Edan sent a flare of fire through the fog, lifting it momentarily and sending the ghosts staggering back. But one by one, the soldiers froze, arms hovering in the air with weapons raised.
They’re listening to the ghosts,I realized with a sinking heart. Lady Sarnai’s army would be decimated without a single casualty on the shansen’s side.
I gripped the folds of my skirts, willing the power of my dress to turn the ghosts away, but nothing happened. Why couldn’t I summon its magic?
Because Amana rejects the darkness in you,my demon voice replied.You are too far gone, Sentur’na. But all is not lost. You’ve other magic in you powerful enough to wield the dress.
Yes, use the thirst inside you—the anger and hatred for the shansen—to call upon the blood of stars. Amana’s magic and our own should not be at odds with each other. Unite them, and you will be a demon far more powerful than Gyiu’rak—
“Enough!” I pushed the voice away and glided into the fight.
The ghosts turned on me, their thin fingers latching on to my limbs and my dress.
I yanked it from them, my anger sparking the blood of stars alive. Veins of hot, shimmering crimson snaked across the skirts, a pattern I had never seen before.
Remembering my demon’s words, I snuffed my anger immediately. There had to be another way. If this dress was my heart, surely it could sense my need.
But no. When the spark from my anger died, the dress did not come to life. The fabric remained dull as ink. As dark as death.
I saw Edan attacking the ghosts with his dagger. Lady Sarnai and Lord Xina focused on the shansen. But every arrow fired at him rebounded, every spear thrown barely nicked his armor.
“Give this up!” the shansen shouted. “You cannot win, Sarnai. Surrender, and I will spare your pitiful army.”
I could not hear Lady Sarnai’s reply.
What could I do? I was not the guardian of Lapzur. I couldn’t call upon its ghosts to aid me. And yet, Gyiu’rak’s ghosts had to have come from somewhere, from the shansen’s fallen soldiers. Perhaps I could call upon the ghosts of people I’d known and loved. Their spirits.
My heart swelled in my throat. “Help us,” I whispered, silently wishing for anyone who would listen.
Over and over I reached out, until pain needled my eyes and hot tears streamed down my cheeks.
Then—two familiar figures loomed from the darkness.
My brothers. Finlei and Sendo. They looked older than when I’d seen them last. There was a crooked scar across Finlei’s left eye and cheek that I’d never seen before, and Sendo’s freckles stood out in stark relief, the once boyish curves of his face hardened by hunger and war.
My lips parted, but my oldest brother had anticipated my question.
“This isn’t a trick,” said Finlei. “We’re here. You called forus.”
I turned to Sendo. My second brother, my best friend.
“We’ve brought help,” he spoke. “Soldiers who fell with us during the Five Winters’ War. We won’t be able to stay long, but we can fend off Gyiu’rak’s army.”
“How?” I breathed. “How are you here?”
Before they could reply, a scream pierced my ears, so thick and full of grief that I reeled to see where it had come from.
Lady Sarnai?
I’d never seen such terror on her face. Such anguish. She swept through the crush of soldiers and ghosts with broad, wild strokes of her sword—like a brush wielded by a storm. But she was too late.
Lord Xina had fallen.
The shansen rammed his blade deeper into the warrior’s ribs, holding him by the shoulder. When he saw his daughter storming toward him, panic and anger rioting on her face, he smirked.
Then he yanked out the sword, wiped the blade on Lord Xina’s cloak, and kicked him to the side.
Arrows snapped from Lady Sarnai’s bow. They did nothing to the shansen, which only fueled her rage. She barreled toward her father, drawing her sword and raising it high above her head.
