The moonlit fields outside Erugash rippled in the cool breeze coming off the plains, except for a barren strip of dark earth surrounding the city walls. The northern winds carried the scent of cactus blooms laden with the dry traces of ancient sands. Alyra pulled the hood of her cloak down low over her face as she slipped across the killing ground. Thankfully, there was no sign of a storm.

Those hellish tempests were her greatest fear whenever she left the city. She couldn't imagine facing one out here where there was no protection. The chaos storms had been little known when she was a child, and her searches of the palace histories revealed they were an infrequent phenomenon, but that was changing. Each year they struck more often and with greater power. The largest had leveled towns and flattened buildings, leaving behind nothing but devastation. Even the zoanii were powerless to stop them.

And yet Horace had dispelled one by himself.

When she had first heard that this enigmatic foreign captive was being brought to Erugash, Alyra called in every favor she'd earned over the last three years to contrive her way into his service. The hardest part had been convincing the queen to release one of her handmaidens, but in the end a certain royal chamberlain had made the right appeal on her behalf. It also didn't hurt that she spoke the stranger's native tongue. Alyra had the sneaking suspicion that Her Majesty secretly approved of the move, perhaps hoping to ensnare the foreigner with something familiar. Alyra had been given as a gift to more men than she could easily count, and to no few ladies as well. It was the most repulsive part of her mission. Yet, even during the worst of these encounters, she held fast to her purpose and it got her through.

As for Horace, she wasn't sure what to make of him. The queen's court was convinced he had to be a spy, but he didn't act like any operative she'd ever met. He wasn't coy or mysterious. He was…confused, was the best way she could put it. She almost believed his tale of being shipwrecked, but she had long ago given up trusting in coincidence. Part of Alyra was glad the queen had conscripted Horace into her entourage because it made it easier for her to spy on them both. Yet she couldn't help feeling bad for Horace. He was out of his depth.

Alyra hurried past a divot of suspicious sand—watchful for trapdoor spiders, which could grow as large as housecats out here—and slipped into the shadow of a tall boulder. The rendezvous was just over the next rise. She couldn't take the road from the city for fear of being seen; getting caught outside the walls alone at this hour would raise too many questions she didn't want to answer. Her mission made it necessary for her to associate with all walks of life, from the street-cleaners who reported to her the daily activities of certain zoanii, to the temple prostitutes who revealed their clients’ secrets in exchange for Nemedian gold. Last year she made contact with a group of rebellious slaves operating from the queen's training camp outside the city. They were natural allies to her cause. Fearless and fanatical, and their goal—to disrupt the plans of the Akeshian ruling class—suited her. Their leader had impressive resources for a slave. She hoped tonight's meeting would bring her important news, especially considering the risk she was taking.

Alyra hefted the satchel hung over her shoulder. Her back was tired from lugging the load all this way, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that she was almost at her destination. With silent footsteps, she stole down a weathered footpath. She bent down as she climbed a long mound, not wanting to make a conspicuous silhouette in the moonlight. Three hundred paces away, a guard tower watched over the city's northern approach. Alyra had come this way enough times to know what to look for as she scanned the tower's catwalk. It was empty at the moment, but she didn't move. Fifty heartbeats later, light bloomed and a dark figure appeared. The sentry walked a circuit around the tower's battlements before disappearing again. Alyra scrambled down the hill. She had five minutes, on average, before the guard made another round.

She ran past. If there were any sentries patrolling the area between the towers, things could go bad for her. However, she got to the edge of the canyon without attracting attention.

The site of the camp was a stroke of malevolent genius. Nestled at the bottom of an old stone quarry just north of the city, it was hidden from prying eyes. Yet Alyra suspected the real reason for its placement was to keep its inmates inside. The crucible where Queen Byleth's armies were forged was more like a prison than a training ground. Its denizens struggled just to survive. However, the troops who did survive were among the most feared in the empire, able to endure conditions that could cripple other soldiers, even hardened veterans.

The canyon walls dropped more than a hundred yards below her. Climbing it would have taken her half the night, assuming she didn't misstep and get herself killed. Fortunately, she didn't have to.

