Page 169 of Blackheart

When dawn crept into the sky, every single family in the Waywards had been informed of what was to come.

There are ships set for Castivian waiting in the bay. Make it to them. Stay only if you wish to be fed to Sapphires. Fight if you wish to be free. When lightning strikes, it’s time to leave.

The people had a choice, and I prayed they would make the right one.

Orange and pink light peeked over the horizon as I sat crouched on top of the highest building. Beck and Amzee did the same at my side, each of us waiting for the light to hit the sea. If the ships hadn’t arrived as planned, this would all have been for nothing.

Singer was clasped in my hands, and I was thankful the Drakers hadn’t bothered removing my boots to find the stone club.

Hope soared in my chest as the sun illuminated our saving grace. As Lord Regby had promised, there was a daunting fleet of ships just beyond the obsidian walls, waiting in the bay.

With the touch of withering shingles under my palm, I held steady as Amzee lifted her hand to give the signal. Fire flickered from her palm.

We watched with bated breath as Riven led his Rogue Drakers to the gate. They swallowed up the command—snapping necks, slicing throats, and dragging the bodies of the gatewatch away.

“Brilliantly done,” Beck said, voice hushed.

I grinned as Riven and a few other unmasked rogues pushed the gates wide open.

Amzee held her hand high once more, this time towards Keeper’s Street. She opened and closed her palm, flashing fire three times. We waited. One second. Two. Three.

Lightning illuminated the skies before striking the wall. Blue and white glowed within it, followed by blaring thunder. The wall held, but the signal was loud and clear.

Rushing from homes and rumbling the ground below, came hundreds of Dark Natured, running for the gate. My pulse skipped a beat as the hysteria began.

Families carried everything they could. Small children were dragged along by their wrists, desperate souls racing for their lives through the streets. Bumping into and bickering amongst each other. It was madness.

“I’ll be back,” Beck announced, shadowing away.

Beck, Riven, and the Rogues shouted over the crowds, a late attempt to form lines and stop the pushing, but it was no use. The Dark Natured squeezed out of the Waywards, the gate not wide enough to be practical. It would take far too long to get everyone through.

A horn sounded, echoing through the ‘Wards.

The Witchlords were coming.

Amzee and I lay flat on the roof, consumed by panic at the sight of mothers pushing through crowds with crying babies in their arms, and the elderly dragging behind, their families begging them to move faster.

“The wall needs to come down,” I muttered. She silently nodded, but we both knew there was no way to do it; otherwise, it would’ve been done already.

Crowds came from the far end of the Waywards, while true Drakers rushed from their barracks in the east and west.

“Send the signal,” I ordered. This was the last thing we had planned.

Everything after was up to Fate, the Mother, our Nature, and blades.

Standing now, Amzee did not flicker a flame signal. She instead held a small, black bow with an arrow drawn back, the tip infused with her Nature. She narrowed her eyes, target in sight.

Amzee released. The flame-tipped arrow left a smoke trail as it soared over buildings and crowds. It flew straight through a third-level window of the barracks, meeting its mark.

I held my breath.

One second. Two. Three.

Explosive flames erupted from the windows. Half-dressed Drakers leapt from high stories in an attempt to escape death by fire.

As bodies splattered against the ground, rebels armed with the weapons we’d supplied raced to the posts and remaining barracks, prepared to protect those who could not protect themselves.

Civilians screamed as the living Drakers charged with swords held high, rebels meeting them with roaring cries of vengeance as they fought for their freedom.