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Cerulean flickered to black. Rin saw it—she hadn’t imagined it, it wasn’t a trick of the light, she knew she’d seen it. She continued to fly forward. Feylen was afraid now; she could read it all over his face. He drifted backward every time she drew closer.
They were so close to the cliff wall.
She was mere feet away from him. “He wanted me to tell you he’s sorry.”
The winds ceased entirely. A silence descended over the channel. In the still air Rin could hear everything—every haggard breath Feylen took, every round of cannon fire from the ships, every wretched scream from below.
Then Feylen laughed. He laughed so hard that corresponding pulses of wind shot through the air, alternating blasts so fierce that she had to flap frantically to stay afloat.
“This was your plan?” he screeched. “You thought he would care?”
“You do care.” Rin kept her voice calm, level. Feylen was in there. She’d seen him. “I saw you, you remember us. You’re Cike.”
“You mean nothing to us.” Feylen sneered. “We could destroy your world—”
“Then you would have done it. But you’re still bound, aren’t you? She’s bound you. You gods have no power except what we give you. You came through that gate to take your orders. And I’m ordering you to go back.”
Feylen roared. “Who are you to presume?”
“I’m your commander,” she said. “I cull.”
She shot her fire not at him, but the cliff wall. Feylen shrieked with laughter as the flames streamed harmlessly past him.
He hadn’t seen the fuses. He didn’t know.
Rin flapped frantically backward, trying to put as much distance between herself and the cliff as she could.
For a long, torturous instant, nothing happened.
And then the mountain moved.
Mountains weren’t supposed to shift like that. The natural world wasn’t supposed to reshape itself so completely in seconds. But this was real; this was an act of men, not gods. This was Kitay and Ramsa’s handiwork come to fruition. Rin could only stare as the entire top ledge of the cliff slipped down like roofing tiles cascading to the ground.
A shrieking howl pierced through the cascade of tumbling rock. Feylen was whipping up a tornado. But even those last, desperate gusts of wind could not stop thousands of tons of exploded rock jerked downward with the inevitable force of gravity.
When their rumbling stopped, nothing moved beneath them.
Rin sagged in the air, chest heaving. The fire still burned through her arms, but she couldn’t sustain it for long, she was so exhausted. She was struggling just to breathe.
The blood-soaked channel beneath her could have been a meadow of flowers. She imagined that the crimson waves were fields of poppy blossoms, and the moving bodies were just little ants scurrying pointlessly about.
She thought it looked so beautiful.
Could they be winning? If winning meant killing as many people as they could, then yes. She couldn’t tell which side had control over the river, only that it was awash with blood, and that broken ships were dashed against the cliff sides. Feylen had been killing indiscriminately, destroying Republican and Imperial ships alike. She wondered how high the casualty rate had climbed.
She turned toward the valley.
The destruction there was enormous. The palace was on fire, which meant the Militia troops had long ago slashed their way through the refugee camps. The troops would have cut the southerners down like reeds.
Drown in the channel, or burn in the city. Rin had the hysterical urge to laugh, but breathing hurt too much.
She realized suddenly she was losing altitude.
Her fire had gone out. She’d been falling without noticing. She forced flames back into the wings and beat frantically even as her arms screamed in protest.
Her descent halted—she was close enough to the cliffs that she could see Kitay and Venka waving at her.
“I did it!” she screamed to them.
She saw Kitay’s mouth moving, but couldn’t hear him. He pointed.
Too late she turned around. A javelin shot past her midriff, passed harmlessly under her wing. Fuck. Her stomach lurched. She wobbled but righted herself.
The next javelin struck her shoulder.
For a moment, she simply felt confused. Where was the pain? Why was she still hanging in the air? Her own blood floated around her face in great fat drops that for some reason hadn’t fallen, little bulbous things that she couldn’t believe had come from her.
Then her flames receded into her body. Gravity resumed its pull. Her wings creaked and folded against her back. Then she was just deadweight plummeting headfirst into the river.
Her senses shut down upon impact. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t hear, and couldn’t see. She tried to swim, kick herself to the surface, but her arms and legs wouldn’t obey her, and besides, she didn’t know which way was up. She choked involuntarily. A torrent of water flooded her mouth.
I’m going to die, she thought. I’m really going to die.
But was this so bad? It was wonderfully, peacefully silent under the surface. She couldn’t feel any pain in her shoulder—her whole body had gone numb. She relaxed her limbs and drifted helplessly toward the river bottom. Easier to give up control, easier to stop struggling. Even her burning lungs didn’t bother her so much. In a moment she would open her mouth, and water would rush in, and that would be the end.
This wasn’t such a bad way to go. At least it was quiet.
Someone seized her hard. Her eyes shot open.
Nezha pulled her head toward his and kissed her hard, his lips forming a seal around hers. A bubble of air passed into her mouth. It wasn’t much, but her vision cleared, her lungs stopped burning, and her limbs began to respond to her commands. Adrenaline kicked in. She needed more air. She grabbed at Nezha’s face.
He pushed her away, shaking his head. She started to panic. He seized her wrists and held her until she stopped flailing madly in the water. Then he wrapped his arms around her torso and pulled them both toward the surface.
He didn’t kick his legs. He didn’t have to swim at all. He only held her against him while a warm current bore them gently upward.
Something shrieked in the air above them just as they broke the surface. A javelin slammed into the water several feet away. Nezha yanked them back down into the depths, but Rin kicked and struggled. All she wanted to do was get to the surface, she was so desperate to breathe . . .
Nezha grasped her face with his hands.
Too exposed, he mouthed.
She understood. They needed to come up somewhere near a broken ship, something that would give them cover. She stopped thrashing. Nezha guided them several yards farther downriver. Then the current buoyed them up and deposited them safely onto the shore.
Her first breath above the surface was the best thing she’d ever tasted. She doubled over, coughing and vomiting river water, but she didn’t care because she was breathing.
Once her lungs were empty of water, she lay back and summoned the fire. Little flames lit up her wrists, danced across her entire body, and bathed her in delicious warmth. Steam hissed as her clothes dried.
Groaning, she rolled over onto her side. Her right shoulder was a bloody mess. She didn’t want to look at it. She knew her wings were a crumpled disaster. Something sharp shoved deeper into her skin every time she moved. She struggled to rip the contraption off, but the metal harness had twisted and bent. It wouldn’t give.
