Sabine doesn’t hesitate. She slams her hands together.
A pulse of silver fey explodes outward like a shockwave, knocking the nearest undead back into the street.
Still, more press in. Dozens.Too many.
Sabine falters, breath ragged.
But then, a bell clangs loudly from the direction of the castle, and Woudix whips around.
He narrows his eyes. “I’m being summoned—but this is far from over.”
He strides back through his dead army, torn cloak whipping behind him.
“Rian,” I bark. “Go to her.”
He bolts toward Sabine, reaching her just as she stumbles to her knees.
I don’t wait.
I wrench a sword from a fallen soldier, strap his shield onto my arm, and begin to push forward—straight through the shambling wall of dead.
“Hey!” I slam the sword’s blade against the shield to get their attention. “Over here.I’llgive you a fight.”
I’ll be honest—this doesn’t look good.
In fact, it’s fuckingbleak.
Sabine is weakened. The city is on fire. Risen corpses shuffle out of the smoke to attack anyone in sight.
And Tòrr? That murder horse is going berserk. He stampedes toward the guildhall, too crazed to stop now even if he could, and I can see what’s going to happen a second before it does.
He’s going to smash into the only pillar left standing. The guildhall is going to collapse—with Suri, Ferra, and Folke falling with it.
“No!” I cry.
Suri and Ferra scream, hurling down clay roof tiles, but the projectiles only smash against the horse’s iron sides and shatter.
I meet Folke’s eyes—at the same time, we both look at the water tank.
He swings his sword at the tank’s nearest wooden support, hacking through the wood to weaken it. Then, he shoves his weight against the opposite side. His face turns red from exertion, sweat beading on his brow. He pushes harder, his one good leg trembling from the effort…
…and the water tank tips.
Falls.
The water tank crashes down, smashing into Tòrr just as he’s mere feet from colliding with the guildhall’s remaining pillar.The wooden tank shatters over the monoceros’s powerful head and neck, and thousands of gallons of frigid water splash over his body.
Only…Folke falls, too.
He tries to catch himself at the last moment with his one good leg, but he’s already off-balance, limbs strained from the effort.
He pitches forward, pinwheeling his arms.
Ferra screams.
Folke crashes to the ground, his head connecting hard with a broken board.
“Folke!” Ferra cries, gripping onto the rooftop railing as she holds a hand out, as if she can go back in time and stop him from losing his balance.
