by Liz Delton
As she and Atlan made for the Citizen’s Hall, she tapped into her earlink, and sent a thought to Alice.
Any sign of Greyling? she asked. She and Atlan skirted around a Scout and Defender broken down into a fist fight, weapons cast aside in the grass.
Alice’s voice floated over her thoughts. No, but the Scouts outside have all moved in, and the evacuation is well out of range, moving south now.
A spare smile curved Sylvia’s lips and she thanked Alice for the update. At least they knew where all of the enemies were now, and her sister and parents had gotten safely out of the city.
They reached the courtyard between the Hall and the gate, where the hydrojet stood menacingly between the gate trees, its nose pointing into the city.
Sylvia yanked on Atlan’s sleeve as she picked Greyling out of the tangle of Scouts and Defenders.
But Greyling wasn’t fighting. He was rummaging in a pack at his feet, and pulling out two explosive orbs—one for each hand.
The breath caught in her throat as Greyling straightened and shoved one of his own Scouts out of the way, heading straight for the gate—and the hydrojet.
“No!” shrieked Sylvia. Alice and Emrick were still inside.
Atlan pulled her to the ground before the dual blast knocked everyone off their feet. Earth and stone flew in all directions, showering them with debris as smoke rolled in thick clouds around them.
“No, no, no,” she chanted, as she dug herself out of Atlan’s arms and the rubble. It had been her idea to set the jet there—why hadn’t she thought Greyling or the Scouts would attack it?
She swiped a tiny trickle of blood out of her eye with a dirt-smeared hand, not remembering getting hit by anything.
The smoke cleared a little, and she spotted Greyling, standing stock-still in the middle of the courtyard. He was staring at the hydrojet, and Sylvia could see why. It was entirely intact.
The jet itself was untouched by the two orbs Greyling had thrown, but the ground underneath and around it had blown out in all directions. The flames the orb spawned were licking at the toes of the gate trees, sending a thrill of fear up Sylvia’s spine. If they fell…
Fifty-One
Finally, Neve spotted Anna, face to face with Greyling in front of the Citizen’s Hall.
An angry red cut across one cheek, Anna was inches away from Greyling’s face, spouting who-knew-what kind of insults. It looked like Anna was finally getting to say her piece.
Suddenly, Greyling whirred in a flash of motion, but he had merely spun around, striding away from Anna. The woman rejoined the fray at the Citizen’s Hall, at once seizing a Scout by the throat with quite some force.
Neve again sought Greyling, hoping to get a good shot now that he was some distance away from the close-packed bodies by the Hall. At first she thought she’d lost him, but then she spotted him, straightening after bending over something, two shining orbs in his hands.
She had no time to register what it meant, when suddenly the earth beneath her exploded upward in a fiery blaze of heat and debris.
Eyes shut against the blast, she tensed against the ladder, desperately clinging to the hydrojet. She had no idea where her bow had gotten to.
A thrill of joy surged through her, overcoming her terror. The armor worked! Of course, they had tested it enough, and she herself had done trials in it. The enemy throwing orbs at her feet was horribly different than in the backyard of the glass shop.
Cautiously, she peered an eye open and found that her glasses had not been compromised. She breathed in through the fabric covering the rest of her face—the air still heavy, but breathable—and she looked down.
The earth was burning, but the hydrojet was completely untouched. And the ladder below her was empty.
Her heart slammed against her ribs, as if trying to leap down after him. Falcon.
Fifty-Two
Sylvia fumbled on the ground where she and Atlan had fallen, searching for her weapons, breath caught in her throat despite her helmet protecting her from the smoke.
Finally, she located her wolf’s head dagger, seized it, and stood. She couldn’t use her long knife anyway, the cut in her hand now bleeding freely again from her previous exertions. The dagger would be enough.
“Sylvia, wait!” Atlan called, grabbing her by the arm.
She whirled on him, ready to deliver a shout or a blow that would make him let her go. This was no time to back down.
