‘How will that stop Ventris?’ Damien asked.
‘Because I’ll be the one flying it,’ answered Tiera.
Morton ran alongside Aulton and Fabian, the closest he had to friends amidst the legion of fleeing prisoners. The cavern floor ran slick with moisture, and more than once he slipped.
He ran without knowing where to go, just grateful not to be tied down any longer. Maybe the Gods had heard his confession to the stone man and pitied him. Maybe it was luck. He kept pace with Genevieve’s men, ignoring his instinct to run off and find his own way.
Something clawed at Morton’s back—a gaunt old man, knocked aside by a wayward shoulder. Morton helped him up. ‘You okay, friend?’ If the Gods were testing him, he wouldn’t fail.
The old man accepted Morton’s help and nodded.
Then Morton’s eyes landed on something familiar—Qitarah’s hair, gleaming like a raven’s wing wet with rain.
‘Mister Aereli—a hand, please.’ Morton guided the old man to Fabian’s arms.
‘And where, pray, are you running off to?’ Fabian asked.
Morton had spent his whole life running and leaving everything to chance—and it hurt more than it helped. But he could do something right. ‘Got things I need to square.’
Morton charged through a knot of prisoners, not sure what he’d do when he caught up with Qitarah. There. She darted across a metal walkway and deeper into the cavern that housed the palace’s foundations. She disappeared behind a squat stalagmite—Morton followed, and—
‘She’s gone.’
The stalagmite concealed an entrance to a narrow tunnel that dwindled into darkness. The broiling acid in Morton’s gut told him not to descend, urged him to turn back.
Turn back where?
He stepped inside and onto a spiralling staircase, shoulders tight against the walls. He followed the steps down until darkness swallowed everything.
After half a minute, an exit yawned open. Waves churned beyond, and wind lashed his face. Morton stepped through, feeling sand crunch beneath his footsteps.
He stepped into a giant cavern with an open ceiling wide enough to accommodate small airships. It ushered in the sounds of the sea.
His eyes followed Qitarah as she flitted between a line of six fighter craft sitting on the sandy rock.
She’s preparing a launch.
Morton crept closer, not knowing what he’d do when he caught up. Why try to talk sense into her? Why not just let her go?
Because the big fella told you that forgiveness comes from within, and you got to start making amends somewhere.
Morton’s throat clenched tighter than a pauper’s fist when he was on a winning streak. Bugger it.
He marched forward. ‘Qitarah!’
Her head snapped up, and the quiver on her lips was one of mischief. Or malice. Or both.
‘Ah, Commander—didn’t reckon I’d ever see you again. Come on, out with it—I’m on a schedule. Tell me what “Lucky” Brunswick has to say.’
‘Damn right you’ll listen to what I have to say.’ Morton marched forward, clenching his fists.
Then he realised he had no idea what to say.
‘Great, thanks, Morton—it’s been enlightening.’ Qitarah pulled the cockpit skyglass down and fired up her Avispa. With a thunderclap, the fighter shot off, weaving between the natural pillars of the cavern.
Morton marched over to one of the other Phantoms and prised it’s skyglass open. He’d see the job through.
‘Genevieve!’
The singer squeezed Serena as tight as a bear with her cub.
‘Serena, do you have any idea who liberated us?’
Serena motioned to Gallows.
‘My hero.’ Genevieve’s eyes lingered on Gallows. ‘We must find a way to the palace—I’ll demand an audience with King Arn—’
‘Arnault’s dead and the palace is falling. The pirates have taken over.’
‘There’s an airship in these caverns,’ Myriel cut in.
‘Follow us!’ yelled Aulton Carney. He and Fabian rallied the prisoners, helping them co-ordinate.
Serena followed.
Screeching from high above, a girder broke away from the palace foundations and plummeted to the ground. More followed, stone and steel dropping like confetti.
Then an explosion unpinned a metal door from its frame.
In the doorway, amidst smoke and ruin, stood Helena tal Ventris.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The pirates charged.
