Yukkaita.

The word consumes my mind, repeated on loop so fast that it loses all meaning. The country disintegrates into a bundle of phonemes, then letters, then a frantic wash of static. That static grows louder and louder, drowning out the surprised murmuring of those around me, blocking the emissaries from my vision, setting me on fire where I stand.

I've been clutching hope to my chest, rationing it out on cold evenings aboard a fleeing ship, or lonely nights in a foreign land, surviving on the promise that if I just wait my mother will return to me with some grand plan to resurrect our dynasty.

I realize, the cold wooden bench beneath me, a room of foreign strangers surrounding me, how childish I've been. Thinking we had a chance, just two of us, two exiles adrift. Beggars, if I'm honest. I suppose I thought on some level this so-called revolution would burn itself out quickly, fading into oblivion like any water-drenched embers. The we'd return and resume our lives, somehow recreating the semblance of order and tradition amongst ruin.

But here is proof to the opposite. They've allied with the Shao Asha. They're sending trade proposals and representatives to Kama, and probably elsewhere. Proposals that might very well be accepted.

Tyro told me to prepare myself, but how could I? How could I? How could I prepare myself for the feeling of that spark of hope being forcibly rent from my grip and thrown to the floor to sputter and die, and for the cold burn of reality to take its place?

"Idera Onra, Y'merit Bekjaat Yukkaita, the Grand Council of Kama welcomes you," Councilor Aith intones seriously. "We will hear what you have to say."

"Thank you, Grand Councilor," Idera Onra says with too much humility to be sincere. "My fellow delegate and I have come to explain the situation in the east. I'm sure all kinds of rumors have filtered across the Karithian channel, carried second and third-hand by traders, no doubt.

One month ago, the Vasayaste Sholu Verlaina successfully overthrew the Amarin Dimaraste, ending centuries of oligarchic oppression in Shikkah. Once he succeeded in taking Arzsa, the capitol, a combination of Shikkan and Shao Asha forces moved swiftly to take Siverna and Annai. Within three days both the Kyorin and Izsima Dimaraste agreed to peacefully relinquished control of the cities."

Cowards, I think, gnashing my teeth together so loudly I feel the Ambassador rest his hand on my knee in warning, a reminder that I'm here as Shira Katzuna. I'm just a scribe. I quickly take what I hope are convincing notes, but my hand is shaking and after a line or so the sentences disintegrate into gibberish, letters, scrawls mirroring my internal overload.

They gave up their cities without a fight. I know the other two Dimaraste are nowhere near as powerful as we are; Arzsa is the capitol, after all. But to put up no fight, to practically open their door to these populists, is unacceptable. It's- it's practically treason, to abandon all we hold dear, to welcome the wolves in the gate to save their own skins...

You ran, Shira, a dark voice whispers inside my own head. You're a coward, too.

But we ran for hope. We ran to survive, so we could return. Now that hope is dying, withering on the vine with each glance I cast at the Yukkaiti woman standing so deceptively placidly before the dais.

"Deme Verlaina has sent me to assure you that we have every intention of honoring the established trade relationship between Shikkah and Kama. In fact, now that we're loosening the Dimaraste stranglehold on the silk market, we should be able to increase the export of Shikkan silk by one third. The Deme also sends a sincere wish not only of a trade relationship, but a friendship founded on democracy and the hope of mutual prosperity."

"Who's a democracy?" A Councilor with dark, sun-weathered skin asks with a snort. "You say you've gotten rid of the Dimaraste, but you've put one man in their place, and beside you stands the representative of a military dictatorship. Don't throw that word around like it means nothing, Shikkan. We won't be won by pretty words."

"Peace, Councilor," Idera says, placing his palms up. "I meant no offense, and certainly no flattery. And to respond, yes, we have a leader who calls himself Shikkah's lord, but his rule isn't permanent. We have plans for free elections within three years; Deme Verlaina only hopes to ease the transition from oligarchy to democracy. It will require a complete shift in societal conscious; the population would be lost without a guide."

"And what about the Yukkaiti, then?" The same surly Councilor persists, motioning at Y'merit. "You claim they have the same lofty ideals?"

"The Yukkaiti are allies who have helped us immensely-"

"We are freedom's ambassadors," Y'merit cuts in, her unassuming voice growing passionate. It fills the space, almost becoming a physical entity as she talks. "We need no free elections, Councilor, because the Shao Asha are universally beloved as Yukkaita's liberators. We are the people, you see. We are the sun warming their faces and the dirt beneath their feet, the blood flowing through their veins, their guide towards total national unity." She pauses, her eyes sweeping over the Grand Councilors. "I know how Yukkaita is spoken of. I hear the whispers of "jungle savages," the accusation of murderer in your eyes. In the eyes of the world. But destruction and creation are lovers, and in their mad union is where the Shao Asha reside. We are lofty ideals tethered to earth with the bodies of men. Does that make us savage? Maybe. But is this world not a savage place?"

