He’d lost his bet on finding the relic first. They had entered the game too late, with the odds stacked against them, and Morganya was too far ahead for them to have even a chance at winning the game. It was either act now or lose everything.
He looked at her. In all the endless, empty nights of the past moon, he’d closed his eyes many a time and thought of what the future held for him. Equality, peace, yes…but selfishly, he’d always imagined sailing between strange lands from horizon to horizon, sunrise to sunset, wind in his hair and water at his back.
And a part of him had always imagined her to be a part of it.
“No, Ana,” Ramson said quietly, turning away. “No objections. However this ends, know that I’ll be by your side.”
Love was a weakness, and dreams were for fools—and the end to both had finally come.
There was a feeling of finality in the air as Ana sat astride her valkryf. The cold came a bit sharper, the light of the stars a bit brighter. In front of her, Daya was silent as she steered her valkryf, back straight, expression stony. They’d left those who could not fight in the town in a secure dacha. While Tetsyev had asked to ride out with Ana, Ardonn was being watched by some of Ramson’s squad, including Olyusha, the poison Affinite who had once worked for Alaric Kerlan.
And Shamaïra…Ana had left her in the care of her most trusted soldiers, as well as Liliya and two of Yuri’s Redcloaks. The Unseer had woken several days after they’d arrived at the camp, yet her eyes had been blank, the once-bright sheen to them dulled. She’d been silent, seeming only able to eat, drink, and perform basic functions before falling back into her slumber. It had pained Ana to see her in such frail condition, skin papery-thin, eyelids fluttering in what appeared to be restless dreams. The time she’d spent imprisoned by Morganya seemed to have taken its toll on her, both mentally and physically, and the harm Morganya inflicted was taking its time to heal.
Before leaving, Ana had pressed a kiss to Shamaïra’s forehead,comforted by the fact that if they lost the battle and their plan failed, Shamaïra would at least be at the Redcloak camp, where she would be safe.
As Ana passed through Osengrad, her army’s footsteps muffled by snow, window shutters were thrown open, the soft golden glow of candles and globefires spilling into the night. Silhouettes were carved against the light: families with children’s heads barely peeking above the sills, mothers cradling babes, lovers leaning against each other. Watching. Waving.
And, gently, they began to sing.
It was a melody Ana had heard in the Palace: a lullaby for children, about the stars that watched over snowy mountains, the spirits that frolicked beneath ice-tinted conifers, the lights that wove in the skies. A song of hope.
A song of Cyrilia.
Ana tipped her head, taking it all in. This was why she fought: for an equal world, a peaceful world, one in which none of her people had to suffer or flee persecution no matter whether they were Affinite or non-Affinite, no matter how they were born. And as the Red Tigress’s procession drew farther from Osengrad, the warmth and the light and the song remained with Ana even as darkness shrouded them.
They made haste through the night, scouts spread out among trees while the majority of their army marched behind their respective commanders. When the time came, they would split into squads and surround the Salskoff Palace; a first wave of soldiers would break through the gates, and the battle would begin there.
And when the time came, Ana knew, she would be the only one who could beat Morganya—siphon against siphon.
It felt like forever and no time at all that the Syvern Taigabegan to thin out. Ana pulled a silver pocketwatch from around her neck; the light of her globefire told her that it was the early hours of the morning. From up ahead came the whistle of a scout; the captains in the lead held up their hands in the signal for their troops to split into formation. As though in a dream, Ana watched her troops split into battalions, fan out, and melt away between the snow-covered trees like ghosts, led by their respective commanders to their positions all around the periphery of the capital city.
And there, almost like the curtains of a play parting, the Syvern Taiga came to a sudden and sharp end, yielding to the sight of a city that never ceased to take Ana’s breath away.
Salskoff stretched all the way to the distant horizon. The red-roofed dachas were monochrome in the night, still and silent in their slumber. From here Ana could make out the spires and cupolas of the Palace, veiled in shadows at this hour.
Ana’s squad, led by Daya and flanked by Yuri’s squad of Redcloak Affinites, entered the city in utter silence, their footsteps muffled by the fallen snow. Salskoff was shrouded in darkness, and as they passed by the dachas half-buried in snow, Ana thought of how once, even in the night, her home city had been bathed in the lambent light of snowglobes, of lanterns and lamps that draped the streets in a gentle blue. Winter had been the season of their patron Deity, a time for joy and celebration and worship.
Dirt roads yielded to paved streets, the buildings straightening and falling into uniform architecture as they neared the city center. Ana spread her blood Affinity, combing for Imperial Patrols. Even among the population of Salskoff, there were dachas that lay deserted, windows shuttered or broken throughand looted. Her army would be creeping through the streets, too, closing in on the Palace from all directions.
As they drew near a corner that led to a market square, she sensed it: Ahead, faint as the flicker of a candle, were five blood signatures standing in formation, too still and too neatly aligned to be regular civilians. There was a shadow over them that her Affinity could not breach: blackstone infused into their armor.
Still, as long as their faces were in the open, it wouldn’t be a problem for Ana.
She held her hand up in the signal to stop, then gestured at Daya and Yuri to remain where they were. They fell back, passing the command along to their troops.
Alone, Ana spurred her steed forward.
She sensed one of the blood signatures turning to face her as she approached, felt a familiar pressure on her Affinities.A yaeger,she thought. She’d be a fool to think the yaegers and Whitecloaks no longer hunted Affinites under Morganya’s rule. They still did, only for a different purpose, now: to force them to fight under Morganya’s army.
Ana slashed her blood Affinity down the soldier’s throat and pulled. She heard his choke cut off, heard the beginnings of alarm as the other four Imperial Patrols stirred into action.
She seized them all, and four bodies crumpled to the ground, blood blooming around them like poppies in a field. A wave of exhaustion hit her, so strong that she doubled over in her saddle, clinging to the ice-frosted mane of her valkryf as she focused on breathing in and out.
Slowly, her strength returned. Ana lifted a hand, and Daya’s and Yuri’s squads slipped through the alleyways to her side. It waseerie, Ana thought, how empty the square was, without a trace of the regular Vyntr’makt stalls or food carts. Beyond, the Salskoff Palace loomed, a shadow cut of a darker piece of the night.
Monster,came a half-forgotten whisper from her past.
Once, this square, this city, this empire had been filled with glittering light and riches and opulence, so much so that no one had wanted to see the cracks in its shadows and those who toiled in the darkness. Now, Morganya’s reign had brought fire and destruction to the entirety of this land.
