There’s a long, long silence, broken by the rattle of breath in my lungs. I’d sprinted across the square from my quarters, and a stitch digs painfully into my side. I ignore it, and everything else, my eyes only on her.
“Hasaka,” I say. “Take everyone downstairs, please, and leave us alone until I call for you.”
“Are you certain?” His voice seems distant. “She might be dangerous—”
“Rotting do it, please. Now.”
Isoka’s eyes go a little wider at hearing such language from me. Of course they do. The Tori she knows wears a kizen and speaks quietly about pleasant things. What is she going to think of me now?
You know what she’ll think. Monster, monster, monster—
People shuffle out of the room—Hasaka, the guards, a few others whose presence I hadn’t even registered. The Blue slides the door shut behind them, and I feel the pulse of his mind as he positions himself outside. Then we’re alone.
“Tori?” Isoka’s voice is hesitant.
I take one step forward, then another. Then I’m running to her, throwing myself against her, already wracked with sobs.
Isoka puts her arms around me. I have this dream, some nights, where I see her again. Around this point, she usually tells me I’m a monster and kills me, splitting me on her Melos blades or slashing my throat. I don’t know if this is a dream or not, and I don’t care. My heart thumps wildly against my ribs, as though trying to break through them and escape. Isoka’s hands settle on my shuddering shoulders, tentatively, like wild birds.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, the tears spilling out of me in a great ugly torrent, soaking the front of Isoka’s shirt. She says nothing, just holds me, her chin pressed against my hair.
By the time I raise my head, I feel empty, wrung out, like laundry put through a mangle. Isoka looks down at me, and there are tears in her eyes, too.
“I thought you were dead.” My voice sounds strange in my ears.
“I thought…” Her hand brushes over my face, down through my hair. “A lot of things.”
“You look … different.”
That is an understatement. Her hair is shorter, and some kind of tattoo stretches across her face, blue cross-hatches in a wandering line. There’s something in her expression, too, something I can’t quite place.
“It’s been a long trip,” Isoka says. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when … all this started. You must have thought I’d abandoned you.”
“Of course not,” I blurt out. “I thought—I found out what happened. That Kuon Naga took you, and sent you to Soliton.” Never mind exactly how I’d found that out—squeezed out of an Immortal captain, her mind crushed like soft fruit in the grip of my power. “Nobody ever comes back from that. I thought I’d never see you again.”
“Nothing could stop me from coming back to you.” There’s an odd glitter in Isoka’s eye. “Not if I had to go to the Vile Rot and back. Which, as a matter of fact, I did.”
“The … the Rot?” I shake my head. “That’s—”
“Like I said, it’s been a long trip.” Isoka’s features take on a business-like calm. “We can talk about it later. Right now the most important thing is getting you out of here. Will the rebels let you use one of the gates into the Sixteenth District?”
“P … probably,” I say, not quite keeping up. “But there are Imperial troops there.”
“We can handle a few Ward Guard,” she says. “At least long enough to get to the waterfront.”
“The waterfront burned,” I say. I burned it. “There aren’t any ships. Even if we stole a boat, we’d never get past the Navy—”
“No need to worry about that,” Isoka says. “I already stole one, and I’d like to see the Navy try and stop it. If we can get to the water, we’re safe.”
“What do you mean, we’re safe?” I take a step back, shaking my head. The gleam in Isoka’s eye is almost manic. “Isoka, why do you want to go? You just made it home!”
“Home is a pile of ashes,” Isoka says. “But it’s all right, Tori. It’s hard to explain, but I’ve found somewhere we can go. Away from Kuon Naga, away from the Empire and the Jyashtani and everyone. A place where mage-bloods don’t have to hide from the Immortals or anyone else.” She grins, and reaches for me. “You don’t have to worry about anything anymore, I promise. I know it must have been hard for you, while I was gone, but now I’m going to take care of everything.”
I back away again, and Isoka frowns.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m not … you don’t understand.” I feel like I’m fighting for air. My heart is still hammering. “What about everyone else? The rebels?”
