T he village was already burning.
My tent was on the far north side of our encampment, slightly offset
from the rest. By the time Ishqa and I crested the hill, the night sky was lit up with the bloody glow of flames. How did this happen so fast?
Ishqa’s stride didn’t even slow as he drew his sword. I did the same, with considerably less grace.
Serel. Sammerin. I needed to find them.
“How?” I choked out. “How did they find us?”
Ishqa gave a pointed look to my hand. That alone was enough to make the pit in my stomach drop further. “They can track this?”
“I do not know. Maybe. If—”
Ishqa stopped short. I had to stop myself from stumbling into him. When I lifted my gaze to follow his, I felt sick. The soldiers were on horseback, silhouetted into four legged beasts through the thick black smoke and red glow of the flames. Human? Fey? I couldn’t tell from this distance. Leading them down the main stretch of the encampment was the dark-haired Fey from earlier that day.
They were going through each tent methodically, ripping people from each before setting them aflame. In the distance, I heard my name on the lips of shouted orders.
“They’re looking for—”
“You,” Ishqa finished. “For that.”
I grabbed his arm, wrenched him towards me. It must have looked comical—he was so much larger than me that it was like trying to drag a stone statue. “You need to tell me what this is.”
“That is… a complicated question that I do not have time to answer. But we absolutely cannot, under any circumstances, allow them to take it. You need to leave here. Right now. We can be miles away by the time they realize you are gone.”
He put out his hand for me, clearly intending to fly us both away, but I shook my head.
“Leave and let them burn this place to the ground? I won’t do that.” “This is important, Tisaanah—”
Important, he says, as if my people were not.
Down the hill, I heard more shouts. Through the smoke I could make out a familiar tall, lanky form standing down the Fey, sword drawn. Filias, looking as if he was ready to take down the army himself.
He didn’t even especially like me, but he was prepared to die for me.
No. No, leaving now was out of the question. If I was going to leave, I was going to make sure the Fey saw me do it—I was going to give them something to chase and give my friends time to escape.
I was out in the street, in full view of the attackers, by the time Ishqa even saw me moving. I heard him call my name, horrified, and ignored it.
The Fey woman smiled.
“How lovely to see you again so soon.”
I stopped several paces short of her. The smoke was so thick it burned my eyes, the sky now red, the air dense. I could see little but the fire and the silhouettes moving within it. Sammerin knelt next to an injured woman, his head turning to look at me.
Don’t move, Sammerin. Not yet.
“Call off your men,” I said.
“The Threllians are my allies, not my subordinates,” the Fey woman said. “And they have been looking for your friends for a very long time. I cannot guarantee they will listen.”
I tracked movement out of the corners of my vision. Soldiers, approaching me through the smoke. I nearly flinched as one of them lurched for me, only for them to stop short, neck snapping at an unnatural angle.
But I could also hear movement behind me—fragments of what I prayed was Riasha’s voice.
I just needed to buy enough time for them to escape. The woods were not far from here. Thick enough for them to get lost in, I hoped. I
understood one thing as truth. If I didn’t do something, if I simply hid and ran into the night like Ishqa wanted me to, everyone here would die.
I took one step forward, and the Fey woman tensed. She was watching the distance between us so closely. I pretended not to notice.
“I understand,” I said. “But if you can’t make me that promise, then I won’t go with you.”
I pushed a strand of rebellious hair from my eyes—deliberately letting the movement linger, showing off my left hand and the gold that wrapped around it. The Fey watched me the way a hawk watched a fish circling beneath the water.
“As you wish,” she said, at last, and murmured something in a language I couldn’t understand to the Fey soldier at her side, who gave me a wary stare before riding off into the red mist.
I refused to show my breath of relief. I readied myself. Took a step forward.
And then a force hit me so hard that all the air was knocked out of my lungs.
I hit the ground. A body—no, two—were on top of me, one wrenching my arm behind my back, one yanking my head back by my hair. A splitting pain cut through me. Pop, as my shoulder left its socket.
I managed to press my hands together just enough—just enough to draw the final line of the Stratagram I had been inking onto my palm in blood.
… And nothing happened.
Shit.
My magic had become a volatile, unpredictable thing, never with me when I needed it most. And right now, I needed it to take me away from here.
Sour breath warmed my ear, my cheek. A Threllian soldier. “What?” he breathed. “Your magic tricks fail you, slave?” “Not all of them,” I replied.
He screamed loud enough to drown out everything else as I pushed my blade from my sleeve, lodging it in his considerable gut. I seized the moment of freedom, rolling over and jamming my blade through the throat of the other soldier who reached for me. Shouts filled my ears, coming from all directions.
There were too many of them. I needed to Stratagram away—show them that I’d left, give them another target far away from here.
To my left, one of the men stopped short, his body lurching oddly. He clutched his chest, falling to his knees. His companion turned, only to suddenly jerk, his neck snapping is if twisted by invisible hands.
I whirled to see Sammerin rushing towards me.
“Don’t let her go!” a voice screamed. The Fey woman charged for me. Sammerin grabbed me split seconds before she did. I caught his eyes,
dark and determined, and understood what he was about to do.
If I’d had time to speak, I would have asked him if he was sure. Coming with me meant being pursued. It meant one more step away from the peaceful life in Ara he so missed.
And yet, I could’ve sworn I saw him nod—nod, as he wrapped me in his arms and drew a Stratagram over a scorched piece of parchment.
The Fey soldier’s hands grabbed my elbow, nearly yanking me away from him.
The world fell away, and we were gone.
