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We had bought the city as much time as we could. But now, we needed to ensure Rekja got out of here alive.

In the city at our backs, an Eprothan soldier dragged a Gromalian woman by the hair, a vicious smile on his face. Galon threw one of his daggers, and the soldier slumped, clutching at his throat as he bled out. The woman fell with him but didn’t hesitate, scrambling to her feet and running for her life.

“Take Marth,” I bit out. “I’m going for Rekja.”

Galon cursed. But he knew I was right. Marth needed a healer, and I needed to ensure the Gromalian king stayed alive.

Marth’s head lolled, but he raised his hand, pointing.

I spun, my gaze finding Rekja fighting on top of a battlement, Thora at his side.

Prisca darted close, lashing out at another soldier. But the Eprothan siege was a success. We’d saved as many lives as we could.

Galon’s eyes met mine. “You need to take Rythos with you.”

Rythos stared at Marth and opened his mouth, clearly torn. But his gaze shifted to Rekja, still swinging his sword, and he nodded.

If Rekja wouldn’t leave, Rythos would use his powerto convince the Gromalian king it was the best action. It would kill a part of him to use his power on an ally. On someone he might one day have called a friend, but after everything we’d just learned about Stillcrest and Vicer and the carnage that had followed…

There would be time for him to face the morality of his actions after the war. If we lived long enough.

Rythos handed Marth to Galon. Marth let out a faint groan, more color draining from his face.

Prisca stared at him, her eyes filled with suppressed horror. My chest clenched. “You need to go with Galon, wildcat.”

Prisca scowled but didn’t argue. She’d turned her gaze to the soldiers pouring into the city, her knuckles white as she clutched the hourglass around her neck.

Galon squeezed my forearm. “I’ll get them out,” he vowed.

My throat thickened. Marth’s eyes were closed now. Would they ever open again? Or, like Cavis, would his fate be to die by fae iron to the chest?

Galon moved toward the stairs, slashing out occasionally with his sword, but conserving his power for later, when they would need to get to one of the tunnels.

Prisca gave me a final glance. There was nothing we needed to say. But I memorized her face. “I’ll see you soon.”

Her mouth trembled, but she forced it into a smile. “Soon.”

And then she was gone, guarding Galon’s and Marth’s backs.

PRISCA

Regner’s soldiers had learned about some of the tunnels. It was evident from the windows smashed in the buildings that housed those tunnels, the people lying dead nearby.

Likely, they’d followed some of the Gromalians who’d managed to escape and were killing them at this very moment.

Chills broke out across my skin.

We’d already marked the tunnel we needed. The tunnel that would take us closest to one of the healers Rekja had ordered evacuated long before Tymedes’s deadline.

Galon used his power again and again as we ran through the city. He flooded the river, sending it barreling toward a large group of soldiers intent on chasing several fleeing Gromalians. He poured water into mouths and eyes, leaving soldiers choking behind us as he strode down the streets he’d clearly memorized. He created waterspouts with so much pressure, they knifed through skin and flesh.

I strained, searching for my own power. All I found was a vicious headache. My hand tightened around my sword, and I guarded our backs against anyone who thought to follow us.

Galon’s arms were full with Marth’s limp body. And while one hand held his sword, I knew he wouldn’t riskwielding it unless he had to. Not with Marth defenseless and so close to death. Even Galon’s gait was smooth, ensuring he didn’t jostle Marth too much.

And so Galon drained his power, because mine was nowhere to be seen.

By the time we found the correct street, his face was gray. He leaned into the shadows of a brick house, panting. “I’m out.”