Page 77 of Under the Iron Sky

Utter silence was her only answer.

“Demon?” she repeated more urgently. When was the last time he’d made a sound?

Behind her, the dragon let out a whine. It moved closer, and Soraya shuffled back as that massive head swept in to nudge Ikarus’s torso once, twice.

He did not move.

The dragon reared its head back, the ground trembling beneath its weight, and loosened a cry that was so high-pitched, so full of pain, that Soraya’s heart fell into her stomach like a stone dropping into mud.

There was only one word to describe a noise like that.

Grief.

Soraya all but leaped on top of him to press two fingers against the side of his neck. His skin was ice cold—no surprise there—but … She couldn’t feel a pulse.

Her hands shot to his wrist. Then his chest. Nothing. Not even the faintest thump of life.

Soraya sat back, her eyes fixed on his face while the dragon beat its wings and took flight, screaming at the ceiling as if pleading with the stalactites to fall and impale it, to take it too, just so it could be with its beloved master.

How long did Soraya have left? Minutes? Seconds?

Failure sat on her chest like some great beast. So that was it, then. After all she’d done, she was going to die here, kneeling on this spit of blood-soaked stone.

No.

She would not go out like this. She had not endured all she had, fought for as long and hard as she had, just for it all to end here, like this.

It was that thought that made Soraya rise to her knees and begin compressions.

“Don’t you dare die on me,” she hissed. “I swear to every God in the sky and down here, if you die, I will hunt you down—” Bending at the waist, she sealed her lips against his and blew into his mouth. Nothing, so she kneeled again and resumed the compressions. “I will follow you through the gates of hell, just to find you and kill you myself.” Arms burning, she bent over him again, blowing into his cold mouth. “Do you hear me? You are not allowed to die. I forbid you from dying here!”

As she worked, images began flashing behind her eyes, memories that were not her own.

Flaming torches held above a sea of black hooded cloaks.

A weeping Emelda with long pink-and-gold hair, a few years younger than she was now, fighting to get out of Ikarus’s arms.

Ramapheal preaching before a crowd. Something terrible has happened.

Ikarus trembling, staring on in horror beside a stony-faced Aeris, then Malakai, who stared blankly ahead, at a dark-haired fairy that was bound in chains and looked so much like Emelda that Soraya did a double take.

Can you accept that sometimes I have to do what is necessary, even if it means hurting you?

The fairy stared into the crowd, tears pouring down her face. She noticed Emelda, Ikarus, screaming around the leather gag in her mouth.

Can you forgive me for what I must do now? For freeing this poor girl from her torment?

The swing of an ax.

Emelda begging, sobbing in Ikarus’s arms while silent tears slipped down his face. Please, don’t! She didn’t mean it! She didn’t know what she was doing!

Blood spraying.

Emelda screaming.

The other fairy screaming.

A shimmering, blood-spattered wing dropping to the floor. A second. A third.