by Jordan Rivet
Dara turned to find a man with a large beard standing where the entryway to Wyla’s manor had been, clad in silver from head to toe. Watermight swirled around his ankles. Khrillin.
“See,” Wyla said softly. “I knew you were working for him.”
“I’m not—”
“You’d best see to our friend,” Khrillin said. The Watermight supply around him was growing larger, fed by a trickle from the manor house. “Wyla and I have unfinished business. Stand aside.”
Dara didn’t move.
“What are you going to do to her?”
“As much as I’d love to turn her loose in the gutter so she can live with the knowledge that I control her prized whirlpool vent, I think it would be wiser to kill her. Don’t you?”
“Wait!” Dara said. “You can’t—”
But as Dara took a step toward Khrillin, Wyla screamed. One of his men had slipped behind Dara and sliced a knife across Wyla’s throat. She gurgled, clutching at the bright-red gash on her neck.
“There,” Khrillin said. “That’s done. Why don’t you accompany dear Sivarrion into the manor?”
Dara ignored him. She dropped to her feet beside Wyla and tried to seal up the bloody gash with Watermight. This was the first Work she’d seen Wyla perform on the day they met. But the cut was too deep, and her efforts were clumsy. They had spent so much time fighting and experimenting that she hadn’t learned how to heal.
“I’m sorry,” Dara whispered.
Wyla locked eyes with her. For a moment, her gaze shone silver-white, and a fierce smile split her face. Then her body relaxed under Dara’s hands.
Dara sat back, her hands bloody. But she had no time to mourn—if that was even the right response for the woman who had been both mentor and jailer. She scrambled over to Siv. He bled from dozens of cuts, though his wounds appeared shallower than Wyla’s. Dara lifted his head gently into her lap and called upon the last of the Watermight. She hadn’t been fast enough to help Wyla, but maybe she could stop the worst of the bleeding.
Khrillin made no move to help with the inelegant healing job. He stood behind her, waiting for her to finish her Work and follow his order to bring Siv into the manor.
The task was difficult, and it required more delicacy than she could muster after her struggle. Her hands shook badly, and she feared she was making Siv bleed too much as she cleaned his wounds. He groaned softly, his eyes remaining closed. Please hold on.
Then a splash sounded nearby, and Latch Brach emerged from the canal covered in mud. He dropped to his knees beside Dara and Siv and took over the healing job without a word. He concentrated on his friend, pasting seals over the cuts one by one. Dara met Latch’s dark eyes briefly, her thanks unspoken for now. Between them, blood red turned to silver until the marks covered Siv like shooting stars. He was going to be all right.
They weren’t out of danger yet, though. Dara didn’t like the way Khrillin loomed over them. She didn’t want to turn around and put herself under his control, even though he had helped Siv in the past. Wyla’s words stuck with her: you’d be a fool to trust him. He is a dangerous man—almost as dangerous as me.
“Shall we go in?” Khrillin said softly.
Siv trusted the man, but she couldn’t put herself in another Waterworker’s hands. She suspected Latch wouldn’t like being under Khrillin’s power either. They needed a refuge, somewhere separate from the Waterworkers and their bargains and promises.
“I’d rather not.”
“No?”
Dara cradled Siv’s head in her lap as Watermight sealed over his last wound, searching for an escape route. The pen fighters were busy tending their wounded. Kres March appeared at Khrillin’s right hand, sharp eyes on Dara. It was clear whom he worked for now. She couldn’t count on any of them to help her except Latch.
“Are you going to fight me?” The hungry look in Khrillin’s eyes was all too familiar. He took a step forward. “Perhaps create an explosion like the one last night?”
“I will if you come any closer,” Dara snapped.
“Is that any way to speak to your rescuer?”
“We need time to rest and recover,” Dara said. “I’m happy to discuss how to work together later.”
“Later.”
Dara shivered at Khrillin’s flat tone. She had run out of Fire when she broke the bond. If Khrillin attacked her, Dara would never defeat him with Watermight alone. She reached for the Savven blade at her hip.
