Shiraz had fallen within a day. Soon after the sun had sunk behind the horizon, Esfandar’s troops had pushed through the city gates. From there, the conquest had been easy. Seeing the finality of their defeat, the remaining defenders had surrendered in shame.

The city’s governor had already had the sense to escape before Esfandar’s men took the city. Only the old men who made up the city council remained, for they’d been either too proud or too weak to escape. The councilmen had been given a choice: support Esfandar or be thrown into a cell to rot. Most had wisely chosen to serve him and keep their positions.

Esfandar stood at the top of the city walls, the wind ruffling his hair as he stared down at Shiraz. It was a dizzying view. He wondered how long a fall from this height would be, how many seconds of torture a man would have to endure before finally embracing death.

Dozens of the Shirazi soldiers’ corpses remained scattered around the ramparts. There hadn’t been time to move them yet. Most of them had died from his archers’ arrows or the blast of a catapulted rock. He was sure that some Shirazi citizens considered them the lucky ones; they hadn’t lived long enough to witness the city’s shameful surrender and occupation.

“The city is ours, your highness,” Babak said from behind him. Esfandar dragged his gaze away from the view to turn around. Behind him, Babak and a handful of other high-ranking officers looked at him expectantly, the fresh victory alight in their eyes. Gita and Karim stood next to Babak, their gazes considerably less joyous.

Gita was battered and bruised from the battle, her face tired and her hair falling out of her braid. Her leather tunic was stained with blood that clearly wasn’t her own. Karim looked considerably less damaged. It was to be expected of course- he was strictly an advisor on Esfandar’s council and stayed far away whenever fighting was involved. He’d only just entered the city, after the battle had ended in decisive victory. Yet his expression was equally concerned. He frowned in Babak’s direction, his eyes calculating.

Esfandar’s two closest friends and advisors stayed silent for the moment, letting the general speak. They knew by now how to play this game.

“We’ve taken the remaining defenders prisoner. Shall they be executed?” Babak pressed.

Esfandar hesitated in his answer. The truth was, he didn’t want to execute those men, though it was what all of his generals expected of him. They had been defending their home, as anyone would do in the face of invasion. They’d surrendered without resistance once the battle had been lost. They didn’t deserve to die.

Esfandar met Karim’s gaze, giving him a meaningful look. Karim appeared tired but alert. He wore an intricate blue kaftan embroidered in silver, his dark curly hair hidden beneath a dark green turban. He had a long, flat nose and wide forehead, a face that always somehow managed to look deep in thought. Looking back at him, Karim gave Esfandar an imperceptible nod.

“That wouldn’t be wise, general,” he said, stepping forward. Babak turned to him with an arched brow. “Our command of this city is tenuous at best. Our troops are depleted from the battle and it will be weeks before reinforcements arrive.” He met the gaze of each of the officers there, then let his gaze land on Babak. “Mass executions now, so soon after their defeat, would almost certainly raise a revolt against us.”

Babak’s brows furrowed and he looked at the ground as if in shame. Esfandar felt his chest untighten.

“Councilor Karim speaks wisely, your highness,” Babak said after a moment. “Forgive me for my mistake. The executions can certainly be delayed until our control of the city is strengthened.”

Karim stepped back, bowing his head respectfully, although Esfandar caught the self-satisfied smirk on his face. Esfandar sighed. Another issue delayed to a later date. Well, this time at least it was one he could manage.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Babak,” Esfandar said. “You’re dismissed. Blessed be the flames.”

“Blessed be the flames,” Babak and the other officers murmured in reply before turning to leave, off to oversee their troops and organize oversight of Shiraz. Babak’s gaze lingered for a moment on Karim and Gita- and how Esfandar’s dismissal applied to everyone but them- before he too was gone.

Once the general and his officers had left, Esfandar exhaled and turned back to the view of Shiraz. The people down below were smaller than specks. Esfandar thought he saw a line of prisoners being marched through the streets, but he couldn’t be sure. There were so many people. And now he ruled over all of them.

“You did it,” Karim said, walking up to stand beside him. He grinned as he leaned back against the wall, elbows on the railing. “The city’s yours. Next stop Nishapur, eh?”

Esfandar shook his head, giving his friend a wry smile. “There might be quite a few stops along the way,” he said.

“Esfandar.” Esfandar turned to his left. Gita had also walked forward to stand beside him, so silently that he hadn’t noticed her presence there. Unlike Karim’s casual stance, she remained tall and formal in her posture. “Babak may have accepted your decision not to execute the prisoners, but others will be angry,” she pointed out. “It’s their right, as the victors.”

“I know that,” Esfander muttered with a short sigh. “Will you be able to handle them?”

