Hesi waited. And waited.

Two brides didn't return.

No amount of waiting could change that.

She didn't budge from her spot, her uninjured shoulder growing stiff from pressing against the warm and rough rock wall for so long. Rehema and Semret. They must show up.

"Hesi, we need to go." Barteset's voice bled into her ears. Tagara and Isueri tried to no avail. Even Petra, with her usual bubbly attitude able to diffuse any negative feelings in all of them, gave up. The woman resigned to the corner Rehema once occupied.

Hesi shrugged the older woman's hand off her shoulder. The arm hanging from its socket throbbed when she whirled towards Barteset. "You go on ahead. I'll wait some more."

A click of the tongue, and Asrate was on Hesi's face. Her cheek flared with pain, and Asrate's hand stayed in the air for a few seconds before falling to her side. Did she just—

"Wake up, Hesi," Asrate chided, her tone stern and unkind. "They are not coming back."

Anger boiled inside Hesi's gut. She raised her burning gaze from her bare feet—her sandals snapped free hours ago—and met Asrate's eyes. They stared back at her, empty, dark, and helpless. Hesi hated it. Because they reflected on her own whenever she saw herself in a mirror.

She promised she would get them out. They believed she would keep her word. They trusted her to do her part, and they did theirs. She failed them. Like Mensa and the countless women who found themselves in this fanfare's clutches.

"Let's go, Hesi." Uzare's gentle voice was laced with a thickness Hesi knew was because of tears. "Rehema and Semret. They are in a better place now. Topt will take care of them in Her Fields."

Hesi closed her eyes and yanked her hand away from the bride's grip. Her chest heaved, amplified by the nerves that remained from the fight. She wanted to punch something, to make something explode, to squeeze the life out of something and watch their blood water the stones. She wanted ink to wash over the sand baked by the midday sun.

Rehema talked about going back to her herds, to which she sang and cared. Semret, a sweet girl barely older than Pai—she has a whole life ahead of her if she didn't get tangled in this mess. She and Pai would have been friends, the best of them. Or they would hate each other up to no end and pull each other's hair.

And now, none of them would get to see any of those futures. It was because of Hesi. If she didn't introduce a sense of safety and camaraderie among them, they would still see this as a competition. They would do their best to win. They would never succumb to defeat. It was her fault. She saved them from one death but shoved them into another.

But someone else had been there, someone who had the power to stop the battle on behalf of the High King. Someone who had her heart in his clawed grip.

Before she knew it, she pushed the door to Kharta's basement, finding him brewing yet another batch of his slimy potions. "Why didn't you stop their matches?" she demanded, shutting the door behind her with a loud bang. "Why didn't you?!"

"I am not a solution to every problem connected to you." Kharta turned to face her. The steam rising from the cauldron he boiled made the dark cloud passing over his face more devious. "Stop thinking I can help you with every trifle you come across."

She bared her teeth. Why was she angry? Rehema and Semret lived in different worlds, often leaving Hesi with the rest of Festophis' slate. They never spoke more than a few passing remarks. But knowing they would never walk Berheqt's halls again, a distinct phantom hovered overhead, trailing in her wake. She would never escape it until she joined their owners, whatever hell they reached.

"Have you no heart?" She wailed. "Don't forget you are still human. You are one of us."

His features crumpled into a fierce growl. "I won't risk years of hard work for some stranger," he insisted. "You must stop treating me like a savior, because I'm not."

"And I'm not a stranger?" She fired back. "I was, and you saved me. Over and over."

Then, the realization settled in her shattered bones. A derisive laugh tore off her chest. "Ah, that is why," she breathed, shoving her matted hair off her forehead. "I can't believe I fell for that, body and soul."

He scoffed. "What are you talking about?"

"I know why you saved me, and I was right." She met his gaze, matching the stony veil over it. "You can't lose me because you need me. You need me to carry out the plan you can't finish on your own."

"And is that wrong?" His voice dropped into a strained whisper. "I need you, Hesi. In more ways than one."

She shook her head and clutched her injured arm, hiding the hunch she did to contain the painful twinge of her heart. "Can't you need the other brides too?" she said. "Why does it only have to be me? They have lives too. More important lives."

"The heart is not partial to what is important in the eyes of men," he replied. "What the heart considers essential is what it will follow, the world be damned. You know that, Hesi. Out of everyone, you have the most heart to give."

Her arm fell to her side. "What are you saying?"

He sighed and stalked towards her. Out of sheer caution, she stepped back. There was still that night, one she wished remained forgotten. It hung between them like a knife tied to a thread. It would pierce a foot or two once the link snapped. "You did everything you could to help them. To save them," he replied. "Their deaths do not fall on your hands."

"Does it fall on yours?"

He reached out and held her uninjured elbow. "If need be," he whispered. Their hearts were not an inch farther. "I will take the blame the world has so you can live without worry."

"Stop," she murmured. Then, stronger and harder: "Stop."

Hurt flickered across his features. "Hesi, I—"

She shoved him away. Tears burned her eyes and threatened to scald her cheeks. "How could you say that so easily? So...readily?" She turned and met his eyes. "How?"

"I remember," came the earnest reply.

Her eyes widened. Words formed in her mind but dissolved on her tongue. "I—"

"I remember everything," he echoed as though he wasn't certain she heard it the first time. "And I know what you did."

Of course. He knew everything that happened in Berheqt.

"Do you hate me?" she asked. Lying to him, manipulating him, and using his weakness against him. She was the worst person anyone would encounter.

Kharta's stare never wavered. "I love you," he answered. "And I don't regret it."

She didn't move. She couldn't. Even as Kharta closed the distance between them completely. He didn't kiss her. Instead, he snaked an arm around her waist and let his breath tickle her ear. "The last trial will be about history and politics. Read up." He peeled off her and ran a hand down her face before tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "After the High Prince chooses a bride," he said. "We strike."

And there it was: the plan. The culmination of their efforts.

When it was over, where would fate find them?