"Well spoken," another Councilor says, a woman with striking blue eyes and dark hair pulled into a tight bun. "The world is too savage a place for true idealism to survive, I find." She leans back, looking strikingly imperial in the way her gaze seems to encompass the whole room. "But to be honest, I can tell you most of us care little for ideals at all. Even Councilor Reiahan is a pragmatist, when push comes to shove." Her gaze flits to the leathery man who argued with Idera and prompted Y'merit's speech. "Dynasties fall like leaves from trees. Everything has its season. If we stopped trade with every nation that had a change in leadership, we'd go bankrupt in a decade.

"That being said, Kama prospers because of its neutrality. If we continue trade with you, given Shikkah's new alliance with Yukkaita, we assume a heavy burden of partiality."

"The burden of partiality need be no heavier than a yard of Shikkan silk," Idera assures her. "We're only asking you to continue established patterns of trade, and offering an assurance that trade will not be interrupted by the events of last month."

The dark-haired Councilor shakes her head. "Your neighbors were anxious enough when Yukkaita fell to talk of intervening. Now that Shikkah has fallen, and with the help of Yukkaiti populists, no less, they may feel forced to act to contain your 'freedom.' If we sign a trade agreement, and war does come, we run the risk of being seen as complicit."

"I don't believe it will come to war," another Councilor interjects. "No, the monarchies will posture and send letters and hold secret meetings, no doubt, but they won't risk their own until an army comes to their doorstep. Maybe twenty years ago, but not now, when they're too busy keeping their citizenry fed. The drought has weakened the dogs of war considerably."

"And even if it does come, we're known for neutrality," another adds. "It will ruffle feathers, to be sure, to trade openly with Shikkah and, by extension, Yukkaita, but so long as we don't supply arms or limit trade to opposing monarchies, who can call us complicit? It's a business decision."

"It's more than that," the wrinkled councilor called Reiahan mutters. "It'll be seen as us supporting populism. We'll lose friends."

"If you turn us away, you'll lose substantial trade," Idera reminds them.

"How many nations have agreed to continue trade?" Reiahan asks.

"I'm unsure," Idera answers smoothly. "Seven delegations were sent out. We're likely the first to reach its destination."

"So you're trying to legitimize yourselves through international recognition," the councilor concludes. "For all we know, there could be three opposing populist factions fighting over the carcass of the Dimaraste right now. It's too soon to agree to anything, we have no source but the word of a few traders who left before the port was closed, and these delegates, who are anything but impartial!"

"We legitimized ourselves by subduing the capitol in a night, and its sister cities within the week," Idera says, not without some venom. "Here, I have a document signed by both the Kyorin and Izsima Dimaraste, acknowledging our rule and ceding their rights." He fishes a piece of parchment from his pocket and lays it on the dais, before councilor Reiahan.

"Could easily be a forgery."

"You call me a liar, then, Councilor?" Sholu's representative asks coolly.

"Peace," a new voice says, cutting them off. It's Taís, Irei's dark-haired sister. Her voice is calm, but steel runs through it, and everyone stops to listen.

"We can't just consider a theoretical war with the monarchies," she says. "What about a war with the Dimaraste?"

"The remaining two are much too weak to oppose even a portion of the Shao Asha-" a councilor answers her.
"I meant the Amarin."

"The Amarin are dead." Idera says decisively.

"Most are," she amends. "Somitu Amarin and her son live still." Her eyes seem to flicker towards me momentarily, but she corrects her mistake, focusing instead of the delegates. But that slight flicker causes my chest to seize again. She knows who I am, and whatever Irei says, that fills me with fear.

I wonder how they know we're alive? I suppose gossip carried on the lips of sailors, the few that left the port before they closed it in an attempt to keep my mother and I in the country. I shudder, remembering nights of hiding in the basement of a true loyalist while Sholu's gangs combed the streets, tearing houses apart like they were searching for hidden treasure. I shouldn't be surprised our survival is common knowledge, really; Sholu's men were sloppy from the start.

But why not just lie and say we're dead already, then hunt us in secret? Maybe they're afraid we'll resurface and prove them liars before they can silence us. Or maybe they just don't care. Maybe they realize how utterly powerless we are, and are content to have us live out our lives in exile.

"The former Dizsa and Izsai won't survive for long. We have a team hunting them as we speak. Anyone who knows anything about their whereabouts has been offered a reward, and anyone who aides them is seen as an enemy of Shikkah."

I'm torn between abject terror and a feeling of consolation that at least our enemies see us as a threat.

"But even if they do survive, it makes little difference," Idera says. "They're two exiles fled from their own country, without money or easy refuge. They barely deserve mention."

