“When was this? Are you sure she—”
“She left almost half an hour before the start of the coronation, before Petruvia attacked. They didn’t ground the sky carts until later. I’m going to check on her as soon as I can makeit down the mountain,” I say, and I try to will myself to feel as certain as I sound.
“When are you going to tell Luc?”
It’s a good question. One I don’t have an answer for just yet. I’m spared having to respond when I see my brother over Kaidren’s shoulder. I purse my lips, saying nothing as he approaches.
Luc bends to whisper to me. “Good news. We’ve received word that several Petruvian soldiers are changing course for the arena. We’re gathering all the tshira we have and taking it to the stables.”
I glance around the room. Most everyone is still hard at work. “Are you going to make an announcement?”
“No. Let them keep at it. It’s a good distraction. We’ll tell everyone when it works.”
Ifit works. None of us are brave enough to say it.
There are dozens of barrels of powdered tshira. While most of Widow’s Hall stays in the ballroom, a group of us—Kaidren, Luc, members of the decurio, and myself—each take a barrel and carry them to the stables beneath Widow’s Hall.
My limbs scream at me as I drag the heavy barrel, but I’m glad to have something to do other than sit in the ballroom, terrified we’re going to lose.
General Fain is already in the stables, preparing transport for the tshira to the arena. Four greyhorns huff and stomp their feet, already attached to the sledge and raring to go. With a grunt, I lift my barrel onto the back of the vessel.
“Your only goal is getting this to the arena. By any means necessary,” the General is telling three members of the decurio. “There are soldiers waiting on the roof. I don’t care what’s in your way—get this to them.”
The building shudders again.
We freeze, breaths bated, waiting.
It doesn’t sound like Petruvia has broken through.
Yet. It’s a chilling thought. Made even more terrifying when I hear a shout from behind.
I spin around. Five soldiers enter the stables. They’re wearing indigo, wielding swords, and their expressions are darkened with intent. They’re Petruvian.
“Sir.” The General shoves Luc behind him and the other decurio. “Get back to the ballroom.” General Fain raises his weapon—a sharpened tshira blade. The three decurio with him draw their weapons as well.
My heart pounds as Kaidren and I press behind them. The Virdeians form a wall and launch themselves at the Petruvian soldiers.
Four Virdeians against five Petruvians. General Fain manages to fight two of them at once, but the Virdeians are outnumbered.
Their movements are so quick, I have trouble following. For every swing, there’s a counter. For every move, a reaction.
A Petruvian feints right and swipes left—the decurio he’s fighting isn’t quick enough.
The decurio falls over. I’m not sure if he’s dead, but he’s immobile on the ground and can no longer fight.
Five Petruvians left, and only three Virdeians.
Fear creeps through my veins. I eye the sledge of tshira. It’s already loaded, and the greyhorns are attached. It’s ready to go.
“Sir—” General Fain grunts, addressing Luc as he sidesteps a blade from a Petruvian. “We’ve been breached. You need to get to safety. We can fend them off, but if anyone finds you, or worse, kills you . . .”
He doesn’t finish, too busy fighting off soldiers, but hedoesn’t need to. If the Petruvians kill Luc, the war will have ended, and Virdei will have lost.
That thought is horrifying enough on its own, but even more concerning—my insides are set alight. General Fain just lied. He doesn’t believe Virdei can fight off these Petruvians.
My ears are ringing and my breaths are shallow with panic. I snatch Luc by the shoulders. “Go. Upstairs. Warn everyone in the ballroom that there’s a breach in the stables, and get to safety. If you fall, Virdei falls.”
Luc swallows but nods. He’s trembling as he takes my hand, trying to pull me with him.
