This was the northernmost point of Cyrilia, where the viciouswaters of the Whitewaves gave way to the still deep of the Silent Sea.
A rider approached, drawing his valkryf to a stop. It was one of their scouts. He saluted Ana. “There are forces gathered ahead,” he said. “Imperial Patrols.”
Ana flared her blood Affinity. The toll it took on her was immediate, fatigue descending upon her like a cloud. She focused, spreading her awareness out to the distance. There out on the shores before them, faint but sparking like distant fires, came flares of blood and movement, blurred by blackstone-infused armor, standing still. She searched for a familiar signature—and she found it. Ahead of the army, Morganya stood on the precipice of the shores of Cyrilia.
Ana sized up her battalion. Morganya’s army outnumbered theirs, but all that Ana needed was for her soldiers to buy her some time.
She turned to the battalion following her carriage, the commanders silently astride valkryfs, awaiting her command. Unexpectedly, she met Tetsyev’s eyes. The alchemist rode on a horse, ice clinging to his cheeks and lashes. His expression was set as he nodded at her. “Allow me to accompany you, Red Tigress.”
Ana nodded. “Ride with me, then,” she said, and turned to her two friends. Against the night, Daya’s face reflected the lights that shimmered up above. Linn’s eyes held stars. “When the time comes, I need you to stay away from Morganya, Linn. You still have an Affinity that she could siphon.”
They unstrapped the valkryfs attached to their carriage and mounted.
“We should stay behind our army, Ana,” Daya said. “Strategically, let them carve an opening through the battlefield first.”
“I agree.” Linn brought her steed forward. A dagger flashed silver in her palm. “It has been an honor fighting by your side, friends.”
“Aye,” Daya said, tapping two fingers to her forehead in a salute.
“The honor has been mine,” Ana replied.
She lifted her fists to the night sky and found the fire Affinity within her siphon. Steeling herself, she summoned the Affinity up her forearms and through her fingertips, feeling the heat as flames caught and shot up in a clear signal.
Shouts rang out among the commanders, and her army took off in a flurry of hooves. Ana followed, urging her valkryf into a canter. The beach came into view; snow turned to a glittering icy sand, a stretch of bone-white waves unfurling against pale shores. There, outlined against the expanse of vicious sea, was the silhouette of the army of Imperial Patrols. It fanned out along the coastline, a swarming mass of pale cloaks and gray armor.
A commander’s sharp cry pierced the night.
Morganya’s forces charged.
The two armies met in a clash of steel and blades, fire and water, air and earth.
Ana clung tight to her valkryf and rode low, her Affinity flared and thrusting against any bodies of blood that charged her way. Within moments, the sands around her had turned into a raging battlefield. Daya rode by her side and Linn in front of her. The Kemeiran warrior cut a path through the fighting towardthe distant shores, which loomed past the Imperial Patrols. Unspoken between them, Linn understood the need for Ana to conserve her Affinity. She flung out her wind Affinity with abandon, blasting aside Imperial Patrols who charged them. The others met a quick death at the flash of her blades.
“Ana!” Daya’s shout reached her. “Ahead—Leydvolnya!”
The sound of crashing waves wended through the clash of swords and cries of battle. And there—in the smoke-screen of snow and sand and mist, the outline of the ocean was broken by the silhouette of a port, of jetties and boats cast in darkness.
Linn turned to look back at Ana. Even in the cold, sweat and mud slicked her face in a sheen. “Almost there!” she cried.
Flames exploded before them. Their valkryfs let out screams, and as Ana’s reared up and bucked away from the flames, the world tilted off-balance.
Ana slammed into sand, narrowly avoiding being trampled beneath her steed. She could hear Linn and Daya calling her name. Looking up, she caught a flash of silver armor and a ripple of a pale cloak as an Inquisitor stepped into her path.
He raised his hands. Fire shot out again. Ana barely had the time to roll away, the flames scorching the sand and ice just ahand’s breadth from where she’d lain. Heat rolled over her in a suffocating tide.
And then the fire was pushed back by a squall of wind.
Linn stepped in front of Ana, hands thrust out, daggers reflecting red. The Inquisitor staggered back, momentarily thrown off by the wind.
“Go!” Linn shouted, and she flung something to Ana. It landed in the sand between them: an object that could fit into the center of her palms. “I will hold them back!”
Arms wrapped around her own, and Ana found herself hauled to her feet. Daya’s face was streaked with soot and dirt; Tetsyev’s robes were singed, and red welts covered his face. “C’mon, Ana,” Daya gasped, wiping tears from her eyes as she blinked against the smoke pluming from the fire. “The port’s right up ahead—Isee boats already—”
Ana snatched up Linn’s wooden token and ran. Wind whistled against her face, the cold plunging into her like daggers. Ahead, the waves pounded, frothing white, dragging the corpses of Imperial Patrols and her soldiers alike into the sea; further, she could see the outline of the pier, dotted with small barges that bobbed in the waves.
There was no sign of Morganya. As they drew closer, Ana began to make out wooden docks stretching into the water like long, spindly fingers toward a horizon limned with the silver light of a distant sun, extending in the direction where the Heart was meant to be.
In front of the docks, standing guard, was a black-cloaked figure.
