The air in the room was thick. It was hard to breathe as Hesi lashed out and slammed her fist into Rehema's waiting arm. The bride grunted but did little to stand against Hesi's force. Rehema's knees folded and thumped on the ground. Hesi exhaled and stepped back, her bare feet sliding across the dusty floor.

"Get up," Hesi instructed. A weight settled on her chest and shoulders as she huffed. "We are not done."

Silence filled the landscape. She glanced at the other brides training. A certain glum wrapped around their movements, dragging their swings back and holding their punches back. Rehema didn't move from the floor, her eyes glued to the cots which caught her fall.

Mensa's loss hung over their heads like an ominous cloud. Her death betrayed the ugly truth: the Mayaware would manipulate the trials to remove who they wanted, and the brides were powerless. Hesi failed to acknowledge it when she plunged into this mess. By joining the competition, she signed away her hopes for safety and freedom, as well as the agency to fight.

This was Berheqt. Everything revolved around power and survival. All Hesi had was fear and her desperation to save her siblings from a fate nobody deserved. This was the last penance she offered her parents, whose sacrifice should mean something. If she threw away this chance, if she stopped squirming against the invisible but clawed grip, what kind of daughter was she? What kind of sister?

If Mensa's death meant something, then it was vengeance.

Hesi scanned the faces zipping across her sigh. These brides were here not because they willed it. The Mayaware dictated their fate. As they prepare for the next trial, which could be anything but combat, the High Prince would call them one by one. They would watch him eat meat from their own kind, talking about whatever interested him. The only thing left to do was capitalize the opportunity, to try not to die and ascend to the top.

It shouldn't be so. Perhaps she laid the groundwork for another plan when she asked the women to work with her. To trust her. But how could they do that now when she got one of them killed?

A chink in the plan. A consequence of a mistake she didn't know she made. If Mensa's death meant something, it was to show them that one misstep, and the same thing would happen to them. Knowing the Mayaware's secrets—it put a target on their backs as it brought power on their hands. And for Hesi, it was a gamble she was willing to take.

But she has made too many gambles lately.

One of them was bound to result in a loss—one she maybe couldn't accept.

But a plan was better than none, so she offered her hand to Rehema and hauled the bride up when their fingers clasped. "We're mourning, I get that." Hesi turned to the others who paused training. "Mensa shouldn't have died."

Weight shifted between uneasy stances. Who would want to talk about losing a comrade before their eyes? Hesi didn't have a choice though. If not today, she might not get another chance. If only she listened to what Mensa aimed to tell her...

Regrets piled up like cages against a fortress wall.

"The Mayaware doesn't want us to forget," Hesi continued, daring to hold each bride's gaze a second longer. "That our lives are never in our control. They hold the bridles, and they want us to believe that. But I know better."

She stomped to her cot where her meager belongings tucked into a satchel lay. Her fingers closed around the knife she snuck inside Berheqt. She faced her comrades. "I taught you how to fight a Mayaware and live," she said. "But I should have taught you something more important first."

A faint hiss emanated from the blade when it slid off the sheath. She brandished it at the brides. Her comrades, friends. Sisters. The plan wasn't to save only her biological siblings. It was to give the promise of salvation to women who wrestled with the lack of control and hope on the paths they took.

"Today, I'm going to teach you how to win." Hesi bared her teeth into a grim smile. "Together, we will avenge Mensa."

She glanced at Tagara and Barteset, the only people she needed to draw everyone in, and found fire in their eyes. "Together, let's take back what should have been ours," Hesi finished.

The brides nodded.

The night witnessed how they became one.

A message arrived for Hesi when stars twinkled in the inky sky as she sharpened her blade. The brides slept, exhausted after an entire day of bashing each other with the knife. Each stringent screech of stone against metal sent a calming wave over her, easing the growing weight on her shoulders. It would be fine as long as she has this dagger. As long as she fought with it beside her.

Then, a soft crunch of parchment ruffled from the doorway as though something slid through the gap between the door and the floor. Perhaps it was kicked? She frowned, set her work down, and stalked towards it. With silent steps like a desert cat out for its prey, she snatched a sheet of folded parchment, disturbing the layer of dust beneath. When she flipped it open, an object fluttered free, kissing the ground softly.

A small green feather, iridescent against the darkness, lay between her feet. It was from that bird, the one she saw in the garden. How did they catch one, let alone pluck a feather from it?

Who was stupid enough to slide a message underneath the doors of the bridal palace?