Atlan was digging in the dirt with his other hand. With a cry, he located his sword, then said, “Let’s go!”
Relieved that he was helping her, not stopping her, they sprinted for Greyling, still standing alone in the open, the shock slowly draining from his face, along with the color.
A guttural scream ripped from her throat as she tackled him from the side, slamming the still-dazed governor to the stones.
She landed across his torso, and Atlan came pounding up the stones behind her.
Sylvia scrambled on top of him, and pinned him with a knee on his shoulder and chest—though he outweighed her, he stayed down, Atlan’s sword pointing in his face a clear deterrent.
Panting, she looked down at the man who had ruined so much, in so little time. Now that she had him, she wasn’t quite sure what to do with him. She spared a glance at the fight at the Hall, but she couldn’t tell who was winning.
She looked up at Atlan, who sent a link to her so quickly it was like they had been connected the whole time, and said, It’s your choice.
To herself, she thought, Oh, how I would like to kill him. Her dagger hovered over his throat.
For the terror and destruction he had raged on the Four Cities, for ruining the ancient peace. For the families he had torn apart like Ember and Flint’s. For setting up Lightcity for a devastation they had never seen coming. And here he was, the vein in his throat throbbing like a little bird’s. One quick move, and she could end him.
But killing was for animals.
She wrenched herself to a stand as she made up her mind. She pinned Greyling with a boot on his throat, then she and Atlan hauled him to his feet.
“No pretty speeches, Governor?” she said, sliding the dagger under his ear and raising an eyebrow at him.
Rope, maybe? Sylvia linked to Atlan. If they weren’t going to kill him, they needed to disable him until the fight was over, at least.
The governor spat in her face.
In the time it took her to blink, Greyling had wrenched himself out of Atlan’s grip, nicked his throat on her dagger, and pulled an orb from an inside pocket.
Her heart stammered to a halt.
“Maybe one last speech for you, Thorne,” Greyling intoned, as if indulging a child, now that he had the upper hand.
“You’re lucky you didn’t smash this when you grabbed me. We’d all be dead,” he mused.
Greyling pretended to study the orb, while Atlan held him at sword’s length.
“It’s a pity, really. The fifth city aligning themselves with rebels is as much an act of war on the rest of us. A pity I’ll have to bring them down.”
“They’d kill you in an instant,” Sylvia spat earnestly.
“We’ll see,” he said cheerfully, and tossed the orb up in the air.
Time stopped with amazing clarity.
The glass orb went up, its contents sloshing in their respective chambers, ready to unleash fire and destruction once freed.
The orb seemed to pause at the height of its arc, as if considering its return descent.
Before it went back down, Sylvia spied a swift black bird swoop past her shoulder, then saw a tiny dart zip straight into Greyling’s throat.
Atlan lunged for the orb, and time sped back up.
As one, Atlan and Greyling fell to the ground, the latter completely unconscious, smacking his head on the stones with a satisfying thump, and the former cradling the orb in his fists, falling right onto his shoulder without his hands to steady him.
Breath exploded out from her as she raced to
Atlan. He winced as she helped him up, but he held firmly onto the orb. They both looked to Greyling, who was still breathing, but entirely unconscious. Sylvia felt a desperate urge to kick him, and worse.
And then a cry went up.
All around them, the Defenders were raising their voices and weapons in joy—the battle at the Hall had ended. Scouts were lying in heaps all over the courtyard, with—Sylvia imagined—similar darts in their throats, or otherwise brought down by the arrows of the Defenders.
What was that? Sylvia linked to Atlan, slumping into his side.
My mother’s help, I expect. He sheathed his sword and met her eyes. There’s something I need to tell you.
Fifty-Three
Neve cursed herself as she pried her stiff fingers from the rungs and lowered herself down, further into the flames.
Why hadn’t she talked to Falcon? Why hadn’t she known her luck would run its usual terrible course?
Sure, yes, she admitted to herself, she still loved him.
