“Sorry I didn’t believe you, Brin,” Persephone said.
Brin offered a pained smile.
“Anyone else hurt?”
“Ah, well, yeah. Sebek,” Moya replied. “Looks like he’ll live, too. Not nearly as bad as you are. We’re going to be moving you upstairs to the Shrine just in case.”
“In case of what? It’s dead—you said it was dead. Are there more?” Again, Persephone looked at Brin, expecting the girl to say, Sure, there are hundreds and hundreds.
“Anything is possible now,” Moya replied. “I want you in a secure room. One without a damn window. The Shrine is the safest. I got some pushback from the Fhrey.” Moya glanced at the healer, who was washing his hands in a basin. He didn’t even look up. “But Nyphron supported me. We’ll move you up in a few hours.”
“What do you mean anything is possible now?” Persephone looked from one face to another. “Why now?”
“Seph…” Moya began and looked very serious, even a little frightened. “The fane’s army is here.”
“What? When?” She tried to sit up and again suffered for it.
She gritted her teeth, sucking in a quick breath. She really couldn’t move. Her head and arms were fine, but even moving her legs tugged at her abdominal muscles—not that she wanted to do much moving. She was incredibly weak. Simply holding her eyes open was a struggle.
Moya took her hand. “Easy, easy. They aren’t attacking yet. They only just got here, maybe an hour or two ago.”
“Did someone light the signal? Did they—” She turned to look, and heated daggers sliced into her again. Dammit! I’m just turning my head! Which wasn’t true and she knew it, but the frustration was nearly as agonizing as the pain. “Brin, is there a light on the top of the Spyrok?”
“The signal.” Moya’s eyes widened.
Brin looked out the window and shook her head. “Hem’s on watch. Why didn’t he light it?”
“He needs the order.” Moya was shaking her head. “Hem only sees torches and campfires; he doesn’t know who they are. For all he knows, it could be our troops on a training exercise. Nyphron was busy with Sebek, and I was—”
“Send a runner to the top of the Spyrok,” Persephone ordered. “Tell Hem I authorize lighting the signal fire. We have to get the tribes back. We need to get everyone back.”
“No one runs faster than me.” Brin jumped up. “I’ll do it.”
The girl dodged around the bed and sprinted out the door.
“How many are there?” Persephone asked.
“I don’t know, but not a lot. Not as many as the Gula.” Moya glanced at the door. “Others want to see you, if you feel up to it. Do you?”
She didn’t. Persephone didn’t feel up to breathing. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to sleep forever and then some. Almost did by the sound of it. “Send them in.”
* * *
—
Brin had always been fast. She could outrun anyone in Dahl Rhen, even Hory Killian, and he was two years older. He wasn’t anymore. Hory was dead. The same giants that killed Brin’s parents had killed him, too. As she pounded up the steps of the Spyrok, she wondered if the Fhrey had brought more giants with them. She’d only gone up the Spyrok one time before; once was enough for anyone. Until reaching the top, it was just an endless spiral of steps with a disappointing lack of windows. This time she managed to reach the fourth level before slowing to a walk. By the time she reached the seventh floor, the burst of enthusiasm that she began her race with was gone. The pounding had become a plod.
Persephone looked like she was going to be all right. That’s what both the Fhrey healer and Padera said. Brin hadn’t been convinced until Seph’s eyes opened. Since Brin’s parents’ death, she’d grown skeptical of such things as hope. Padera said she was growing up. Brin had always thought that meant a handsome husband, a home of her own, no bedtimes, and a greater voice in clan meetings. But she had come to realize growing up meant sadness, pain, and regret. Not until she hit the eighth floor did she realize that she and Tesh had saved Persephone’s life. A smile climbed onto her face, and she carried it up the next two floors.
At the tenth level, there was a tiny window. Here Brin paused to catch her breath and peered out eastward. Lights were arrayed on the plain on the far side of the Grandford Bridge, a grid of evenly set squares. She couldn’t see giants, but it was too dark to see anything but the lights.