The storm hit us at sunset. Clouds rolled over the sky, blacking out the sun, cooling the air. All at once, water crashed down in a windless torrent. It soaked me through, chilling my bones. Still we pushed through the deepening muck. We had no other option.

I pulled my horse through a thick, knee-deep pool. Thunder clapped across the sky. In the darkness, the world narrowed to the few feet around me, the rest of the mire swallowed in water and shadow. From within the black, a flash of white streaked by—Sarangerel, swooping in and out of my vision as she kept her sharp eyes on us. Beside me, Andiya flared a ball of fire in her palm. It fizzled and died. She made another. It died too.

“There’s nothing to burn!” she complained loudly. “Everything is too wet. Even the air.”

“You can’t do anything at all?”

“I can burn magic alone—but it won’t last long!”

The Ilyin host was invisible in the rain. Damian could find us, but we couldn’t find him. He had Sarangerel. The Ilyins could catch us a league under the ocean.

“My lady!” I shouted, knowing Sarangerel could hear. “If it comes down to it, you leave us behind. We will hold off the Ilyins.”

Irina, trudging beside her horse, gave me a short nod. No thank you, no protest. Not from a royal. I was expected to die for her, if need be.

“I don’t want to see Damian dead any more than you do,” sent Andiya. “But if this doesn’t work, I will do what I must.”

“It’ll work. It has to.”

“For their sakes, I hope it does.”

It got darker and darker. There was no horizon but obstreperous clouds. My muscles screamed in protest as we slipped and trudged through now shin-deep mud.

Something shiny flashed by in the dark, lit by a bolt of lightning. It sank into the muck.

I leaned down and felt around. I gripped a thin, fletched shaft. An arrow.

I drew the sword Irina had stolen from the Ilyins. I let the tip rest on the ground, already breathing hard. The mire had exhausted me, just as Damian must have planned.

Andiya lurched to my side. She tore off a strip from her shirt and blasted it with fire. It caught weakly, and with a flick of her finger, the fire whipped towards where the arrow had come from.

In its light we saw the edge of armour, then that fire died too.

Andiya helped me over to Irina. Her Majesty looked half-wild, her raven hair stuck to her face, her gown plastered to her body, her cheeks pink from exertion.

“They’re here!” I shouted over the rain. “Go ahead of us. We will buy you time to reach Ryalgrad.”

Irina clasped my arm. “I acknowledge your loyalty, dear friend. It shall never be forgotten.”

Arrows sank into the mud by my feet. Getting closer. If the Ilyin soldiers were not firing blind, we would be dead.

“Go!” I shouted, and Irina scrambled forward, pulling the horses with her.

“They’ll catch her!” Andiya bellowed. “What do we do?”

“We stop them!”

“Right! But just in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit short on magic tricks at the moment!”

“There must be something that you—”

A sword from the darkness sliced at my side, and I barely parried in time. The ring of metal vibrated down my arm as I wrenched myself from the muck and faced an Ilyin soldier.

“Iron!” I shouted in Andiya’s mind. “Get behind me!”

“You can handle him?”

“I hope so.”

The armoured soldier struck again. I struggled to set my feet in the shifting mud, parrying with a wonky slash. Our swords pierced the muck as one. I managed to find a solid patch of ground, and I struck back.

We began a rough back and forth dance, soaked and nearly blind and lashing hardest in the brightness of lightning. I fell into my military training, dodging and stabbing in the liquid fashion of Azherbal. But we were both drained from battling the mud and elements. This fight couldn’t last more than a minute.

My foot stuck in the mud, and as I wrestled to free myself, the soldier kicked me square in the stomach. I took the blow, winded, and clutched my sword tight like a rope hanging me over a cliff. If I dropped it, this would be over. I scrambled to right myself and deflect his next strike.

But the soldier turned, raising his blade—not at me, but at Andiya, who was rushing to my side.

“Get back!” I screamed, but the roar of thunder drowned my voice. Something in me snapped—I surged upwards, leaping between the soldier and Andiya, shoving her aside. I threw my sword over my head.

The soldier’s blade clashed with mine. They pressed between us in a desperate contest of strength, and then Andiya was there.

