The old woman went back to mopping up Suri’s face without another word. Tressa continued to stare a moment longer. She ran her tongue along the full width of her teeth, then sucked like she had something stuck between them. Finally, she drew in a breath through her nose and gave a little nod. “Thanks.”
Right about then Roan felt a little lightheaded—she got dizzy sometimes from not eating or when she went too long without sleep—but when she noticed ripples in the bucket resting on the ground, she realized the feeling wasn’t coming from her. A moment later, the tools hanging from the overhead crossbeams began to clank against one another. Dust spilled down, and the shaking got worse.
Malcolm came running in. He looked at Suri, then at the rest of them. “We need to wake her, and fast.”
* * *
—
Raithe was lying on his cot in the barracks when the rumblings began. He’d heard the bell, watched the others scramble, but didn’t even pull back his blanket. No one stopped or asked why. He was wounded and wouldn’t be expected to fight unless the Fhrey breached the gate. Only that wasn’t why. At least, it wasn’t the wound they knew about that kept him in bed.
It would take a man like Gath. Someone renowned, someone who everyone could agree was the bravest, strongest warrior among them. Someone who all the chieftains could kneel to and not lose the respect of their people. It would take a hero.
That’s what Persephone wanted. Used to be him—now it was Nyphron.
When he closed his eyes, he could still see Persephone as she once was, climbing the creaking ladder to the top of Dahl Rhen’s wall, wearing her black dress. That’s how he best remembered her, how she used to be. The wind was in her hair on the night the Fhrey had arrived, the day after Konniger tried to kill her and they had all jumped off the waterfall. She was so lovely, and she had needed him. He had been her protector against the Fhrey, against Konniger. He had been her hero.
I wish I hadn’t asked her to leave with me.
That had been a mistake—a huge one. Back then his mind was possessed by the lush fields that he and his father had found across the two rivers. He couldn’t imagine that she wouldn’t want to go. Her own chieftain hated her, and the Fhrey had invaded. His idea to find a better place should have been embraced with repeated thank-yous. But he hadn’t understood Persephone’s devotion to her people.
Lying on the cot, he stared at the ceiling. He could picture the two of them across the Urum, up on that hill. He saw a beautiful log house with an actual door, a field of wheat growing next to a field of rye, and a split-log corral filled with grazing sheep. The two of them happy and safe, far from the beat of drums, the claws of raow, the peal of bells, and the—
A crack ripped up the side of the stone wall of the barracks. Pieces of stone chipped and spat across the room, skipping off the wood floor. The ceiling rattled, and the floor shook so hard, Raithe no longer needed to get out of bed. The bed did the work for him.
Standing up, he found the shaking more noticeable, more alarming—as if he were in a little boat rolling over waves. He grabbed his sword belt and jogged for the door. He arrived in the courtyard just in time to see the remainder of the Frozen Tower collapse.
* * *
—
“Get off the wall!” Moya shouted as everyone watched the north tower crumble.
The massive stones came straight down, imploding and giving birth to a massive cloud of dust, dirt, and crushed rock. Below her, spider-web-thin cracks spread through the stone. Soon, the whole front wall of Alon Rhist began to waver, and Moya screamed.
Whether the archers had heard her or not, they ran for the stairs. Then the tower collapsed. It didn’t implode; it toppled. Listing to one side, the stone staggered, then keeled over and fell across the upper courtyard, crushing the barracks and the kitchens, narrowly missing the smithy.
Moya was shoved from behind. She bounced off Filson’s back and lost her footing on the steps. She would have fallen if there had been room. Too many bodies prevented her from going all the way down. A hand caught her by the wrist and drew her out of the crush. She pressed against the outer wall, letting the others run by, which they did without a glance. The stone she leaned on was shivering.
Stone shouldn’t shiver.
The hand that had caught Moya belonged to Tesh. He waited beside her for the mob to rampage past while the wall they stood on quaked and quivered.
We’re above the main gate. This is their target!
The idea was slow in coming but finally arrived. The Fhrey were trying to bring down the front wall, to lay the fortress bare. Moya heard the crack and snap of stone and the screams of more than a dozen men as the stairs disintegrated.
We’re next.