Alyra put two fingers in her mouth and gave a whistle that mimicked the cry of a milk-hawk. Not two heartbeats later, the cry returned to her as several forms rose from the sand dunes. She breathed easier when she saw a familiar face. Emanon had clipped his hair short in the military fashion. She was accustomed to seeing him with longer, almost curly brown locks. He smiled when she handed him the satchel. Then he beckoned for her to follow to the lip of the canyon where a rope had been fixed around the trunk of a sturdy cactus tree. One by one, the men went over the side and down the rope. Emanon motioned for Alyra to go before him. She took the rope and shimmied down. It was only twenty feet or so to the mouth of a narrow cave.

As Alyra's feet touched down on solid stone, she released the breath she'd been holding. The cave was deeper than it appeared. Emanon lowered a blanket over the cave entrance as he ducked inside after her, blocking out the moonlight and plunging the cave into total darkness. Stone scratched against steel, and a spark bloomed. A small lamp ignited in the hands of a slave-soldier. Most of the men waited at the cave entrance. Each carried a crude weapon—daggers made from tools, spikes, an iron mallet.

“It is good to see you, Lady Alyra,” Jerkul said with a shy smile. Every time they met, he never failed to be courteous.

She placed a hand on his corded forearm. “Have you had any word from your family?”

“Erma wrote me. Says my son is growing fast. He's almost up to her hips.”

“I'll be glad for the day when you can return to them,” Alyra said.

Taking the lamp, Emanon said, “Come.”

Alyra followed the rebel leader to the back of the cave, which widened into a small chamber about thirty paces into the canyon wall. She stopped short as she sighted an unfamiliar man waiting for them. He had been standing there in the dark, completely still. Her first reaction was awe. The stranger was huge, easily half a foot taller than Emanon, who was no small man. Veins bulged under his dark-brown skin. Her second reaction was terror, fear that the man might be an agent of the queen waiting for the conspirators to assemble. But Emanon approached him without pause. “This is the woman I told you about. Alyra, this is Jirom, one of my new recruits.”

Alyra controlled her expression as she greeted the newcomer. This was the man Horace had mentioned. She was surprised, to say the least, to find him here. Emanon usually wasn't the trusting type. Yet he opened her satchel in front of Jirom and spilled out its contents. Six large ingots of bright metal clattered to the floor. Though she had seen it often enough at the palace, Alyra's eyes were drawn to the zoahadin. Just this small amount was worth a fortune. The means of its production was tightly controlled, and if the queen ever discovered this theft, Alyra could look forward to a slow, painful death.

Emanon lifted a silvery ingot. “Just six? Enough for a few sword blades, at most.”

“I brought what I could,” she answered, angered that he would question her effort. “I'll try to get more next time, but there are dangers.”

“No. Forgive me, Alyra. I'm grateful for the risks you take. Don't mind my grumbling.”

Jirom picked up an ingot. “This is the stuff you said was going to set us free, Emanon?”

“Aye. At least, that's my hope. You want to enlighten our new friend, Alyra?”

“Zoahadin is antithetical to sorcery,” she said. “We don't know exactly how it works, but armor forged from zoahadin is impervious to their magic.”

“And weapons made from it,” Emanon said, “will cut through their defenses like they were regular people.”

Jirom put down the metal. “I've seen the effects of their magic firsthand on the battlefield. We'll need more than a couple swords, unless you've got an army hidden somewhere.”

Emanon clapped him on the shoulder. “We'll get more. Oh, Alyra. Jirom has a friend who might be inside the city. A westerner. His name is—”

“Horace,” she answered. “Yes, sorry. He mentioned you, Jirom. I wasn't sure how much Emanon wanted to divulge about our operation inside the city.”

Jirom's large brown eyes focused on her. “You've seen him?”

She wanted to retreat, but she held her ground. “Yes. I'm one of the palace handmaidens, and I've been assigned to be his servant for the time being.”

“He's in the palace?” Emanon asked.

But Jirom overrode him by asking, “Is he all right?”

“He's fine,” Alyra answered. “The queen is holding him captive, but he has been treated well for the most part. He's being kept in one of the suites reserved for visiting dignitaries. He's not in danger. Well, not any more than anyone else who dwells in the palace. My new position puts me in a good position to follow his activities. And I can get a message to him, if you wish.”

Emanon chuckled. “How do you like that, Jirom? Your friend's living it up while you're stuck in this hellhole with us.”

Jirom leaned closer to Alyra. In a lowered voice, he asked, “Has he done anything…strange while he's been there?”

She knew what he meant. After a moment's pause, she answered, “The queen knows that he's zoanii.”

