“This is all your fault,” he growled. He punched her in the kidney without easing his grip on her neck. She had no air to groan.
Serina sagged, black spots dancing before her eyes. She elbowed him again, but it was a feeble effort. Her strength was fading. Her lungs were screaming.
Suddenly, through the haze, she saw the guards nearest the edge of the balcony crumple. No one had touched them. They’d been shot.
The arm around her slackened for an instant. She twisted and became deadweight, slipping away. Then she buried her knife in his belly. Two more guards went down. There were only a few left now, and the women fighting them seemed to be gaining the upper hand.
Serina peeked over the broken railing.
Below, in the center of a circle of uneasy women, Val lowered his firearm.
THIRTY-EIGHT
NOMI
NOMI HAD NEVER seen anyone die before. It wasn’t peaceful, and it wasn’t quiet. The Superior’s hands scrambled ineffectually at his throat as he gagged on his own blood. Malachi rushed into the room and tried to stanch the flood. There was so much, a red river running over his hands, his velvet coat. She couldn’t see the stain spreading; the jacket was the same color as the blood.
Belatedly, Nomi realized she was screaming.
Asa nodded approvingly at Malachi. “The more blood on your hands, the more believable this will be.” He turned back to Nomi. “Now you, my flower. You’re going to need to be quiet.”
And he lunged at her with the dagger.
Nomi’s scream became a strangled cry. The point of the knife rammed into her beaded gown, but the heavy fabric and whalebone of her corset became unlikely armor, deflecting the blade. She stumbled backward.
Malachi knocked Asa to the ground with a thud. From beneath him, Asa twisted and bucked. Malachi was larger, but Asa had a weapon. He slashed Malachi’s arm. Malachi groaned. Nomi watched, horrified, uncertain what to do.
Asa spit and scrambled. He was suddenly a stranger, someone she had never really known or understood. Everything she’d believed, all the feelings she’d harbored, crumbled to dust. He had manipulated her.
He had lied to her. Preyed on her. He’d taken her rebellion, her agony for her sister, and twisted them into something he could use. It was so obvious now.
Asa wanted to be the Heir. He wanted the power, the adulation, the attention. He wanted everything his brother had, and she hated him for it.
Fury bubbled up inside her, hot as lava.
He had betrayed her.
Tried to kill her.
Malachi punched Asa in the face, knocking off his silver mask. Asa’s eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp. Malachi started to rise.
But it was a ruse. Asa surged up, thrusting upward with his dagger. He caught Malachi in the stomach. Malachi never made it to his feet. Instead, he crumpled.
Nomi dropped to her knees by his side. He had no corset to save him. She pressed her hands to his jacket, against the wound. He moaned. Behind them, Asa staggered to his feet.
“It’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” she whispered, crying.
But she knew the truth. Nothing was okay. Blood seeped over her hands.
Asa stood over them. “Nomi, you shouldn’t have warned off your cousin,” he said reproachfully. “But this will work out fine. Why an attempted assassination when you can have the real thing? Thank you for leaving that note in my brother’s room. You behaved beautifully.”
Nomi’s heart twisted. She’d trusted him. He’d promised her everything she wanted, and it was all a lie. Every kiss, every touch they’d shared became poison. She swallowed back bile.
Footsteps clattered through the doorway. Nomi looked up.
Eyes wide, Maris slammed to a halt. She stared, mouth open, at the bloody body of the Superior, still slumped in his chair. “I—I was looking for Nomi. What—”
“Marcos!” Asa called. “If you would.”
From a shadowy doorway at the opposite end of the room, the stocky, mountainous guard and a few of his friends appeared. Asa gestured to Maris. “Can’t have witnesses wandering off, can we?”
“Run!” Nomi shouted.
Maris turned, but the guards reached her before she got more than a few steps. Marcos pulled Nomi to her feet. Through the doorway, the faint sounds of the party grew louder, pressing ever closer. Nomi prayed it was a convoy coming to check on the Superior, that there would be witnesses to Asa’s crime.