"If they're restored to power, and we trade with you, we've obliterated our relationship with Shikkah for the next century," Taís says.

Idera laughs. "You give them too much credit, Councilor. How could they possibly regain power? Two of them against Sholu Verlaina, his allies, and the Shao Asha?"

"I don't know," she answers thoughtfully. "But I know Somitu Amarin, and I'll not underestimate her. The woman has steel flowing through her veins instead of blood. So long as she lives, the Dimaraste lives, and signing any trade agreement with you while the Dimaraste lives seems to me premature."

"We've killed the Dimaraste," Idera Onra argues, incredulous at her almost scholarly, detached tone. "They're nothing, I promise you! Would you wait indefinitely for us to hunt them, and suffer the lost trade?"

"You said they wouldn't live long," Taís counters. "I did not expect to wait indefinitely."

"Their deaths are irrelevant, Councilor," Y'merit interjects. "The mountain cannot be a mountain if you remove all the stone beneath the peak. Without the rest, Somitu and her son are no more than a molehill. And besides," she continues, "the peak itself was rotted through long before we came. It would have crumbled to dust, with or without us."

"What do you mean?" Councilor Aith asks.

"I mean that the fate of the Amarin Dimaraste wasn't sealed by Sholu Verlaina or the Shao Asha. It was sealed the moment their own protector betrayed them. When the Izsaiki defects, the whole mountain is hollow, is it not?"

"What of the Izsaiki?" the Councilor presses. "What do you mean."

Y'merit Yukkaita smiles, but not kindly. "How do you think we got into the impregnable palace? How do you think we knew the precise location of the guards and when they were changing shifts, or the location of the dusty passageways and old servant staircases? How could we have pulled off such a seamless overthrow if we didn't have a source?

"The Izsaiki O'otani helped us plan the entire thing, Councilor, in her lust for power. Now you will believe me when I say, their rot ran deep."

I open my mouth but no sound comes, shocked mute by the lie. My body stiffens and I feel Irei's hand grip my arm, his fingernails digging into my skin, reminding me to play the fool. I take a measured breath and dig my own fingernails into my palm to distract myself from the wave of anger and sadness and pure crystalized hatred threatening to swallow me whole. Goddess, how dare they speak her name. How dare they profane her. She is not theirs to use; the purity of her name alone should cause their sinful, blasphemous tongues to shrivel up inside their mouths like worms left out in the sun. How dare they accuse her of this, my Izsaiki, my protector, the one who loved me and knew me best.

"It could just as easily be a lie," Councilor Reiahan says. "It's too easy to pin the blame on the dead, when they aren't alive to argue. And it would certainly be a nice way to throw mud on the old regime."

"Not alive to argue?" Idera says, smiling even wider than Y'merit. "Why, Councilor, she's quite alive. She's in the Palace with Deme Verlaina, not a scratch on her."

Alive.

I pitch forward and shove my fist into my mouth to keep from crying out, my mind shattered like a mirror dropped, reflecting odd images of hope and disbelief. Could she really be alive, I think, shaking, feeling tears welling in my eyes.

"She's being tried for the crimes of the Amarin Dimaraste, but since she was instrumental in their overthrow, I expect her to be fully pardoned. In fact, her trial is likely happening as we speak, if it hasn't already."

Alive and a traitor. I shake my head, unable to believe it. She can't have betrayed us to them. It's impossible. Utterly impossible.

Just like the palace was impregnable? I think. It happened so smoothly, someone had to help them get in. And very few people had access to information about the guard's schedule and location, let alone the palace blueprints.

No. She couldn't have. I knew her better than I knew anyone alive, and I know she loved me. She couldn't have. I'd betray our family before her, so unwavering was her loyalty.

Maybe she's dead and they're lying to us, and will tell us next month she's died of Chalian flu.

Or maybe she's alive and captive, and I've left her there amongst the wolves, and they'll try her for all of our crimes and kill her like a common criminal, but not before convincing the entire world she was the instrument of our destruction.

They'll hang imaginary crimes from her body and make her a martyr to their defamatory cause. They'll kill her body and her legacy, take everything from her- I can't let that happen, I can't, I can't stand it. I can't stand the feelings of confusion and rage flooding me. Goddess, I'm shaking. Goddess, I'm lost-

"I feel ill," I manage to whisper to the Ambassador before running from the council chamber, pausing only to turn the great lock on the door. I barely make it outside of the building before I have to bend over and vomit.

I'm crying, too, I realize, crying and heaving up bits of acid and froth onto the ground.

By the time I'm done, both my mouth and my eyes burn horribly. I wipe my face with my sleeve but I'm still a disgusting mess, and my mind is still reeling, and I can't bear the thought of going back into that room, the possibility of hearing them profane her name again. So I just turn away from the council building and start walking.