She had never let him fully explain why he had joined the Scouts, and had made herself believe it was for power and greed, like the others. But she knew better.
She reached the bottom rung. The distance to the ground was much further than before. The flames were dissipating to smoking embers, and there were rocks and upturned earth strewn everywhere. She let go.
Where was Falcon? He wore the same flame-proof armor she did, so there was no chance he had been burned. He must have gotten hit with something and fallen, she tried to reason as she frantically searched.
She crouched low to the scorched earth, ignoring the flaming patches and marching right through them, impervious to their touch. Finally, she spotted the glint of steel among the rubble several paces away.
It was him.
Eyes glued to Falcon, she strode over, not noticing the wolf prowling its way toward her, until it let loose a savage growl and bounded straight for Falcon, the easier target.
She hurtled toward it, knife at the ready, but before she could take two steps, the dark wolf’s snarling jaw was red with blood. The dark liquid spurted from its throat, and the arrow now sticking out of it.
Neve looked up in awe to see Anna, grinning, a few paces away, lowering her bow.
She rushed to Falcon, completely unaware of the cries of victory erupting all around her. She crashed into the earth beside him and cradled his head.
The helmet had come off, and the glasses were broken on the ground beside him. His copper hair had burned down to his skull, and his eyebrows were completely gone. She yanked the fabric away from her mouth and pushed her glasses away from her eyes as she leaned over him.
She put one hand on his forehead, and two fingers to his throat, but she could feel nothing.
Nothing. She felt nothing, as the ground slid away from her.
The tears flowing from her eyes did not register, as she lowered her head to rest on his chest.
This. This was her final penance for what she did, for creating the bombs and giving them to Greyling. This is what she got.
She had never deserved Falcon. Never deserved his apologies.
Never deserved his love.
There was an unearthly gasp for air underneath her head. Her eyes flashed back open as she wrenched herself up to look.
Her eyes were blurry. His eyes were popping open, just as his mouth gasped for air. He choked it out, coughing now.
Neve reached out to put a hand on his cheek, disbelieving.
His eyes sought hers, and they blazed with such a deep longing that Neve couldn’t turn away.
Thinking it unwise to deprive him of his breathing, she bent down and kissed him solidly on the forehead. Without looking at his face, she whispered in his ear, “I love you, Falcon.”
And though they were lying in a pile of smoking rocks and scattered earth, underneath an unworldly jet, surrounded by the remains of the battle, Neve began to talk.
She spoke until the venom inside her was gone. She forgave Falcon, and begged for his forgiveness of her. She pulled out the undeserving feelings and the hate for herself, and left them in the rubble.
When they finally left the smoky crater, Meadowcity was ablaze with happiness, and Neve vowed she would carry that happiness with her forever—for the hate was far too heavy.
Fifty-Four
Sylvia only felt a slight bob in the jet’s flight path as someone inside Seascape took over the controls.
Atlan had flown the entire way since leaving Meadowcity, insisting that she rest on the bench and not aggravate her wounds any further. Alice had patched her back up before they had set off.
Though the battle was over, Sylvia’s nerves were high with anticipation. Alice and the others had stayed behind in Meadowcity, waiting until Atlan and Sylvia could talk to Lady Naomi. Sylvia had several things she wanted to speak with Lady Naomi about—Atlan’s bargain, for one.
They hadn’t spoken about it since he first told her, but she knew that the Lady had helped them. It was no ordinary bird that downed Greyling, nor the Scouts whom they had found unconscious among those on the battlefield.
At the time, they had merely thought the archers on the wall had done the work—but not every fallen Scout or beast had an arrow in him.
Not only was there the bargain to speak of, but the requests that Sylvia needed to make. There were hundreds of Meadowcitizens without homes, in addition to the many refugees from the other cities who had been sheltering there. Everyone was relieved that the evacuation had gone so well, but now the city was in a complete state of disorder, with nowhere for hundreds to shelter.
