The sight of the ocean rushing past me as I fly brings my mind back to the glowing waters of the grotto. I miss Callen so much, more than I expected to. He would have helped me think this out step by step. Would he have sided with me, maybe even come with me? Of course he would have, my heart whispers. I know that now. Ox would have said yes, too. At least I think he would have.
The waters churn more violently as I approach Balmora. At the Cliffs, I fly into the most shadowed part of the rocky surface and swing my body upward. Here and there, my longest feathers brush on stone, but I keep going. Cresting the ridge, I fly low and try to stay hidden as much as I can, but the land is covered only by sparse sea grasses and weeds. Still, I don’t want to gain any height. My magic could start to fail any second.…
It comes quickly, like air being sucked from my lungs. I use the last moments to drop my bag from my jaws and tuck my body into a roll. I tumble into the grasses, a rock embedded in the ground colliding with my hip as I do, and I let out a sharp yelp as I finally come to a stop.
I lie there for a minute, panting. I’ve done it. I’ve made it to Balmora.
Save for losing my magic, everything feels right. The dirt under my elbows is just dirt. A strange, droning sound that I can’t place carries from the mountains to the north, but closer to me, the birds and insects sound the same here as on the Heliana. I welcome everything that feels familiar.
I get up and dust myself off, then retrieve my bag. The Heliana is a gray blur over the sea, too far for me to make out any of her buildings. I have left everything I’ve known behind, and I can’t turn back. I’ve made my own mission: tell the teams about Tabrol, and help them find the cure before it is too late.
“Hang on, little prince,” I whisper. “Just hang on.”
The teams have a day’s journey ahead of me, but if I press forward as long as I physically can and minimize my sleep, I may just have a chance of finding one. Any of the warrior teams would do, but I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t have my heart set on one in particular.
Seth would look after me, as he always did. As for Ox and Callen … I’d be happy to be beside either of them.
Skies, I wonder if they’ve talked about me. They’d have to talk about something when taking breaks or resting for the night. If I came up at all, what would they say? Have they realized that they have feelings for the same person?
Enough, I tell myself. It doesn’t matter if they’ve talked about me. That is the last thing I’ll bring up when I find them—that is, if I find them.
My heart can wait. My fears about deserting—and my dream of becoming a warrior—can wait. I turn for the east and don’t look back.
17
SHIRENE
It’s silence that does it.
Finally, alone in my quarters with nowhere to be, and no one looking for me, I break. Or at least I try to.
Pounding my fists on my bed, I beg for tears, and none come. If I’m going to cry, it has to be now. Who knows when I’ll get another moment’s rest?
Someday, when this is all behind us, I’ll come clean and start again. But for now, no one can know. The citizens can never learn that it was us who turned down peace, us who fanned the hate in the humans’ hearts. We are the reason they deny us help now, victims of a pride that has endured for generations.
Now, like a hunter caught in his own trap, we have no one to blame but ourselves.
I sit back on my knees, defeated. Seth. What if he doesn’t come back? What if the prince dies before he does?
Eighth bell sings out from the Glass Tower. I push myself to my feet with a sigh and light one of the citrus candles by my bedside. It is from the same maker as Mother’s candles, and as the room warms with the scent, it takes me back to Storm’s End’s halls, when I was just a person and not a voice for the city. The moment’s reverie doesn’t last. I can’t let it.
The palace maids have already tidied up my room, but I smooth out the bedspread I’ve wrinkled, savoring the soft feel of the fabric. Warrior training emphasizes tactile feeling: know your weapon, know the ground you keep low to, know the difference between familiar and unfamiliar. Even in my exhausted state, old habits die hard.
With a quick scrub of my face, I let down my hair only to redo it again in a twist of twin braids knotted at the base of my neck. I tie it off with gold thread, denoting my status. Renna will scoff at the look—the hair of a palace maid with the status of a sentinel—but for once, I’m able to shrug off what Renna might think.