Gita nodded, bowing her head in affirmation. Her style was to be quiet, but Esfandar had learned by now never to underestimate her because of it. She would be able to handle any dissenters- no one in his army was more respected or more feared. Without Gita as his general, Esfandar knew that his control over his men would have fallen apart long ago.

A silence filled the space between them for a minute. It was peaceful, despite the carnage of battle below them. Up here, they seemed to be above all of those earthly horrors.

At last Karim sighed and turned to face him.

“Es,” he said, hesitance coloring his voice. “During the battle… Well, there’s been news.”

He reached into the folds of his robe and withdrew a small, yellowing scroll, tightly wrapped with a length of red string. Red string, indicating the severity of the news. There was nothing more urgent.

Esfandar only stared at the scroll in Karim’s hand. What if I didn’t read it? A small, weak part of him wondered. What if I closed my eyes and ears to everything, and ran away from this gods-forsaken country? But he was used to that voice by now. It was easy to squash, to push away into the further recesses of his mind. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Esfandar reached out and took the scroll.

He unwrapped it slowly and then his eyes darted across the words on the page. The message was not long, yet his eyes kept roving through the sentences again and again, making sure that he was reading it correctly. He suddenly felt queasy.

He lowered the scroll and silently handed it to Gita. She read it much faster than he had, comprehension dawning on her face almost instantly. She looked back at him with an expression of sadness and sympathy.

Esfandar trained his gaze on the horizon, breathing out slowly.

“Is there anything we can do?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

He saw Gita and Karim exchange a glance in his peripheral vision, as if deciding which one of them would do best to answer him. It seemed like Gita won.

“No,” she told him, her voice soft but absolute. “The execution could be held tomorrow for all we know. Our troops wouldn’t be ready to depart for at least two weeks, and several weeks more to reach the capital.” She shook her head slowly. “We’d never make it in time.”

“Even if we could have made it,” Karim chimed in. “I would have advised against it. We’ve just captured Shiraz, Es. From here we have a chance to conquer the entire northern province. We can’t give it up.” He paused, as if considering his next words. “And you know as well as I do that if we went head to head with Roshani’s forces right now, she’d win.”

Esfandar remained quiet. He heard their words and understood them, but he couldn’t accept them. His grip on the railing tightened, his knuckles going white. Lady Homeira and Prince Kasra would be executed- his stepmother and brother would be executed. His family. It felt wrong not to rush to their defense right now, to rescue them somehow. It felt cowardly, even if no one else would judge him for it.

He wondered what Roshani was thinking right now, at this very moment. Had his sister at last lost her mind? No, despite his outrage and shock at the news, he knew that couldn’t be true. This was as logical and calculated as ever, a move that made sense for Roshani to take. But somehow, he’d still believed that she wasn’t capable of it. He cursed his own stupidity and willful ignorance. He also hadn’t believed she’d been capable of killing their own father, and see where that naïveté had gotten him.

He could feel Karim and Gita’s eyes watching him. It seemed like they were waiting for him to finally crack, expecting it even, and preparing themselves to lift him back up. That thought sobered him. He loosened his clenched fists and forced himself to calm his breathing. He would not break. He couldn’t. Not now, not when so many depended on him to lead. He couldn’t let them down.

“I understand,” he said, thanking the gods that his voice didn’t crack with his choked back tears. He cleared his throat loudly. “I could use some good news about now, Karim.” He glanced at his friend, forcing a small smile. “Have you got anything for me?”

“Well, not good news exactly,” Karim replied. “But hopeful news. A message arrived from Goshtab Varaz this morning.” Gusts of wind brought snatches of sounds from below, the whinnying of horses and muffled shouting in the streets. Karim raised his voice slightly to be heard above it. “He has said he will not take any brash actions until absolutely necessary, but he strongly implied he would support you when the real war begins. With any luck, we’ll soon have House Varaz on our side.”

Esfandar nodded along to Karim’s words. That was hopeful. House Varaz was the richest and most powerful of the six great clans, and they had yet to declare support for anyone in this war. He hardly trsuted Goshtab Varaz, the head of his house. The old lord was as cunning as he was gray. Despite his assurances in his letter, Esfandar doubted he meant a word of it. Still, if he could win them over, he would be strong enough to face Roshani head on. Goshtab Varaz was a practical man- if he saw that Esfandar’s army was winning, he would rush to aid his cause. The thought helped to calm his mind somewhat.

“Good.” Esfandar squinted against the blowing wind. If any tears fell, he hoped Karim and Gita would blame it on the gusts. “This is only the beginning,” he said, looking far off into the distance- south towards Nishapur, towards his home. “How it will end is up to us now.”