“I understood secrecy a little differently,” Rustam muttered as Gosha set him down.

  “Without explicit instructions, the result is a mess,” Unni declared.

  After Rustam asked to meet with Tsereg, Gosha unceremoniously grabbed Rustam under the arms and carried him outside under the pretext of assembling a mobile mechanism for his weakened knees. Unni brazenly placed Grisha on her withers, informing a soldier they were playing horse and rider. Decimus ‘requested’ Tsereg’s support in moving the containers, and Sylvie remembered Carde’s urgent assignment.

  As a result, the entire group crammed into the narrow restroom. Unni sat Grisha down on the sink, pulling a marble from her pocket that matched the color of her eyes. She tossed it from palm to palm, moving the object at face level with such speed that the blue of the ball and her eyes merged into one, accompanied by loud claps from the boy. Suddenly, she stopped, holding out her clenched fists to Grisha, who pointed to her left hand. The fist unclenched, revealing an empty palm.

  “But how?!” Grisha exclaimed. “I saw...”

  “Magic,” Unni said smugly.

  “A typical trick,” Decimus interjected. He tugged at the corner of Unni’s left sleeve, and the ball rolled free across her pale skin. “She deliberately slowed the movement of her hands at the end, drawing your attention to her fingers to create anticipation of victory. In reality, she pushed the ball into a hidden spot.”

  “Nerd,” Unni pouted. “Explaining everything turns life boring. Want me to show you another trick?”

  “Confess,” Rustam said to Tsereg. “Tell it all frankly, as it is.”

  “You need to go to bed. Scars are a man’s ornament. You’re too thin.” Tsereg assessed him with a glance.

  “Stop deflecting.” He pushed her, flying off the springy folds of her ample belly. “Boragchin.”

  Tsereg froze, wiped the smile from her face, and turned, looking around like a cornered animal. She brought her face close to Rustam’s.

  “How did you find out?”

  “I was...”

  “Everything alright here?” Commander Jake opened the door, peering inside. “No bullying, I trust?”

  Rustam noticed the brief panic on Tsereg’s face as Insectone’s compound eyes fixed on them, and he hastened to ease the tension.

  “I needed to talk to my friends,” he muttered. “About Rabor.”

  “Everything’s wonderful,” Unni came to the rescue. “I’m going to become a sariant.”

  “Me too. It would be disgraceful to beat that worm,” Gosha said.

  “He doesn’t have any money for us to take... I mean, we were going to support Rustam, sir!” Sylvie saluted.

  “My papers for becoming a novice are already being reviewed, sir,” Decimus added.

  “Well then, I won’t disturb you. Just nothing traumatic in front of Grisha.” Jake wagged his finger.

  “I can stay?” the boy rejoiced.

  “Of course. But right after that, we’ll have a conversation about the unauthorized movements of a certain sick boy, Grisha.” Jake started to close the door, stopping at the last moment. “You said you were going to become a sariant. Personally, I wish you the best of luck. But that’s not considered indoctrination, is it? No one convinced you to choose this career?”

  “No, no, we wanted it ourselves!” the three teenagers cried out.

  The commander looked them over again, shrugged, and left, telling them not to occupy the restroom for long.

  “You were planning to return home, weren’t you?” Sylvie asked Unni.

  “Of course I’ll visit home. But you can’t live under your parents’ wing forever. The girls of our people are expected to spread the seed to establish trade relations...”

  “Never present yourself as a broodmare. Sounds creepy.” Sylvie winced.

  “Fine, prude. We must think about the future. My siblings won’t let me manage trade. I don’t want to lead caravans. Do you know how much they pay crusaders? Everyone will envy me when I get a post in such an important country!” The snow-white girl approached Gosha.

  “Thanks,” Tsereg said, taking her chin. “So you know.”

  “Honestly, nah,” Rustam admitted. “I met a Wolfkin who called herself Davinia. She was searching for you.”

  “Wolfkin? I’ve never met a Wolfkin!” Tsereg scratched her cheek. “True, they killed my uncle in the war. Guys, can I confess something to you? It’s personal and an important topic for me. It’ll be a long story...”

  “Then get started!” Gosha hissed. “We still need to assemble the prosthesis before this evening.”

