“Yes,” I whisper. “I trust you.” Then, quieter: “I love you, too.”
His eyes soften, and he gathers me into his arms. “Then it’s time for you to spread your wings.”
A vicious snap launches me skyward, and I scream, my dress billowing around my legs as I soar upward. Then, a plummeting descent, the air snatched from my lungs. Wind softens my fall. It cradles me in the middle of the sky before nudging me into an upright position as Notus shouts from below, “Run, Sarai! I’ll catch up.”
Of course he would use the last of his depleted power to aid my cause. That frustrating, wonderful, insufferable, doting god.
I run. The wind buoys me. It nudges me ever onward, my eyes stinging from the smoke as I near the capital, Ishmah in flames far, far below. The buildings are small blocks of red stone, like child’s toys. The people are bright dots of colored fabric. Gradually, the wind begins to lower me toward the city streets. My heart hurts at what I witness. Chaos, everywhere.
I’ve never seen so many darkwalkers. There must be hundreds. They flock like flies to carrion. They tear into flesh and suck free the life and breath of the living. Meanwhile, hordes of townsfolk stream down the Queen’s Road. They haul carts, goats, children, whatever they can carry. Some are not fortunate. They are slow, infirm, aged. Easy pickings. I turn my eyes away, only to catch sight of silver flashes through the shadow below. Prince Balior’s army, corralling Ishmah’s citizens like goats led to slaughter.
As my feet at last alight on solid ground, I hurry in the direction of the palace, swept along with the current of those fleeing. It feels like shoving through a wall of skin, so tightly packed are the streets. Sweat oozes from my pores, and breathing grows difficult in the thickening smoke, each inhalation a choked rasp, a stifled wheeze.
It is all grasping hands and bullish desperation, and I struggle to remain upright, my pleas to make room falling on deaf ears. Someone’s cart rams the back of my knees. Another’s elbow clips my hip bone.
As the road curves past one of the public gardens, the boiling air intensifies, drenching all in an orange light. Beyond the iron fence, the garden’s many flowering plants succumb to flame, which leaps from tree to bush to flower bed. I hack a cough, my throat burning. Then: more screams. My head snaps around. Nothing behind. But—there. Two darkwalkers lope ahead, tearing into the crowd. The shrieks are bloodcurdling, the way forward blocked. I change direction, darting down a side street.
Unfortunately, many have the same idea. I attempt to squeeze past a large family when a scraggly woman turns to me, red-rimmed eyes streaming tears. “Where’s my son?” she cries. “I need to find my son!”
She takes in my dress, my bare, sweat-drenched face. Her eyes widen in recognition.
“Princess Sarai.” My title, whispered like some forgotten fortune. “Please. Help me.” A claw-like hand latches onto my arm. She forces me against the wall of a nearby building.
“Get off me,” I growl, yet I cannot shake her loose.
“It’s Princess Sarai!” the woman shouts through her tears. “She’s come to save us!”
The surrounding mob lurches toward us. It thuds into walls and clambers over piles of refuse.
Princess!
My sister is missing, Your Highness—
… do anything to help…
Black begins to blot the edges of my vision, for always, the smoke thickens, the fire spreads. I shove the woman back, gasping. She pressesforward again, cornering me, an animal in a cage. “You need to let me through,” I manage.
No one moves.
My eyes flick side to side, scanning the alleyway. Left: blocked. Right: blocked. But a nearby stack of crates provides a means of reaching the metal roof. If I cannot go forward, if I cannot go backward, then I will have to go up.
A forceful shove sends the woman back. Leaping onto the lowest crate, I scramble toward the top and heave myself onto the pitched roof, the boiling metal searing the skin of my palms. Its sting sends me to my feet, one foot placed lower on the incline. Turning, I peer down at the gathered crowd, their faces tipped toward me in hope. “I’m sorry,” I call down. I can’t help them all. I need to find my family, too. My heart clenches with guilt as I spin around and leap across the rooftops toward home.
It is a treacherous journey, stumbling across the fiery metal crowning the Red City. I take care with where I place my feet, avoiding holes or areas weakened by rust. Thankfully, the homes are pressed close, so it doesn’t take long to travel to the upper ring. Eventually, I reach a gap too wide to cross and am forced to drop down onto the street.
The nearer I approach the palace, the thicker the shadow-smoke becomes. My skin, smothered beneath the drenched cotton of my dress, feels as if it is melting off my bones. As the breathable air continues to deplete, my visions wavers.
Another turn. The road skews beneath my feet, and I slump against a building, gasping. Ahead, bodies spoil the streets. My gaze maps the roads and alleyways. There, the narrowest of escapes, a thread of a path. I squeeze between two overturned carts and find myself on the eastern edge of the palace.
I sprint uphill, dodging escaped goats, harried mothers, soot-streaked watchmen attempting to direct traffic. Something explodes to my right. The cries are so numerous they bleed into a hum. Then—the palace, swarmed by citizens hammering at its rising outer walls inhysteria. Two women clip my shoulder in their desperate run toward the gates. They are firmly shut.
The guards have likely abandoned their posts, fleeing Ishmah with all the rest. None may enter. Which means I must find another way inside.
I shove through the crowd toward a row of nondescript buildings shaded by the towering wall. But my footsteps falter at the sight before me.Oh, no. No, no, no…This is where the tunnel leading to the stables is located, but a building has collapsed, blocking my path.
“Your Highness!”
I whirl, catch sight of a woman I recognize—one of the palace maids. Ash streaks her gaunt cheeks. “This way.” She gestures me toward an alleyway across the street.