Suddenly, a warm breeze blew over them, sweeping Dara’s hair back from her face. The wind seemed to carry a message, a promise that they would be all right. She was free, and it was time to move forward. Time to go home.
Khrillin took another step.
Latch leapt to his feet and lifted an entire pile of rubble into a wall around the Waterlord, encasing Khrillin and Kres entirely. They shouted, voices muffled behind the rocks. No sooner was the wall in place than a canal boat pulled up beside them, and armed men hopped out of it. Strangers.
Latch glanced at Dara, a blaze of Watermight coating his eyes. Dara nodded at him and hugged Siv closer as they prepared to defend him once more.
“Is he alive?” A shadow fell across them. Dara looked up to find Vine standing over her. The tightness in her chest eased at last. They were saved.
“Yes.”
“And your bond?”
“Broken.”
“Lovely work, Dara,” Vine said. “I think it would be wise for us to relocate as soon as possible if you’re feeling up for it.”
“Good idea.”
“I’ve arranged alternate lodgings for us.” Vine gestured to the canal boat. “Come, gentlemen. Let’s get our friends to safety.”
Two men hurried over to assist Vine. One, as expected, was Rid. The other was Vex Rollendar.
Dara started up, gripping the Savven blade. Her sword arm was shaky, but whole. She had one more fight in her.
But Vine stepped in front of Vex and raised a placating hand. “It’s all right. Vex here has decided to see things our way.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He’s on our side now.”
“Vine.”
“We can explain when we are out of danger,” Vine said. “Vex has arranged a hiding place for us until this Watermight business blows over.”
“A hiding place?”
“Indeed. Come along. I believe he will give us exactly the help we need.”
Dara couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Had Vex enchanted Vine somehow, found a way to make her think he was on her side so he could kill Siv at last? But the Rollendar lord carried no weapons, a fact that Vine was quick to point out.
“I will explain everything, Dara. You must trust me.”
Dara didn’t move. Vex had crossed the continent to kill Siv. He had kidnapped her and Vine, used them to get what he wanted. She didn’t believe for a second that he wasn’t doing the same thing now. He must have put a spell on Vine. All those strange dreams. All that talk of being in love. Dara should have looked into it sooner. Like Wyla, she had dismissed the worries as more of Vine’s effervescent obsession with the Air. And now her friend was trapped.
“I can see this won’t be easy,” Vine said. “Come, my friend, I am trying to help.”
“But he’s a Rollendar.”
“Yes. And we are out of time. I’m terribly sorry about this.”
Vine closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Dara felt a whisper on her skin, a spring breeze building to a gale. Suddenly, the breeze stiffened, becoming a physical force on her skin. And Dara could no longer breathe.
She stared at Vine, eyes bulging, and pulled frantically for power, any power. But she had exhausted all the magical substances in the vicinity. Except for the Air, apparently.
She pushed against the force, trying to get closer to Siv. She still couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t fight against it. Why was Vine doing this? Could her friend have betrayed her?
Vine waved Vex fo
rward. “You will have to carry Siv. Rid, you take Dara. She’ll be less likely to kill you when she wakes.”
Shock pounded through Dara as the men moved to obey. She couldn’t see Latch. Would he defend his friend? She clutched frantically for Fire, for Watermight, for anything, but it was too late. It had been too long since her last breath. Dark spots overtook her vision, and she slumped to the ground.
33.
Attack
SELIVIA awoke at dawn to Fenn shaking her shoulder.
“Get up, Princess. We have to hide.”
“What is it?”
Before Fenn could answer, a strong wind gusted through the house, forcing back the curtains and carrying the warning straight to them in urgent, Air-guided whispers. Danger. The Sunset City is in terrible danger.
Selivia leapt up, hurrying into her clothes as Fenn dressed and strapped on weapons beside her. Zala appeared at the door.
“The Soolen army snuck around the Rock,” she said breathlessly. “No one saw them coming.”
“The Soolens? Are you sure?”