Steel clashed and gunfire echoed throughout the cavern. Heavy chains tore from walls, uncoiling and crashing to the floor. A mist of blood hung in the air, splattering Serena’s clothes as men and women fell at her feet.
She couldn’t see Gallows or Myriel—she could only run.
Enoch shielded Fabian and Aulton from the onslaught, but pain flashed through his eyes with every strike of steel against him.
Serena sought Lunosdatter. ‘The airship! Where is it?’
Before the doctor could answer, an Avispa twisted through the cavern, gunning down prisoners and Crimsoncloaks with a deafening roar. Serena dropped to the ground, hands pressed against her ears.
The Avispa came around again, bullets tearing from it and cutting through the crowd. Enoch screamed and spun to the ground.
‘Enoch!’ Serena crawled towards him. Blackened blood oozed from his chest.
‘I’m alive, child. I’m ali—’
‘No! No!’
Fabian’s voice. He cradled Aulton Carney in his hands.
‘Wake up, old man, wake up!’
But Aulton didn’t move.
The Avispa came around again—Serena felt the pilot’s eyes on her.
Through drained muscles, she summoned the sparks of the siren-song—
Another fighter burst out of the shadows, opening fire. The Avispa swerved to the side, corkscrewing and twisting high towards the cavern ceiling.
It was one of Morton Brunswick’s Phantoms.
Morton pulled back on the controls, finger brushing the trigger as he got Qitarah in his sights.
Qitarah hurtled around a tight corner and wove between the vast cavern’s drooping stalactites, avoiding the wrath of Morton’s guns.
Below, the pirates were cutting down the palace guard like swine in a slaughterhouse. Cogs, rock and machinery peeled away from the palace’s foundations, raining on Morton’s skyglass. A chunk of masonry hammered his Phantom’s wing and sent him off-course.
Qitarah’s craft danced like a firefly. She disappeared through a sheet of white water—Morton accelerated and pushed through the waterfall after her.
Run, old man. Turn back while you bloody can, to hell with the lot of ’em.
What did Morton Brunswick owe the Crimsoncloaks? What did he owe Myriel and Enoch? Any man in his position would save himself.
That’s what you do, isn’t it? Cut and run.
He accelerated, biting at Qitarah’s heels.
‘Fabian…’
Aereli scowled at Serena, face twisting in pure contempt. He kept repeating Aulton’s name.
‘Serena!’ Enoch called. He and Lunosdatter were helping Myriel across a tremoring steel bridge, the Stone Man limping. ‘Hurry!’
‘Fabian,’ she repeated. ‘We have to go.’ The ground rumbled and the stench of blood filled her nose. She tugged on Fabian’s shirt. ‘It’s awful—I know. But don’t let him die in vain—he wouldn’t want you to die, too.’
‘What do you know of it?’ the singer spat. ‘If it wasn’t for you—’
‘If it wasn’t for me, what? Did I make King Arnault get into bed with pirates? Was I flying that goddamn fighter? I know you’re hurting—we all are.’ Serena stood up and clenched her fists. ‘But I won’t force you come with me.’
Serena pelted across the convulsing ground, the screech of twisting metal ringing in her ears.
Something swept her legs away and winded her.
‘There you are,’ said Solassis.
&n
bsp; Gallows took a pirate’s sabre and sliced Thommo’s thumb off.
The pirate howled in pain, but it only fuelled his anger. He kept pushing at Gallows, his sword flicking like a snake’s tongue. He fought like Gallows—trained, but mostly instinct and street smarts.
Metal beams fell around them, bouncing and clanging against the hard stone. Thommo drove Gallows back, his sword whirring in and out. The cavern quaked from the destruction reigning overhead. Rivets broke, chains jangled, and carriages full of water tore from walls.
Gallows stumbled back, his feet slipping on wet limestone. Thommo pressed the advantage—Gallows blocked and deflected the strike, then another. Thommo swore at him, blood seeping from his injured hand. He let desperation and rage overcome him and struck at Gallows—it was an amateur’s mistake; Gallows countered, swept the blade away and lopped Thommo’s sword hand off.
