Page 40 of Storm of Stars

If they were going to let me die, then they would damn well look me in the face as I did.

“For the will of the people,” I said, forcing the words out, steady and strong even as my body trembled.

The heat coiled up around the tower like a living thing, the wooden structure groaning under its assault.

“For the will of the people,” I repeated, louder this time, louder than the crackling flames, louder than the part of me that screamed to run even when there was nowhere left to go.

I thought of Zaffir. Somewhere, he would be watching. Somewhere, he would see this footage. He would have to watch me die. But maybe he’d leave this final rebellious act in the edit. Let it slip through the cracks so everyone could see. Even if it put him in danger. Especially if it did.

I set my jaw, locking eyes with the camera, and screamed it again, “For the will of the people!”

The tower shuddered under me. I could feel it begin to give, the wood at the base devoured and crumbling.

Then, faint but growing louder, I heard it. The distant, beautiful buzz of engines.

I jerked my head up, squinting through the smoke. Small planes. Several of them, dotting the sky like black-winged angels.

My heart leapt in my chest.

The tower creaked alarmingly as it swayed, and I clung tighter to the railing. The planes came closer, slicing through the thick, smoky sky. I could have waved them down. I could have screamed for them.

But I didn’t. I refused to give Praxis the satisfaction of seeing me grateful for a rescue they had orchestrated the need for in the first place.

Instead, I stood tall. Bloodied, burned, and broken, but still standing.

The first plane hovered directly over me. A rope ladder uncoiled, swinging wildly in the smoke and turbulence.

I reached for it, but my arm, battered and raw, screamed in protest. The ladder swung just out of reach.

And then the tower groaned one last time and began to fall.

I had no choice…I jumped.

I caught the rope, pain exploding through my body as my injured arm wrapped instinctively around the rungs. The tower collapsed beneath me, the world a roaring chaos of fire and ash, as the plane began to lift me away.

I climbed, slowly, gritting my teeth against the agony, blood pouring freely from my leg, my muscles spasming and locking with every movement. The plane’s ladder swayed violently in the hot updrafts from the inferno below.

Hand over hand, I pulled myself higher.

When I finally reached the open door of the plane, I spilled onto the metal floor, my body too broken to do anything but collapse. My chest heaved in shuddering, painful gasps.

I’d made it, alive. Bleeding and injured, sure, but alive nonetheless. And I could only hope that my Wildguard managed the same.

CHAPTER

TWELVE

Ezra

The entire leftside of my body was on fire.

Literally.

As I scrambled up the ladder toward the plane hovering above, I cursed, swatting at the flames clinging to my clothing. They were eating through the fabric, slicing into my skin, but I couldn’t swing too hard, not without risking a fall. The ladder swayed as the plane began to lift, dragging me away from the burning island I’d just been plucked off.

The pain was worse than anything I’d ever felt. I bit my lip, hard, forcing myself not to scream. There was a camera above me, and I wasn’t going to give Praxis the satisfaction of recording my agony.

“Lower me into the water!” I shouted as I reached the top of the ladder. The pilot didn’t respond. Maybe he couldn’t hear me. Maybe he didn’t care.