Above them, Elena saw the western watchtower pierce the night sky like a cold, sharp talon. Unlike the canyons, the watchtower was fashioned of obsidian rock. Its red veins shone with a dim, violent light.
Miles below, beyond the lip of the cliff, the city slumbered in fitful sleep. Magar, the Walled Oasis. A large wall ringed the city like a wedding band of sandstone. Elena spotted lights glowing along its ramparts. Only the city center was a dark, silent mass.
The Jantari had enacted a curfew. According to Visha’s intel, citizens were corralled in the city center and had to be given special permission, or escort, to approach the wall.
As she stared down at the silent city, Elena felt bitterness growing within her. Tonight was Laal Joon. Today, her people were supposed to celebrate the founding of Ravence. They were supposed to light diyas. Bathe the city in showers of crimson powder so that every building, every man and woman, looked to be on fire.
But no diyas lit the street. No songs rumbled through the canyons.
There was only a chilling winter wind, and the far, cold stars to bear witness.
They crawled upward and finally climbed onto the flat ground of the tower. A sentry spotted them, but before he could shout, Visha’s gloved hand flashed, quick as a snake. The sentry cried out as her blade buried into his shoulder. He fumbled for his gun, but Visha had already crossed the distance and slipped off her gloves.
With an almost tender gesture, she touched her bare hands to his face.
He screamed as his skin began to bubble.
The poison in her hands corroded his cheeks, darkening his chin, his lips, until he was choking on his own spit. He sagged in her arms. Visha removed her hands, and he slammed to the ground, like a tree toppled.
Elena looked away from his glassy, white-rimmed gaze.
There was a reason the Black Scales called the strategist the vicious vishkanya.
Visha already had her gloves back on as she sidestepped the dead man.
“Here,” she said, but Elena backed away as she tried to hand her the explosives. “It’s all right. My body’s poison won’t harm you.”
Still, Elena made sure not to touch the uncovered skin of Visha’s wrist. Her hands shook as she took the explosives. If Visha noticed, she made no comment. Elena pasted her three explosives around the western base as Jantari soldiers raced out of the eastern front. She ran back around, trigger in hand, to where Visha was placing her explosives.
“Check the city wall,” Visha said, handing her a heat scope.
Elena peered down the cliff, picking up heat signatures. She spotted three soldiers patrolling the ramparts of the wall directly below them. Two more were on the far corner, immobile.
“There are five. Three sentries, two for relief on the southeastern side,” she said, sweeping her gaze. “Several more huddled within the wall, possibly their barracks. In the west—” she began, turning, and stopped abruptly. Something had caught her eye. Elena swept back south, picking out the human-shaped signatures. What had…?
Suddenly, she saw it. A small heat signature, too small to be human. It flickered like a flame. A candle.
A diya, she realized.
There were diyas scattered alongside the Jantari barracks. Diyas that Ravani had left out to light the way for Jodhaa and Alabore and their kin as they made their way through the desert. Diyas to celebrate the marking of Laal Joon. Elena picked them out, slow horror constricting her throat.
“I thought you said all the civilians are kept in the city center,” she said.
“What?”
“There are civilians just inside the wall,” she said. “They’re the ones who put up the diyas. Look.”
Visha surveyed the wall below, her lips pressed into a thin, hard line.When she handed the scope back, there was no flicker of guilt on her face. No remorse. “We’re still sticking to the plan.”
“You knew.” Elena stepped back. “You knew there were civilians close to the western wall. Phoenix Above, Visha! You told me we’d hitonlyJantari guards—”
Visha calmly placed the last explosive. “Give me the remote.”
“No.”
“Great skies above, if you don’t—”
Elena took another step back, sparks crackling up her wrists. “Try me.”