The pirate screamed.
Gallows didn’t show any mercy—he hurled Thommo into a wall of churning machinery, grinding cogs chewing his good arm and ripping it off. Thommo stopped screaming.
With a wretched shriek, an immense iron cog tore from the ceiling and bounced from the cavern walls with a deafening clang. It rolled towards Gallows, crushing pirate and prisoner alike. He ran, his lungs on fire. The cog raced behind him and chewed through stone.
Gallows zig-zagged and leapt from its path. The cog veered away, crashing with the sound of a tolling bell.
Breathless, he caught up with Myriel and Enoch. Bodies littered the ground. But in the distance, tethered to a landing post, the Emancipation bobbed up and down.
The sight of it poured new energy into him. He helped Enoch carry Myriel towards it—just in time to see an Avispa tear out of nowhere and open fire, bullets searing the airship’s envelope.
Serena summoned the siren-song, but Solassis seized her and shoved her against a cavern wall. The back of her head glanced off the rock—white light exploded in her eyes and severed the song.
Serena lashed out, clawing at the pirate’s face.
Solassis’ nostrils flared, the skin eroded and coated blue. ‘If that’s how you hit, then you deserve to die.’
She slammed Serena’s head into the wall again. Warm blood trickled down the back of Serena’s neck.
The cavern wobbled, dark tendrils invading the fringes of Serena’s vision. She clawed at Solassis, which only amused the pirate further.
Serena kicked and tried to scream, but the vice grip around her throat silenced her.
Voices floated in and out.
‘…ena!’
Resolving from the fog in front of Serena’s eyes, Myriel pulled away from Gallows and Enoch, sweeping across the rocky expanse.
Solassis hurled Serena to the ground and kicked her in the stomach. ‘Mage! I got something to show you.’ With one boot planted on Serena’s chest, Solassis reached into her belt and pulled a revolver. ‘Found me a real gun.’
Serena’s protests died in her throat.
Solassis aimed the gun at Myriel and fired.
No!
Myriel staggered back and slumped to the ground, one hand clutching the wound in her chest.
Serena cried out. Like a forest in the wake of a purging fire, the fog in Serena’s head cleared. Something deep inside her opened. Musa’s visions flickered inside her mind, glimpses of flaming skies and relentless killing. Her entire body trembled.
A power rushed through Serena—a terrifying, primal force. A wail tore from Serena’s throat—piercing, consuming. Pain intensified through her body, through her blood.
She reached inside Solassis’ head, fingers tightening around the fabric of the pirate’s mind.
And she tore it asunder.
The moon cast a bone-white glow across the sky, silvering the hulls of AFR rescue craft as they soared towards the palace. Qitarah’s Avispa corkscrewed and arrowed into the sky, shooting over the city.
Morton kept the pressure on, bullets blazing like fireworks. Qitarah ducked and dived, arcing low towards the city proper. She disappeared within a monorail network—Morton pursued her, hugging tight to precarious corners and sharp turns. One moment she was there, the next she was gone.
Then she made a mistake.
The Avispa yawed to port, but a carriage barrelled across the monorail line, forcing her to pull up and clip her wing against a metal strut. Morton closed the gap and got her in his sights.
His forefinger caressed the trigger.
But in the streets below—among the walkways and skybridges connecting the upper tiers of Rhis—people stood gawking and pointing to the flames consuming the Royal Palace. If he shot Qitarah down, the wreckage would plummet towards them.
Morton signalled with his headlamp for her to give up—she ignored him.
Morton fired warning shots, which Qitarah evaded with ease. They danced like dragonflies, twisting beneath the myriad struts and structures of the City of Steel.
Beyond the monorail system, the statue of Belios loomed. Qitarah shot between its legs—and then her destination was clear.
Skyport.
He chased her down low, guns thumping. People dived onto cobbles as Qitarah scythed through the air.
A light glinted in the corner of Morton’s eye—an AFR craft, signalling him to stop.
He didn’t, and the AFR fighter launched a warning shot at him. Morton pulled back on the control, taking evasive action and opened fire at Qitarah, if only to let the AFR know that he was on their side.
