She turned again to the Salskoff Palace. Beneath the great walls, an entire garrison of Palace Guards and Imperial Patrols had gathered, their livery a sea of silver-blue and gray-white. They stood at the other end of the Kateryanna Bridge behind Morganya.
For a moment, the roiling power in Ana’s belly surged as the siphon seemed to brighten, and she thought of finishing this battle right here, right now.
But she looked to the streets, painted in blood: the dead and the injured, lying in the silent snow along the riverside promenade. This was not a battle they would win. Not today. Not as they were.
Ana turned. One step, then another, and she was half running, half limping, calling out to Daya as she did. “We must retreat. Make sure Ramson’s men go with you safely.”
Daya tipped her head. “One step ahead of you, my friend. We came together.”
“Thank you.” Ana paused, her eyes roving to the spot fartherdown the promenade, where a crumpled figure lay like a burnt-out match. “Will you help me get Yuri out of here?” She lifted her eyes to the Palace across the waters, the army of Imperial Patrols and guards shimmering like a layer of ice. “I’ll hold them off.”
Daya called out orders; the armies sprang into motion. Out of the corner of her eye, Ana saw Ramson’s Navy unit begin to retreat, led by several of Daya’s soldiers. One of the men hoisted Ramson onto his back while the healer followed closely behind.
At least, she thought, her Affinity reaching out to him, sweeping phantom fingers over his body, the bleeding had stopped.
He was alive.
Ana looked across the Kateryanna Bridge. Morganya was moving, clinging to the balustrades as she rose to her feet unevenly. And there…in the midst of the snow-white cloaks and glittering armor…Ana’s attention snagged on a single figure.
She froze as the figure looked up, her gaze lancing true as a silver arrow, right across the river, the Kateryanna Bridge, the gaggle of soldiers and Redcloaks and bodies. Right to Ana.
Shamaïra was restrained by no fewer than four Whitecloaks, yet for all their hard armor and polished steel, they stood like rocks to her diamond. She held her head high and proud, unmoving and unyielding, her face blazing brighter than fire. Her hair, once done in a beautiful long braid, had been cut short, the strands falling ragged to her chin.
Shock froze Ana momentarily. Had the Redcloaks failed in their rescue mission? Tetsyev had said they’d triggered the alarm of some Palace Guards. Then, the single thought that it didn’t matter—none of it mattered, other than the fact that her friend stood across the bridge from her, just steps away. Within reach.
Ana would not lose Shamaïra again.
She moved forward, Affinity rising to her call.
This time, though, it was a different one.
Fire surged from her palms, aimed not at the Imperial Patrols across the bridge—but at the waters of the Tiger’s Tail. The bright streaks of flame met the roar of water—
And exploded.
Mist swirled in the air. Through the fog, she heard confused shouts, the sound of someone screaming. She thought she couldmake out Morganya’s voice, shrieking at her forces to guard Shamaïra.
Ana was already one step ahead.
This time, she thrust out her hands, and it felt like coming home.
Her blood Affinity blazed to life. There was a roaring in her ears, immutable and unstoppable as the waters of the Tiger’s Tail, swallowing her whole in a surge of power and strength. It soared past the soldiers, galloping through their different blood signatures, rushing and spilling until—
There.Incense and rosewater, the fire of an unbreakable spirit. The Imperial Patrols hadn’t even taken the time to put Shamaïra in blackstone cuffs, perhaps because her Affinity could do no physical harm.
Ana limped forward, sweeping her Affinity. All around her, soldiers fell like grass to a scythe. The blackstone fused into the Imperial Patrols’ armor dulled her senses, but unlike Ramson’s men, the Whitecloaks had no helmets and no visors. Ana’s Affinity easily wrapped around the exposed parts of their bodies, tearing past flesh into blood.
The world was beginning to fade around the edges of Ana’s vision, black spots erupting everywhere. Warmth trickled down her nose, copper in her mouth. She recognized the danger signs, the warnings of burnout—but she was so, so close.
In the midst of it all, in the swirling fog, she finally found the person she had been searching for.
“…Ana…”
She reached out and Shamaïra was in front of her, real and alive and solid. Hands, closing over cold, papery skin grown sofragile; fingers, wrapping protectively over a head of oil-black hair.
In that fog, though, cut another silhouette, fast approaching. Ana looked up into the murderous gaze of her aunt.
Morganya’s teeth were clenched, her eyes so wide that the whites ringed her pupils. She reached forward with a hand, twisted. Shamaïra cried out, her legs buckling beneath her as Morganya seized control of her body.
