The Premier gives him a humorless smile. “No, Firstblade,” he replies. “I think I will do the warning. I will give you another chance to return the Federation property you owe us. Think hard.”
He shifts, moving his gelding forward, and the clanking chains of his Ghosts make the beasts snarl, snapping their jaws hungrily in our direction. The Premier stares at us all in the darkness, searching for the face he’s come to retrieve. Red stays motionless.
The Firstblade is silent, and for a moment, I think he will point his sword in our direction. But he never does. Instead, he calls out, “You are in our land now, not yours. We don’t follow the orders of a foreign ruler.”
“It will be easier for Mara if you do, you know,” the Premier says with a sigh. “You’ve seen the ruins of those who came millennia before us. I took a vow never to let that happen to Karensa.” He nods around at us. “Your people are slowly starving to death in this tiny country. Why do you want them to keep suffering? We are powerful and organized, have strived to build a society so strong that it will never crumble. It will be better for your people if you just step aside.”
The Firstblade straightens the lapels of his coat. He remains calm in his movements, but I can see that furious light appear in his eyes, the sign of an inevitable battle to come. “If your Federation is so powerful,” he says, “and we are so weak, then why do you even bother?” His teeth flash with his smile. “Or do you still fear Mara? Perhaps we’re not as small as you think.”
A hint of annoyance shows on the Premier’s face. “We are the rightful heirs to the Early Ones,” he says. “But unlike them, there will never be ruins of Karensa. We were always meant to inherit their Infinite Destiny.”
The Firstblade nods in the direction of the line of Ghosts. “Then come get your precious destiny.”
Constantine doesn’t look surprised. He just shakes his head. “So be it,” he says.
Then he releases his Ghosts from their chains.
The realization surges through me. We are going to die here tonight.
Adena takes in the scene with a sense of eerie calm. The same thoughts must have occurred to her too, just as they must have occurred to every single one of us. But she doesn’t show it on her face.
Beside her, Jeran—the same boy who had just been blushing earlier about his cooking—has already pulled on his black mask.
I pull on mine too. Beside me, Red shifts closer—and for an instant, I think he’s going to attack me with his chains. But he doesn’t make a move. Instead, his stance is turned in the direction of the Federation’s troops, and his eyes have narrowed in rage. He casts me a single, steady look.
I twist my blade toward his chains. He flinches before he realizes that I’m freeing him. With two slices, the chain comes apart, and his arms snap free. I cut him loose from his leg bounds too.
He gives me a blank stare, as if not quite willing to believe that I’ve released him. And for an instant, I wonder if it’s a stupid idea.
Then, he gives me a single nod. I return it, relishing this tiny moment where we can understand each other. If we’re going to die here tonight, it doesn’t make much difference whether my prisoner is shackled or not. Maybe he’ll even fight alongside me.
It’s the only thought I have time for. Then we fan out into an attack and charge straight into the jaws of death.
Adena is the first to reach a Ghost. She yanks out both her swords, twisting their hilts together so that they combine into a single deadly weapon—then she twirls it in an arc that cuts straight through the Ghost’s front leg. As the creature topples forward, she untwists the swords and lands two heavy blows against the protective shackle clipped around its neck.
The injured Ghost is still frighteningly fast. It whips its head around and snaps its jaws at her. But Jeran wastes no time. In a single fluid move, he darts onto the injured Ghost’s shoulder, swings up to its back, and yanks out his daggers. He stabs it before the Ghost even realizes it is fatally injured. As it falls, Jeran leaps from its body. His slender figure lands on the shoulders of another Ghost coming up from behind Adena. He crouches on its head, crosses his arms, and brings both daggers straight into the creature. It shrieks, trying in vain to throw him off. There is no sign of Jeran’s sweet smile here, his gentle concern. He hangs on mercilessly. Adena whirls around and fires her gun at the Ghost’s neck shackle. The bullet cracks it with a clang.
Nearby, Tomm and Pira press their backs together, guns out, and fire in a circle. But even as they cut their way through the monsters as fast as they can, more lurch toward us.
I crane my neck, searching for the Premier again. He’s no fool on the battlefield—and that means he knows not to be in the thick of the fighting. Still, I look for him, hoping to have a chance to cut him down.
But he’s nowhere to be seen.
I wave at Red to come with me, then sprint up the hill to the thick of the fighting. The ruins of the Seven Sisters rises ominous in the night, jagged black teeth of steel, seven tall and thin skeletons that tower above the seething masses of bodies. As I go, I pause at a Maran soldier who’s been bitten by a Ghost. Without hesitating, I slash a blade at his throat. He lets out a startled gurgle. I don’t dare stop to look at him. I just run on.
Beside me, Red’s jaw is clenched hard. Our movements aren’t synced in the way the others are—he is harsh and blunt in his attacks, uncoordinated, as if out of practice. We look like nothing more than a pair of people with absolutely nothing in common except the desperate will to survive.
I try to understand what kind of fighting style this is. He’s stiff in a way that tells me he hasn’t seen much open combat, but his movements are as quick and dangerous as they’d been during our practice spar. Had he trained at all in the Federation? Maybe he had only been a recruit and never seen a real battlefield. That would explain the awkward nature of his motions, like some kind of fledgling bird.
A Ghost comes charging without warning over the crest of the hill toward him. He turns in its direction, but I’m already moving, my gun hoisted. I fire three shots into its face and another round into its neck shackle. In the same gesture, I grab Red’s hand and pull him behind one of the metal ruins. The Ghost, temporarily blinded, charges right over us. I stab a sword into its stomach as it goes. It flinches, rolling over and taking me with it. As it falls onto its side, I slash deep into its exposed neck.
There are at least three more hunting us. I haul myself up the side of the ruins, my feet finding shallow dents against the metal as I hop up to higher ground. Red presses himself into the shadows below. Another Ghost circles around us, listening for the sound of my boots scrapingagainst the structure, but my steps are silent. It snarls, stalking away from me for a moment and turning its attention toward another part of the ruins. I reach down and seize Red by the wrist. His head jerks toward me, and our eyes meet.
I try to pull him up as quickly as I can, but he’s even heavier than I imagined, his body a solid brick. He gives a mighty leap and joins me. His eyes sweep the scene of carnage around us. There are Strikers being taken down everywhere, their throats clawed out, mouths open in dying screams. Red’s teeth are bared, and his grip against the metal ruin is so tight that his knuckles look like they might tear right through his skin.
I get a good look at the Ghost circling below us, its wild eyes, the teeth splitting its once-human face from ear to ear. Then I launch from the top of the wreck onto the creature’s back. Before it can throw me off, I’m prying underneath its iron collar and jamming a dagger deep into its rotting flesh.
It whirls so hard that it throws me completely off, slamming me into a ruin. Stars erupt in my head. My ankle twists in a strange way and pain lances up my leg. Red leaps from the top of the ruins and attacks one of the Ghosts, but he’s too far away to get to me in time. Four Ghosts close in on me, their jaws grinding, sensing victory.