  “Don’t worry,” Decimus said. “The operation to insert the base for the implant attachment is scheduled for tomorrow lunchtime. Even if we crawl to the workshop and back, we’ll have time to finish the job.”

  “Gray... Decimus. When a man promises, he does it right away, without putting it off.” Gosha slapped his chest.

  “Would you mind if I watched?” Unni asked casually.

  “My real name is Boragchin. I am the daughter of the ruler of the Gilded Horde, Horkhudagh,” Tsereg said, sitting down on the toilet.

  “That can’t be,” Sylvie protested. “Caikhatu rules the steppe. I learned this while doing an archeology inquiry.”

  “Uncle Caikhatu is a khagan, which means khan of khans.” Tsereg nodded. “He and his wife rule from the capital. If you ever attend their reception, be sure to try the flatbreads and airag. The best dough. Alcohol will keep anyone happy until sunset.” Her eyes sparkled. “Just don’t agree to the horse milk often slipped to children! Real airag is made according to an ancient recipe from the fermented milk of thunder bulls. All this newfangled crap doesn’t even come close to comparing...”

  Rustam cleared his throat.

  “Oh, right. Someday we’ll get to some alcohol so I can teach you how to sing with your throat. My dad is the Great Khan. That’s like a duke or lord in other places. Our family is a bit odd.”

  “I doubt you’ll surprise me,” Unni said.

  “Ten crests?” the girl asked. After they shook hands, she said, “I have six hundred siblings, twenty-six mothers, my dad is over a hundred years old, he doesn’t age, and he’s a virgin.”

  Unni launched into a long, foul-laden tirade, mentioning every possible founder of the Horde, without repeating herself once and significantly expanding Rustam’s scope of expletives. The pale teenager reached into her pocket, counting out coins into the waiting hand of the smug victor.

  “Fuck, how?” Rustam blurted out.

  “I’ve never heard such a riddle before. Perhaps an immaculate conception? Cloning?” Decimus asked.

  “You’re adopted?” Grisha suggested.

  “Correct!” Tsereg gave him a coin. “People’s values change. When Mad Hatter ruled, the Purebloods revered cunning, undermining of their superiors, cruelty, the ability to raise armies, victory at any cost, and fertility. Dad couldn’t have children. To avoid appearing inferior, he adopted Purebloods, gathering us from all over the steppe and permitting his wives to lead free lives. Anyone who dared publicly accuse them of infidelity faced...” She ran her hand across the throat. “Dad accepts moms’ children as his own, though he himself only adopts those with power.”

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “Davinia mentioned your ability to create flame!” Rustam remembered.

  “Ah, that.” Tsereg raised her hand. Tongues of flame ran along the line of her palm, painting the wall orange and sending the shadows dancing. “I can burn stuff. It’s nothing compared to Dad’s fire. They call him the Smoldering Skeleton—which is completely incorrect; he has no bones—when I introduce you to him…”

  She fell silent, her mouth agape as a splash of water hit her face and extinguished the flames. Grisha twirled his finger at his temple, pointing to the fire alarm. All the girls let out an “O” sound in unison. Decimus patted the seated boy on the head.

  “We’ve always been a strange family,” Tsereg continued with a grin. “Horkhudagh’s concubines never strangled infants to clear the way for their offspring. The brothers didn’t plot. No one died of poison or while hunting. Instead of raiding, we got everything we needed through trade. That’s what endeared us to Uncle Iron Lord. He named our little clan part of his family, elevating Dad. In return, Horkhudagh served as the uncle’s champion. It was a mutually beneficial partnership, bringing our clan unprecedented wealth and protecting us from territorial rivals.”

  “Then Horkhudagh surrendered at the Battle of Houstad,” Decimus said. “Iron Lord was abandoned by his family. Mad Hatter was devoured by Ravager. All the khans swore allegiance to Caikhatu. How can Horkhudagh rule the Horde?”

  “Ravager looked upon our way of life and found it disgusting, giving us her code of laws,” Tsereg replied. “The Gilded Horde today welcomes travelers, values ??honor, and no longer stabs each other in the back. The boundaries between Dirtybloods and Purebloods have faded to the point of imperceptibility. Heirs of the lands we conquered have joined the state as equals. The crimes committed are not remembered. Our clan’s caravan recently delivered the cusacks to the Ravaged Lands themselves!”