“They must be looking for a new base now that the Fireworkers hold Rallion City,” Fenn said.
“Why didn’t the Sensors hear them coming?” Selivia asked.
“I don’t know,” Zala said. “Bring whatever food and water you can carry. We must hide.”
“Where?”
“The Rock. We will wait in the tunnels until it’s over.”
Zala darted away to make sure the rest of the house was on the move.
“Won’t we be cornered in the tunnels?” Selivia asked as she stuffed her feet into her shoes and grabbed her cloak.
“Better than being captured in the open,” Fenn said. Her Far Plains serenity had evaporated. She was a severe Vertigonian bodyguard once more. The change in her demeanor made fear spike through Selivia’s stomach.
They hurried out of Ananova’s house with the rest of the family. Every face was pale, every jaw tense or trembling. Dust blew around them, the wind carrying a frantic warning through every street. Danger. Terrible danger.
The older Plainsfolk remained calm and organized groups to usher the children east toward the Rock. Men and boys gathered weapons and farming tools, hands shaking as they turned the tools into instruments of war. They formed up with their neighbors and rushed north to meet the attack. Selivia spotted Ivran among them. He wore a look of grim determination, and he carried a club. He was only two years older than Selivia. He shouldn’t be going to war. Was there any hope the Far Plainsfolk could keep the Soolens at bay?
Fenn and Zala joined a group heading for the Rock, sheltering Selivia between them. Her heart pounded as they fled through the gray drawn. With every turn, she was sure they’d meet the dreaded Soolen army at last—the men who had killed her grandfather and imprisoned her mother. Now they were here for her. She curled her hands into fists and prayed for bravery.
They had to take a roundabout way to try to reach the Rock. The Soolens advanced on the city from the north, occupying spokes of the wheel one by one, heading toward its heart. If they didn’t reach the tunnels soon, they’d be cut off for good.
“Faster,” Zala said, urging her onward as death marched on her city. “We have to go faster.”
They heard the soldiers before they saw them. The thud of boots on the hard-packed desert earth was like a thunderstorm rolling over the mountain and echoing along the Fissure.
“Faster.”
Selivia caught glimpses of the enemy soldiers as they ran from house to house, seeking shelter behind the humble mud walls. Stony faces and brilliant teeth gave the soldiers an unearthly quality. Boots pounded. Steel flashed. The colorful awnings shuddered ominously, caught in the wind and the thunder of footsteps. She couldn’t believe she had once thought it would be exciting to be in a city under attack. This was terrifying.
It also wasn’t fair. The Far Plainsfolk were peaceful. They didn’t even have a standing army. The men and boys were only taking up arms to give the women and children time to get away. They didn’t stand a chance.
Suddenly, a spike of silver shot through the street. It looked like a snake winding through the dust until it reached a nearby standing stone. The silver entered the stone, lining the cracks. Then the standing stone exploded.
Selivia dove to the ground, and Fenn landed on top of her. The larger woman grunted at the impact. Selivia felt too squashed to grunt. Fenn was on her feet a second later, dragging Selivia into the shelter of a nearby house.
“Where’s Zala?” Selivia asked.
“There.” Fenn pointed to a house across the way. Zala popped out briefly to gesture for them to wait, then disappeared from view. And not a moment too soon.
A company of Soolen soldiers tramped down the street. Their leader’s eyes glowed silver-white in his dark face. He drew the silver snake back toward his hands. Selivia could hardly believe it. The rumors were true! How could the Soolens have magic without anyone knowing?
She and Fenn huddled beside the strangers’ house, waiting for the soldiers to pass. More explosions erupted around the city, dull booms followed by a clattering like hailstones. What kind of magic was this? It didn’t look like Fire. And from the sounds of things, it was devastating. She understood now why the Air Sensors trembled when they listened to reports of the fighting in Trure. The Fireworkers of Vertigon against these stone-crushing Soolens? It must be horrible.