Her hand pressed the soldiers helmet, and it blossomed orange under her touch. The soldier dropped his blade as his helmet turned red hot, boiling his head like an egg. He screamed. I drove my sword through his neck, and he fell.

“Not so pacifistic now, are we?” Andiya sent.

“He was going to kill you.”

“And? So was Damian.”

I met her eyes. Instead of finding the words, I let her see my mind—how when the soldier’s blade had come for Andiya, nothing mattered but her. I did not think of the toll, of the burden of taking yet another soul. Andiya was in danger, and I would protect her. Bury the cost.

“You were right,” I said. “It’s us or them.”

Another sword appeared in the inky black. I was ready this time. I blew him back with a savage strike, and he stumbled in the mud. A well placed kick sent him crashing down. Andiya gripped his visor, blasting flame through the grille. Inside the helmet, her magic found something to burn.

A third soldier found us, a fourth, a fifth. Andiya leapt on one like a wildcat, blasting fire into his helmet. I managed to shove one back, but he gripped me as he fell, and I tumbled into a pool of water. My face went under, and for a few terrifying seconds I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, could only drown—until I found my footing and dragged myself from the silt with a desperate gasp. The soldier grappled me, and I drove my sword through the gap between his chest plate and helmet. Warm blood poured down my front.

His life joined my rising toll.

Andiya grabbed my arm and hauled me out of the mud and onto a hard-packed patch of dirt and stone. I spat thick, silty water and braced myself for the next attack.

They kept coming, drawn to us by the sound of screaming and ringing steel. I was spent. A soldier managed to pin me, and she raised her blade to drive it through my chest. Andiya tackled her with a fierce cry, setting the soldier aflame like a low meteor. But there were just too many. Soldiers surrounded us, hanging back with their shields raised. Even with Andiya’s powers muted, they were still in the presence of a High Order. But their hesitation could not last forever.

Sarangerel swooped down.

“Now!” I shouted into Andiya’s mind.

Andiya dove to the ground just as Sarangerel’s claws snatched the air where her head once was. She opened her palm to blast fire back, and it caught with a massive blaze, lighting the mire and storm with intense orange heat. Andiya’s eyes popped in shock. She frowned at her hand, where a small snake of fire did somersaults around her fingers. She lowered her hand near the muck, and the snake tripled in size. A disturbing grin spread on her lips.

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“Sarangerel!” she shouted to the sky. “Bring us Damian. Tell him to leave us be, or I burn his men alive.”

“In this rain?” I asked. “What about your magic?”

Her voice was a velvet purr. “You trust me, don’t you Rozin?”

“I do,” I answered without hesitation.

The soldiers pressed closer, their shields edge to edge in a ring.

“Do what she says!” I shouted. “Bring us Damian!”

The soldiers’ approach halted. More men joined them, surrounding us in a thick knot of iron and steel.

From the ranks stepped a golden-haired man with a sunset cloak. Mud covered his body to the waist, more flecked on his face. Damian seethed with a quiet wrath as Sarangerel landed on his wyrwood wrist.

“I accept your surrender,” Damian growled. “And that of your Shrike, when my soldiers catch her. She will not reach Ryalgrad. You are not the first enemies we have hunted in the mire.”

“But I may be the first High Order,” said Andiya, and the soldiers shifted nervously, readying an attack.

“So it’s true. Then I must have the pleasure of meeting the dead princess’s pets—Eon Kain, and Andiya the Crownkiller.”

Small pleasure flicked up the bond. So she liked her new title.

“You do,” I said. “And Andiya has promised she will burn your men to charcoal unless you turn back to Winterwood Hall and leave us be.”

“There is no Winterwood Hall!” Damian spat. “Nothing we did could put out your daemon’s fire. All we have left is ash.”

“Well. You were trying to kill us,” Andiya said with a cool shrug.

“And we should have. Now hundreds will starve without our protection. Is that what you serve, Rozin Kain?”

I grit my teeth. I’d been so focused on escaping that I’d forgotten all about Winterwood Hall’s refugees. They’d lost what little they had, because I had taken it from them.

“Who cares what Rozin serves?” Andiya drawled. “I serve myself. And I say that you have ten seconds.”