She turned her attention to the parchment caging the feather. Through her adjusted vision, she caught a sliver of ink scrawled on the lower corner. It was a word, but written in a way that seemed familiar.

It was familiar.

She saw it hundreds, if not thousands, of times before. She knew who owned it and what the word asked her to do.

Come.

The conversation she had with Kharta about this crawled forward. The steward believed sending correspondence was a risk, an ill method to fit into their plan. One had to visit the other, and most often, she did because she needed things from him. Because she would rather be bored out of her wits and have someone to disturb than be stuck in a lecture about things she didn't want to learn.

Because, whether she admitted it or not, she viewed Kharta as not someone to use inside this palace. Over the months of hounding him, she thought of him as a friend. And that was where her mistake was. After he lied to her, it became clear he didn't see her similarly.

She didn't know why, but it hurt more than a knife to the gut.

Why did he call her out of the bridal palace then? What was he planning?

There was only one way to find out.

She gritted her teeth and plucked her knife from the sharpening stone. It found its sheathe not long after she stuck it into her belt. The dresses could wait. Tonight, she wasn't a bride.

Within minutes, she trekked out of her stony cage. She reached Kharta's basement after dodging the nightly Mayaware patrols, and she found him leaning against the door. Half his face hid in the darkness, while starlight from the stairs kissed the other half.

She halted a few steps away, a hand gripping her knife's hilt. "You've got some nerve calling me here." She took her eyes off his veiled frame and examined the dingy cavern. Apart from the stairs behind her, there wasn't anywhere the Mayaware could reach them. "What happened to the risks we would never take?"

It would be hell if she had to fight inside this cramped space. Kharta didn't appear as though he could swing a knife much less a curved blade, but he lied to her once. She couldn't stop him from lying about anything. Maybe he already lied to her from when they first met.

"I told you." His eyes were dark and hard. "You are a gamble."

A derisive laugh tore off her lips. "You made that perfectly clear when they killed a bride," she said. "Her blood isn't on my hands. It's on yours."

As an answer, he sped towards her and grabbed her wrist. She pulled at his arm, drawing her knife in synchrony. She slammed him against the wall in one pivot—how easily he went too—and poised the blade under his chin.

"Touch me again, and I will make you bleed," she hissed. Her teeth bared inches from his face. The dark was a miracle. She didn't have to worry about the implications of her actions when she couldn't see them. "Why did you call me here?"

He lunged, shoving her body backwards. His hand swiped for the blade in her grip, disarming her as quickly as plucking a fig. Air zipped out her throat as she slammed against a rough surface. A cold sliver pressed at her side. When she tried to move her arms, iron-like shackles bound them to the immovable bricks.

"Attempt to hurt me, and I will kill you." His breath tickled her nose, lips, and chin. Her heart hitched when she noticed how close they were. It wouldn't be long before their chests touched and melded.

A shiver ran down her spine. Another one of his lies. He made her believe he was harmless like a lamb when he was deadly like an adder. "Why did you do it?" She seethed. Even though she fought with all her might, his grip never faltered. The edge poised at her side never ceased. "Why did you lie to me?"

He leaned in, his leg brushing the insides of her thighs. Close. He was that close. The whiff of burned coal, incense, and dried sweat filled her senses, drowning her in its allure. Her brain lurched, halting in its steps like a cripple. Whatever he was doing, she wanted none of it.

But she couldn't get out, even though she wanted to.

"Will you listen?" he snarled, not a word above a whisper. It wasn't a question of how sharp his tone became. Even that was a shock. She underestimated him. Greatly.

She averted her gaze, burning holes into the floor instead. With a sigh, he edged off her and flicked her knife's handle to her. She grabbed it before he tainted it with his trace. His soul. He jerked his chin towards the opposite direction she came in. Wasn't there anything waiting for them there? "Walk with me," he said. "I need you for something."

A frown pulled down the corners of her lips. "Why do you think I'll help you?" she said. "After you betrayed me?"

He stalked into the darkness, determined to leave her alone with half her body to the light. "You came here, didn't you?" he replied. His lofty tone claimed he won with it so thick with amusement. "You could have ignored my message."

Because, try as I might, I can't ignore you, came her automatic reply. She dug her teeth on her lip before it spilled. This man betrayed her. Lied to her. Culled a precious life with his word. Instead, she blurted, "I came to understand."

"And understand, you will," he answered.

