An explanation I don't get to hear.
Screams interrupt us first.
We race in the direction of the sound, searching the ground far below us for a source. But we're too high up, our view blocked by too many trees and obscured by too many shadows. We see a few guards running, heading in the direction of the Grand Pavilion, but we can only guess at what they're running toward.
Without a word, we both turn and head for the stairs, flying down them at an even more reckless pace than we climbed them. My bare feet ache with every pounding step, and my hands end up scraped and bloody because I have to drag them along the rough walls to keep my sense of balance without slowing down.
But I don't stop to inspect the damage once we burst into the arena; I just keep running, black sand flying up behind me. The rising screams in the distance, the dread coiling in my stomach—this has to be another calculated attack from Dralsk.
They have to be here looking for me, just as the dragons came looking for me on the night of Emberfall.
I can't let more people die because of me.
I'm not thinking beyond this as I lift my skirts and run faster, doing my best to keep up with Reave's long-legged strides. We cut through the palace and come out through the same exit I did hours earlier, overlooking a celebration that's turned into a horrific, chaotic scene.
We descend without a word or plan between us, only a numb, shared desperation to help, to do something,anything.
Reave spots his sister trying to maintain order and rushes to her side.
I sweep along the pavilion's perimeter, searching for Briar.
I don't find her.
Panic clutches my heart. Fear threatens my balance, and I end up nearly tripping over a fallen guard lying in a pool of blood. My stomach twists at the sight. Somehow, I gather my composure, grabbing the knife from his belt and using it to cut a long slit into my dress, making it easier to tie it upabove my knees so I can move more freely. Then I pick up his blood-splattered sword and continue my search.
There are peopleeverywhere—guests fleeing in all directions; guards forming rank, their weapons flashing and orders flying; intruders viciously tearing their way through the crowd, ripping down decorations and upending tables and cutting down anyone who gets in their way. Some of the destructive ones wear green and gold masks, or insignia featuring the intertwining trees, or other obvious signs that they came from Dralsk, but far too many blend in; I'm almost certain a few of them were masquerading as guests only an hour ago.
Is that how the others got in?
How deeply have they infiltrated the palace?
I don't know where to swing my sword. Who to help. And Briar—where the fuck is Briar?
Without thinking, my gaze lifts skyward. “Sesca…” Her name leaves me in a breathless whisper. A last, gasping plea for air before I drown in this bloody, confusing carnage.
A howl of wind whips the hair away from my face, and her voice chases it.
I'm here.
I don't see her. But Ifeelher a moment later, in the strength that surges through my veins; in the tight, creeping sensation of protective scales sweeping over patches of my skin; in the tingling that overtakes my ruined eye. I almost cry out in relief as vision returns to that eye once more—the sharp, supernatural clarity that allows me to pick out every face in the crowd, every blade in the dark.
I finally spot Briar; she's using a broken table leg to defend herself against a woman wielding a short blade.
I race to her side, driving my stolen sword through the attacker's back just as she lunges for Briar's throat. The woman slumps forward and crumples between us.
Briar lets out a relieved breath at the sight of me. We share a brief, fierce embrace. She startles slightly at the sight of my eye—this is the first time she's actuallyseenit like this—but our reunion is interrupted by two masked men approaching from the left, throwing over a table full of desserts as they come.
“And now they're wasting perfectly good cake,” Briar mumbles. “This can’t go unpunished.”
More concerning than the cake is the way one of the men has set his sights on a panicking noblewoman. She freezes at the sight of him—after shedding several sparkling bracelets and throwing them at his feet, presumably to bribe him into sparing her life.
He ignores the jewels, taking her by the arm and wrenching her into a better position to slit her throat.
Briar scoops up her slain attacker’s short blade, and the two of us move together toward the man. Briar swings for his head. As he focuses on dodging her attack, I sweep a low kick into his legs, toppling him.
The noblewoman screams as she’s released, landing on her hands and knees. She tucks her head toward her chest. I think she’s going to faint, until Briar grabs her and jerks her upright, shoving her toward the palace and telling her to find some place to hide.
“Rich people are so fucking useless,” she grumbles as she turns back to me, slipping several of the woman’s discarded bracelets onto her wrist.