“Stop bluffing. Sarangerel listened to your helpless words, watched your magic fail. It is Rozin who has ten seconds to pray for her soul. The Creators will not be kind to it.”

“Pray?” Andiya asked with a sneer. “What good would that do?”

“None, for a monster.”

“Then your precious Creators can go fuck themselves,” Andiya spat, “and so can you.” The rain lashed at us, thunder rolling across the sky, but all of us focused on that high, cruel voice. Mocking the gods themselves. There was not a human on earth that would dare; even the nonbelievers knew to hold their tongues lest they be proven wrong. “Five seconds, Damian. Ask your sensor if I’m bluffing.” When Damian’s scowl deepened, Andiya fixed him with a taunting smile. “What’s the matter? Can’t tell when a High Order is lying?”

“Soldiers!” Damian barked, and feet shifted into battle-ready stances.

“Sword,” Andiya sent.

“Make it quick,” growled Damian.

I tossed Andiya the sword and she stabbed it into the mire. Soldiers charged. Andiya withdrew the blade, releasing a horrendous stink. She knelt in the mud and snapped her fingers.

A blossom of flame flashed up from where she’d stabbed the mire. It snaked around Andiya wonkily, as though she had trouble controlling it. The soldiers halted, boots squelching and sticking in the mud.

“You ever wonder what makes this place smell so bad?” said Andiya. “I took you for a man of education, Damian.”

Understanding curled Damian’s lips into a snarl. “Gas.”

“That’s right. Guess you aren’t as smart as thought you were, chasing a High Order into the rain. A lesser creature would not have put it together. But I am not lesser.”

The ring of fire flashed and burst as though it hit stray wisps of gas. Licks of flame slammed into shields, blasting soldiers back. I could feel the strain on Andiya’s magic as she controlled the bursts, carved them into tight licks, kept them in her grasp.

“Tut tut. So many feet, beating down the mud, releasing so much gas …”

Damian glared at Andiya with a hatred that made my blood run cold. Then his eyes found the bodies sunk half in the muck, their armour shining against Andiya’s fire. Pain flinched his features, then was pressed down by chilling calm.

“Akh neri mai,” Damian began in the elven tongue, and I stopped breathing. No. “Il hayr raas kha, Ilyin ys Zhyla, sanri Kain ys Azherbal. Redwyr kal.”

I knew those words. Humanity remembered little of the dead elven language, but for the phrases we found in ancient texts and tombs. That was a redwyr kal—a blood feud. For ours and every following generation, we would be enemies of the highest order.

Some of Damian’s soldiers looked at each other nervously. A redwyr kal was illegal in Novosk. The soldiers were bound by law to report it—but I doubted the law would ever hear of this.

“Go,” Damian growled. “And keep your life. I will have it someday.”

He waved, and the soldiers lowered their weapons. We had won—hadn’t we?

Andiya smirked at Damian like a taunt. I pushed her behind me.

“Damian,” I said. “Listen to my truth. I will serve the people, and I will protect them with all I have. And someday, I will end our feud.”

Damian’s fury remained unchanged. He waited, and said nothing in return. So I led Andiya away into the pounding rain.

*

We stumbled blindly through the storm. A ball of fire whipped about ahead of us, lighting the way. It was the only light left anymore, with the moon shrouded in clouds, the world around beaten down by rain and soggy air.

It got colder. Night fell deeply, and still the storm raged on. I shivered so hard my vision trembled. But there would be no respite, no shelter, until we made it through.

“I didn’t know you could strategize like that,” said Andiya. She walked just beside me so that we didn’t lose each other in the darkness.

“I’m a soldier.”

“Do you think every soldier would have thought to bluff Damian away? Gas, you really told him. As if a bit of rain would stop a High Order.”

It was the only way I could think of to get us out of there without a slaughter. Irina had ordered Damian’s death, and unless we killed him, we’d be branded as traitors. All we could do was lie.

Andiya couldn’t kill the Ilyins without her magic, but it was not as simple as pretending the rain had incapacitated her. We’d never escape Damian without her power. Andiya had acted her part well. The desperate shouts through the rain when her magic had supposedly failed, the false surprise when she’d found the life-saving “gas.” Neither Damian nor Irina had any reason to suspect duplicity. What I’d done was only treason if anyone knew the truth.

