When Halima comes into my room she doesn't look at me.

"Are you alright?" I ask from my seat at the vanity.

She nods once, then walks over to take her place behind my chair. Not a word escapes her lips as she begins to remove the golden ornaments from my hair, laying them aside one by one with such somber ceremony I know something heavy is weighing on her mind.

"Halima, what is it?" I probe.
"Nothing, miss," she murmurs, continuing with her work. Her hands shake, though. I feel the tremors.

"Halima," I murmur, reaching above my head to take her hand in mine. I mean to say more, to force a confession from her, but as soon as our skin touches she recoils as if my fingers were flame.

"What the sands is the matter with you?" I ask angrily, turning around in my chair to face her. She looks up and I notice immediately she's been crying: her golden eyes are bloodshot and tear tracks still stain her cheeks.

"Tell me what's wrong," I say, not angrily, but with the intensity of a command.

She hesitates a moment before murmuring, "you."

"What?"

"You," she repeats, louder. "You are what is wrong, O'otani."

I startle, both at the hardness of her voice and her use of my given name.

"You had a chance to save them," she continues, pulling the comb through my hair with decided violence. "All you had to do was say the word, but you didn't. So now they die."

"The Kyorin?" I ask incredulously, staring at her in real surprise. "How could you pity them, Halima?"

"How could you not?" She responds. "Did you see the look on Ristalai's face, or that boy weeping into his father's arms? They were wretched!"

"They're traitors," I tell her, sighing, at once annoyed by her compassion and glad she's still soft enough to feel it. "They deserve to be wretched. They betrayed Shikkah."

"They don't deserve to die," she whispers, running her fingers through my silver hair. "They're just people, miss. Why couldn't you be merciful?"

"Because your mistress is full of rage," a voice says from the doorway. We both startle, turning around to find Kaza standing in the doorframe. "And rage blinds you to mercy."

"I was not blinded!" I reply indignantly. "I sentenced them according to their crime. The punishment was not merciful, but it was just."

"If you really believe you sentenced them, you're blinded still," Kaza says as he walks into the room without waiting for an an invitation.

"What're you talking about?" I snap. "Of course I sentenced them! Didn't you hear me say the words?"

"You might have said the words," he explains, "but make no mistake, it was Sholu Verlaina who made the decisions. You were little more than his mouthpiece."

"I was nothing of the sort!" I protest.

"You were manipulated flawlessly," he continues, ignoring my indignation. "Sholu knew the moment you heard the Kyorin surrendered you'd lose yourself to rage, and he knew your rage would lead you to demand their death. You gave him exactly what he wanted: the Kyorin Dimaraste will die and all of Shikkah will believe it was your decision."
"That is- I was not manipulated," I say, now less sure. "I saw it all clearly."

"Did you?" He asks. "Did you see that if they died two thirds of Shikkah's Dimaraste would be gone? That the new regime would have swallowed not one but two ancient families?"

"Goddess," I murmur, feeling the full force of that statistic. Two thirds. Two thirds of the families that are almost as old as Shikkah itself wiped off the face of the earth forever. Now only the smallest of the Dimaraste, the Izsima, are left.

And for how long? How long until Sholu rides west to Istavra on his shining white horse and cuts them down? I shudder at the finality of the thought. It could be done already, for all I know, though I doubt he'd dispose of them without some publicity. He's a propagandist, after all. Every death must be a spectacle.

So maybe there will be a second trial. A second day standing beside him and watching silently as he condemns those I should protect. And will I help him then too? Will I pronounce the sentence, thinking nothing of helping him achieve his ends so long as my rage is satisfied?

Sands, how could I have been so blind. I should have said live. I should have begged him to spare them, as Halima would have done, not because I believe they deserve mercy but because their death just drives his revolution that much farther forward. How could I forget that?

Because I'm nothing but rage, I think, gnashing my teeth together violently. Rage festers inside me like an open wound, demanding tribute. It made me think sentencing the Kyorin an act of justice when it was nothing more than revenge. It led me to think myself an arbiter of divine will when I was nothing more than a slighted child banging her fists on the table, crying for retribution.

And Sholu knew all that. He put the rage into me, after all; it's only natural he knows how to use it to his advantage.

I grimace, running my fingers through my hair as my mind vacillates between anger and regret. A few stray ornaments clatter loudly to the floor. Kaza stoops down and picks them up, placing them gently beside me.

"You see it all clearly now, then," he says quietly.

"I see that I'm a fool," I mutter. "A powerless puppet that let anger convince her she had some autonomy."

He looks at me with something like pity in his eyes. "It doesn't matter now," he says after a heavy silence. "It's done."

In one violent motion I send the hair clips and brushes flying. My hand shakes. "Damn him!" I growl. "Sands take him! I- I cannot believe it. Two thirds. And I was just his tool..."

"Don't be hard on yourself, miss," Halima says, laying her hand on my back. "You're only human."

"That's the problem," I mutter. "I'm only human. I'm only skin and blood and bone. Weak. I am not a hero of old, a giant with the power to crush skulls. I am not Aramizsa with an army at my back. I am not Sh'turen. My anger cannot kill a god."

"He is not a god," Kaza reminds me.

"Of course not," I snap. "Not yet. But what about when the Izsima are dead? What about when the entire country believes his lies and rallies around him? What about when he establishes his new dynasty? What will he be then?"

"A man," Kaza tells me. "A powerful one, but still a man."

And I will be the woman that kills him, I remind myself, seeking some equilibrium with the thought. 

__

"Why are you here?" I ask Kaza finally, clearing my head as best I can to focus on the present. "What has he sent you for?"

"There's going to be a feast tonight," he tells me. "You're to accompany Sholu to the antechamber at sunset."

"Another feast at sunset," I mutter, shaking my head.

"The entirety of Rizsava is coming" he continues. "Half the caravan carried food and wine from Arzsa."

"So he's going to feed the starving city."

Kaza nods. "What better way to win their allegiance?"

"So what do I have to do? What role am I playing tonight?"

"The role of a close ally, I suppose" he says. "I doubt you'll be expected to do more than raise your glass for the toasts and smile."

"He just wants me to be seen, then."

Kaza nods. "It would make sense, wouldn't it? You're a political asset."

"I'm a puppet."

He sighs. "I've brought you a gown. Just wear it and get through the night. We'll be back in Arzsa soon enough; we leave the day after tomorrow."

I perk up slightly at the thought. "Are we really leaving that soon? We just got here."

"There's no reason to stay away from the capitol any longer. Honestly I think Sholu is a bit nervous leaving the Yukkaiti woman in charge for so long alone."

"I would be. Matachai is little more than an animal."

The corners of Kaza's mouth lift slightly. "Says the girl they all call 'tiger.'"

I smile darkly back. "Would that I were a tiger. I could draw blood then stalk off into the night. Leave all this madness behind."

"Just wear the dress and smile," Kaza repeats, taking his leave. "It's only one night. Just remember to be ready by sunset."