“What are you going to do?”
I sheathe Sander’s dagger and look down at my hands. “Claw my way toward the light, I suppose.” And hope she’s still alive when I reach her. I walk toward a window set into the curved outer wall of this narrower level near the top. We are two levels above the parapet, and I can see much of the city from here—the streets are filled with people, too far away to discern if they’re fleeing or fighting or rioting or cheering. I look to the east, but the view is obscured by a cluster of tall shelters. I can only hope Preben and Bertel have kept our warriors in safety as the world collapses around them.
Cautiously, I lean out and look up. Three of my body lengths above me, I see the round, flat wall that rings the roof of the tower, the place where Jaspar and I sparred, the place where he tried to poison me, not with powder or toxic berries, but with carefully crafted words. And now Nisse is up there with my chieftain while doom closes in.
“Give me a few minutes,” I whisper. “If my body doesn’t plummet past this window, do your best to keep the attention of those guards.”
“And you?” She points at the cuff. “Are you Kupari or Krigere right now?”
I lift the cuff to the light, examining the blood-red runes along its surface. “I’m both,” I say, knowing only as I hear myself speaking that this is the only way I can be, and that it will never be simple again. “From now on I will always be both.”
Refusing to let terror close its fingers around my heart and mind, I jump onto the stone sill and dig my fingers into the rough spaces between jagged rocks. I will have eyes only for the sky. Please, I whisper to the magic, do not let me fall. We are together in this.
A hard breeze gusts at my back, pushing me against the outer wall of the tower. I think that’s all the reassurance I’m going to get. With my whole body clenched tight, I begin to climb, slowly inching toward the top. It’s not terribly far, but from my position clinging to the side of the tower, it feels like miles. Sweat beads and trickles from my brow, but is dried by the steady wind at my back. I don’t know if it’s a gift from the Torden or the push of my magic, and I don’t care. All my focus is on not falling to my death. I kick and wiggle my toes into crags and crevices, pushing my bleeding fingers into any place that will give me a good hold. I ignore the throbbing pain in my side, the slick smear of blood as my belly slides upward.
Finally, when I am just beneath the edge of the roof, I hear the low rumble of Nisse’s voice. “By now Jaspar will be on his way to our warriors,” he is saying. “You’ve made a nice effort, but like before, you will fail to defeat us.”
“I hope your arrogance comforts you as you die at the hands of black-robed invaders,” Thyra says, then seems to stifle a whimper of pain.
I press my forehead to the stones and hold in a sob made of fear and relief. She’s alive, and she’s at his mercy. And if I go up there now, Nisse’s personal guard will flood through the trapdoor and—
A huge crash echoes up from somewhere below me, followed by a scream. “Witch,” Halina shrieks. “Witch!” She lets out another bloodcurdling wail that cuts off suddenly.
She is possibly the cleverest person I’ve ever known.
“Ansa is coming,” Thyra says weakly. “It seems your pet magic wielder couldn’t keep her caged.”
Nisse curses. “Hold her back,” he shouts, presumably to his guards. “She can’t control that magic—if you can keep her at bay, it will turn on her! Go!”
I’m about to find out if he’s right. With one last burst of effort, I heave myself up and over the side, rolling onto the floor of the roof and rising unsteadily to a crouch. Nisse is standing over the door, and Thyra is sitting at his feet. His thick fingers are curled into her hair, and she’s bleeding from a gash somewhere in her hair. She’s ghastly pale, but her gaze is clear as she focuses on me, just a moment before Nisse notices my presence.
He curses and drags her up, holding her back pressed to his chest, a shield. “So you were in on the scheme too?” he asks. “Jaspar said you couldn’t lie to save your life. Another mistake.” His face is drawn tight with fear as he slides a dagger from its sheath and holds it pressed to Thyra’s throat.
Thyra’s eyes meet mine. “Ansa wasn’t part of the plot. She found her way here on her own.” Her mouth is curved into a pained smile.
“She used you, Ansa,” Nisse says. “She’s always used you. She had your Vasterutian attendant plant the story and—”
“I know all that already.” I take a step forward, my fingers tingling. “I know everything, and I still made my choice.”