Malachi groaned at her feet. She reached for him, but Marcos yanked her back up.
“You can’t kill us all,” Nomi said, struggling against the guard’s iron hold.
“Of course I can.” Asa brandished his dagger.
The distant voices were getting louder.
“Asa killed the Superior!” she shouted, as loud as she could. “The Superior is dead!”
She could hear footsteps now, speeding up.
Asa faltered only for a moment. “Well,” he said, nodding to Marcos. “I did promise you would see your sister again, didn’t I?” Nomi stared into his brown eyes and wondered how she’d misjudged him so entirely.
“Get him up,” Asa ordered, gesturing toward Malachi. “Put him on the boat with the girls. When he dies, throw him overboard.”
The Heir’s eyes were closed, his breathing ragged. Nomi cried out as one of Asa’s guards hauled him over his shoulder, his head rolling on his neck.
Maris stood frozen, watching everything with eyes so wide Nomi could see the whites all around. Her chest heaved faster and faster with every breath.
Marcos pushed Nomi from behind. The other guards hustled Maris. As they were herded through the door in the back of the room, Nomi heard Asa shout, “Help me! My father!”
The door slammed behind her just as the footsteps thundered into the room.
THIRTY-NINE
SERINA
SERINA HELPED THE women on the balcony secure the handful of surviving guards with their own shackles. One of them lunged forward, shouting.
Anika shot him in the face.
The rest were quiet after that.
“We should kill all of them,” Anika said. Her cheek and one of her arms were streaked with blood, and a bruise marred her temple.
“We can’t.” Serina put herself between Anika’s firearm and the guard she was pointing it at. “We might need them for leverage. They might have special ways they communicate with the mainland, or codes to unlock the rations or something. We should wait.”
Anika lowered the weapon, a little too slowly for Serina’s taste, seeing as it was pointed at her belly now. “Fine,” the girl said. “I’ll wait for now.”
But she spit on the nearest guard as she stalked over to help lead them down the stairs.
Serina collected all the guards’ weapons and left them in a pile in the back corner of the balcony. She’d have to ask Val if there was a safe place to store them in the guards’ compound. She prayed no guard had remained behind during the fight. She had no desire to continue this war.
Serina turned back to the carnage. Slash lay crumpled over the body of a guard, her eyes unseeing. Serina knelt next to her body and put a hand on her shoulder. Today was Slash’s victory.
Serina helped carry body after body down the stairs. They laid each out carefully on the stone stage, now sticky and red with blood.
Thirty-two guards were dead, including Commander Ricci.
The death toll among the women was higher. Oracle lay with at least forty other women. Ember sat in the blood next to her and held her hand, sobbing. Serina had never seen the fierce woman look anything but in control.
Val stood a few feet away. He didn’t move much; maybe he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, now that he was the only guard not dead or restrained. The women seemed to understand he was on their side. But Serina noticed from a distance that he kept a hand on his firearm.
Serina stumbled across Jacana’s body at the edge of the stage. She was curled into a ball, looking even
smaller in death. Tears slipped down Serina’s cheeks. The girl had been so scared of the fights, so convinced she would die here, and Serina hadn’t been able to save her.
Val made his way to Serina. They stood with Jacana’s body between them, and Serina wondered if it was a distance they could breach.
“I should have—” she began.
“I couldn’t leave—”
They stopped.
“They used her as bait,” Serina said. The tightness in her chest hadn’t loosened. “To get to me.”
Val’s jaw tensed. “I shouldn’t have told you what to do. I should have respected your choice.”
Serina walked around Jacana to meet Val on the other side. “You didn’t leave without me.”
He held her gaze. “You launched a rebellion.”
She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
Had she saved lives by upending the system? Or cost more? What happened when the Superior found out and sent forces to take them all out?
