"The rules are simple." Kharta shuffled sheets of parchment, tapping the sheaf on the table's surface. "Say what you think is the best course of action, and we will decide if it is sound and applicable in Berheqt."

The demons wanted an outside perspective—from their meals, no less. If the desert squirrels and hares Hesi hunted talked, perhaps she should have held a tribunal for them too. She imagined the questions she would ask: which part of their bodies do they consider more important and hold to a much higher esteem?, how would they want to die—quick and painless, or slow and torturous?, what's the most effective way to snuff the life out of their kind?

The new hall was bland, with little garb to decorate the open windows or rugs to cover the dusty floor. Mayaware guards lined the wall by the door. Their spears and sheathed curved blades glinted with every shaft of sunlight bathing them.

She eyed the brides seated behind a table parallel to the wall. None showed up with smiles on their faces, accessories on their hair, or and paint on their skin. They grieved for the fallen in unique ways, and she was in no position to judge them. Not when Asrate's slap still tickled her cheek.

Wake up, Hesi. The bride told her in the arena. Wake up from what? Hesi wasn't dreaming. Even if she did, there was a better name for it—a nightmare. The dread of the night crept up and swallowed her even if the night eclipsed hours ago. Waking up meant freeing herself of this world and the truth, and no other escape existed except death.

It is not freedom when all we do is run. Pai told her that. A girl barely past sixteen spouted words that never have been truer.

Hesi wouldn't wake up. Not now. She would live inside this hideous and unending nightmare, because that was what being human meant. It was to struggle, to toil,and to writhe under the sun's relentless fire.

Loss was part of the experience. She lost count of how many times she convinced herself of the sentiment. Loss was part of being human. Loss...

It was the foundation of existence.

It must not come as a shock. It should not hurt after seeing it happen. But it did. Each one of them did.

And that was what these demons didn't understand and what humans in Berheqt understood less. Kharta implied as such in their last talk. It drove her up the wall. To these people, loss was another attraction at the dune's crest. Another peak to traverse. They accepted this as the truth, and therefore, they did nothing about it. Kharta's vendetta against the demons wasn't because he wanted to save the world. Revenge. He did everything for revenge. And if the conditions weren't optimal, if at least one factor misaligned, he feared his revenge wouldn't feel good.

That was why Rehema and Semret had to die when he didn't raise his hand to stop the match despite having the status.

"Today's first agenda is about the upcoming large-scale expansion to Ser-Methon." Kharta shifted the first sheet on his stack and poised a quill atop it. The smell of ink wafted in the air as he opened a bottle and set it aside. "Brides, what are your thoughts about it?"

Tagara's back straightened. "Berheqt is far from ready," she said, earning stares from the brides. Her words were not what the generals wanted to hear. "We need to address other pressing issues within Iren-Washep before we scour the rest of Rathome."

It was what someone who listened intently to everything Yobekh spouted would say. "I agree with Tagara." Asrate lowered her hand when attention shifted to her. "Expansion is a risky move, especially when our foundation is shaky. I suggest widening our base first before thinking of rising skyward."

Kharta raised an eyebrow. "What issues can there be?"

"The lack of centralized logistics in food and other basic needs, for example," Uzare added. "I agree with Tagara and Asrate. We must focus on internal affairs first."

Hesi laid a hand on the table. "Disagree," she said. The brides whipped towards her. She relished their shock and tapped a fingernail on the table. "Caution can only bring one to a standstill, and when things are still, it is when the viper strikes."

She trained her gaze towards Kharta whose features clouded over. Ha. He was angry. Boiling underneath a calm facade. Let him try and spout the mushy things he told her after this. It was as she intended. She had enough distraction. Love was a bondage, a chain attached to the ground to prevent one from flying towards freedom. She would be better off not tangling herself in it.

"What does a large-scale expansion need?" She turned to the generals whose features resembled stone. Apart from menacing smirks and angry hisses, their facial muscles couldn't display anything else. Which made Mezo, with his variety of grins and pouts, a rare case.

When no one answered her question, she continued. "Weapons. Soldiers." Her nails rapped against the peeling varnish, sending splinters deep into her beds. "They are not involved in fixing the economy or trade routes. We have an army, and it is ready to march. What holds it back?"

She leveled her gaze towards the statuesque steward and never let her fire waver. "We have everything we need," she said. "But we are not using it to help our people. Why?"

Kharta opened his mouth, no doubt to deliver a stupid answer that would reveal their dynamics. She saved him from such a fate by surging ahead. "Because we live in fear," she said. "The unknown is uncertain, therefore, it is scary. But we forget that the vast majority of Rathome is unarmed. Not a snake has venom left in their fangs. Our prey is scattered, fighting among themselves. We strike the heart, and we have already won half the battle."

To everyone, she sounded as though she brought doom to the people of Ser-Methon by hastening it. Most of the brides offered Tagara support because their morals wouldn't let them become an instrument aiding destruction.

But she has to remove the army's majority from Berheqt when she strikes. That would clear the obstacles towards the royal palace the fastest. They would never understand it unless they knew of her plan.

"Once we take over Ser-Methon, we can focus on rebuilding and refining our internal systems." She nodded to the brides to acknowledge their opinions. "I am not saying we won't go with your suggestions. Rather, we should look towards expanding Iren-Washep now because we can."

