She stepped back, stumbled over an imperfection in the terrace stone. “I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“And yet you did.” The Emperor approached, hands behind his back. “I can’t see you very well. Can you see me?”
“A little.” Her vision swirled and shifted. She felt tempted to rub at the air, as though to clear a fogged window.
“How curious.”
“I’ll just…” She wanted to turn away and run, but the inexorable blackness of his eyes held her in place. “I’ll be going now.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. No, I think—”
He froze. Expressions she couldn’t altogether decipher cascaded across his face: horror, joy, astonishment.
Rage.
“You,” he whispered hoarsely, all the loveliness gone from his voice. In its place was a terrible, ragged longing. “It’s you.”
Eliana met the terrace railing at her back. “What?”
Swiftly he moved closer, reaching for her. “Stay there. Where are you?”
A great shudder shook the terrace, throwing Eliana to the side. She pressed her hands against the palace wall to keep herself from falling…
And suddenly, the palace, the city below, the Emperor, were all gone.
The red walls of Lord Morbrae’s dining room stood fast and close around her. His slack face stared up at her, eyes clouded and gray.
Like the eyes of an adatrox.
She pushed back from him, fell hard to the floor, scrambled away.
“Who are you?” Lord Morbrae asked, rising jerkily from his chair. Reaching for her, just as the Emperor had done. His voice had been cut in two—part his own, part the Emperor’s. “Come here. Come to me.”
A blast sounded from outside. Eliana recognized it as the detonation of a bombardier.
Simon.
Remy had told them everything, and now Red Crown was going to destroy this outpost, with her inside it.
Despite herself, she smiled. What a budding rebel her little traitor brother had turned out to be!
The room shook; the dishes on the table rattled, and Lord Morbrae stumbled. Three of the four adatrox stationed around the room hurried out the door, unsheathing their swords. A wineglass fell to the floor and shattered.
Eliana grabbed the biggest shard of glass she could find, leapt to her feet, and lunged for Lord Morbrae. He saw her too late, dodged clumsily. She wondered if the gray clouding his eyes was confusing his sight, then drew the shard’s sharp edge across his throat. Blood gushed hot over her hand and onto her clothes. Lord Morbrae made a terrible choking sound, then fell hard to his knees before collapsing.
The remaining adatrox rushed at Eliana. She grabbed a carving knife from the table and met him beside Lord Morbrae’s corpse, kneed him in the groin, then plunged the knife into his belly. She ran past him, flew out into the hallway, and ran right into the muzzle of Simon’s revolver.
He wore the Wolf’s metal mask, but even with his features hidden, she could feel his fury in the air like the charge of lightning.
Another bombardier exploded, this one closer. Simon grabbed her by the arms as something in the ceiling gave way with a creaking groan, pulled her tight against his chest and shielded her between his body and the wall. One of the rafters fell, bringing down stone.
“This way,” he muttered, shaking dust from his hood.
She pulled against his grip. “Where’s Remy?”
“With Navi. And so help me, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of here if necessary.”
“Why not kill me?” She wiped grit from her eyes. “I’m a traitor, aren’t I? I thought you’d blow the place to the skies—and me with it.”
He laughed bitterly. “If only it were that easy.”
Shouts and gunfire sounded from beyond the outpost’s walls, and Remy, Eliana assumed, was somewhere in the thick of it. If she didn’t cooperate, she might never find him. She shot Simon a glare and swallowed her anger before following him down the hallway.
From behind them came a distant scream, followed by another.
Eliana whirled. Inhaling, she tasted smoke.
The prison.
She ran for it, but only made it a few paces before Simon grabbed her arm.
“Unhand me,” she growled.
He did, roughly. “Then don’t run away again.”
“There are people back there,” she said. “Refugees. Prisoners. Children. We have to free them.”
“We can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because my soldiers have set bombardier charges around the building. When the fire reaches them, they’ll detonate. In less than five minutes, this building will no longer be standing.”
Eliana felt as though the floor had dropped out from under her. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
“Well, I’m going.” She started again for the prison, and this time, when Simon stopped her, she elbowed him in the gut and stomped on his foot, but he didn’t release her.
“Let me go!” She struggled, twisting violently. “What do you care if I die trying to save them?”
“As touched as I am by your sudden heroic streak,” Simon bit out, “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Now, move.”
Another bombardier detonated, the closest one yet. A chunk of plaster fell from the ceiling and hit Eliana’s head. Pain spiked down her skull; she swayed, tried to move forward, stumbled.
With a curse, Simon caught her, thrust his gun into her hands, and scooped her easily into his arms.
“If someone comes at us,” he ordered, “shoot them.”
He ran, keeping his head tucked over hers. Clouds of dust, smoke, and grit fogged their way. Eliana coughed against Simon’s chest, considered shooting him in the gut right then and there.
But then two adatrox ran out of the shadows. Eliana turned in Simon’s arms and fired five times. She was a bad shot even without having been hit in the head, but luck helped at least two of her bullets hit true. The adatrox jerked and fell.
They turned a corner and another, passed a room crackling with flames and another where a glassy-eyed adatrox lay on the threshold, his arm outstretched. Papers marked with muddy boot prints littered the floor.
Then, a shot from behind them—a near-hit. Eliana looked past Simon’s shoulder, and her stomach lurched with fear.
Lord Morbrae.
He was alive.
He chased them down the corridor, rifle in hand, and though his face, neck, and jacket gleamed with blood, Eliana could see no wound on his throat.
Impossible.
She pointed the revolver past Simon and fired, but nothing happened.
“You used all the goddamned bullets.” Simon kicked open a door in their path three times before it gave. Once through, he kicked it back shut. Lord Morbrae fired again; the door’s wood splintered at Simon’s heels.
He lowered Eliana to the ground. They were out. It had to have been near midday, but clouds and smoke darkened the sky. The outpost’s perimeter wall was aflame. Eliana heard screams, shouted commands. Simon pulled her along awkwardly, his arm around her waist as they ran.
Oh, right, Eliana thought, giddy, the pain in her head now completely gone, her limbs strong and steady once more. I’m supposed to be hurt. She leaned into Simon’s body, let him help her along.
A chorus of high-pitched whines began behind them. The door through which they’d exited burst open. Eliana saw Lord Morbrae search through the smoke, spot them, raise his gun. The whines escalated, shrill and dissonant.
Simon shoved Eliana ahead of him. “Get down!”
She obeyed, skidding down a wet slope into a narrow, swampy ravine. Simon threw himself down after her and covered her body with his own.
The world exploded.
? ? ?
Someone slapped her.
Eliana surged awake with a gasp. “How long?”
“Three seconds,” came Simon’s impatient reply. “Get up.”
She obeyed, then froze. A terrible sound floated down to her from the blackened sky.
Screams.
She climbed the ravine, slipping on the slick wall of mud, and peeked over the rim into chaos. The outpost’s main building lay mostly in ruins, debris scattered as far as she could see. And from the ruins came those screams—agonized, beastly.
“The prisoners,” Eliana whispered. She looked over at Simon. “Some could still be alive.”