  “Hey...” Understanding clicked in Rustam’s head. “Your father’s values ??won out.”

  “Uh-huh. You see, even though Caikhatu saved us, he still betrayed the Gilded Horde. Horkhudagh surrendered only after the rulers were killed. I wasn’t even in the plans back then, and no one misses the madmen who ruled us a century ago. Nevertheless, warriors who value loyalty flock to my father’s banner, and the sidelined politicians nominate Horkhudagh as the sole ruler candidate who satisfies everyone.”

  “The Dynast,” Decimus said, drawing the assembled group’s attention.

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s yeah?” asked Grisha.

  “You see, the Gilded Horde was decimated in the last war.” Decimus sat down next to Grisha. “They were weakened. The Reclamation Army couldn’t incorporate them into its ranks because of the intense hatred between them, the conquered peoples, and the steppe dwellers. So many people died. And that damned, insecure tyrant...”

  “Hey!” Tsereg slapped her knee loudly. “Don’t insult his Highness.”

  “That Wolfkin of his tortured me,” Rustam interjected. “The Dynast is a villain if such monsters serve him.”

  “No, he’s not! You told me how Ruda was going to finish you off...”

  “Don’t drag her into it! It was a mistake, that’s all,” Rustam insisted.

  “Okay,” Decimus interrupted their argument. “Basically, the Reclaimers spent incredible resources building the nation, using diplomacy to heal the ravines of the committed crimes. That’s not a figure of speech, Honest. The Gilded Horde often buried the wounded captured in battle alive, granting them an unusually merciful end.”

  “What could be worse?” Rustam shuddered, imagining himself being dragged helplessly into a dug ditch, dumped onto hundreds of bodies writhing in agony. His hands struggled to hold his intestines, his lungs struggling for every breath as dirt rained down on exposed flesh, choking his nostrils and lips, until he found himself in darkness, struggling to draw a breath and feeling the pressure of the earth crushing him...

  Everyone else paused, taking in the past's cruelty.

  “It’s better for you not to know,” Decimus replied. “They didn’t tell us the details at school. And so, when both sides are ready to merge, it suddenly turns out that their former enemy could rise to power in the lands of their fattened-up vassal.”

  “Dad has no intention of seizing authority. He’s not a traitor. True, he’s often furious because Alpha ignores his challenges to settle their unfinished duel once and for all, but that’s not a sign of insubordination,” Tsereg said. “I’m glad of their peace. Our country has no need of losing heroes.”

  “So what’s the problem?” Gosha squatted down. “All this politicking is foreign to me, but in our herd, a rival to the chieftain would be castrated if he refused to bare his throat. If I were in your herd, I’d admire your daddy too. A great warrior, the entire nation follows his ideas. Loyal to his comrades to the end. Since he doesn’t want to become ruler, let Caikhatu demand that he bow in public, and all matters will be resolved.”

  “Dad won’t agree to that.” Tsereg shook her head. “And why would he humiliate himself for the sake of losing his authority? Uncle Caikhatu invites him to all the important councils, our family has married into every clan in the steppe, and political influence keeps our clan at the very top, ensuring security. To do as you propose would be, at the very least, betraying our servants.”

  “Now I understand why you called yourself by a fake name. What if the Oathtakers decide to use you to influence your father?” Rustam said. “I shouldn’t have been angry about your secrecy.”

  “I don’t think it’s that simple,” Sylvie drawled.

  “Why?” Rustam was surprised.

  “You heard Tsereg... Boragchin. She has a small army of relatives. Decimus didn’t mention the Dynast for nothing, did he?” Sylvie asked.

  “You have no idea,” Tsereg said with a bitter smile. “Let’s start small. I fell into Latif’s clutches because of my stupidity. I ran away from home, wanting to see the steppe one last time.”

  Tsereg shuddered, slumping her shoulders, suddenly looking like a little girl bearing an unbearable burden. The amusement vanished from her eyes. She stared at the tiny scratch on the metal floor, clasping her hands as she continued her story.