“What about them?” Isoka straightens up. “We can’t save everyone. They made their choice, and they’ll suffer the consequences.”
“You mean they’ll be killed.”
“The rebellion will be crushed, like every other rebellion against the Empire,” she says. “Which is all the more reason not to stick around.”
There’s a long silence, broken only by the pounding of my pulse in my ears.
“We,” I say, quietly.
“What?”
“We made our choice. I was part of this from the beginning.” And my hands are soaked in blood. “I can’t just … leave.” I don’t deserve to.
“You can,” Isoka says. “Just trust me.”
“I need to … think.” I turn to the door, fists clenching. “I’m sorry.”
“Tori!” Isoka comes after me, and I pull the door open. The Blue waiting outside lets me pass, then steps between us. “Tori, wait!”
I flee.
“I’m telling you, someone’s gotten to her.” I pace across the carpeted floor, back and forth, in front of Meroe. “Hasaka or this Giniva or … someone. She didn’t sound like herself.”
“You don’t know what she’s been through,” Meroe says.
“I know her.”
The insistence sounds hollow, even in my own ears. Do I, really? Who is this girl with Tori’s face, who gives orders and accepts the salutes of grown men as her due?
“Isoka, stop.” Meroe reaches out and grabs my elbow. “Please. You’re giving me a headache.”
“Sorry,” I mutter. Then I pause, and look up at her. Her face is pale, and there’s something hollow in her eyes. “Are you all right?”
“I don’t know.” Meroe swallows. “I wasn’t expecting … this.”
She gestures at the windows, and I take her meaning. We’ve been escorted, politely but firmly, to an apartment in one of the buildings adjoining the rebel headquarters. It’s big enough for a family of four, with furniture hastily pushed aside to make room for miscellaneous supplies. I get the sense that the rebellion doesn’t have a lot of practice with guests it can’t stash in a prison cell.
Outside the window, the first fingers of dawn are creeping into the eastern sky, and people are gathering in the square. A queue is forming, policed by Red Sashes with spears, snaking back and forth across the cobbles. It grows by the hour, an endless line of people, mostly women and children in shabby, mismatched clothes.
“This is the central ration depot,” Meroe says quietly. “Giniva told me on the way over. They start distributing food at dawn, but people line up all night. Everyone’s scared they’re going to run out before they get their share.”
“There’s nothing we can do,” I tell her. “I’m not saying I like it, Blessed knows, but…”
“There ought to be something.” She looks up at me. “You said there was nothing we could do to save Soliton’s crew, when you wanted me to run away to the Garden with you.”
“That’s different,” I mutter. “We can’t just take everybody with us this time.”
I’d actually thought about that, after I’d calmed down. Just march the whole rebellion down to Soliton and sail away, thumbing our noses at Kuon Naga. Maybe that would make Tori happy. But the numbers just don’t work out. There have to be thousands of Red Sashes, probably tens of thousands. If we try to move them all aboard ship at once, the Imperials will attack, and the result will be a massacre. And that says nothing of the civilians who would be left behind.
“I know,” Meroe says. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I have any answers. I just look out at that and … I can’t bear it.”
I wrap my arms around her, and she leans her head against my shoulder. For a moment, we just breathe.
“Jack requires sustenance!” Jack shouts, from the other room.
Meroe looks up at me, and we both break into giggles. She leans back, wiping her eyes.
“I suppose it has been a while since dinner,” she says.
“Given that we brought them a wagonload of food, I imagine the rebels won’t begrudge us a meal or two.”
“I’ll talk to Giniva,” Meroe says. She seems to have formed a rapport with the soft-spoken rebel lieutenant into whose custody we’ve been given. We’re not prisoners, exactly—the door isn’t locked, but it is guarded, by two ordinary rebels and one of the strange soldiers they call Blues. One of the guards escorts Meroe away.
“We could still fight our way out,” Zarun says. He’s sitting on a couch in the front room, with his boots propped on a barrel and his hands behind his head. “There may be a few mage-bloods around, but most of the guards don’t seem like anything special.”
