She laid her hand around her sidearm and clambered up to her feet, reaching under her shirt for her other hypo. She drew her arm slowly out, blinking at Stepan as though blinking could cure her disorientation.

Stepan wailed, dropped the book, and held his hands over his head. “Please,” he said. “I can help you. Don’t kill me. Oh, God.”

Zoe shoved the hypo’s open end into her arm and activated it. Blood rushed to her head and she stayed standing, conscious, though the pain came in waves from the injection site. She threw the cylinder to the floor and it rolled into a corner.

“Please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Zoe started to raise her sidearm toward Stepan’s chest.

“No, no, no, no…”

She laughed, or sobbed, she didn’t know which.

“I just want to leave…”

Zoe turned on her heel, silently, walked to the doors of the library, and pushed. The afternoon sunlight was sickening, but she forced herself out into the outside, into the warmth, into the village she’d helped to bring to its knees.

In the center of Etyslund, the two surviving guards from the front of the village – Kalai and Parshir – were standing at the center of a wide bolt of cloth. Their hands were bound behind them, their feet tied together with thick rope, and gags shoved into their mouths. They both stood with their heads bowed, silent, unmoving. Cigdem sat behind them on a hard patch of earth, sharpening a short spear. A second, just like it, sat on the ground next to him. Near where Cigdem sat, a child – a teenaged boy – lay with his arms tied behind his back, his legs tied, and a blindfold covering his eyes. He breathed, shallow, quick breaths, but otherwise was still.

As Zoe approached, Arshay stepped forward to interrupt her, and Zoe saw the other soldiers arrayed. A few villagers stood nearby, just outside their houses, or by the gates of the gathering hall (where Eksha’s blood and brain still stained the wall). Apart from that, the village seemed almost desert.

Arshay’s voice had none of the hotheadedness it had held just hours beforehand. He spoke softly and plainly. “We’ve set a curfew – most of the villagers are in their homes now, I guess just hoping they aren’t the ones to be searched next. You look like hell, Zoe.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I know.”

“You didn’t catch that Mirshalite?”

“I just wish we had magic like theirs. Regeneration, tattoos of power, weapons from the Aether?”

“Yeah, well. I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Are you? You look all pale.”

Arshay nearly choked at that, but after a painful moment he pulled Zoe aside. “Look, I…” He sighed. “You know I grew up in Karzakh province, yeah?” Zoe nodded. Arshay leaned in and spoke in nearly a whisper: “I always resented the soldiers, growing up, but I came to admire them in time. They weren’t kind, but they were strong and they were bringing stability to the land even if we didn’t want to admit it. Things were peaceful, as long as we stood with the Empire.

“These people aren’t going to get half the chance the Empire gave mine, are they?”

Zoe shrugged. “I wish I knew what would happen, but it’s not my place to say. I’ve spoken my mind enough for one lifetime, and all it got me…” She gestured widely. Zoe reached out to place a hand on Arshay’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you something that would make things better.”

“Is something troubling you?” The voice from nearby was calm, seeming almost unnatural and cold compared to the painful tension that hung in the air all around them. Plato approached where Arshay and Zoe stood, his hands folded in front of him. “You look hurt. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Can you calm the village?” Zoe asked, her voice shaking as she internally questioned her own boldness. “Open up offers to negotiate? They must know our intentions by now, and surely we can –“

Plato stepped up toward Zoe, a sad smile on his lips. “I know you’re concerned about keeping things calm, but we have the situation completely under control.”

“Is this under control?” Zoe asked, gesturing at the two prisoners, at Cigdem, who stood behind them, sharpening that spear for the executions. “Do you think this won’t cause chaos?”

Plato sighed, shifted his stance, and lowered his head. “I get it, Zoe. But you need to realize something that’s difficult for an academic’s mind like yours to grasp. They don’t matter like you or I. Any one of these people? They’d kill us if they could.” Plato shook his head, not looking up to see Zoe’s creasing brow or Arshay’s clenched hand. “That they feel pain and fear now is unfortunate, but irrelevant. Sometimes, in life, you make enemies. And that’s the path this land has chosen. They could have remained as they are, in peace, if they wished. But they did not. You know that truth as well as I do.”

“And that child? What has he done?” Zoe gestured toward the boy bound near Cigdem.

“He attempted to free our prisoners. It seems that he is also the brother of those two Mirshalite sisters you failed to apprehend.”

Zoe snorted in disbelief. “Don’t put this on me. The rest of you were as much as part of it as I was.” She pushed past Plato, who laughed dismissively – uncharacteristically. The man was condescending in his cold calmness, but to laugh in malice? Zoe stepped past and walked up to where Cigdem still sat, one more question burning in her mind:

“Where is Fatih?”

“Eh, off somewhere.” Cigdem grunted. “Wish he’d come back so we could get on with this damn business.”

Zoe sat down next to her captain, not making eye contact with the boy they’d imprisoned. “None of this is going to work. Mirshal is too slippery; they’ll divide us while we’re struggling to control the town, to keep everything under control, and they’ll use the confusion to make their escape. I wouldn’t be surprised if those three we nearly caught earlier have scattered by now.”