Satisfied, I take my lioness form and make a long, circular sweep of the city. A few citizens wave their hellos, and I roar out in response. Keep the people happy, keep the people safe. I want so badly to succeed at both.
Heart hammering with love for my city, I angle downward to Storm’s End. I’m guessing, but Rowan won’t go back to the Underbelly after yesterday. Impulsive as she can be, she shows her hand more than she thinks. When things get hard, she goes home.
I trust her not to spread what I’d told her, but that isn’t why I want to see her. I pulled rank on her, on my little sister, just as I told her I never would. I let her down.
My shadow crosses over Storm’s End, and I’m about to fly for the matron’s balcony in the back when I see the crowd gathered outside the front doors. Oh no.
I land and take my human form. A group of people, men and women alike, crowds the doors of the school. I recognize the woman closest to us, a fisherman’s wife whom I know from the market. Her eyes widen when she sees me.
“Lady Shirene!” Her words are half-exclamation, half-sob. “Is it true? Are there children dying?”
I had rehearsed this moment in my head so many times. “We are being careful,” I say smoothly. The crowd parts, and I see Mother’s deep magenta dress. Her expression shifts when she sees me. “The king and sentinels have heard the rumors as have you. And we are being careful. Now please, let me through.”
Still, the questions tumble into one another.
“Are we safe?”
“I saw healers flying from the palace!”
“What’s causing it?”
My heart clamors in my rib cage—there are too many people, and so many questions. I have to stall as best as I can.
I am the King’s Voice. This is my job, now more than ever.
“I just came from the palace. We must work together to keep calm until the king and scholars tell us what to do next.” There’s more grumbling and whispers, but my title and calm have done the trick. “Matron Talla, if you will.”
She unlocks the doors to Storm’s End and ushers me inside. Just before the door closes, I see a pair of women reach out and hug each other. No words, just an embrace. The murmurs behind us quiet as the doors click shut. I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful for its protection.
Mother opens her arms and draws me in for a hug. “I’m so glad you came.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t get away sooner,” I reply. “I’m so sorry about the two girls.”
“We can only look forward,” she says, but she avoids my gaze.
“Skies. Rowan told you.”
“And the fish vendor outside.” Her shoulders drop. “Congratulations, my sweet girl. The King’s Voice. I’m so proud of you. Your father would be, too.”
I struggle to hold back my tears. “Thank you, Mother. I’m sorry you didn’t hear it from me. I’m just … so busy.”
“Come on,” she says. “Let’s rest.”
“I don’t have much time,” I reply, but I follow her, anyway. It’s strange to see the circular classroom empty and clean. A pang of sorrow strikes me as I imagine my mother spending her High Summer here, putting everything away. Alone.
“Is Rowan here?” I ask.
“She came by yesterday.”
“Was she okay?”
Mother laughs and waves me toward the kitchen. “She was upset about not being put on a team. Other than that, she seemed fine.”
“Good.” I didn’t expect Rowan to sa
y anything about Noam, but she kept our fight to herself, too. I’m not sure how to feel about that.
Here in the kitchen, the wooden countertops lie bare and the sink perfectly dry until my mother spills a little bit of water from the kettle. Three tall, thin windows at the other end of the room give us a view of the adjacent house, where a family has kept their High Summer lamps on and is having a makeshift dance.
“I miss this place,” I say absently.
“You know you’re welcome anytime. You and Sethran.”
I exhale a smile. “You can call him Seth, Mother. It’s been long enough.”
“Oh, fine. I just like the full sound of it.” She sets the tea down, and for just a moment, I relax.
The noise that interrupts my peace is unholy. It begins as a buzz, like if I pressed my ear against a beehive and managed to escape with only the memory of the sound. It grows into something more like thunder, but without any of the beauty and only the malice.
My mother goes to the window, her voice thick with uncertainty. “What is that?”
