67
Kiria
Kiria’s whole body was in pain, and she hadn’t even fought yet. The helmet cut off her peripheral vision as Chetana and several other guards ushered Kiria away from the center of the army. There was a spot where she could watch and command, they said.
The center of the army felt safer, somehow, than this movement toward exposure.
Already, the buffer between her and the gate had thinned. She could barely think. All was motion. Battle sounded more glorious than this in stories. She hadn’t believed the shiny veneer, but she hadn’t understood the truth either. She wasn’t a Keeper; she was a girl surrounded by jostling elbows and sharp blades. Moving feet had wakened choking dust that clogged her throat and dimmed her vision. Desperately, she dragged her cause back to mind, holding
