Yassen saw the pulse gun, the metal snake insignia of the Arohassin on the man’s chest. He saw Elena move forward, her lips forming a question, a demand, an answer.
The man raised his gun.
And Yassen saw what would happen: the pulse ripping through Elena’s chest, her blood splattering on his body. Her falling, like Ferma before. And the thought of her lying dead, her blood seeping out as she stared at him in horror, stabbed him with an agony worse than any other.
He could not lose Elena.
Yassen jumped forward, tackling her into a neighboring thicket as the pulse ripped through the air. He pushed her against a tree as she gasped. The assassin shot again, and he shielded her as the air exploded with pulse fire.
“Yassen,” she began, but then the pulse fire paused.
He’s out, he thought, and sprang to his feet just as the assassin cleared the thicket. He reached for his dagger, but Yassen was faster. He shot, once, hitting the man square in the chest.
The man fell back with a cry, his dagger falling into a thicket of bramble. The yuani took to the air in a rush of squawks and golden wings. Slowly, Elena got up and walked to their fallen assailant. She picked up his weapon as Yassen stared at the blood blossoming across the man’s chest. At the reddening snake of the Arohassin.
They would recognize the bullets of his gun. They would know of his betrayal. He would never have his freedom.
But he had realized this some time ago. Hadn’t he?
“The Arohassin,” he said, “they’re all over this place. They’ll pick us off.”
“You knew,” she said, and he saw the betrayal in her eyes, the deep, shattering hurt. She stepped back, raising the pulse gun.
He did not move. He did not even lift his pistol in return.
“Do it,” he whispered. “Be done with me.”
She recharged the chamber and flicked on the pulse gun, its barrel warming to life with a blue light. As he stared her down, Yassen felt a deep weariness. This was it. This felt appropriate. He had betrayed her and deserved to die at her hand.
He closed his eyes, but instead of sweet darkness, he felt the snake in his stomach rattle and hiss. If he died now, Elena would not survive. The Arohassin would find her and kill her. She would never master her fire. She would never bring unity to Ravence. She would never pin him down in the field, so close that he could feel her breath on his skin. He would never be able to let her win again.
Yassen opened his eyes and met her gaze.
“If you kill me now, you won’t make it off this mountain,” he said softly. “I am your only ally left. And the Arohassin are here. They will hunt you down. I know where they are, and if we move fast, there’s a chance we can get out alive.”
He watched her calculate the danger, her finger curling around the trigger, her face a war of emotions. The desire to both believe him and to shoot him flashed in her eyes. She tried to mask her indecision, but he knew every inch and curve of her face, every tremble of her lip. Hers was a face he had been forced to study but he had grown to know as if it were his own. He knew of the way her chin jutted when she spoke defiantly; the way her nose scrunched when she drank whiskey; the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed. If there was one thing Yassen could claim, it was this: that even in the darkness of death, he would know her.
The pulse gun whined, and the blue light slowly faded. A look of hollow acceptance settled on her face.
“You traitor,” she whispered.
“This way,” he said.
He headed east. He knew she would follow.
Ash coated the forest. Panicked squawks filled the canopy as more birds took flight. He heard the crunch of leaves and felt her at his side.
“This way leads to the desert,” she said.
“Yes,” he said. He inhaled sharply as his arm throbbed.
Elena clenched the handle of the pulse gun, her knuckles white. Without another word, she strode past him. Thick brush blocked their path, but she stomped through it, a grim sureness in her step. She knew the desert; she knew where they were headed. Amid all this chaos, all this madness, the dunes were a beacon.
They trekked on, keeping to the shadows. The pulse fire had given way to eerie silence, and though Yassen knew it was because most of the assassins were on the western path, he still held his pistol at the ready. Distantly, he heard the snaps and pops of burning trees. His chest itched, and he fought down a cough when suddenly there came a rustle in the canopy. He held out his hand to stop Elena, and they both looked up to see a black figure flit between the branches. Before the assassin could shoot, Yassen raised his pistol. His bullet ripped through the leaves and hit the man in the back of the head. His body plummeted to the ground.
Out of the corner of his right eye, Yassen spotted another assassin, but Elena was quicker. Her pulse sliced through the man, and he fell in a spray of blood.
Then the air exploded with pulse fire, and Yassen shoved Elena behind a tree, his ears ringing. Elena scrambled back as a shot hit the tree, leaving a deep wedge in the wood.