The Rock loomed ahead, but Selivia felt torn. Now that she’d seen what these Soolen fighters could do, she knew they couldn’t be allowed to keep fighting the Fireworkers. The magic conflict would spread destruction across the land, and innocent people like the Far Plainsfolk would pay the price.
Her family had to stop this. They were responsible for Vertigon—and for the damage its people wrought. It was up to them to end the conflict. And that meant it was time for her to go.
“Fenn,” she whispered. “This group is almost past. Let’s run to Zala on the count of three.”
“Agreed.” Fenn readied herself, her strong body poised like a runner’s. “Stay close to me.
“One. Two. Three.”
Fenn darted across the dirt road, diving to join Zala in her hiding place.
Selivia ran the other way.
She didn’t dare look back to find out if the others had seen her escape. She hurried north, darting from house to house, hoping the soldiers would ignore her in favor of the more threatening men. She hated to leave Fenn and Zala behind, but if the Soolens caught them, they’d be safer without the enemy princess. And she had a job to do.
She followed the colors of the wheel outward. Many standing stones had already been destroyed by that strange power, but enough fragments remained to guide her. The rising sun shone harshly on the shards of ice in the dust. How much longer before the Soolens took over?
A few blocks from the city boundary, Selivia came upon a group of Air Sensors. She ducked behind an overturned cart to avoid being seen. But the Sensors weren’t looking at her. They sat perfectly still in an open square, surrounding a standing stone painted with ladies in dark-green dresses. The Sensors stared forward, eyes open and unseeing, serene as ever. Fodorov sat at their head, leading them in the oddest form of combat Selivia had ever seen.
On the opposite side of the square, a company of Soolen soldiers formed up, weapons glittering in the early-morning sun. The soldiers looked so dangerous compared to the Air Sensors that it was almost comical. But as they attempted to advance on the Sensors, something held them back. Something invisible but tangible gusted up the street, impeding their progress. The soldiers on the front line appeared to be having trouble breathing. Every step forward looked labored, even painful.
Then Fodorov uttered a sound Selivia had never heard before, like a hurricane captured in a whisper, and the invisible force strengthened. The lips of the foremost soldiers stretched back from their teeth, as if they were running incredibly fast into a strong wind. The others bent low, shielding their eyes from the drivin
g sand.
The Air Sensors shook under the pressure of this feat. Even their shuddering was perfectly in sync. Veins stood out on Fodorov’s forehead, evidence of his incredible concentration.
Then, slowly at first, the Soolen soldiers began to drift backward. Heels scraping the dirt, feet scrabbling for purchase. They cried out angrily as the wind pushed them back. One man hurled a knife into the gale, and it flew back, slicing through a comrade’s ear.
The Air Sensors were winning the fight! Selivia could hardly believe it. She had no idea the Air was this strong. She was so transfixed by the scene that she almost forgot she was supposed to be fleeing. She still needed to get around the skirmish. Her destination lay to the north.
Before she could move from her hiding place, a new player entered the contest. The Soolen officer was tall and distinguished, with a hint of gray at his temples. He had the most beautiful brown eyes Selivia had ever seen. Or at least they were brown at first. Within seconds of the officer’s arrival in the square, the brown leached out of his eyes, replaced by a solid silver-white. He raised a hand, and a thin razor of silver sliced between the seated Air Sensors and the retreating Soolens.
At once, the soldiers stood up straight. The silver razor had cut through the attacking wind. The soldiers formed up, preparing to advance.
The Air Sensors renewed their assault. That terrible gale gathered once more. Sand rose and settled in the street, glimmering in the morning sunlight.
Before the Sensors could build enough strength to push the soldiers away, the Soolen officer sent a whip of silver toward Fodorov. The tip solidified into ice the instant before it reached him. The icy dagger sliced directly across Fodorov’s throat then skittered away across the dirt.
Selivia gasped, the sound lost in the commotion as the Sensors reacted. Naked shock and horror painted their faces as their leader toppled forward, scarlet blood leaking into the burnt-umber dirt. The surviving Sensors tried desperately to resume their concentration, but the Soolens broke rank and darted among them, weapons flashing.
