“Dream well,” she said softly.
He had told her that he would go where she went. But as Elena watched Yassen’s eyes flutter, his face peaceful, she did not wake him. She wanted to spare him this. The first fall of the sword, the first counterattack of Ravence, would be hers and hers alone. If the mountain burned, it would be because she lit the match. She would bear the guilt—not him.
Elena waited until he fell back into deep sleep, and then she rose.
On the shelf, the crystal glimmered in the growing darkness. Though the Phoenix did not hear her prayers, Elena whispered one.
“Protect him,” she told the ghosts.
She took his gun and tucked it into her waistband. As the cabin door shut with a soft click, a pang of regret cut through her chest. The twin moons hung heavily in the sky, as if swollen with the weight of what was to come. Her brenni snorted nervously as Elena tightened its girth. She mounted in one fluid motion, and then they set out into the forest.
Shadows stalked through the trees like the shards of a nightmare, cruel and unshapely. Despite herself, Elena shivered. The thick canopy blocked out the moons and any hope of light. A chill crept through the forest, dampening the foliage. Elena cursed as she passed the amethyst pine for the third time.
From her calculations, the rig was ten miles to the east. She had followed the path marked in Yassen’s holopod, but the terrain was strange, unshapely. All her life, Elena had trained to survive in the desert, to withstand its harsh demands. But she did not know the ridges and curves of this forest, could not discern a shadow from a threat. Without the moons or the stars, she could not tell which direction she was heading.
I need to find higher ground.
Something stirred in the tree above her. Elena twisted in her saddle, yanking out the gun. A shadow darted through the branches, and she recognized the blue wings of a mountain lark. It sang three notes.
Elena relaxed but did not holster the weapon.
She nudged her steed to start up a slope, hoping to find higher ground. Her brenni panted, and Elena tried to lean forward in the saddle to ease its strain when she saw a glimmer of light.
She squinted but could not make out the source. Her brenni shuffled its feet anxiously.
“Easy,” she whispered.
The light flickered. Elena realized then it was not merely a light but a reflected moonbeam. Given the angle, moonlight was bouncing off a smooth surface, which could only mean one thing. She was getting closer to the mine.
She went in the direction of the light, hoping that once she reached it, she could see where the rig stood. They trotted past glades of neverwood until they reached a clearing. Up ahead, the ground rose to form a steep hill. Elena jumped down and tied her brenni to a tree before creeping up the grade.
The rig sat in a clearing to the east like a giant parasite. It loomed over the treetops, stretching several hundred feet with a guard tower standing watch at each of its four legs. Unlike the rig she had seen earlier, this mine had not two, but several glass-armored chutes dissecting its length and descending into the depths of the mountain. Three hoverpods floated on the landing beside the mine. Elena spotted soldiers walking across the platform, their bodies lit by floating lanterns as carts were guided to the transport entrance of the mine.
They were already loading the hoverpods.
Elena bit her lip. Heat buzzed through her hands—but she would have no cover if she crept closer to the mine.
She set off once more, but instead of going straight to the edge of the forest, Elena steered her brenni south, toward the southernmost point of the rig. Neverwood branches clawed at her hair and clothes, but Elena paid them no mind. She stopped before a thick huddle of molorians with dry, wilted leaves.
Perfect.
She tied her brenni a safe distance away and stalked forward. Here, the forest crept closer to the mine. It towered above her, blocking the twin moons. Even from this distance, Elena could see the giant water tanks and the gleam of the glass chutes.
A guard post peeked through the treetops several yards to the right, and Elena saw a soldier patrolling it, his pulse gun glinting in the distance.
She slunk farther into the neverwoods. As the sound of the hoverpods echoed across the clearing, Elena began her dance.
Heat jolted up her arms. The intensity frightened her, and Elena stumbled back.
She tried to breathe, to calm her mind, but doubt wormed its way into her chest. The image of the sleepy town, hunkered within the mountain foothills, flitted before her. If she did this, she was no better than the Jantari.Seven hells, she was no better than even the Arohassin. They killed innocent people for their own gain. She was supposed to be the Golden Queen of Peace. But here she was, sparks flitting in her hands, fire on her tongue like the goddesses of lore, like the Burning Queen.
Be ruthless. Become whatever Ravence needs you to be.
Elena closed her eyes. She saw her father as he fell into the flames. The twisted, burned bodies of the palace guards on the temple steps. Blood on Ferma’s chest. She saw it, and she let her fire bloom.
Sparks sizzled in her hands, and then a flame burst forth. Elena spun, flowing through the forms of the dance. She willed the flame to grow stronger, unwavering like the fire of the desert, like the fire of a Ravani.
The flame swayed, listening. It flared and hissed at the air. With a sharp jab, she hurled it onto the molorians.