The sun was setting as the hydrojet smoothly darted toward the city on the water. They had surrendered the controls to someone in Seascape after receiving a link from an official-sounding woman who claimed to be the aero-captain. They could only watch as they were maneuvered toward one of several tall standing stones out in the water.
Sylvia crept up to sit by Atlan at the inactive controls, carefully wrapping her blanket around herself before sitting down.
Her thoughts strayed to her drone, now circling Meadowcity on an automatic flight path Emrick had taught her to program.
After the battle, Sylvia had sent it soaring to Riftcity. Sometime in their flight, it had reached the rift, and tears had poured down Sylvia’s cheeks at what she saw. Atlan tried to give her more pain medication, but she assured him it wasn’t needed.
It was incredible. There wasn’t a single Scout in sight. She couldn’t wait to talk to Ember, Ven, and Flint, whom she all sought with the drone upon realizing what had happened. Once she had located each one—all safe and accounted for—she had let the drone return to Meadowcity, where both she and Alice kept an eye out, just in case.
They landed on the metal platform with as much force as a moth, and immediately the lift began to move, sinking down into the rock, and enclosing them in near-darkness. Sylvia reached out and clutched Atlan’s hand.
Since he had told her all about his escape with the hydrojet, she was not optimistic for the reception from the Black Knights, who were no doubt waiting for them below. It all depended on Lady Naomi’s orders.
Lights from the outside of the hydrojet illuminated random flashes of the darkened lift as they sunk far into the earth, below the ocean now.
They had no idea what Lady Naomi was going to say, or do.
She tried not to think about Atlan’s bargain, but the thought of him taking the serum and living for half a millennium made her sick to her stomach. She couldn’t even imagine how Atlan felt about it.
She gave his hand a squeeze, trying to convey as much sympathy and concern for him as she could. He squeezed back, and smiled sadly at her.
The lift reached the bottom with a final jolt, and whoever was controlling their jet rolled it out into a wide open space Sylvia thought Atlan had called a hangar.
They could see nothing out of their window except the tops of other jets and the far wall near the sub-train.
The jet stopped moving with a subtle finality. They peeled themselves out of the control chairs, then headed for the hatch, which they could hear opening remotely at the back of the jet.
Sylvia heaved a sigh, took Atlan’s hand once again, and gingerly strode off the bridge, dragging the blanket still wrapped around her.
From a distance, she saw not a force of Black Knights, but a single person waiting for them. This pulled some of the reluctance from her legs, as she hadn’t been at all eager to face a contingent of Lady Naomi’s guards after what Atlan had put them through.
As they grew closer, Sylvia squinted, trying to figure out who was waiting for them at the opening.
“Oliver,” Atlan whispered in astonishment, then cried louder, “Oliver!” He pulled Sylvia with him and they were soon out of the jet.
Oliver took in Sylvia’s bandages, scrapes, and expression, and without a word, took her into a tight hug.
“I’m glad you’re all right,” he told her, pulling away. “And you, too,” he clapped Atlan on the back. “We’ve been watching the vids...” he trailed off, eyebrows raised. “Did everyone really get out?”
Sylvia nodded. “Thanks to Lena and Colin,” she said. “They helped organize the evacuation. We did lose a good number of Defenders.” She sighed, the gruesome images from after the battle dredging themselves up. “But it could have been a lot worse.”
They stood in silence, each recognizing the loss in their own way, until Oliver finally spoke again.
“Well, come along. I think you know where we’re off to.” He gestured for them to follow, and after sharing a look, Sylvia and Atlan resignedly headed for the sub-train.
Two Black Knights stood alert on the platform, and Atlan tensed upon seeing them, but they did nothing other than glare at him as they boarded the already waiting train.
Oliver entered a command on the datastrand panel, and they were off.
After that, it was a blur of hallways and stairwells and silence. Sylvia focused only on the warm fingers entwined in her own, and followed the regular rhythm of Oliver’s feet.
