The Girl King (The Girl King #1)(123)

Everything else had been built there. Gone were the houses, the loosely manicured gardens. Gone were the walls and the paving stones, the component parts of the Heart.

And gone was Nokhai.

Lu had told Nasan herself—she could give her that, at least. The Ashina girl fell upon her before she could finish her words. For once, Lu hadn’t fought back, just let the other girl’s fists rain down. That had been fine—almost a relief. Tangible. The pain small and sharp enough to keep her anchored in her body. But the other girl’s screams had cut deeper.

He trusted you! I warned him, I told him—but he trusted you, and you threw him away like he was nothing!

Her eye throbbed where Nasan had punched her. It would bruise, if it hadn’t already. Lu clapped a hand over her face, waiting for the pain to subside.

“I could try to fix that swelling around the eye if it’s bothering her,” the healer said reluctantly.

“No.” Lu lowered her hand and stood. “No. It feels fine.”

Someone—she couldn’t remember who—had given her a shawl. She shivered and wrapped it tighter around her shoulders. It smelled like someone else, someone unfamiliar. Perhaps that person was dead now. She fought the urge to shrug the shawl off. She would need it come nightfall.

Once Jin deemed it safe, they had all set out to wander the lakeshore. To look for survivors, they told themselves. But of course, there were none. Nasan, Jin, his shrunken army, and the few hundred Yunian civilians—were all that was left.

And Lu. She’d forgotten to count herself.

There weren’t even bodies to speak of. Instead, the shore was stained red for as far as she could see. Those who hadn’t made it to the temple in time had fallen, as though from the sky. The impact had reduced them to wide splotches of blood, like enormous poppies painted across the land. Here and there, she recognized things. The tattered tunic of a Hana soldier. A gleaming helmet, perversely untouched. Half a horse, gone boneless and soft as jelly.

They had little hope of identifying anyone based on these grisly clues. At first, Lu tried to look for the gold of Set’s armor. Then she saw a gleaming white femur sticking straight up in a heap of gore, as if it were calling for help. She tried not to look too closely after that.

Occasionally she would catch glimpses of Nasan farther down the shore, staring off into the water, or tending to someone. The Ashina girl never met her eyes. Sooner or later they would have to speak again, but for the time being Lu left her alone.

It occurred to her to look for some hairpin or scrap of cloth she might recognize as belonging to her sister.

No, she told herself. Min made it out—you saw Brother come back for her. They made it out. Min couldn’t be . . .

Min. Had she truly wrought all this? Lu remembered the rage contorting her sister’s face, the black blood in the whites of her eyes, her awful grief over Set’s death.

Who would rule with Set gone? The role would default to Min, but in name only. Her sister’s power could never truly be her own. It would be granted to whoever wheedled their way into marrying her next, and in the meantime taken up by the strongest, greediest voices in court. Perhaps that sinister monk Brother, perhaps their—no, Min’s mother. Not Lu’s.

Tsai.

Could there be any truth to Min’s revelation? Of all the people to birth a Hu princess of the empire, a shamaness. An unclean, unnatural wielder of magic. A hostage. A prisoner.

And yet, some childlike part of her thrilled at the notion. Surged with hope. That’s why my—why the empress never loved me. My real mother would never have hated me so. My real mother would love me. Wouldn’t she?

A star crammed inside a soap bubble.

Omair had known her mother. Omair would know the truth. Omair, whom Nokhai had pledged to rescue.

Whom Nokhai would never see again—

Her hand clenched around open air, around nothing. No. She shut the thought out. If she gave in to it now, if she fell into that hole, she would never claw her way free.

“Princess?”

She started and turned toward the voice. Jin stood there, weary in the dying light.

“Princess, it will be dark soon. We should gather everyone inside the temple for the night.”

They’re your people. You tell them. But of course—

“Our Pact,” she said. “Our marriage agreement—”

“It still stands,” he said firmly. “That is—if you want it to. I no longer have much of an army to offer you, but what I have is still yours.”

“No, of course. It’s only, the terrain has changed. Your need is greater now. And even with Set gone, there’s still my sister and mother and who knows who else to contend with. And I’m still here—far away from the throne, without an army. I don’t know that I have much to offer you.” She smiled ruefully. “Perhaps I never did. Only my claim. My dream. It seems childish now, after everything that’s been lost.”

“All we need is you,” he said. “Your leadership, your heart.”

“I trust your heart.” Nok’s words shivered through her. Her jaw clenched as she pushed them away.

Jin placed a tentative hand on her shoulder. Her good shoulder; he was always mindful, deliberate. “You have all you need within you. I believe that. I believe in you.”

His eyes were earnest. But what was left of her to believe in? She had lost her chance at the throne. She’d lost her father. Her sister.