Page 17

Worry in Bonar’s eyes mirrors my own. “You locked the door behind you, didn’t you?”

I shake my head, jump off the stool and grab the knife, if only to feel the cold steel against my skin.

“Check the other one,” Bonar says.

With his own knife nestled in his hand, we split up. Each step takes an eternity, time stretching around us as I cross the car, stumbling on the broken furniture and cutting my sandals on the shards of glass.

“Sands,” Bonar curses wildly.

I turn and find him facing three men, their features concealed by masks of white enameled metal. Tears of red paint stream from slits cut through the masks of the rebellion, revealing their eyes.

“Nel, run.”

And I do. I cross the last few steps, and my fingers latch on to the knob, but it’s torn away from my grip. Four men in black clothes and scarves wrapped around those same masks greet me on the other side, shedding sand with every step they take. The one with a shiny gun hanging loosely in his gloved hand tilts his head, and I stumble back.

“You’re a difficult one to find, Princess Neylan of the House of Our Sun and Light,” he says in a deep voice.

Bonar takes a step in our direction, but a man on his side of the car takes out his gun and presses it into the back of his head. “Don’t move, or I’ll paint the walls of this car with the insides of your skull.”

The one who has addressed me by my name takes another step in my direction, and I take one back, pulling the knife high. Muffled laughter spills from the mask. “You think you’ll scare me with that stick in your hands?”

Sounds of struggle and more broken furniture fill the car, but I don’t dare to turn away to see how Bonar is faring. Instead, I slide my feet further apart still and point my knife at one man and then another while we continue our dance. One step forward, two steps back.

The one who spoke to me before darts to grab me but I duck under his arm and, with a crunch of glass under my feet, come out on the other side. His companions chuckle. I dry a bead of sweat from my brow and clutch my knife tighter, paying no heed to them. The man reaches toward me again, but I slash at him with my blade, ripping the fabric of his glove and revealing the shine of a metal hand.

A cry from the other side takes us out of our own duel. Bonar has grabbed a bandit by the lapels of his shirt, shaking him hard.

“Let him go,” says the same man who had threatened Bonar once already. Before anyone can take even a breath, he pulls the trigger. Bonar ducks, the bullet grazing his shirt, but the man fires again and again until only hollow clicks echo through the car.

I hear a scream. A flash of pain, and I realize it’s mine.

My knees buckle. My arm burns with each thump of my heart. I stumble on another piece of a broken furniture, crashing to the floor with a thud. A crimson stain spreads over the white fabric of the shirt, deepening the red of the carpet below me. I blink hard, fighting to keep the darkness away.

The man I faced crosses the car in a few strides. He mutters something to his companions, and two of them pull the one who had fired his gun out of the car. I blink again, and the rebel has a gun in his hand, the barrel pointing straight between my brows.

“Don’t hurt her,” Bonar pleads.

“Or what?” The masked man flips the gun in his hand and turns to Bonar. “What will you do if I shoot her?” Cocking the hammer, he adds, “Or if I shoot you first?”

“Do you know who I am? I’m Bonar of the House—”

“I don’t care.”

“You might if you let me finish.”

I roll to the side, retching up what little liquor I had ingested. Pain is roiling over me in drowning waves.

“I’m the heir to the House of The Veiled Rock. We train Wraiths for the empire.”

Wraiths? I’d ask. Legendary warriors dealing in shadows? Soldiers that even my father rarely uses to achieve his goals like he fears them himself?

“You ain’t helping your situation,” says the man with that metal hand.

Bonar steps closer, pressing his chest into the barrel of the pistol, murmuring something so low I can’t discern the words.

I reach for my arm, pressing on the wound. More warmth slips through my fingers, and I can see the swirling darkness devouring my limb.

The masked man leans away from Bonar. He looks at me and back at Bonar again before holstering his gun. “With the Maker watching us, do I have your promise?”