“Silent Jack could slip out to gather information.” Jack, lying on her back in a corner, walks her feet up the wall, leaving black marks on the plaster. “Or seduce both guards at once!”
“Don’t think Thora would like that,” Zarun drawls.
“Thora would forgive a little seduction in the name of a daring escape,” Jacks says. “She knows Jack’s heart is forever hers, no matter how many fools declare themselves slaves of Jack’s beauty and brilliance.”
“Let’s not do anything drastic quite yet,” I tell them. “Tori and I just need to … talk.”
But the clock is ticking, just like it was in the Harbor. The longer we stay here, right under Naga’s nose, the better the chance that he’s going to catch on.
I turn at the sound of footsteps outside, and the door slides open. Meroe’s there, with Giniva. The rebel girl is our age, pretty and well built, with a long braid and a sense of quiet determination. She looks us over for a moment, then says, “A meal has been prepared. And Miss Tori would like to speak with you.”
“Finally,” I mutter.
“Jack agrees,” Jack says, pushing away from the wall and rolling to her feet. “Her stomach growls fiercely!”
“The guards will show you the way,” Giniva says. “Isoka, if I could speak to you alone for a moment?”
I’m not sure I like the sound of that, but I shrug. Meroe leads the others out of the room, and Giniva steps closer, lowering her voice.
“Tori told me about her sister,” the girl says. “She practically worshiped her, but I always thought she sounded like a bit of a thug.”
I find myself smiling, slow and dangerous. “You’re not wrong.”
“I don’t know what you’re doing here,” Giniva says. “But if you’ve come to hurt her, just know that you’re going to have to go through me first, and I won’t be the only one. Tori saved all our lives, more than once.”
I have a hard time imagining that; gossipy, friendly Tori saving lives by … what, chatting the enemy to death? But, as Meroe keeps reminding me, I don’t know what she’s been through. I give another shrug.
“She’s my sister,” I tell Giniva. “I’m here to help her, not hurt her.”
“That may not be the way she sees it.” Giniva frowns. “Anyway. Just so you know where you stand.”
“I appreciate it,” I say, dryly. Having been threatened by the likes of Prime or the Butcher, this girl’s fierce little announcement is more cute than anything, but it wouldn’t be diplomatic to tell her that. I try to act properly cowed as I follow her out and into the building, down a set of stairs to a dining room.
A big table has been laid with platters of food, basic but plentiful—rice, smoked fish, dumplings and soup, bowls of pickles and dried plums. Jack has already started in, eating with her bare hands, while Meroe helps herself a little more delicately and Zarun fumbles with a pair of chopsticks. Tori sits across the table, picking absently at a plate of plain rice. She looks exhausted, like all of the rebels, dressed in ragged worker’s clothes, her long, beautiful hair pinned up in an untidy bun. There’s a scar on her left arm, a knife wound. I’ve already sworn to find whoever gave it to her and twist their head off their body.
“Isoka,” she says. “Giniva. Sit and have something to eat.” When I hesitate, she meets my eyes. “Please.”
Reluctantly, I take a seat beside Meroe, opposite a darkened window looking on the square. After a moment, I awkwardly clear my throat. “I suppose I should do introductions. Tori, these are my friends Meroe, Zarun, and Jack. Everyone, this is my sister Tori.”
“We’ve heard quite a lot about you,” Meroe says, diplomatically.
“Indeed,” Jack says, mouth full.
“You met Hasaka,” Tori says. “He’s our military commander. Giniva runs intelligence and security. Jakibsa is still over working in the depot, but he’s in charge of logistics.”
“And what do you do?” I say.
Tori hesitates.
“She’s in charge,” Giniva cuts in.
“In charge?” Zarun raises an eyebrow. “Of the whole rebellion?”
“Yes,” Giniva snaps. Tori blushes, silently. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“Oh, no,” Zarun says, poking at his smoked fish with one chopstick. “I was just … curious.”
“Tori,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. “Maybe we should talk in private.”