Serina looked around. A lot of women were milling around without purpose. Others were wrapping the bodies in sheets retrieved from Hotel Misery. There no longer appeared to be separations among the different crews.
“We’ll need a system to distribute the rations Commander Ricci was hoarding,” she said, staring at the gaunt faces. “And a place to keep the captured guards. And a way to deal with the boat guards when new prisoners arrive.” Maybe, somehow, they could keep the Superior from finding out. At least until they were ready to defend themselves.
“I can get you access to the rations, and there are a few holding cells in the guards’ compound. The boat… well, we probably have a week or so before the next one arrives. We’ll figure it out.” He gave her hand a brief squeeze. “The worst is over.”
Serina eyed him, but didn’t reply. The worst might be over on Mount Ruin. But she wasn’t planning to stop here.
She led him to the far side of the amphitheater, where Anika and several other girls from Hotel Misery were training firearms on the captured guards.
“Anika, this is Val,” Serina said. “He’s going to show you where to take the guards. He also knows where there’s extra food. Bring it back here and we’ll split it evenly among the crews.” She expected the girl to question her, to smile a dangerous smile. But to her surprise, Anika gave her a short, businesslike nod.
“Traitor,” one of the captive guards hissed, glaring at Val. Anika elbowed him in the nose. With a moan, he subsided. The other guards stared into the barrels of their own firearms, still trained on them by Anika’s comrades.
“You’ve got this?” Serina asked, shifting her gaze from Val to Anika. Would Val be safe with these women, who were so ready to kill all the guards who’d oppressed them?
“We’ve got this,” Val replied firmly. He ran a hand through his unruly hair.
Anika nodded. As Serina turned away, the girl added, “I thought you were weak. But you had a plan this whole time, didn’t you? It only took you a few weeks to take them all down.”
Serina would never have expected Anika to look at her with respect. And she knew enough not to tell the girl the truth—there had been no plan, save getting the crews to talk to each other. There was no plan now.
“Mount Ruin burns the weak out of you,” she said instead.
Anika smiled a little. They were both fighters now.
With a last glance at Val, Serina headed back down to the stage. She found Cliff sitting on a bench a few feet from the array of bodies. She was twisting her hands together, triumph and fear flitting across her wide, plain face.
“Cliff,” Serina called, drawing the woman’s attention. “You know any of the women in the other crews?”
Cliff nodded, returning her focus to the dead.
“Can you organize a group to take the dead guards to the cliffs and commit them to the sea?” Serina asked.
Cliff stood up abruptly. “I can do that.”
Serina patted her shoulder. Then she went looking for Ember.
The hike up the mountain was harder that night, with the weight of Oracle’s body on her shoulders. But Serina felt lighter too. The stars burned holes in the sky, and the greasy flicker of torches lit a long line through the darkness. There were many sisters to honor tonight.
But Oracle was first.
Fire, breathe
Water, burn
Terror, wane
Your reign is over.
Fire, breathe
Water, burn
Stars, lead the way
Your sister is here.
Serina sang the words for Oracle and Jacana.
But they were also for Val’s mother, and Petrel, and Slash, and all the women who’d fought and died here.
And they were for the living too.
When the last body sent up its last shower of sparks, a voice, hoarse from singing, asked, “What do we do now?”
In the red glow of the volcano, Serina saw face after face turn to her.
She took a deep breath. She’d managed to survive Mount Ruin by bringing these women together. But there was still so much more to do.
Someday, when she saw Nomi again—it was when now, not if, she was certain—she would apologize. She’d always thought there was no value in fighting back, that it did no good.
But Nomi had been right to rebel. It was worth it. Fighting back could change the world.
No. It would change the world. Serina would make sure of it.
FORTY
NOMI
ASA’S GUARDS SAID nothing as they hauled Nomi, Malachi, and Maris through the halls of the palazzo. Malachi’s labored breath filled the silence, and his blood dripped to stain the floor.
“Please,” Nomi begged Marcos. “He’s going to die. Help him.”