He shifted, and the groan of rocks swinging outward echoed in the chamber. She braced the wall when the ground shook for a moment. Debris rained from the ceiling. Amber light from torches burned the darkness away. She followed him as he squeezed through a small gap between the wall and what should be a cul-de-sac. A secret way out? To where?

The lofty walls of Berheqt loomed, a sentry to tell on them the moment they got caught. She looked back to see Kharta push the rock back to its original place. When he finished, the line blended seamlessly with the webbing cracks around it. That was how it stayed undetected.

Kharta glanced at the narrow entrance punched through the facade of bricks, guarded by two people. She squinted at their heads. Humans. Without another word, Kharta strode towards them, a hard expression on. She struggled to keep up despite being roughly the same height. Her hair fluttered behind her. She forgot to leash it when she left the bridal palace.

When they reached the gate, the sight struck her. Instead of the usual sight of bare-chested gold-collared Mayaware carrying sharpened spears, the human soldiers showed up dressed in simple tunics and trousers. They even have the same sandals as her. It was a more welcome sight than two demons in the same outfit. Did Berheqt employ human soldiers? How little she knew about the Mayaware. That would be her downfall.

Kharta exchanged nods with the guards. As they hurried off and heaved ropes controlling the wooden gate, he spoke. "I lied to you because the generals are suspicious," he said. "I need to catch you off-guard to get their noses off you. Too much knowledge will give you away."

"So it was to save me?" She crossed her arms. Knowing she kept her life watching another lose it didn't feel good.

His curls bounced against his forehead when a stray breeze blew by. "Also to save myself," he answered. "The Mayaware suspected my involvement, so I proved my loyalty by throwing you off. It's the only way to clear my trail."

Fair. It was only fair. If either of them were caught, harsher consequences awaited them. Mensa was a casualty caught between the rungs. She didn't like it, but it wasn't as though she could do anything about it. "How can I tell you are lying next time?" she prodded. "How can I trust you after this?"

He tilted his head at her. "Do you still want to work with me?"

"I do," she replied without missing a beat. As though she was entirely certain. "Because you need me." She pursed her lips as she paused. "And I need you."

If they were to survive this deadly game, they needed each other.

He gestured towards a flurry of movement arising in her periphery. Her gaze landed on a wiry man with graying hair sticking out his turban. A merchant. Without a horse and a cart of wares, he resembled any village elder. He stopped a few paces away and ducked his head. "Good evening, esteemed steward," he said. "How may I be of service?"

Kharta glanced at her before whirling to the merchant. "Tell me of the huurshe blade you saw," he ordered.

To the merchant's credit, he reacted with only a slight raise of eyebrows. "A wealthy trader purchased it from a colleague." He ran a hand down his thin beard. "The tidings of shifting sands tell us the new owner will make his way towards Ser-Neqhep in the summer."

"Make him circle back to Iren-Washep," Kharta replied. It wasn't a statement. It was an order. "I will trade him something for it. Deliver him that message."

The merchant bowed to Kharta and tucked his hands together. "It will be as you say, esteemed steward," he said. "Expect an answer in a fortnight."

Without further ceremony, the merchant sauntered off and vanished into the wide, unguarded desert. The gate shut in the merchant's wake. Kharta turned to her, his hands clasped behind him. "Does that answer your question?" he ventured.

She was about to ask, what question?, when it clicked. Kharta's words slammed back to her memory. I do not dare request it to be brought to Berheqt. He referred to the huurshe ores, mined from various parts of Tjarma other than Ser-Tehra. He didn't want to risk placing an order from Iren-Washep, much less from the royal capital. And yet...

And yet, here they were.

She met his gaze. In the moon's light and the flickering flames from the torches, his eyes were both empty and full of life. On the stiff slab of determination dancing in them, she spied a few cracks, and Beneath those cracks slipped something she never saw in the steward's features before: desperation.

Kharta was desperate, knowing how close he came to the Mayaware sniffing him out. Like her, he didn't know how long he had before the demons pinned him down. Grasping on what meager straws they had, it would only be a matter of time before the unspeakable but perfectly thinkable happened.

His answer hid underneath it. She couldn't trust a desperate man. Because desperation...

It would be his downfall.

Her second question—one that mattered more—remained unanswered. How will I know you're not lying to me? He only gave her a vague feeling, a warning. A threat.

She wouldn't know, and he would lie to her again. And again. For as long as he has to in order to save themselves. She could only do the one thing she swore she would never do.

Hesi Renen would trust him. She would trust Kharta Messu.

All over again.