desert, Ketai had forbidden her to use magic, ordering her to rest to recoup her strength. So far, Wren had followed his orders. Yet as she fought now, pain and determination pulsed more keenly through her with each passing moment, as it had done every minute she spent without Lei, not knowing where she was, if she were even alive, and with it grew Wren’s craving for action, to be useful, to do something—
Magic burst from her in an ice-cold roar.
It tore through the pavilion, a powerful wave that threw the sand of the pit outward. There were cries from the watching warriors. They scrambled to take cover as sand dashed against the bamboo walls, showering them in grit and dust.
The magic sapped from Wren as abruptly as it had arrived. Before the Sickness, accessing her power was as easy as dipping a toe to a vast lake. Now, the lake’s once-silky waters were thick as mud, and harnessing its might was a struggle. Yet another thing the King had stolen from her. Though they couldn’t be certain, almost everyone suspected the depletion of qi across Ikhara was his doing.
Wren slumped to the floor. Shivers racked her body. Fighting to contain them, she lifted her head and saw her father being helped to his feet.
He met her concerned expression, his jet-dark eyes for once unreadable. Then, he smiled, brushing down his dust-covered clothes. “My daughter,” he pronounced with a sweep of an arm. “What a warrior you have become.”
He bowed, as was customary, congratulating her on her win. Wren returned it stiffly. When she straightened, her father was already striding forward. He clapped her on the shoulder as he passed, a little too hard.
“Come,” he said. “I have as assignment for you.”
The Jade Fort, the Hannos’ homestead in central Ang-Khen, sat on a high viewpoint amid swaths of forested valleys. It had gotten its name from the sparkling jade of the pines that spread in all directions, shifting in the wind so it gave the appearance of an island in the center of a deep, golden-green sea. The sounds of the training pavilion faded as Ketai led Wren across the grounds and into the fort through its grand entranceway, banners with the Hanno insignia fluttering overhead.
Their clan members were quick to bow as they passed. This wasn’t new, but their attitude toward Wren was. It had shifted after New Year’s Eve, when she’d revealed herself as not the simple clan daughter they’d always thought her to be, but the sole descendent of the infamous warrior clan, the Xia.
Wren held in her question for her father until they were in a quiet hallway on one of the higher levels. It was the same one she’d asked him almost every time they spoke, and she saw him stiffen in irritation as she repeated it now.
“Wren, my answer has not and will not change. Our watchtowers are on high alert for an attack. We cannot spare any soldiers. Not to mention, you are still in recovery.”
“I’m much better now,” Wren countered. “I’ve had plenty of rest since Jana. And I don’t need a big army. I could go alone, even—”
“Enough.” Like all Ketai’s commands, it carried weight. He stopped, facing her. “I know she was your closest friend. I know she meant a lot to you.”
Is, Wren corrected in her head. Means.
“I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you to not know what has happened to her—or to Nitta, or Merrin. It’s been hard for all of us. But we need you, my daughter. I need you. Besides, Lei is the Moonchosen. If anyone is capable of surviving, it’s her. I have no doubt she will find her way back to us.”
Unspoken words hung in the air between them.
Survive what? Find her way back from where?
In the aftermath of the desert battle, Wren had hunted through the bodies for any sign of Lei. She’d tried using magic to speed up the process, but she was emptied of power by then. She’d only stopped when Caen physically restrained her, telling her he’d seen Merrin flying off with Lei and Nitta in the midst of battle.
“Where?” Wren had screamed. But none of them could answer her no matter how many times she shouted it.
She’d eventually passed out from fatigue. When she woke, she was in the back of a carriage. They were traveling northward from the border of Ang-Khen and Jana toward the Jade Fort. Lova explained everything that had happened, yet Wren hadn’t been able to get her own voice out of her ears, that eternal scream: Where where where where?
She still was no closer to an answer.
Now, Ketai passed a rough palm over her cheek and gave her an encouraging smile. “Gods-willing, we will all be reunited in time. For now, though, we have work to do. I need your focus.”
They were in a quiet wing of the fort, consisting mostly of spare rooms for guests and supplies, so Wren was surprised when they turned the corner to find a pair of guards standing by an unassuming wooden door. They bowed before letting Wren and Ketai inside.
It turned out the assignment was a boy.
A jackal Moon caste boy who looked barely old enough to be a soldier, though the red and black baju of the royal army he wore marked him as one. The clothes were too loose on his wiry frame. Blood had crusted his forehead where he’d been struck.
“We caught him close to the river watchtower,” Ketai said.
They stood over the demon’s unconscious form. The effects of the small room had been cleared and its shuttered window bolted tight. Unlike many clan homesteads, the Jade Fort didn’t have cells, and in all her life Wren had never known her father to take anyone prisoner.
Perhaps he had, and this was the first time he was allowing her to see.