Cigdem shook his head. “If they want to abandon this place I’m sure they’ll leave, and they could be halfway to Kivv before we could do anything about it, as long as they get out of our grip first. But here, with this town in our grip? We have leverage.”

“Leverage we’re using to hurt not our enemies, but our enemies’ tools.”

“They’re guilty of harboring dangerous elements,” Cigdem countered, “and besides, it’s not my business to show any more restraint than is necessary. The fate of the world is more important than a few bumpkins.”

“Fate of the world…?” The boy on the ground near them coughed, but didn’t move. “What does that mean?”

“It means your family have been lying to you your entire life,” replied Cigdem, gruff, monotone. “Not my goddamn problem, though.”

“Where are the other scouts?” Zoe asked. “I’ve only seen Arshay.”

“I assume they’re dead,” Cigdem said, lowly. “Wouldn’t expect Mirshalites to keep a prisoner alive.”

Zoe blinked but didn’t say anything about Hilda. She didn’t think she was ready yet to tell that story, or face the consequences of the telling. If the scouts had been taken by Mirshalites, then Hilda and Kamila were in trouble anyway.

“Fatih!”

Plato’s voice called out and rang throughout the village center. Cigdem looked up in a snap to see the minelayer’s approach. Zoe turned as well.

The minelayer, grinning and beaming and waving to the other soldiers with his free arm, held something slung over his shoulder with his other arm.

That something was a body.

Marga.

“I’m ready for the party!” Fatih called out as he approached where the other two prisoners stood and laid Marga on the ground. The woman was conscious, but barely lucid, even foaming at the mouth. When she struck the ground she screamed in pain, and Zoe saw that her left foot was a horrible, bloody mess, cut through at the ankle to the bone by enormous teeth.

A closed bear trap, attached to a loop of rope, hung from one of the loops of Fatih’s uniform, covered in blood.

Fatih reached into his bandolier and pulled out a hypo, then knelt next to Marga, holding the device over her. Cigdem held out a hand toward him. “What are you doing?” he asked, and Fatih tilted his head, smiling.

“Well, I want her awake for this!” he declared, “and you’d better call the village out to see. There’s not much point in a public execution if the public isn’t there to witness it!”

Cigdem grunted. “Fine. Plato, get the soldiers together and bring everybody out of their houses. It’s time we sent a message to these people.”

When the whole village was gathered, Cigdem stood – one hand holding tight onto the captive boy’s upper arm – and faced the assembled crowd. In his opposite hand, he held the two short spears, and Fatih stood beside him.

“Listen to me, people of Etyslund!” he shouted. “I am Captain Cigdem of the Invictan Army of Emperor Aivor, first of his line!” The people in the crowd shifted around, nervously, but for the most part everyone stood, watching and listening, unwilling to face the wall of spears and guns that stood between them and their captive people. In the crowd, Zoe saw Stepan, his hands over his face. When their eyes met, Stepan shrank back into the crowd and disappeared from Zoe’s sight.

Cigdem’s speech continued uninterrupted. “We have here two of your people who attacked upon our arrival – two prisoners, whose deaths should please the Emperor! And we have the Mirshalite, Marga Zelenko!” Handing the spears to Fatih, Cigdem walked away from the prisoners a few steps, dragging the captive boy with him. “I do not know what the Mirshalites have told you about themselves, but I tell you now that you cannot trust them! It is the goal of Mirshal to kill God and to end life itself by bringing the Desert back to haunt us forever! But this time, we would not survive! With all that has been lost, we would stand no chance!”

Marga attempted to shout something through her gag, but her words were incomprehensible. The crowd grew agitated. Someone shouted: “You’re a Solist liar!”

Cigdem circled back around in his walk until he was behind the prisoners. “Mirshal are not your friends! They are using you – using you for shelter, using you for resources, manipulating the sensibilities of good Abrists to gain a foothold and enact their plots!”

Plato appeared next to Zoe then, whispering to her shoulder: “He’s wasting his breath. The Abrists believe that nothing is left of the divine but Words – that the rest perished in the Desert with the old humanity. They will not be reached by these appeals.”

Zoe shrugged. “And you suppose that pure terror will do the job better?”

“I think there are far more Mirshalites among them than even the Captain believes.”

Cigdem called out as he came behind the two prisoners – Kalai and Parshir. “As a token of goodwill, we are releasing these two prisoners! Although you stole away our own comrades, we will return yours to you! Make sure that they do not attempt to rabble-rouse, or we will be forced to kill them and more!” Cigdem grabbed one of the spears from Fatih, who was too stunned to protest, and cut the bonds on Kalai’s and Parshir’s feet. He gave each a kick in the back which sent them running, disoriented, across the space between themselves and the crowd. The two former guards fell into the crowd at the end of their sprint, and soon disappeared among the people.

“However,” Cigdem continued, handing that spear back to Fatih, “This Mirshalite cannot be trusted, cannot be released. You all must understand – if you are aware of the identities of others of her organization amongst you, you must turn them in to us! The sooner you comply, the sooner you may be left in peace!”

Fatih started to say something, his face red, but Cigdem held up a hand. “Fatih,” he said. “Execute the prisoner.”