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“You know the rules,” murmurs the captain. “You even think of doing something, and my men will return you and your family to Livith and his domain.”
The woman doesn’t say a word at the threat to be put to death. When a guard draws a drop of scarlet with his spear, the woman finally nods.
It takes another beat and a bead of blood to form into a rivulet before the captain motions for the guard to move the spear back an inch. He slides his ring into a fitting hole in the collar, and the mechanism snaps open. The collar falls to the woman’s feet with a clank.
“The Key to the Empire,” Rev’s voice is a thick velvet. His features are something between admiration and aberration as the prisoner stretches her trembling hand toward the metal.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
Even if he was going to answer, he wouldn’t have had time. A deafening groan makes me turn to the door. Gears of greased metal move as if of their own accord, each one unlatching its thick clutches from the door one after another.
“A metal binder,” I breathe, unable to believe what I’m seeing.
Binders are hunted down and killed as soon as their powers are unleashed for the first time. The ones who can wield water get burned alive. Those who can bind air get a noose. And those who can bring Usmad to its knees with all the metal buried under the endless sand, get crushed with the worst of Magnar’s wrath. Yet the woman stands proud. With her shackles at her feet, a dozen spears ready to bring her to her death, there’s enough metal to kill us all.
6
The last of the locks slides free, and the doors sway open. Rays of blistering sun filter through, but none of us moves. Not while the prisoner is still a threat. Sweat beading on her grime-covered brow, the woman stumbles away. The metal quivers, expanding with each strangled breath she takes. Her shoulders sagging, her features taut with strain, she still conjures a venomous glare as she turns toward the captain.
The Key to the Empire lifts her hand in the air, and my breath hitches.
Will she use the metal to exact her revenge?
Tylea’s lips move with a silent prayer, and I’m ready to join her. Even the guards in our entourage seek a comforting touch of their pistols. Only Rev holds his gaze steady, his shoulders relaxed.
No wonder. Nothing happens. No metal lurches from the walls in a vicious strike. No screams tear through the palace.
The captain puts on a metal-studded glove and grabs the Key’s hand. Her lips grow white, the color draining from her features. Our eyes meet but only for an instant before Rev pulls me through the door and over a bridge strung across what once was a river.
I’ve read countless stories about what The Cataclysm had done to the land, and yet as I take my first steps into the desert, I know nothing could have prepared me. The storm of sand has bleached the world. Turned lush fields into endless dunes. Bottomless oceans into abysses of stone.
We cross the bridge over what once was a moat but now harbors spikes of sharpened metal and barbed wire, and spill onto a street. The sand has polished the stones to a dull white, and they pile into houses sagging one against each other, no longer able to carry the weight of the desert. The few men and women present on the streets in the heat of the day snap their heads in our direction. As the crowd thickens, the guards tighten their protective circle.
The doors behind us groan in protest as The Key urges the metal to fold over itself into an impenetrable barrier, and even Rev mindlessly brushes his fingers over the carved grip of the pistol on his hip.
“I thought The Key to the Empire was a man,” Tylea says when she can’t bear the silence any longer.
Siro’s glare makes it clear no one is to talk as we cross the city, but Rev doesn’t take orders from him. “The Key to the Empire is a name for anyone who can open those doors. There is never more than one, and they don’t last for long. Power is so easily abused.”
I smirk at the irony. Whether it’s to annoy Siro as much as possible or to trample my curiosity, but I turn to Rev with another question on my lips. “Why didn’t she use her binding on her shackles?”
“Everyone has their weakness.”
We reach another bridge, and the guards step even closer, snuffing out any air left between us. From the way Rev’s shoulders tighten and his eyes sweep the alleys cloaked in shadows, I know this discussion is over. On the other side, The Slums carve their place in the desert. The houses are older, covered in the grime of years of neglect, and from the empty sockets of their broken windows their inhabitants gaze down on our procession.
The heat of the desert licks my face. Sweat rolls down my brow and mixes with liquid gold on my eyelashes. No wonder folk on the streets are wearing thick fabrics wrapped around their heads and faces even if their colors had long ago faded by the sun.
A man in the crowd has unhooked his scarf. Sun and wind have creased his face with deep lines, and hunger has sunken his once handsome features. He reaches into the folds of the rags that once must have had a semblance of a shirt, but before he can pull anything out, Rev pushes me behind his broad back and draws his revolver out. The guards stop, forming a wall of metal and muscle between us and the rest of the world.
“Take your hand out,” Rev commands in his deep growl. “Slowly.”
The man gulps and takes a step back. “A gift for the princess— “
Rev doesn’t wait for the man to finish his sentence but motions for the guards to move. I have to stand on my tiptoes to see over their shoulders as they close in on the man, bring his arms behind his back, and drag him away. He doesn’t struggle, turning his head from one soldier to the other, until the understanding dawns on him. Words of protest form on his lips. His feet hit each slab of stone in a futile attempt to slow their advancement, until the group disappears around the corner, and all sound ceases.
A few swift strides, and Rev has Siro by the lapels of his shirt. “Have you forgotten that you are here to protect the daughters of Our Sun and Light?”
Siro pushes Rev back and straightens his shirt, sporting a foul look. “Who do you think you are?”