He got closer to the Avispa, willing Qitarah to stop this madness. What was she even doing anyway?
Then Morton’s eyes caught something on the underside of Qitarah’s craft—a bomb.
Then her plan dawned on him.
At excruciating speed, Qitarah dived low, hurtling towards the skyport. Avoiding AFR fire, Morton ploughed towards her. His heart drummed against his ribcage. He got her in his sights—no obstructions, a perfect shot—and pulled the trigger.
But he was too late—Qitarah’s fighter struck the skyport’s steel-and-glass dome.
Morton pulled up as the explosion erupted. Glass blew outward and steel and concrete toppled, jostling his fighter from side to side. The horizon spun.
He soared away from the fire, but not before seeing AFR and other rescue craft engulfed in flames.
Morton’s fist pounded against his dashboard, breaking the glass-front of his ignometer.
In the distance, the inferno raging through the palace lit the night sky.
They still got four Avispas in that cave.
The carnage reigning through the cavern was nothing but background noise to Serena.
She loomed over Solassis, sucking in deep breaths, formless threads piercing Solassis’ brain like meat hooks.
And Serena pulled.
She made Solassis see the horror in that barren landscape—made her taste the blood on the wind and feel the fire burning the breath from her lungs.
The pirate thrashed on the cavern floor, eyes wide, screaming.
Serena pulled harder.
Solassis’ mind unravelled at her touch—but Serena wasn’t done. She bent down, and—wordless—whispered in Solassis’ ear.
When Serena made Harvel Roarke kill himself, it was an accident—now it was a choice.
Solassis took her gun and shot herself in the head.
The connection severed.
Serena fell back, her mouth dry and skin slick with cold sweat.
The siren-song dissipated, leaving Serena empty.
The din of battle died in her ears. She sensed Gallows, and something else…
Myriel.
She’s alive!
Serena tried to open her eyes, but a force suffocated her, like being submerged beneath an ocean, the murky depths luring her to a drowning death.
Like the sirens of legend.
She writhed on the floor, howling in pain. Her back twisted and arched, threatening to snap her spine in two.
And then silence.
Stone
pelted Morton’s craft like rainfall as he swooped through the cavern’s open ceiling. The Phantom shuddered and shook—and right now, the reasons for flying back escaped him.
Ventris’ crew scrambled into the four remaining fighter craft. Morton arrowed towards them, finger tight against the trigger, bullets blazing from his Phantom like fire from a dragon.
The first fighter exploded and took the others with it. Morton twisted and turned back. He spotted Ventris leaping over chasms in the cavern floor, running from platform to platform, sword whirling in her hand.
He got her in his sights—
A chunk of rock struck the Phantom’s port-side wing, cleaving it in half. He spun off-course, teeth gnashing as he tried to pull up.
It was like swimming through molasses. More debris hit him, wrenching the skyglass from the Phantom.
It brought him down. The craft’s nose cleaved through the stone, twisting and rolling and battering Morton from side to side. Something struck him square in the head, and the taste of copper flooded his mouth.
But he was alive.
‘There’s no way out!’ Lunosdatter cried.
‘Then make one!’ Gallows lifted Serena and ran, following the doctor.
Enoch carried Myriel. ‘She’s lost a lot of blood.’
‘She’ll pull through,’ he said.
She has to.
They followed the doctor through the cave, traipsing over dead bodies. Most of them were prisoners.
‘Here!’ a Crimsoncloak yelled. Three guards had made a clearing in a defensible spot behind a mound of rubble, near the crashed Emancipation—but with nowhere to escape to, all it did was delay the inevitable.
Genevieve Couressa was there. She broke free from the knot of guards. ‘Oh my Gods, Tyson, what happened?’
Gallows set Serena down. She moaned something incomprehensible.
‘Set Myriel down,’ Lunosdatter ordered.
Enoch did so. Blood soaked the mage’s robes. ‘Can you help her?’
‘I’m a doctor of the mind, not the body.’
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