Page 144

“The Queen will hand ’em right over,” Salem utters, jaw hanging open. “Mother above. Yeh gotta get back there!”

Ryon stands upright, leaving Phineas on the ground. “We cannot go alone,” Ryon says, his voice hurried. He is already making to leave. “Not if we hope to win.”

Abertha sniffs. “If you think those people will be recaptured peaceably, you underestimate them. This is no Selection Day. They’ll fight with us.”

“It won’t be enough,” Dawsyn says. She clasps Ryon’s arm as he tries to pass her. “It won’t be enough,” she tells him again, lower this time.

He halts, meeting her eyes. He reads what she tries to convey. His head begins to shake. Slowly at first and then vigorously. “No,”he tells her.

“Ryon–”

“No,”he growls once more, piercing her with his glare. “You promised me. Did you not?”

Dawsyn glares back. How are they to defend so many in Terrsaw against fifty trained Izgoi, filled to the brim with iskra, as well as whatever battalion the Queen brings to the fray?

It is an impossible feat. They cannot win. Not unless–

“Do you hear that?” Hector says suddenly, breaking her reverie. He rounds Ryon to peek through the gap in the flimsy drape.

Dawsyn falls still with the rest. Together, they let the sounds of shouting reach them. A distant rumble of voices finds its way to their hut on the wind. Ryon’s eyes darken.

“Mesrich, wait!” Rivdan calls, but Ryon does not heed him. He slips outside, his eyes turned to the sky. Dawsyn watches the fleeting shadows come over him and disappear, and he mutters something awed.

Dawsyn follows him, tilting her head back.

The sky is filled. Wings disrupt the normally impermeable blanket of cloud. Glacians in varying hue circle above, dipping and disappearing into the fog. They make whorls of the mist, allowing dappled light to pierce through.

The others in the hut follow them outside, and they too stare up at the sky in awe. Tasheem murmurs something in the old language, eyes glassy. Dawsyn wonders if she has ever seen so many of her kind flying freely above.

“Ah… should we be running?” Esra asks nervously, backing into the tent. “Ryon? Is the swarm likely to kill us?”

Ryon does not turn his eyes away. “No,” he says, his voice contemplative. “They are the mixed-blooded.”

“Yes,” Esra continues. “But why exactly are they in the sky?”

No one answers, but they continue to watch together as more mixed-Glacians rise from somewhere east of the Colony – the noble village.

Tasheem suddenly laughs, breaking the tension immediately. She steps forward, cupping her hands around her mouth, and a wordless high-pitched call rips from her throat. She beckons to those in the sky, as though she were calling to old friends. After a moment, they cry back, their exultant calls echoing down around them.

CHAPTERFIFTY

The old noble village is a hive of activity.

Males and females alike gather weapons, sheath their swords. Some seem to bear nothing but expressions of determination. Eagerness. Some cry. Embrace each other. Others slam doors shut and remain inside.

Many stare as Ryon and Dawsyn pass, leading their party through the alleyways, dragging Phineas along with them. Tasheem clasps his upper arm solidly in her grasp. Some come forward to clap Ryon on the back.

“Mesrich!” one says, sheathing a blade as he approaches. Ryon and the male clasp hands. He does the same with Tasheem and then Rivdan. He offers the rest a cursory nod. The male is bearded, with familiar scars cutting a line through his lips. Ryon recalls the day Brennick earned them from a brute who’d hauled him to the Kyph. He had spat at a passing pure-blood at the witless age of seven. Those scars gained him no small amount of admiration amongst the children of the Colony. “We thought Adrik threw you into the Chasm!” he says now, smiling widely.

Ryon sneers. “Adrik? When did he ever lift a finger of his own?”

Brennick guffaws, tapping the hilt of his sword. “He’ll find himself amongst the fray soon enough.”

Ryon’s eyebrows rise. “You’re going to Terrsaw? All of you?”

Brennick shrugs, his enthusiasm plain. “Adrik tried to win our favour by giving us the noble village, but I don’t relish spending the rest of my life on this fucking rock.” He turns to look at those moving with haste around them. “It seemed the sentiment was shared. We already rid ourselves of one dickless king. No one here is much interested in the rise of another.” Brennick winks at Dawsyn. “So. War it is.”

Ryon barely dares to hope. He turns his sights to the sky once more, watching the joyous flight of so many, wheeling wildly, laughing freely. He shakes his head incredulously. “Why now?”