Hasan yanked Poppy to her feet, running out into the hallway with her. Harithi led their group, their blood-soaked shoes leaving tracks on the pale green runner. “You knew, didn’t you?” Hasan hissed at Poppy. “YouknewMontrose was up to something.”
“No,” she cried, shaking her head. The gesture made her neck bleed even more. “I didn’t!”
“Then what were you going to tell me?”
Rat-a-tat-tat. Gunfire interrupted their conversation. The three of them ducked behind a statue of the five founding lords for shelter. Hasan peered down into the foyer, where a full battle raged. Things did not look good for their crew of daivyakt. Though most of them were equipped with both daivyakhi and pistols, Montrose’s men had come in full-body armor, with the most advanced weaponry he had ever seen. Though his men fought valiantly, their blood painted the walls of the museum.
Hasan lifted his gaze to Harithi, who nodded at him in silent agreement. He positioned his pistol between the stone shoulders of the first Lords Alderfort and Whitecliff, firing into the fray. He and Harithi took down two, five, six officers, until one of them looked up and saw them.
He ducked back behind the statue as a bullet blew off Lord Alderfort’s stony hand. Harithi fired once more, but her gun clicked uselessly.
“Empty,” she cursed, crouching behind the statue. “How big was your naumya?”
“Decent.” In addition to the sacrifice of Paranjay’s watch that he’d made a week ago, he’d been regularly giving up meals, storing up power in anticipation of a potential assault on the precinct.
“Look,” Harithi said. “If we go down there right now, we’ll be shot so many times, our bodies will be more lead than flesh. We need to smoke the pigs out.”
“And risk burning our own?” Hasan shook his head. “I can’t.”
“You must,” Harithi insisted. “Our crew will manage. This is the only way.”
“Watch out!” Poppy shouted, interrupting them. She yanked Hasan backward, pulling him out of the trajectory of a bullet. Hasan followed its path back to the man who had fired it: Montrose. The captain stood at the other end of the hallway, hat missing, golden hair rumpled, blood pouring over his rapidly swelling lip into the torn collar of his shirt.
His heart sank.What had happened to Samina?His vision clouded over, and he lifted his gun and fired back at Richard. Once, twice, click. His gun was out of bullets.
“You’ll regret killing my men, Jackal!” Richard bared bloody teeth as he advanced on them. Hasan stepped out into the hallway, flinging both his arms forward. A wave of flame burst from his fingertips, catching on the runner, forcing Richard to stop short.
Behind him, Poppy sucked in a breath. “You’re like me.”
He turned, narrowing his eyes at her. “What does that mean?”
Then Montrose fired through the flames. Searing pain pierced Hasan’s back, and he bellowed, his vision flickering as he dropped to one knee. The bastard had shot him, he realized, the thought hazy and disjointed by his initial shock. Indignation followed.How the fuck had he let Richard Montrose draw first blood?He’d hit him back twofold?—once he found a way to get off the ground. Harithi seized his arm, hauling him back to his feet.
“Move!” she commanded. The three of them ran around the curved balcony, ducking behind the railing on the other side. Every movement tore through Hasan’s body like he was being shot anew. When they stopped, he slouched, blood staining the marble. His breaths came in uneven, ragged gasps, like those of the fish his father used to catch right before they were clubbed and tossed in the bottom of the boat. Faintly, he registered Poppy and Harithi conferring over his body, but the blood rushing in his ears drowned out their words.
Harithi slapped his face once, twice. Hasan’s eyes flew open?—he hadn’t realized they’d drifted shut.
“Get up,” she said, her face drawn with worry. “We have a plan.”
Harithi hefted him to his feet. “The statue.” She pointed down at Charles Sutherland. “You get his cape, and I’ll do the rest.”
Hasan understood in a second. Putting out both his hands, he poured the last of his energy into two jets of flame. They caught the dark velvet easily, devouring the rich fabric. Harithi took over, stretching out her hands. As she curled her fingers into fists, the ground rumbled beneath the statue. An earsplitting crack filled the museum foyer, the only warning before the first viceroy of Viryana toppled, falling to the right. He crashed to the floor, crushing several of the officers hiding behind him. His shoulders and head shattered the window, tearing through the wall. Dust and smoke filled the air as men of both camps fled from the flaming statue. The fire leaped from the cape, catching on to the drapes nearby.
“Now!” Harithi said. Poppy laced one arm through Hasan’s, Harithi taking the other. Together, the two women dragged him down the stairs, through the hole in the wall, and out into the street.
• • •
Poppy was having a nightmare. That was the only explanation for what was happening. Never before had she seen so much carnage. A cacophony of violence roared in her ears, gunshots blasting and bones cracking and the wet slap of her once-white shoes as they ran through puddles of blood.
Blood. She had basic medical training, but no amount of preparation could have prepared her for this much blood. It soaked the back of the Jackal’s jacket, an ominous shadow that spread with every passing second. As he leaned heavily against her, the wet warmth seeped into her dress, blooming in patches like the flower she’d been named for.
“We need to move faster,” Harithi ordered. She had taken over completely, a natural battle commander, fearless and fierce. She’d nicked one of the police weapons from the ground as they’d made their escape, wielding it with one hand, hauling the Jackal with the other as they hustled through the back alleys of the art district.
“We have to stop,” Poppy said, her voice shallow and breathless. “He’s losing too much blood. We have to apply pressure to the wound.”
“We can stop once we get in the car.”
“He’ll die if he doesn’t get help!”