The guard ignored her.
“What happened?” Maris asked, terror turning her face bone white and her eyes black holes. “The Superior…”
Nomi choked on a sob. “Asa killed him. He—he staged a coup. He used me—Malachi—” She couldn’t get the words out.
It was so obvious now, how profoundly he’d manipulated her. Maybe he’d never intended for the Superior to die. But she was certain now that Asa would not have let Renzo escape after their charade. He would have convinced everyone Malachi and Renzo had worked together. Maybe Nomi too. He’d have had Renzo put to death, just like that groom. And he would have done it without a second thought.
Asa had taken advantage of her grief, her desperation, her nerve. He’d taken advantage of everything, even Renzo’s absence, turning it to his own purpose. Now he wouldn’t just be the Heir. He’d be the Superior.
“What are they going to do to us?” Maris moaned. She couldn’t keep up with the guards’ fast pace and kept tripping. Nomi could see how much the girl wanted to just collapse, but the guard yanked her up, over and over again.
“I don’t know,” Nomi replied, only because she didn’t want to frighten Maris more.
I did promise you would see your sister again, didn’t I? Asa had said.
Marcos led the bloodstained group to a part of the palace Nomi had never seen, and then outside to a wharf. Several large boats bobbed in the black water.
Moonlight illuminated Malachi’s growing pallor.
“Get the chains,” Marcos ordered, and one of the guards peeled off into the night.
Nomi’s stomach roiled.
Maris suddenly yanked away from the guard holding her. She caught him unprepared and was able to break free for a moment, but only a moment. He grabbed her again, pulling brutally on her hair. She cried out.
“I’m so sorry.” Tears streamed down Nomi’s face. “I should never have asked for your help. I’m so sorry.”
“The man you were trying to find,” Maris said, wincing as the guard hauled her onto a boat by her hair. “Who was he?”
Nomi stumbled as Marcos pushed her onto the boat. It was a large workboat, with iron gunwales and a stained wooden floor. The sailors who manned it scram
bled belowdecks to get the boiler going.
“Someone very important to me,” she said. Would Asa hunt Renzo down? Would he go after her family? “I was trying to keep him safe. But now I’ve imperiled you.”
The guards chained the girls to the gunwale of the boat. Maris sagged to her knees, hands trapped above her head. The red in her dress looked like blood.
“I’m so sorry,” Nomi said again. “He promised to release my sister.… I trusted him.”
The guard carrying Malachi dropped him onto the hard wooden flooring like a sack of grain.
“You there,” Marcos yelled to one of the sailors. “When he stops breathing, throw him overboard.” Then he leapt off the boat, untied the heavy mooring ropes, and pushed them away from the wharf.
The boiler belched steam. Soon Nomi couldn’t hear the lap of water over the shush-shush of the boat’s pistons. Slowly, they moved away from land, out into the vast dark sea.
The shackles around Nomi’s wrists clanked against the rail with every swell. She stared fixedly at the reflection of the moon bobbing on the water; if she looked down, she’d see the rusty stains of blood on her bedraggled golden dress.
Maris swayed with the movement of the boat, her head pressed into its cold metal sides.
“I’m so sorry,” Nomi said again, the words her mantra. Her prayer for deliverance.
Maris’s curtain of hair blew back from her face in the sharp sea wind. “Nomi, this is not your fault.”
Bitterness coated the back of Nomi’s throat. Yes, it was.
The Superior was dead, Asa had engineered his rise to power, and Malachi—
She stared at the lump of blood-soaked fabric, so motionless in the bow of the boat. Was that the faint swell of his breath, or the rock of the boat?
One of the guards approached him.
“He’s breathing! He’s breathing!” she screamed.
To her relief, the man backed away. For now.
Malachi hadn’t opened his eyes since they’d left the palazzo. Hot tears dripped down Nomi’s cheeks. He would die. Likely soon.
Grace and Fury Page 24