“Sofiya,” Yuri choked out, and the Redcloaks gathered around their fallen comrade.
But Ana had noticed something else. Something lying in the bloodied snow, glinting in the pale morning light. She slipped off her horse and bent to pick it up.
A chill spread through her as she beheld the iron spike: long as her forearm, the tips tapering off to a ruthless sharpness. She recognized it.
“Sorsha,” she said, and the Redcloaks turned to her as sheheld up the iron spike. “She’s taunting us.” Ana swallowed as she voiced her worst fear aloud. “She must know we’re after her.”
Back in the Blue Fort, during the battle against Sorsha and Kerlan’s forces, Ramson had closed a blackstone collar around Sorsha’s neck, inhibiting her ability to channel the Affinities in her siphons. Ana thumbed the iron spike in her hand, its tip crimson with blood. It was safe to say that Sorsha had found a way to take off the collar.
A fiery glow emanated from Yuri’s fists; his knuckles were white. “Deities be damned, who would do such a thing? Sofiya—” His voice broke.
“It’s a game,” Ana said. “Everything is a game to her. And we’re already behind.”
Yuri’s jaw clenched. “Redcloaks, this is it. Rescue team, follow Seyin and head for the Salskoff Palace. Remain undercover at all costs.” There was a slight commotion as the rescue team set off, led by Seyin. Ana loosed a breath as she watched his head of dark hair duck out of sight behind a copse of conifers. “The rest of you…we’ll need to partner up and split—”
“Yuri,” Ana interrupted, “she’s dangerous—”
“And she will be even more so if we let her reach Morganya,” he snapped.
“Yuri, listen to me…,” she tried again.
But his eyes held a challenge, daring her to defy him. Ana understood that this wasn’t about Sorsha; this was between them. He needed to prove that he was the more capable leader of the Redcloaks, that his strategy was the winning one.
He wasn’t going to listen to her no matter what she said.
And perhaps he was right. It would be difficult to find Sorshain the sprawl of a city that was Salskoff. Splitting up might be the quickest way.
Ana turned to the group of Redcloak soldiers, who had already divided themselves. “I’ve briefed you on this, but I must repeat myself,” she said, her voice ringing loud and clear. “Sorsha is the most dangerous Affinite in existence. She wields at least ten different Affinities through her siphon. Not to mention, she is a sadist who delights in torturing her victims.”
Yuri stepped to her side. For a moment, she thought he would admonish her, but he only gave a firm nod. “Leave your steeds here; we go on foot, remain hidden. Spread out through the city and close in toward the Palace. We marshal her in like a fish in a net. First unit to find her, send a signal with your Affinities.” He flared a flame on the tip of his index finger and pointed it at the sky. “If you find her, slow her down, butdo notengage in direct combat. Not until the entire team has arrived. Remember: Our goal is to rescue the prisoners, and take the siphons.”
There were nods between the Redcloak soldiers.
Yuri reached to the weapons pack on his valkryf and withdrew a dagger and a shield—forged by one of his metal Affinites. He thrust both at her. “Ana, you’re with me.”
Ana hesitated as she accepted them. The Redcloaks had begun to disperse through the trees. They were armed and well-suited for battle; she looked to the shield and blade in her hands, weapons that she could barely lift. What use would these be against the likes of Sorsha Farrald?
“You should take someone else,” she said. “Another Affinite. You know I—”
“I know,” he said shortly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She saw the tilt of his chin, the pride in his eyes, and knew he would not yield.
She strapped on the knife and shield and followed.
—
Salskoff had always been the most vibrant during winter, the season of their patron Deity. Ana recalled the rare occasions she’d been allowed out into town after her Affinity had manifested, the snow thick and soft beneath the hooves of horses and her carriage wheels, the air tinged with cold and the feeling of magic. Lights would be strung between lampposts, hung on doorways and windowsills, their gentle blue glow pulsing deep in the night and rendering Salskoff the image of a fairy-tale town from one of Ana’s storybooks. The streets had rung with the sound of laughter, the smell of pirozhky pies and hot kashya drifting from open windows as shoppers, dressed in the celebratory colors of white and silver and blue, milled about.
This year, she might as well have been looking into an abandoned town. The dachas stood silent and still, lit only by the stark glow of streetlamps. Clouds roiled overhead, a bleak light washing over colorless streets. It was nearing dawn, when the town should have been rousing, stalls springing to life with colorful tarpaulins, shutters opening and children pouring into the streets for school. But wind whistled down empty roads, discarded cans rolling against alleyway walls.
Everywhere they looked, posters and banners had been hung up bearing portraits of Morganya in her illustrious beauty: white crown glittering over ink-black hair, elegant cheekbones, and those eyes, the color of midwinter lakes.Celebrate the Winter ofOur Divine Liberator,one declared, and another:Freedom and Justice Will Be Delivered by Our Deities-Chosen Empress.
“It makes me sick,” Yuri said quietly. “To lie so blatantly to your people, to claim that you were chosen by the Deities…”
The people are no more than sheep, their thoughts malleable to misdirection,Morganya had said.And I, as their divine shepherd, must guide them the right way.
“It’s calculated,” Ana said. “She’s controlling all the information, presenting herself as the Deities-chosen heroine of this story.”
