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A phoenix screeched. His bird understood he was in danger. And that meant that it would tell the flock, and they would tell their Riders.

Four.

Two more floors to go, and then there was an almighty crash as someone pried open one of the hidden doors.

Five. Muffled voices were approaching.

I was nearly there. The hatch was at the top of the next flight.

Six.

A groan.

The Nomad would be on his knees by now unless his Phoenix magic countered the poison.

I shoved the amulet into the lock above my head and held my breath. Nothing happened. I checked behind me as the voices and footsteps grew louder. There was no choice but to do what I had always done to make the mechanism unlock. I closed my eyes and spoke to the lock—pleaded with the library to let me out and open the overhead hatch.

Click!

But as I tucked the cylinder back under my dress, the white flame stuttered. Perhaps it wasn’t fully charged after all. It took a huge shove with my shoulder to push up the hatch, its old, rusty hinges creaking under the pressure.

“Stop,” the Nomad barked. He was being supported by a Phoenix Rider in full leathers with an embroidered multi-coloured feather on his shoulder. Ignite.

Perhaps it was Aster’s voice that lured me in, or the fact that the Nomad had never threatened me as I would have expected from a Rider. But I didn’t fear him the way I should have.

“Kit.” The Nomad groaned as his chin hit his chest. He looked like he was going to fall over, and a small glow of pride spread through me.

My hand froze on the ledge. Kitthathen the Nomad Prince, with an Ignite Phoenix and Skyworld magic at his fingertips… My brother, Lex, had once called him Kit too…

Fuck! My pulse picked up as fear skittered through me.

Kit was older than I remembered him, back when he would sit on the battlements of the Annatalian Sky Tower with Lex watching their phoenixes fly above them. They were eighteen then and had only just been chosen as Riders. They had no idea that the Kingdom’s War was about to erupt a few months later and they would end up fighting against each other on the battlefield. The promise of the Elite Tracker Flock, comprising a prince from each kingdom to help maintain the alliance between the lands, fractured as easily as a sparrow’s egg slipping from a nest.

Kit was broader now, with a scar running along his jaw as if someone had tried to take his head off. But every inch of him was unmistakably a Rider. He had dark, wavy hair, hazel eyes, and olive skin. He was a threat to me and everything I loved.

“Stop her,” spat the Nomad.

I tutted and reached for the edge to pull myself up, and then I flipped them both off.

“She has a death wish,” Kit said with a lift of his lips.

“She tried to kill me!” the Nomad raged. “At least get the book…” He bent double and coughed. “What… poison?” He clenched his stomach and groaned.

The Harrow Root gel had leached the strength from him. I searched inside myself for a place where I would care, but again I only found nothingness. The creature they had forged over a decade ago—on the night they tracked and caged us—could not find any emotion to guide her actions.

With a twist of his fingers, Kit could wrap me in fire magic. He could have done so from around the corner, and he didn’t. Why?

I reached into my pack and opened my mouth to speak, and then clamped it shut again. Was I really going to use my voice to bargain with them? The gold anklet around my ankle hid who we truly were, but it didn’t change our voices. But there was no other way. Clea had been captured. I had killed Frickel. The five members of the Elite Tracker Flock could be hunting me by daybreak, if not before.

Pulling the decoy book out of my pack, I waved it at the Nomad Rider and then pointed at the hatch. Kit tilted his head and leaned aside to let the light reach my face. His eyes narrowed on the cuff at my ear. “An Annatalian—” His eyes widened in what could only be described as awe. “You’re so… very rare…” His gaze flicked between me and the Nomad, a small frown of confusion landing on him, not me.

My chest constricted. Rare was a prize, a curse. The beautiful, subservient Annatalian women, perfect for breeding beautiful babies. But I didn’t answer him. Instead, I wet my tongue and used my voice to speak of a bargain that a Skyworld lover wouldn’t dare to break on the first night of Yule. I would use my voice because we needed a book to trade to get out of the cursed city. And if none of the books could be read, it didn’t matter which one I handed over to the Fairground Manager.

Clearing my throat, I scanned the crevices and corners of the corridor for the silver shine of the listening rune, and when I didn’t see them, I took the risk and spoke the most powerful words I knew. “This is midwinter—the sun is lost—what will you trade for the light?”

A Yuletide question and bond.

Both the Nomad and the Rider-prince stilled. They recognised the power as well as I did. I waited for Kit to take the trade for his soldier. It would be the honourable thing for him to do.