“Gen shi’sen, where are we?” she asked.
“Shan’hak Village,” came the reply.The Village Beneath the Mountain.
Linn had no idea where to place it on a map. “If there is a wayto find messenger pigeons, I would like to send a message. I have been separated from a friend.”
Gen gave a wheezing laugh. “If you can find a carrier pigeon in this village that did not flee from the fire, you may use it.” He slapped his knee and stood. “Old Gen cannot afford to wait. He will not stand to see one more Kemeiran life lost to those pale-faces.”
Linn’s thoughts scattered like a flock of small birds.Kaïs is waiting for you,whispered one part of her.
But another, larger part of her realized how important this was: that she’d found a Temple Master who had survived the Cyrilian attacks and had some information as to why Morganya’s forces were here. Not to mention, he was on his way to Bei’kin, the northern capital, where Linn’s ship had been headed before they were attacked.
Bei’kin was where all the answers lay, where the greatest wielders of the Kemeiran Empire ruled from the Temple of the Skies. Bei’kin was where she needed to go, to broker an alliance between Kemeira and Cyrilia and convince the Temple Masters to fight with the Red Tigress.
Now, with Morganya’s forces on their doorstep, Bei’kin lay vulnerable…and Gen Fusann could be the key to saving their empire. At all costs, she needed to ensure that he reached Bei’kin to deliver a warning.
Gen put a fist to his palm in a salute, a gesture of thanks. “This old man owes a debt to the Daughter of the Wind for saving his life. It will be paid.”
He turned to leave.
Linn shifted her fingers against the hilt of her dagger, frozen in indecision as her heart pulled in two different directions.
At the end of it all, though, she was Kemeiran: born and bred to sacrifice self over the greater good, to protect her kingdom and her people no matter what the personal cost.
I am sorry, Kaïs.
Linn sprang to her feet and raced after the man.
“Gen shi’sen,” she said. “Let me come with you.”
Ana and the Redcloaks made their way through winding streets, the darkness of night cloaking them, the steadily falling snow muffling their steps. They’d drawn far away enough from the mansion where Morganya and her Inquisition stayed that they could no longer hear the shouts or see the flicker of fire churning against snow clouds. The town was empty, a shell of itself, as most towns ravaged by the Imperial Inquisition tended to become. Dilapidated road signs announced Iyenza, a town that Ana recalled was in Northern Cyrilia, about three days’ ride from Salskoff.
Her stomach tightened. Her body was battered, bruised, and utterly exhausted, but for the first time in the past few days, Ana felt hopeful. She was out of Morganya’s imprisonment, she was alive, and as long as she was alive, she could keep fighting.
At one corner, Yuri turned in to a stable, where three valkryfs awaited them: pale horses with milk-white eyes, their sharp clawed hoofs perfect for travel through snowy mountains, their muscles carved for speed.
Yuri mounted one. “The others’ll be on their way to camp,” he said to Liliya and Konstantyn. “The wagon’s gone.”
“Think we provided enough time for a distraction?” Konstantyn asked, untying his own steed.
Liliya gave a sharp nod. “The fire drew them all out. Yesenya and her team had plenty of time to free the Affinite prisoners.” She turned and held out her hand. “Ana, ride with me.”
If Yuri had any objections to this, he said nothing, only turning away as Ana mounted Liliya’s valkryf and settled behind her in the saddle, clutching her waist. The blackstone cuffs jangled awkwardly around Ana’s wrists, and she wondered whether Yuri had instructed Liliya to leave them on. Of everyone in the world, he was one of the people who had seen, firsthand, the destructiveness of her Affinity.
Not that it mattered any longer. Under Morganya’s imprisonment, the illusion of power was all that Ana had had to defend herself with. Yet with the Redcloaks, who had always viewed her as a threat…perhaps her best option was to tell them that she, as of now, was at their mercy.
They burst out into the night, riding at a full gallop, and it wasn’t long before the darkened streets of town fell away behind them, shifting to the ice-covered conifers and snowy forestland of the Syvern Taiga.
They rode on throughout the night, Yuri leading the way with a fire flickering in his palm. It wove before them like a syvint’sya snow spirit. They spoke little, their ears attuned to the sounds all around them, alert for any unwelcome intruders.
Dawn was but a wisp of gold between the trees when Yuri slowed. They had reached an outcrop of rock, surging upward in a formation that resembled flames. Trees grew in a tight line before it.
Tossing her hair back, Liliya gave three short, high-pitched whistles. The sound echoed between the trees, fading, easily mistaken for the call of a bird.
From nearby came a response. A figure emerged from behind a tall conifer, pulling down a fur hood to reveal brown braids and fawn skin, cheeks and nose tinged pink from the cold. Ana recognized her—the snow Affinite, Yesenya, who had come with Yuri to rescue her from the Ossenitsva Cross one moon ago.
The girl nodded at Yuri as he passed, flicked a small smile at Konstantyn, and then reached up with a fist and tapped her knuckles against Liliya’s. Ana caught Liliya’s grin as they passed between two tight rows of conifers. Glancing back, she saw Yesenya’s pupils flash white as she turned to the trail they had left. Pinching her thumb and forefinger together, she blew.
Snow swirled from around the girl in drifts, sweeping over their valkryfs’ hoofprints until there was nothing left but a blank white expanse. As suddenly as she had emerged, Yesenya retreated behind her tree, falling still.