“You can thank Shokarov. He taught me not to play chess, but to play my opponent.”

“Or I can thank you, and you can take the compliment. Unless you still have a problem with who it comes from.”

“Sorry. Thank you, Andiya. For trusting me.”

“There we go.” She leaned close. Precious heat radiated from her like metal out of a forge. I didn’t pull away. “You said sorry before, too.”

“I did.”

“And you meant it?”

I’d thought the Ilyin statues were going to kill me. In my last moments, all I could think to say was my regret—how wrong I had been. I took a deep breath, opening my mind to her. Andiya needed the feel the truth in my words.

“I meant it. I’m sorry, Andiya, for bonding you. Capturing you. Everything I have done to hurt you. You did not deserve any of it.”

“And?”

“And what?” I slipped in the mud, but Andiya caught me by the wrist. She pulled me up effortlessly, holding me barely a few inches from her body.

“And because I am so very sorry, Andiya, I will never take away your magic again.” Her eyes burned through the rain, glowing faintly in the night. Her hair stuck to her skin, dripping down her neck and arms. But her ferocity had never dimmed.

“I can’t promise that.”

Her hand tightened. “Why.”

“The future is uncertain. There could be a day when anger trumps reason, when either one of us snaps. You can hold me back, save me from myself—but I can’t do the same for you. So if taking your magic is the only way, I’ll do it.”

Her brow furrowed dangerously, but she let me go. “Very well,” she said, deathly flat.

The rain never let up. Andiya summoned flame around us, calming my shivers. I kept pushing onward, but my legs wobbled, my strength flagged. I hadn’t slept properly in days, my body ached from the fight, and all of our supplies—like food, mainly—were with Irina. In the darkness, I didn’t even know if I was still heading in the right direction.

Hours passed. The storm raged, the night deepened. Still I trudged.

“You’ll make it, Rozin.”

The voice could have been Andiya’s or mine. I felt her magic trickle into me, but she couldn’t keep it going forever—especially if she wanted to sustain the flames. Someone had to give.

My knees hit the mud.

“Get up. You’re not giving up here.”

I didn’t move.

“Move, Rozin.” Fury laced her words. “I will never forgive you if you don’t.”

My muscles screamed as I stood. I kept walking, distant from my body. When I fell again, I told myself I had one minute. One minute, then on your feet.

A crushing grip hauled me from the mud, and suddenly I was pressed against warmth. Andiya carried me on her back. I would have protested, would have told her to put me down, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not when she was so warm, and I could go no farther.

She walked.

And walked.

And walked.

Through the rain, a pair of feline yellow eyes blinked at me.

“Did you see that?” I mumbled near Andiya’s neck.

Andiya straightened and looked around. She went stiff and tightened her grip on me. The eyes appeared again, and then another pair beside them. Dozens of identical eyes opened all around us in a wide ring.

“Are you lost, little bird?” said a sing-song voice. It came from everywhere at once.

Andiya drew herself to her full height. The eyes shifted closer, blinking curiously at me.

“Wouldn’t you like your human to have a warm place to sleep?” asked the eyes. “We have room to spare.”

“Back off.”

“She’s a delicious thing, isn’t she?”

Andiya bared her teeth. “She is mine.”

The eyes inched nearer. They seemed to hover in mid-air. Where was their body?

The sing-song voice asked a question in the daemon tongue, and Andiya’s voice went harsher in reply. The eyes flinched. What followed was what seemed like a short argument, ending with the sing-song voice’s wary submission.

Andiya slid me from her back, a crushing grip on my arm. “Stay close.”

As if I had a choice. The eyes closed, and a second later, the warm glow of a fire-lit window appeared before us, materializing from the darkness. As we walked towards it, the mud flattened to a flagstone path, then to short wooden steps. Andiya paused on the dry deck of a rickety inn, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses and conversation wafting from behind the walls. She pressed her hand to a dark green door, and it swung open.

We stepped into a small tavern. Floating lanterns bobbed near the ceiling, casting rows of benches and tables and pewter dishes in pale yellow. Silence fell as the patrons turned to stare—because I was human, and this was a place for daemons.