  “The Dynast’s youngest son is eighteen. I am fifteen. It seemed the perfect arrangement for both sides. Our clan’s influence would be confirmed by a sign of trust not given even to the Ice Fangs. The wedding would assure the Dynast of our loyalty. The ambitious khans would understand that the Gilded Horde has no other path but to join forces with the Reclamation Army. And if that can be bought at the price of one girl’s freedom, then the elders unanimously supported this lucrative proposal,” Tsereg said venomously, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

  “That’s wrong!” Sylvie exclaimed. “You’re not cattle to be sold at a market.” She clasped her hands. “Once again, the strong are deciding everything for others, forcing us to obey.”

  “No, that’s right,” Tsereg sighed, gratefully accepting pats on the shoulders from Sylvie and Unni. “I’ve seen that princeling. No beard, his hair barely reaches his shoulders, thin arms, and he always wears gilded armor. He probably doesn’t even know how to wield his blade. He held himself arrogantly, turning up his nose at the savage customs of our people. I was overcome with horror at the realization that this was it, that I would belong to him. Locked away like a jewel in a fortress, fit only to produce the Dynast’s grandchildren.”

  “You did the right thing by running away,” Rustam declared. “Everyone has the right to make their own choice.”

  “Enough of this na?ve nonsense.” Tsereg spread her arms. “Rustam, I’m lucky to be adopted into the richest family in the world. Most children don’t have even a tenth of what I got simply by wanting it. This Wolfkin of yours. How many other girls can count on such a tracker, hired by their parents? I acted selfishly, thinking only of myself while I was enjoying freedom. Slavery showed me how difficult it is for others. Ah, I can’t even imagine how worried moms are about me. Marriage wouldn’t be such an incredible sacrifice to avoid a war in which people like us could perish. Let there be peace. I’ve already been sold once. Resale would hardly be much worse. That’s my choice.”

  “Is that why you refused my invitation?” Decimus sat cross-legged on the floor.

  “It’s not proper for a wife to cheat on her future husband, even in words,” Tsereg laughed.

  They remained silent for a while, saying nothing. Gosha snorted loudly, exhaling air through the slits at the corners of his mouth. Sylvie paced the restroom, clenching her hands until her knuckles whitened. Unni leaned against the wall, looking up. Grisha bit his nails. Decimus and Tsereg touched their foreheads as if making an unspoken agreement, conveying wordless support.

  Hatred seethed in Rustam’s heart. They had been rescued from hell with the promise of freedom, and now his friend would once again be a pawn in someone else’s hands? He thought desperately about how to resolve this situation. Should he tell Ruda? But she would report to the magister, and he, in turn, would report to the Oathtakers’ leaders, who would use Tsereg for their own ends. They couldn’t hide a stubborn girl...

  “We’ll soon be scattered to the ends of the earth,” she whispered, as if she’d caught his thoughts. “Like leaves caught in a swift wind.”

  “Unlike leaves, this won’t stop us!” Rustam clapped his hands, breaking his friends’ reverie. “Decimus, it is possible to communicate through terminals, right? Is there any way we can stay in touch?”

  “I’ll give you my home number. As soon as you savages, Humor, have a means of communication, call me and we’ll exchange contacts,” the Troll said dispassionately.

  “Then it’s a promise,” Rustam said. “Wherever we end up, we’ll find a way to remain friends. And so we don’t forget this...” He glanced at the tool bag on Gosha’s belt. “Let’s take a photo together!”

  “Scars, scent marks, and blood exchanges are better,” suggested the Malformed, raising his spike.

  “I’ve had enough of scars,” Sylvie protested. “Besides, I’ve heard of such a thing as blood poisoning.”

  “What are you hinting at, you cheat?” Gosha frowned.

  He laughed, cutting off the excuses, and pulled out his terminal, using the stand to keep the black lens trained on the group. Rustam leaned on Sylvie, Unni and Tsereg stood next to him, Decimus lifted Grisha onto his shoulders, and Gosha lay down in front of them, barely fitting his entire body into the narrow space. When a bright flash illuminated them, smiles appeared on the teenagers’ faces.

  Despite grief, loss, and the pain of the past, they continued to move forward, becoming friends. Nothing was over. As long as there was a future, they still had a chance for something better.

  While Decimus explained how he would duplicate the photo, Rustam made his decision. He would join the army. If the world became safer, no one would have to make such cruel choices.