Giniva scowls, but Tori gets to her feet, and we retreat to the corner. Meroe gives me a curious look, which I do my best to ignore.
“You’re in charge?” I say.
“It’s a long story,” Tori says.
“I’d be interested to hear it.”
“Some other time.” Tori looks anxious, unhappy. “But you see how it is. I’m responsible for this. I can’t just leave.”
“Look.” I take a deep breath, fighting to keep my temper in check. I don’t want her running off again. “I understand how everything can feel like your responsibility. But you can’t take all of this on yourself. We have to go, before it’s too late.”
“You don’t—” Tori bites off her response, frustrated. “You’re not listening to me.”
“I’m trying,” I say. “What exactly do you want to do? Stay here and die?”
“Stay here and fight.” Tori looks up at me. “If you help us, we might have a chance.”
“If I help?” I choke off a laugh. “I’m just trying to get out of here before Kuon Naga and his Immortals find us.”
“Why should we have to run away? This is our home.” Tori gestures around her. “If you want to fight Kuon Naga, we’ll be with you.”
“I don’t want to fight Kuon Naga,” I growl. “I never did. I was happy when he left me alone, and all I ever wanted was—”
I cut off, and Tori glares at me. “What?”
“—to keep you safe. You know that, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. But safe isn’t good enough, Isoka. I’m not…” Tori swallows, and there are tears pricking her eyes. “It can’t just be about me.”
“Why not?” I feel my voice rising. “What rotting else was it all for?”
“I don’t know!” Tori shakes her head violently, a few strands of hair escaping from her bun. “You don’t—I mean, I’m—” Her voice is thick, and she fights for breath. “I’m not who you think I am.”
“Don’t be stupid.” I try to smile. “I know exactly who you are.”
Tori meets my eyes, and smiles too, very slightly. But there’s something dark at the edges, and I don’t like it. What’s happened to her? If someone’s hurt her, I’ll—
“Miss Gelmei.”
It’s been long enough since anyone called me that that I don’t even look up. But Tori does, and I follow her gaze to find two Blues standing in the doorway. One of them bows.
“A messenger has arrived, with urgent information,” the man says, in their strange monotone. “You are needed downstairs.”
“Right.” Tori wipes her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “Duty calls. Eat something, Isoka. I’ll be right back.”
I watch in silence as the Blues escort her away, feeling Giniva’s heated gaze from the table. When they’re gone, I sit down next to Meroe, and help myself to a bowl of rice.
“It didn’t sound like you were making progress,” Meroe says.
I flick my eyes to Giniva. “Talk later.”
Zarun looks up, frowning. “Is that—”
Then the window shatters, and three figures in black wearing chain-link veils join the party.
She doesn’t understand. I blink away tears as I follow the Blues downstairs. How could she? She doesn’t even know I’m a Kindre adept, much less the awful things I’ve done with that power. For a moment, I’d been on the verge of letting it all spill out. But the thought of the look on her face when she realizes that the perfect little girl she loves is gone, replaced with this …
Monster, my mind supplies. Monster, monster, monster.
I can’t. I’d wanted to see Isoka again so badly it hurt like a hole carved out of my insides. And now she’s here, and all I can think is that I wish she’d never come. If she’s right, and we’re all going to die when the Legions crush us, then better she never see how badly her little sister has ruined herself.
Deal with reality, Tori. She is here, and I have to live with that. Some part of me, the part that condemns prisoners and gives orders to confiscate food supplies, notes coldly that Isoka would be an incomparable asset to the Red Sashes if she could be relied on. I just have to convince her … what, to stay and die with the rest of us?
I push the whole mess aside as one of the Blues opens a door to a windowless interrogation room. Two more guards wait inside, along with a young woman in a red sash. She looks worn out, even more so than the rest of us, panting as though she’d sprinted all the way from the walls. At the sight of me, she gets to her feet.
“Sir.” I feel the panic rising off her mind. “Someone’s broken through the perimeter.”
“Where?” I press down on the beginnings of a matching panic. If the Imperials have made a substantial lodgment in the wrong place, we could lose half the city. “How many enemy are over the wall? Has anyone ordered a counterattack?”
