Mara jerked her head at the vissera. “Are you fast?” she demanded.
The girl nodded once.
“Go collect as many weapons as you can. I’ll cover you.”
Then Mara ran straight for the nearest chimaera, who was bounding their way with mean yellow eyes. Enormous bat wings, face like a naked bear, paws carving huge divots in the sand. White neck, bare and exposed. There was a glint of silver on the ground: a knife. Not big, but something.
The chimera pounced with a snarl. Mara leapt to meet it, heart pounding hard, lungs screaming with joy—this exertion, thisforce; she was made for it. She squared her shoulders, lowered her head, then twisted her body in midair and jammed her elbow into the creature’s soft neck. Together they crashed to the ground, the chimaera wheezing out a choked roar. Mara rolled, avoiding its flailing claws, grabbed the knife, and spun around to plunge it into the chimaera’s left eye. Deep. Hard. Blade against bone.
Blood spurted, steaming and rancid. The creature shrieked its agony. Mara wrenched the knife from its skull, shook her head to clear her spotty vision, and ran back to the others. The vissera girl tossed a staff to the girl nearest her, then grabbed a thick branch and put her whole weight on it to snap it in two. She kept one for herself and shoved the other into the hands of the silvertongue girl—short, shaking, ashen. Then the vissera whirled back around to find Mara, and her eyes widened.
“Look out!” she shouted.
Mara felt the titan before she saw it. The ancient creature’s might sucked at the beach under her feet like a violent tide. She shoved the others away, the force of her push flinging them thirty feet across the beach, where they skidded to a stop. An instant later, the titan’s furious water came crashing down like a fist, knocking Mara flat. She went swirling underneath the waves, kicked hard, and surfaced, dodgedanother blow of a huge rippling fist, caught a glimpse of an angry, glaring white eye.
Mara swam for the beach and tore across it the moment her feet hit sand. The vissera girl ran up to her, fierce and soaked, her branch clutched in her hands. She jerked her head past Mara.
“Look at them,” she said tightly. “They’re running away. Why?”
Mara whirled around to see the masked figures racing into the woods, spears in hand. They crowed gleefully, as if there weren’t a titan pummeling the beach or a chimaera chasing after them. One of them easily dispatched the small wolfish chimaera with a sharp kick to its side. The creature yelped and went flying.
And then Mara realized that these masked figures were women. She was close enough to see their bodies in the roaring firelight and caught a rose tattoo flashing on a shin here, a shoulder there. A chill climbed up Mara’s arms. These women wereRoses, and none of them were attacking Mara or the other recruits. They certainlylookedmenacing, with their masks and their jerky movements, like they were performing some strange dance. Mara’s first instinct was to lunge for one, fell her, and steal her spear.
But it was all a show, she began to comprehend. None of them had used their spears on the recruits. And that woman had kicked away the chimaera as a normal person might a ball.
A sentinel.Mara’s heart jumped in recognition.
She ran after the woman, ignoring the warning cries of the other recruits. The woman raised her spear and crouched as if to strike, but Mara kept running, then slammed to a stop right in front of her.May all your thorns drip poison.The phrase emerged from the hazy memories of those long days in the barracks when she had wished for death. She had heard some of the others talking about it, including Petra, before they’d become friends. It was a thing the Roses said to one another before battle—a wish for blood, for victory, for a safe return.
Mara reached out and grasped the woman’s forearm. Her nerves fluttered, but she thought of her father and held on to her courage.
“May all your thorns drip poison,” she said, her voice small but strong, and when the woman raised her mask and smiled, her face streaked with paint and her cropped blond hair soaked with sweat, Mara couldn’t help but smile back.
The woman grasped Mara’s other arm and squeezed, gentle but firm. She looked several years older than the recruits. “And may your bones always know the way home,” she replied with a keen look. “I’m Brigid.”
“I’m Mara.”
“Oh, I know. We’ve heard about you.”
Mara bit back her delighted questions and instead said breathlessly, “Will you help us?”
The woman grinned. “We thought you’d never ask. Just tell us where to go.”
Then she turned and whooped over her shoulder—a battle cry, Mara realized, her skin prickling with excitement—and the other Roses shed their masks, tossed them joyfully into the trees, and followed Mara back onto the beach, spears raised to defend her.
Following me, following me, Mara repeated to herself as she ran. Letting herself grin felt like unlocking a secret door buried deep in her grieving heart.They’re followingme.
“Any elementals here?” Mara called over her shoulder.
“Here!” one of the women cried.
“And here!” shouted another.
“Go distract the titan. Keep it away from the humans, don’t let it near their raft.”
“And the rest of us?” asked Brigid.
Mara shot her a smile. “We’ll take care of the chimaera.”
