Still, I search every corner, ears straining for the faintest clue.
Then—in the center of the room, below a second, thickly padded rug, I sense them.
Beneath my feet, thrumming signatures announce their presence. They’re faint through the floor, but my breath whooshes out all the same.
Rug quickly rolled, cast aside.
A small wooden hatch is set into the floor.
I fit my fingers in the grooves around the edge and pull.
The wood groans, but it doesn’t budge.
I lie down flat and press my ear against the wood. Focus on the signatures humming beneath the floor.
Small. Faint. Afraid.
It’s the children.
A large signature hovers right below me, perhaps several feet. Familiar, female, but not—
“Sura,” I call, lips pressed against the grainy wood. “It’s Zevayr. Open the hatch.”
I hold my breath. She doesn’t answer. The only indication that she heard me at all is the thrumming vibration of her electric currents.
Faint whispers echo through the wood, followed by an insistentshhh.
Then Sura moves. Muffledthunksgrowing louder as she climbs the ladder. I scramble out of the way just before the hatchswings open. Her frantic blue gaze scans me, brows knitting together at either the dust coating my hair or my still-bleeding injuries or just my unwelcome presence.
“Where’s Mayah?” she whispers, fingers gripping the lip of the opening.
“I don’t know.” I swallow hard. “Arbinj is attacking the camp. Our building collapsed. We—we were separated. Tumaas is with her. I thought she’d come find you.”
Sura shakes her head. “I haven’t seen her.”
Beneath us, a tiny voice calls, “Ms. Suri! Can we come out?”
It’s a marvel how Sura injects cheer and levity into her voice before responding, “Not yet, Marka. We have to be sneaky for just a bit longer.”
She turns back to me, eyes haunted. “You have to find her. Find Tumaas. I can’t—”
“I won’t let you lose them. Either of them. Do you have a weapon?”
A soft shake of her head. I hand her the sword I pilfered. “A powerful stormwielder will be able to sense you beneath the floor, but only if they walk directly over the hatch. Not through the earth. Keep it locked. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Steely resolve blankets her face as her hands close around the pommel. We say nothing else as she disappears back down the hatch.
Replacing the rug, I walk back into the night.
I grab another sword from another cold body, a thick cloak from a different corpse.
Sounds of a struggle carry through the night air—the harshclangof swords and a cry of pain, quickly muffled.
I follow the ominous echoes.
Four Arbinji soldiers attacking a rebel. The man looks familiar, he—
One of the soldiers wrenches his head back.
