I shook my head. “I’llgo.” I shot up, a wisp of smoke shadowing my movement. “I have magic. You don’t.”
Edan flinched at the reminder. “I have enough. This is what the shansen wants. He wants you wild with grief and anger.”
A ragged breath caught in my throat. When I tried to picture my father and brother, their faces were blotted out, as if by a wet brush. They might as well have been strangers, but I knew I needed to save them.
“If you want to save your father and your brother,” said Edan, “then you need a plan, like the one we had for Lapzur. Let me help you wield your magic. The magic in here.” He pointed at my amulet. Then he pressed his fingers to my chest. “And the magic in here.”
“How? I don’t think I can.”
“You need to control your anger,” he said. “It will grow stronger every day, like Master Tsring said, feeding on your desire for vengeance. The more you give in to it, the faster you will forget yourself. The faster you will turn.”
Fury coursed within me, but I picked up the threads of Edan’s reasoning.
“You’re right,” I said at last.
I reached into my pocket, searching for the cloth bird I’d stashed there days ago. “We can’t do this alone, Edan. The shansen has an army of thousands, along with Gyiu’rak at his side. And possibly other demons.” I paused, a name on the tip of my tongue that I fought to bring forward. It belonged to someone important—someone who would bring hope.
“Lady Sarnai,” I said, snatching the name before it fled me. “We must find Lady Sarnai.”
“The shansen’s daughter?”
“He still cares for her. She’s the only one who can fight him.” I lifted the bird’s beak with my finger. “She’s the hope of A’landi, Edan. Not you. Not me.”
He tilted his head. “You sound as if you admire her.”
“I always have,” I admitted. “The problem is, she escaped the palace after her father attacked. Even if I knew where she was, I don’t know if she’d help us.”
Taking a deep breath, I ironed out the wings of my cloth bird, which had become crinkled in my pocket, and held it out to Edan. “We can use this to find her.”
“Clever,” Edan said, inspecting my work. His long fingers traced the threads I’d sewn into the wings, and I knew he recognized them from our enchanted carpet.
A thick eyebrow arched as he mused, “The folds are Kiatan.”
“You know it?” I asked.
“I’ve been to Kiata many a time,” he replied, “when I was much younger.”
“Someone told me a tale about the Kiatan princess who folded such paper cranes to search for her brothers. Mine don’t look so much like cranes, more like ducks—”
“Or phoenixes,” Edan suggested. “Not the A’landan ones, with the eagle head and all the peacock feathers. In Nelronat, phoenixes had wings of fire, and they were born from the ashes of their previous lives. I caught one once, brought it with me everywhere—even to Kiata—until it flew away.”
“I’d thought those were legends.” My next words clung to my throat. “Fairy tales, like Shiori’s tale. I hardly remember hers now. Or who told it to me.”
“Then I will tell it to you again,” said Edan. He stroked my cheek. “Tonight.”
My skin warmed at his touch, and the wink of his eye made me blush. My bird sprang to life, its soft wings tickling my palm.
“Find Lady Sarnai,” I whispered to it. “Tell her that the kingdom is in danger, that we need her. Ask her to meet us at the Winter Palace.”
The bird wriggled to life, its pointed beak nodding in assent. Then I lifted my hand and it fluttered off into the sky.
I watched it disappear, weaving its way through the trees until I saw it no more.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
We were too late.
The Winter Palace was burning, its sharply curved roofs abloom with fire. Smoke threaded through the emerald pillars and devastated courtyards, and heavy clouds loomed across the sky, which had turned from azure to charcoal.