Scrambling up as quickly as I can, I dart back out through our small kitchen to the nearest hallway that leads to open air. “What in the skies.…”
The machines fly in arced paths, circling the city. A half dozen shadows trail behind them—warriors already on their tail. The sound grows unbearable, and I see the warrior flying in the rear dive sharply, engulfed in a belch of black smoke. From the lower levels of the palace, somebody screams. I squint harder, struggling to see in the evening’s fading light, but I don’t need to see what’s going on to know the horrible sound of bullets being fired.
“Mother, get away from the window!” I cry. “Go to your room and close the doors. Now.”
My mother, with her caretaker’s soul, is no fighter. She obeys without a word.
I dash through Storm’s End, practically barreling into the door of my old room before wrenching it open. Bless Mother, she’s left it alone just as I hoped. My old set of warrior armor lies as I left it in an old storage trunk. Though not as fine as my sentinel ones, I don’t have time to go to the palace.
When I’m ready, I take my lioness form and follow the sound of the machines. I beat my wings feverishly to catch up with the others. What are they? They had the wings of a bird, and lines streak their span like those of of bats, but they don’t move like ours do. My ears are stuffed with their endless droning, and my head swerves as I try to count them in the dim light. Five. No, six.
Gunfire peppers the air, countered by deep roars of pain. The smell of blood meets my senses like a fire to dry brush. Immediately, the warriors scatter, one of the fighters falling too fast before someone else swoops to grab her. Screams sound from the streets as I hear others echoing the command to take cover.
The Heliana is under attack. The king.
A sentinel’s first job is clear: protect the king at all costs. Flaring my wings hard, I fly directly at the palace, but the Tower is blessedly empty, and every light has been snuffed out. The royal family will use the emergency tunnels in the palace to shelter in the stone Keep deep within the ridge beneath the palace. They will be safe.
Banking away from the Tower, I find the closest of the machines and head toward it. I swoop up high so I’m above the machine, but I struggle to keep pace with it. A human protected by a glass dome sits at the machine’s controls. I swoop lower, readying to roll onto my back. Wind, smoke, and the unforgiving smell of the humans’ metal makes me gag, but I push the roiling of my stomach away. If I can hit the glass with my armor, it might shatter.
A roar sounds right behind me. A warrior whose name I don’t know materializes by my side, her slim frame keeping better pace with the machine than I ever could. Better yet, attached to her armor between her forelegs is a sturdy bow and capped quiver. An archer. Her piercing blue eyes meet mine, sharp with resolve.
“The glass!” I roar. “Let me break it!”
“Go!” she growls back.
She slows a beat, giving me the clearest shot. With a roar, I curl around and fold my wings against my face and limbs, exposing the unforgiving metal of my armor as I let my full weight fall towards the machine.
The glass explodes, and the human cries out in surprise.
My hind legs bounce off the machine as the machine dips. Suddenly, it pitches upward, slamming into my body before I can get away. Lights swirl in my eyes as the wind is knocked out of me. A tangle of cords and cloth releases from behind the human’s seat, catching my wing like a net.
Wind rushes by as the machine plummets, this time without any sign of recovery. I pull back, but only manage to tighten the ropes around my right wing and leg. My claws scratch feebly at the side of the machine, and I beat my free wing away.
But the human is strapped in, and the cords stuck with him—and me. The sea rushes toward us as my heart seizes, and I bat away furiously, sharp golden feathers splintering …
Desperately, I shift to my human form. My wings disappear in a burst of gold magic, and as they do, the cords loosen. I roll backward onto the wing of the machine, vision spinning in a rush of air and black smoke. Moments later, I’m in a free fall toward the sea.
I retake my lioness form, right wing throbbing with pain, and fall back as I watch three warriors slam into the machine’s left wing at once. The machine pitches angrily, the smoke spewing out in sputters. The droning intensifies, and the human screams as the warriors force the machine down into water.