Deep down, her gut squeezed. Was this what Kharta felt when he watched the Mayaware slaughter countless brides and slaves? He was in a position of power; his words mattered. He could have saved many from cruel fates if he did something. But he couldn't. He had a grander plan, and losing human lives along the way was simply a means.

For the good of the many or for the temporary relief of the few? The answer was simple, but difficult to accept, much less articulate.

But it was what they did all these months. Maiskha. Mensa. Rehema. Semret. The women drafted inside Festophis' fortress. The people butchered and bred like cattle in the farms. Whether she liked it or not, they were mere stepping stones she used to get farther.

Kharta coughed into his fist and shuffled his parchment again. "Next agenda," he said, his anxiety over the previous topic lacing around his tone. "The production and trade of Cani wine."

And the next hour or two crawled by. The brides threw out their ideas, aiming to solve the problems Iren-Washep had faced since their establishment. She garnered enough insight about her comrades through their answers.

Uzare has a deep love for lambs, so she was awfully quiet on the discussion on breeding farms. Tagara must have lost someone during a raid because her blinks increased the entire time they discussed the best way to sniff out human villages. Barteset mangled the citrus she played with when the forum shifted to wrangling human children. The oldest bride must have had them only to lose them later.

Hesi showered the generals with opinions the generals searched for without batting an eyelash. The entire time, she never took her gaze off Kharta.

About the raids: The best way to know which oasis housed a village is to look for smoke. Fire and ashes will always betray the evidence of life.

About the breeding farms: Survival is better than morality, though some believed otherwise.

About the captured children: Vermin, no matter how small, are still vermin. If they grow up as larger vermin, they might develop fangs and claws to tear a hole in the sand. Contain them early.

If she wanted to say something to Kharta, and if he was riled up by everything she said, they didn't show any signs. If he thought her jabs applied to their unfinished discussion, he did well in hiding it. During the discussion about human trade, however, he slammed the sheaf of parchment on the table, startling the brides and eliciting veiled hisses from the generals.

"Allowing humans is a risk, but the High King has certain protections to prevent that," Kharta snapped.

The brides' heads swiveled back to Hesi as she smiled and leaned forward. She has the full view of his pissed-off face, completing her misplaced ecstasy. Let her make her own gamble now. See how he liked it when she wouldn't use her power to stop this conversation and this trial. Let him have a taste of his own poison.

"Sand slips through," she replied. "I'm sure something else will, eventually."

He frowned. "Are you questioning the High King's will?"

She drew back. Oh, he cast the stick. "All I say is that we must watch our surroundings and not take chances," she answered. "Those at the top rarely hold on to their pedestals without care and sacrifice."

"What about the caution you told us to throw out the window?" He fired back. "Are you running circles around your arguments?"

She scoffed. "That was for a different issue," she said. "Keep up, Kharta. Or are you too distracted by something that wasn't said but you keep looking for?"

Kharta opened his mouth but a distinct voice leaped out. "Enough."

Everyone whirled towards Festophis who crossed his arms over his bare chest. His golden collar glinted when he turned to Kharta with an acknowledging nod. "The brides pass this trial," he said. "I can't stomach this paltry talk any longer."

The rest of the demonic horde nodded, their slitted eyes possessing a cloudy haze. Kharta made a show of shuffling his sheaf, passing Hesi one last stern glare, and turning to the brides. "Now that the generals agreed to your passage, the decision rests upon the High Prince. And whoever is not chosen..." Hesi held her breath as the steward met her gaze. "Will die."

The world slowed. She whirled to the generals who stood up and headed off. The royals weren't present, but a servant strode inside, approached Kharta, bent down, and whispered in his ear. The steward's curls bounced on his forehead as he nodded. He turned to the brides' table again.

"The High Prince sends his regards," Kharta revealed. "He will meet you for the last time before deciding. He expressed his need for more time."

With that, he pushed himself off the table and walked away. She pushed past the brides and chased after him, her sandals scratching against the hallway's brittle layer of sand. She ran after him until he cleared the royal palace's west wing—the one containing the halls where their trials happened—and aimed for the basement.

"Kharta," she called. His name slid off her tongue smoother than she liked to admit.

He turned, the shadow of a looming fruitless tree beyond the arches falling over his entire expression. Her fists clenched by her sides, her injured arm throbbing. "Is that why you didn't step in?" she said. "You knew?"

"You have a long way to go if you believe humans could be free of Berheqt just because they tried their best but didn't win," he replied. His tone was nowhere grim. Instead, it was flat. As though this was simply a truth he must repeat to those who had to hear it. Was he included in that list?

"They saw what the capital looks like. They walked its floors, met its people, and studied its society and culture. Long tale short—they know this place, and they can bring it down should they want to." He dusted his sleeves and his trousers. "It is your fault for believing good exists in a pit that birthed evil."

That was it. She should give up hope in saving the brides and focus on the real reason she came here. She wanted to, has to, but recalling the brides' faces, hearing their unbridled laughs, and forming an unconventional community was...fun. For a moment, she could admit to herself—she was happy.

Are bad things taking away your happiness, Hesi? Mezo asked her once. Now, she had an answer.

A plan blossomed along with a realization. She parted with Kharta and went back to the communal bridal room. There might still be a way to save everyone and get what she wanted. She needed to see Mezo again and do what she did best.

Hesi Renen has to strike another bargain.