“It’s not—” The messenger shakes her head. “It wasn’t regular Imperial troops. My squad and I were moving to take our shift down at the southern wall, in the Eleventh Ward. When we got there, the torches were out and the wall was empty. No guards.”
I frown. “Deserters?”
“My captain thought so at first, sir, but we searched and found blood and scorch marks all over. Someone took that section in a rush, with lots of sorcery, and then hid the bodies. As far as we can tell, they came into the city.”
Lots of sorcery. There was only one thing that could mean. Immortals. We’d seen relatively little of Naga’s elites thus far, and Hasaka and I had speculated that he was holding them back for some reason. It might be that they were never as numerous or as powerful as he’d let on. Or else he has a plan, and he didn’t want to spring it too soon.
“How long has it been since the last shift went on duty?” I ask.
“Four hours, sir. I ran here as soon as we found the breach, but they could still be almost anywhere by now.”
“We’ll tighten security, start a search. Extra patrols on the walls.”
I reach out with Kindre to the Blues, ready to relay orders. With their ability to communicate among themselves, they’re a wonderful asset for spreading information quickly.
Or they would be, if I could reach them. Something is smothering my powers, like a thick, cottony pillow pressed across my mind. I’ve felt something like it only once before, the last time Kuon Naga sent a squad of Immortals after me. Another Kindre user, a powerful one and close by, using their own abilities to shut mine down. I feel abruptly blind and deaf, and jump up from the table in a panic.
“Here!” I shout. “They’re here! Sound the alarm!”
Something explodes in the hallway outside, loud enough to shake dust from the walls. The door slams open, revealing a figure in black armor, face obscured by hanging chains. Shimmering green light outlines her body, and a pair of crackling energy blades emerge from her wrists.
There are two Blues in the doorway, two more guards inside the room, but it doesn’t matter. The Blues don’t even have time to draw their swords before they’re cut down in sprays of blood and arcing green power. The first guard gets her spear leveled, but the Melos adept twists out of the way and contemptuously lops the head off the weapon before ramming her blade into the guard’s gut. As the Red Sash falls, blood gushing from her lips, the second guard draws a knife and stabs the Immortal in the back. Green energy flares, stopping the blade short of her dark armor, and the Immortal spins and delivers a blow that opens the Red Sash from navel to sternum.
Then she’s coming toward me, stalking across the room at an unhurried pace. The messenger lunges to her feet, weaponless but bravely trying to grab hold of the Immortal’s arm. The soldier reaches out without looking and slashes her throat, leaving the girl staggering away spraying crimson. The Immortal lets one of her blades fade away and uses her free hand to raise her veil. I recognize her face—cruel, badly scarred on one side by Myrkai fire. The same woman who nearly captured me the last time, until I turned an innocent family into weapons.
No innocents here. No tools, no weapons. Nothing. Her lip, twisted at one corner by the scar, spreads into a half smile.
I don’t even have a dagger. I stopped carrying it, after we burned the Sixteenth Ward. Not that it would do any good against a Melos Adept, but at least I could kill myself.
“It was a good trick, last time,” she says. Her voice is harsh, as though her throat is damaged. “I respect that.”
I ignore her, bearing down as hard as I can, trying to force my power through the enveloping fog. For a moment it almost works, the block shifting against my unexpected onslaught. Then it snaps back, as though the other adept has dug in their heels, and I’m shoved back into the confines of my own skull. Even so, I don’t stop pushing. Heat ripples and shifts across my skin.
“That’s quite enough of that.” The Immortal glows golden for a moment, a flash of Rhema speed. All at once, she’s behind me, one arm around my midsection. Before I can kick or twist to bite her, she shoves something across my face, a thick cloth with a strong, sour smell. I try to hold my breath, but I’ve already gotten a lungful, and suddenly my limbs feel like lead weights. I feel myself slumping against the woman’s armor, limp as a doll.
“That’s better,” she purrs in my ear. “Kuon Naga very much wants to see you.”