The High Guard’s hand snapped up; there was a flash of metal, and the next moment the arrow bit into the wall, feathers quivering.
Linn landed and flipped round.
To her horror, a different group of Cyrilians emerged from a side alley. They were dressed in plain tunics and breeches, but as they drew their swords, Linn saw the glint of blackstone beneath their clothing.
Kaïs had delayed the unit they’d seen—but there had been another.There should be five in total,she thought, thinking back to the number of ships she’d counted.
Linn made a split-second decision. As one of the nearest Cyrilians raised his hand and a crack whipped across the cobblestones beneath him, she summoned her winds to shove aside the two Kemeirans nearest to the door. They gave way easily, caught off-guard as they defended against the Cyrilian stone Affinite’s assault.
The gates were left wide open, with nothing in her path.
Linn hurtled up the steps and darted through the great courtyard doors. She slammed them shut, latching the lock in place—apitiful attempt at holding back the Imperial Patrols, but anything would help in this moment.
Then, she turned, only to find an entire row of temple guards staring at her, daggers drawn.
They would soon have bigger things to worry about.
Across the clear blue sky, a bolt of lightning streaked downward.The gates behind Linn exploded, debris showering the front section of the courtyard—burnt wood and chipped rocks and cobblestones.
Perfect. Linn threw up her arms and, in perhaps one of the most dramatic renderings of her entire life, cried: “Intruders! Cyrilian spies! They’re attacking the Temple!”
This spurred the temple guards into action. As they leapt forward, weapons drawn and Affinities stirring at their fingertips, Linn slipped past them. At last, the path to the Temple of the Skies was clear. A little ways behind it stood the Bei’kin Bookhouse, paper windows sealed shut between stone pillars, wooden doors closed. A bronze bell hung above it, to be rung at noon each day, indicating the bookhouse was open to scholars and vagabonds alike.
Now, it looked so open, so vulnerable. In Kemeiran culture, bookhouses were revered, near-holy places that even the worst of criminals wouldn’t think of ransacking. Such buildings had not been made with war in mind.
Linn turned and sprinted toward the Temple of the Skies, drawing on her winds to propel her forward, fast as her legs would go. Within heartbeats, she was through the vermilion pillars, bronze lions and serpents twisting on the beams overhead, watching her in silence.
The interior was dark, the hallway before her stretched long. For several moments, she blinked rapidly, trying to clear her eyes of the searing sunlight. It was utterly silent but for her own ragged breathing.
“Hello?” she called, and her voice echoed. The corridor before her appeared empty.
She had not long to wonder about it. Without warning, aknife pressed to her neck, silent and cold. Linn froze as a voice spoke by her ear, so softly that she had the impression a ghost whispered to her. “This girl does not belong here.”
She hadn’t even heard the intruder behind her. Hadn’t evensensedthem through her winds. She swallowed against her panic, her tongue sticky in her mouth and her heart thumping in her ears. “Please,” she whispered. “I bring urgent news. Cyrilian spies have invaded Bei’kin.”
A chuckle somewhere in front of her. There was the smell of incense, and then a woman appeared, so suddenly that the darkness might have fallen apart to reveal her. Her hair was cropped short and fell like a sheet of moving snow. In her hands, she held three sticks of incense. “She means no harm, Ying shi’sen. Let the poor thing go.”
The cold kiss of steel vanished from Linn’s neck. This time, she paid attention, and sensed it: a figure slipping through the folds of her wind like a blade. A sallow-faced man appeared to her left with a single step that parted the shadows behind him like a veil. He scowled as he stashed his dagger. “Ruu’ma shi’sen, you spoil my play.”
Shi’sen.A trickle of cold fear slipped down Linn’s back as the realization came to her. These were the Masters of the Temple of the Skies—the most powerful wielders in all of Kemeira, the most feared assassins in the world. As a young windsailer, she’d heard rumors of the greatest Temple Masters who served to consult the Emperor of Kemeira. Legends that chilled her to the bone and had once sparked within her the distant dream to achieve great things.
The woman continued to smile gently at Linn. “Why does this child interrupt our morning prayers to the gods? Though…” She tilted her head to the entrance. “I have an inkling. Pray, speak.”
Linn pried open her lips. “I…Apologies, esteemed shi’sen.” She inclined her head, and then, as though remembering herself, sank to her knees. “I bring urgent news.”
“Spies from Cyrilia,” Ying said dismissively. “My shadows heard it all. Our wielders will not fail.”
Linn’s head snapped up. She lifted her hand and unfurled her fingers. Gen’s lacquer token gleamed dark in the dimness. “They killed everyone at the village of Shan’hak.” Her voice shook. “Theyseek information about the Heart of the Gods. Genshi’sen asked that I relay this message to you.”
“Gen? Fusann Gen?” A third voice came from the dark, fluid and amused. Its owner stepped forward, and as they did so, a beam of sunlight seemed to fall on them out of nowhere. Ying gave a hiss of displeasure, stepping back.
The newcomer surprised Linn. They were young, perhaps in their thirties or forties, tall and lithe, hair long and black as a cascade of ink.
Another explosion sounded from the courtyard and screams were cut short.
Ruu’ma tilted her head to the entrance. She hummed softly. “Ying shi’sen, your energy overflows. Would you give these guests our warmest welcome?”
Ying’s grin was a thing of darkness. “Warmthis not a word in my repertoire, but I’ll certainly give them a taste of our reputation, shi’sen.” With a bow, he stepped back and was swallowed by the shadows.