Mindful of my strained wing, I fly in slow arcs as the machine sinks and gradually fades from my sight. Already, I see the sea-folk surrounding it, making sure it never sees the skies again. The other machines fly off in retreat, making wide U-turns until they’re headed back for Balmora. The warrior who aided me flies over, out of breath.
“Thank you for helping me,” I say. “Are you wounded?”
“No, Sentinel,” she replies with a quick dip of her head. “You?”
“I’m fine,” I reply. “I must go to the king.”
“I saw Sentinel Renna fly to the king’s rooms when we first heard them,” the warrior responds.
“And they would have gone to the Keep,” I reply. I dive, heading straight there. She dives with me, gliding over the rooftops. Here and there, groups of healers huddle around citizens lying in the streets. My stomach flips. We weren’t fast enough. I didn’t protect them.
My lungs still burn from the machine’s smoke. It moved with fire. How is that possible? And how many more are there? The humans have always been clever in their weapons. Now they have made one to bring the Heliana to her knees.
All while our numbers are diminished and our prince unable to leave his bed …
I’m running out of reasons to have hope.
18
ROWAN
I wake at first light, my cloak wrapped securely around me. Last night, I traveled as far as I could, eating my packed food for energy, but when I stumbled over a rock that I definitely should have seen, I called it a night and looked for shelter.
There was no telling how far I’d gone, and without a map, I only have the sun to tell me I was going the right way. Pouring a bit of my water into the dirt, I mix and then smear mud onto my armor—even my special vambrace—to hide the shine.
Walking as quickly as I can while keeping a sustainable pace, I focus on every sound and smell, no matter how small. My stomach growls as the sun climbs, but I keep moving. There were only so many rations that could fit in the bag, and it could be days until I find another team. If I find another team.
So long as I was headed toward Ramsgate, I had the best chance of finding the others, but part of me was grappling with the possibility of having to venture into the city by myself. I can’t let the fear of that stop me. I have to do whatever it takes to find the cure.
But it sure as the skies would be easier with some help.
When the grumbling from my stomach gets to be too much, I cave and eat a few slices of bread and an apple. A mission like this is
about surviving both the way there and the way back, but only one way matters right now.
At least I’d left the barren land around the Cliffs behind me. The dense forest farther east brought with it the comforting sounds of insects and birds. Sunlight streams through the branches, illuminating the dusty forest air and casting a pale glow on the earth. I inhale deeply, then let out a quiet whistle, calling up to any birds that are hiding in the tangle of branches above.
Nothing happens, and I’m disappointed but not surprised. It takes less magic to commune with birds than to shift between forms, but it still takes something. I envision gold threads, the way my mother taught me to think of it, extending from my voice and into the air. What it takes is a bird finding that thread and following it back to me. I whistle again, and after a few moments two tiny brown finches flutter toward me.
“Hi, little ones,” I say, smiling.
I tear off a bit of the remaining bread, leaving the crumbs on my palm. The birds land in my hand, their tiny bodies quivering as they enthusiastically peck at the bread. I brush my thumb across the feathers between their eyes, and they close their eyes in delight as I do. Another trick I learned from my mother. When they’ve eaten their fill, I call up the threads of magic again.
“Callen,” I say to one, diving into the magic pooled in my chest. “Ox,” I tell the other.
The birds hop uselessly from my hand to a nearby branch. I curse. Of course magic won’t work this far from the Heliana. Or maybe they are too far from me that it doesn’t hold. I’ll have to just find them on my ow—
The first bird goes, and when the second follows, I nearly fall over in relief. Best of all, they fly in the same direction.
“Southeast,” I whisper. “Well, southeast for me, too, then.”
I alternate between jogging and walking as early morning becomes midmorning. My legs and hips ache at the repetitive motion. Sweat slides down my back and hairline. There’s less wind than up in the skies, and without the ever-present breeze, everything is unnaturally still. My lungs start to strain from the effort but I wait until I am starting to feel faint before I stop to rest again. Picking a choice tree, I climb up. Keeping an eye out for the finches, I pick a defensible position and catch my breath.
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