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“No,” he says, voice like gravel.

“She’ll die,” the Maulavi warns.

“And so will you,” Z’leni replies.

Seconds pass in impasse.

Z’leni extends a finger. Then another. My breath hitches.

Counting.

The fuse.

“No,” the Maulavi snarls. “Don’t?—”

His thumb drops?—

A heartbeat of silence?—

Then—BOOM.

The city shakes.

The air itself tears.

Flames roar from behind Z’leni and Ryatuv. A roiling ball of flame thrusting forward like the fist of an angry god. The Maulavi screams. The one behind me shoves me to the ground and tries to run, too slow. Z’leni grabs onto him, twists and throws him into the onrushing flames. He vanishes in a burst of flame and ash.

At the same time Ryatuv grabs me, pulling me into his arms and shielding me with his body as the shockwave hits. The world turns red and white.

Metal screams. Stone falls.

The platform creaks. Groans.

Then it partially collapses, but I’m only dimly aware of it. I’m tumbling through smoke and fire, and then the world is dark.

The heat is extreme. It clings to my skin, to my lungs, choking the air from me. My ears ring from the blast, a high, keening sound that turns everything else into muffled noise. I don’t know if I’m screaming or sobbing or both.

Hands. Arms.

Ryatuv.

His arms are around me. His body is curved over mine. A shield.

When Ryatuv finally moves, it’s slow. Painful. His voice rough.

“Elara. Are you?—?”

“I’m okay,” I rasp, though I’m not sure I mean it.

A nod. He grits his teeth as he moves, and that tells me more than anything, he’s hurt, but alive.

His skin is blistered where it wasn’t protected. Some of his scales look like they are flaking.

I sit up and look.

The world is burning.

Distantly, there are shouts and screams. Several of the struts have fallen. Parts of the machine protrude through the stage. Flames are licking skyward. The heat rolls out in waves, curling into the edges of the tunnel behind us. Ash coats everything. The walls. The ground. My face. And Z’leni is nowhere in sight.