Enebish starts after him, her injured leg moving faster than I thought possible.
The Lady and Father stand tall and unflinching on their balcony, watching the sorcerer come. Unlike the Lady of the Sky, Father Guzan’s face isn’t one I know, but his arching brows and peach-blossom cheeks invoke a familiar feeling—memories of places I’ve felt happy and safe and loved: running through the sprawling vineyards on my parents’ estate; sitting astride Tabana while her hooves churn up the grasslands; kneeling in the throne room at the Sky Palace, surrounded by my warriors.
Kartok is just steps away from the First Gods when Enebish catches the back of his robe in her good hand. The fabric pulls taut, collaring Kartok like a leashed dog. He coughs and his arms flail, grappling for balance. Enebish pounces again, diving into his waist and tackling the sorcerer to the ground. Then they’re rolling, snatching, struggling, the blade slashing between them, hungry for blood.
Bile rises up my throat. My ears ring with screams. With every swing, Kartok comes closer to flaying Enebish open.
“We have to do something!” Serik’s skin flares hotter than ever, and I pull away with a curse.
I gape at my hands. My fingers actually moved. Not much, but enough to bring the knife a hairsbreadth from Serik’s throat. Thanks to his skirmish with Enebish, Kartok doesn’t immediately refill my mind with ice.
“Burn me,” I say urgently to Serik. “Raise your hands to my knife, cut the ropes, and burn me with the full strength of your power.”
Serik is so perplexed, he outright laughs. “Why in the skies would I do that?”
“It will weaken my bond with Kartok! We’re connected through Loridiumandthrough my siphoned power. If we break that link, I might be able to resist him enough to set you free.”
Serik says nothing. I can’t see his face, since I’m standing behind him, but I canfeelhim rolling his eyes.
“Neither of us can help Enebish if I’m holding you hostage,” I hiss in his ear. “I don’t know why you’re hesitating. We both know you’ve dreamed of setting me aflame long before you ever had a Kalima power.”
“I’m hesitating because I know this is a trick,” Serik says. “Some sly way to get the upper hand. You’ll probably charge up there and assist the Zemyan.”
Enebish cries out as Kartok’s sword skims her cheek. Another scar to add to the others. The sight of her cherry-red blood detonates a cannon in my chest. An explosion of fear and outrage.
“Do you honestly think I’d do that?” I try to snap, but my throat is too raw, too tight. “I know I’ve wronged you both. I know I’ve committed unpardonable sins, but I swear on my Kalima power, on the lives of my parents, on every morsel of pride I have left, that I’m on your side.” I take a deep breath and force myself to continue. “I’m sorry, Serik. I was awful to everyone, but especially to you. And I’m not asking you to forgive me; I know you never will. I’m simply asking you to give me the chance to make recompense where I can. Let me help you—and the girl we both love.”
The apology feels like a knife lancing a festering wound to let the infection drain out. A necessary, if painful, release.
After a prolonged moment Serik says, “My heat will kill you.”
“Your power isn’tthatstrong,” I say with a rueful smile. Even though part of me knows it is. Knows what I’m risking. “You don’t need to pump me full of fire—just one strong surge to break the connection.”
I grit my teeth and loosen my grip on Serik so he can lift his hands and drag the rope across the blade. He spins around, still caged by my arms, and looks into my eyes. Squinting with suspicion. But beneath this lingering hostility, there’s the tiniest hint of surprise. Maybe even respect.
I nod permission as he places his palms against my chest.
Before I can brace myself, Serik’s hands flare with light; fire engulfs my body, turning everything red and gold and blazing white. Heat rushes through me and I feel it refining me through the pain. My mind sharpens and quickens as Kartok’s icy hold falls. My arms fall too, allowing Serik to burst free.
He darts after Kartok and I stumble to keep up—my legs slow and my vision wavering like the air above a fire. Though, mercifully, it seems to be a dying fire: fading coals and sputtering smoke.
When we’re a few steps from where Enebish and Kartok brawl, Serik lifts a hand, forms a flaming whip, and cracks it across Kartok’s wrist. The sorcerer yowls as the blade spins across the tiles.
Serik swings at Kartok with a broadsword made of fire, but Kartok dodges the strike and rolls to safety. Before he can spot me and reassert his hold, I launch myself into his stomach like a blazing comet. Kartok screams as my blistered skin meets his. I scream with triumph as the blade he forced me to hold against Serik’s throat plunges toward his heart.
At the last second the hilt liquefies and drips through my fingers like hot wax.
I retract my hand, cursing. My burning hands must be too hot to wield a sword. But when the weapon reappears in Kartok’s fist, I realize it had nothing to do with Serik’s heat. The blade melted because it’s Zemyan steel.
Iknewto be vigilant about their weapons. It’s been the one constant threat, the only predictable danger amid the chaos of ascending into a different realm. So of course it’s the one thing I overlooked.
Kartok shoves me onto my back and brandishes the traitorous blade. I raise my chin defiantly and continue to struggle, even though the battle’s over, desperate to give Enebish and Serik as much time as possible to regroup. To escape. To rescue the First Gods.
I choke on a disbelieving laugh. I should be raging about the injustice of being dragged into this realm. Reeling over how this will affect my legacy. No one will remember my accomplishments and strength. No one will know the true extent of my dedication to Ashkar. I should be begging Kartok to heal me again with his Loridium. Anything to save myself. But as I limp closer to death, none of those things seem to matter. Maybe they never did.
I draw a final breath, waiting for the sorcerer to kill me as callously as I killed Ivandar, but instead of stabbing pain, I feel air whipping past my face. My ears prick with a soft, deadlywhoosh.And when Kartok’s knife hits its mark, it isn’t buried in my flesh.
It protrudes from the chest of the Lady of the Sky.