“What?” Emanon looked to Jirom. “You didn't tell me he was one of them.”

“He just found out recently,” Jirom said. “For the first half of our journey to Erugash, he was collared and chained like the rest of us. Then a storm swept over us, and he stopped it.”

As Jirom explained about the chaos storm in the desert, Alyra detected a few differences from Horace's version of the tale. The one that disturbed her the most was how Horace hadn't suffered any immaculata after defeating the storm. That was unheard of. She wasn't sure how the court would react to such news. Not well, she guessed.

Jirom finished with, “I need to free him.”

“The palace is a fortress,” Emanon said. “And the queen has her own army, not to mention any number of sorcerers on hand. We'd never get close to this man, much less get back out alive.”

Jirom towered over the rebel leader. “I won't leave him to—”

“Excuse me,” Alyra said.

“And I won't sacrifice my entire command for one person,” Emanon barked back, stepping up to the big man. “I don't care who he—”

“What about the party?” Alyra shouted, and winced as her voice echoed through the cave.

Both men stared at her. Alyra swallowed as a knot formed in her throat. She was taking an awful risk.

“What party?” Jirom asked.

“The queen is hosting a celebration at the palace tomorrow night,” Emanon said. “The entire court will be there. We were planning a mission inside the city while it was going on.”

“What kind of mission?”

“An attack on a couple key locations. It's more of an exercise for the new recruits, really, as well as a chance to bloody Her Mightiness's nose.”

“That would make a good diversion,” Jirom said. “While the queen's soldiers respond to the attack, I enter the palace and find Horace.”

“Maybe,” Emanon said. “But security will be tight. That means more guards at all the gates, and more zoanii walking around. You can't just charge in like a crazed wildebeest.”

“There's another problem,” Alyra said. “Horace will be escorting the queen to the fete.”

Emanon threw his hands in the air. “Well, that does it. There's no way we'll be able to sneak him away from under her nose.”

“I'll go alone, if I have to.”

Alyra noticed something odd in the way the two men looked at each other as they spoke, a familiarity as if they had known each other for years. Like brothers in a way, but there was a note of tenderness to it, too. Then she realized what she was seeing. They were attracted to each other.

Oh, my heavens. How is this going to affect the rebellion?

Emanon held up a hand. “Listen, Jirom. I understand you want to help your friend, but that's insane. We can try to free him, but only after the operation is done. You must trust me on this. I will make every effort to get to him—this Horace—but I won't waste the lives of other men to do it. Agreed?”

With a growling affirmative, Jirom strode out of the cavern. Alyra watched him go.

“He'll be fine,” Emanon said. “Let's finalize our plans for tomorrow. Will your people be able to secure the Mummer's Gate?”

They walked through the plan again. She knew her role. She just hoped Emanon would be able to pull off his end of the arrangement. Once the details were ironed out, she asked him, “Are you sure about tomorrow night? We could still call it off.”

He smiled, showing his missing incisor. “What? And miss a chance to tweak Her Dreadness's nose? No, we'll go through with it. And we'll rescue this friend of Jirom's if we can. What do you think of him?”

Alyra had been thinking of Horace. “Hmm? Who?”

He nodded toward the dark passage behind her. “Jirom.”

“I'm not sure what to think,” she replied, choosing her words carefully. “Have you ever been to Haran?”

“No. Why?”

“They have a tradition there called the hudda where men try to jump on the back of a captured lion and ride it like a horse. I hope you know what you're doing with this one.”

Emanon chuckled as he loaded the ingots back into the satchel. “Jirom might be as strong as a lion, but I'm not stupid enough to try riding on his back. We're allies united against a common enemy.”

“I hope so. Emanon…”

“Yeah?”

Alyra hesitated. She was tempted to tell him about the queen's conversation with Lord Astaptah. She wanted another person's perspective and maybe some advice about how she should handle this information. She'd already reported it to her handlers in the network, but so far no new orders had come down. She started to say something but then changed her mind.

He has enough to deal with, and I don't want him doing anything foolish.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just good luck tomorrow.”

“Don't worry. We know what we're doing.”

Alyra followed Emanon back down the narrow cave tunnel. She was dreading the trip back to the city. But even worse, she dreaded what might happen tomorrow night. She had never wavered in her duty, but now so many doubts lingered in her mind. Was the prize worth the cost? She would have to find out.