The darkness thrashes in my hand as I lead them away from the palace steps. The tighter I cling, the more light-headed I become. Sweat soaks my hair and my legs feel like feathers. I manage two more steps before I crumple to my knees.
The darkness immediately disintegrates.
Imperial guards surround us, but the people are right behind them, throwing themselves in harm’s way to clear a path. Sabers graze my tunic. Sweaty hands paw my sides. Chanar kicks and spits, and Inkar slashes her dagger wildly.
I reach for the night again and again, but my hands are too slow, too shaky. The daylight flashes in and out like a maddening candle that refuses to gutter.
“Stop, Enebish!” Ghoa yells, closing in. “If you love me at all, stop this. Think of Ashkar.”
Iamthinking of Ashkar. I am theonly onethinking of Ashkar. And how dare she suggest she’s deserving of my love after framing me for a massacre? And forsaking the people? And killing Serik?
Ghoa’s desperate eyes lock with mine across the chaos and she hurls the word she knows will cut me deepest. The only weapon she has left. “Sister!”
Her dart hits its mark with deadly accuracy.
My steps falter as a lifetime of memories bombard me: I see her riding through the flames on her massive black warhorse, looking like an armor-clad angel as she pulls me from the embers of my hut. I feel the soft press of her lips on my forehead as she tucks me beneath a pile of furs and tells me to sleep well. I see us riding across the grasslands, our smiles wider than the endless sky.
It was all a lie. I know that now. But that only intensifies the pain.
I double over and dig my fingers into my scalp, and like the predator she is, Ghoa pounces on my moment of weakness. She batters through the remaining citizens, but instead of grabbing me, she catches Inkar’s ponytail and flings her to the ground. Inkar’s head hits the cobbles with a sickening thud, and as Temujin’s legs fall, Chanar stumbles backward and nearly drops him altogether.
I grapple for the darkness, but the well of my power is still dryer than the desert.
Ghoa crawls over Inkar and kneels at Temujin’s side—like a vulture looming over carrion. Her hair hardens with frost, and when she raises a hand, her fingers glow ghostly blue.
She has already taken everything from me. She can’t have Temujin, too.
“Please!” I beg the Lady of the Sky—a one-word prayer. The shortest and most fervent of my life. Then I make a final grasp for the night, clawing at the air as if searching for a handhold at the edge of a cliff.
The Lady’s answer is immediate.
My throat catches fire and tingles catapult up my arms. When I flex my fingers, every tendril of night in Sagaan answers my call. More than I’ve ever manipulated at once. I slam them to the ground with a roar and rage toward Ghoa like a snow squall.
Her eyes momentarily blink up at the blackness, and her icy hand falters, a finger’s breadth from Temujin’s flesh. I jam my boot into her gut so hard, she topples over backward, and I’m kneeling on her chest before the impact knocks the air from her lungs. Her mouth forms a quivering O and she holds up her hands.
“I’m sorry. I made a mistake. A terrible mistake. You have every right to hate me, but you must believe me about Temujin.” Her lip trembles, but her eyes are bright with conviction. “Ashkar will fall because of him.”
“No. If Ashkar falls, it will be because ofyou.Because of your toxic obsession and pride.” I throw my hand skyward and twine my fingers in the smoldering tails of starfire. Their cosmic heat rushes through me, faster than the Amereti in flood season. So hot, I feel as if I’m dying. In a way, I suppose I am. I’m purging the Enebish of my childhood. And, as that naïve, deluded girl breathes her last, a cry that’s half growl and half sob bursts from my lips. I slash my arm in an arc, aiming directly for Ghoa’s chest.
I wait for a rush of overwhelming peace to envelope me. For the balm of vindication to fill the gaping wounds Ghoa cut into my flesh. I wait for triumph to lift two years of soul-crushing heaviness from my shoulders. But as I watch the orange starfire ripple through the blackness, I hear Serik’s adamant reassurances instead:You are good, Enebish.
I hear Temujin’s unfailing faith:Your Kalima power could save our people—if you learn to control it.
And I hear the voice of the warrior within me, a truth I have known all along: Iam not a monster, and I won’t let Ghoa turn me into one.
Before the starfire slams into her chest, I pivot and throw my hand to the side. The abrupt shift nearly tears my arm from my body, and I shriek as pain pops through my joints. The starfire whizzes past Ghoa’s cheek and explodes against the Sky Palace. A thunderous boom rocks the Grand Courtyard. Windows shatter, one after the next. The only thing louder than my scream is the scream of the spectators and guards running for cover.
Flames scale the palace walls like ruthless invaders, racing and rampant. Deadly and devouring. I’m so stunned, I can’t move. Can’t tear my eyes away.
“You actually burned it to hell,” Chanar whispers.
My mouth is so dry, my tongue flops uselessly. And while I stand there, trying to string together a coherent response, the terrace overlooking the courtyard collapses. Melted filigree falls like burning rain, and we drag Temujin out of the way, realizing too late that we should have helped Inkar, too. She’s only just come to and is slow on her feet, blundering toward us with her hand clamped to her head.
She doesn’t even see the mutilated hunk of metal hurtling toward her until it slashes across her lower back.
“No, no, no!”Chanar yells as she falls. The bone-chilling dread on his face cracks my breastbone down the center. He sets Temujin down and dodges through the sparks to help her up.
Inkar’s skin is chalky and sweat-slicked and a stain as dark as wine is already soaking her tunic, but somehow she manages to stagger to where I wait with Temujin. She even tries to take up her position at his feet but quickly collapses with a groan.
