From behind them came a distant scream, followed by another.

Eliana whirled. Inhaling, she tasted smoke.

The prison.

She ran for it, but only made it a few paces before Simon grabbed her arm.

“Unhand me,” she growled.

He did, roughly. “Then don’t run away again.”

“There are people back there,” she said. “Refugees. Prisoners. Children. We have to free them.”

“We can’t.”

“Why?”

“Because my soldiers have set bombardier charges around the building. When the fire reaches them, they’ll detonate. In less than five minutes, this building will no longer be standing.”

Eliana felt as though the floor had dropped out from under her. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, I’m going.” She started again for the prison, and this time, when Simon stopped her, she elbowed him in the gut and stomped on his foot, but he didn’t release her.

“Let me go!” She struggled, twisting violently. “What do you care if I die trying to save them?”

“As touched as I am by your sudden heroic streak,” Simon bit out, “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Now, move.”

Another bombardier detonated, the closest one yet. A chunk of plaster fell from the ceiling and hit Eliana’s head. Pain spiked down her skull; she swayed, tried to move forward, stumbled.

With a curse, Simon caught her, thrust his gun into her hands, and scooped her easily into his arms.

“If someone comes at us,” he ordered, “shoot them.”

He ran, keeping his head tucked over hers. Clouds of dust, smoke, and grit fogged their way. Eliana coughed against Simon’s chest, considered shooting him in the gut right then and there.

But then two adatrox ran out of the shadows. Eliana turned in Simon’s arms and fired five times. She was a bad shot even without having been hit in the head, but luck helped at least two of her bullets hit true. The adatrox jerked and fell.

They turned a corner and another, passed a room crackling with flames and another where a glassy-eyed adatrox lay on the threshold, his arm outstretched. Papers marked with muddy boot prints littered the floor.

Then, a shot from behind them—a near-hit. Eliana looked past Simon’s shoulder, and her stomach lurched with fear.

Lord Morbrae.

He was alive.

He chased them down the corridor, rifle in hand, and though his face, neck, and jacket gleamed with blood, Eliana could see no wound on his throat.

Impossible.

She pointed the revolver past Simon and fired, but nothing happened.

“You used all the goddamned bullets.” Simon kicked open a door in their path three times before it gave. Once through, he kicked it back shut. Lord Morbrae fired again; the door’s wood splintered at Simon’s heels.

He lowered Eliana to the ground. They were out. It had to have been near midday, but clouds and smoke darkened the sky. The outpost’s perimeter wall was aflame. Eliana heard screams, shouted commands. Simon pulled her along awkwardly, his arm around her waist as they ran.

Oh, right, Eliana thought, giddy, the pain in her head now completely gone, her limbs strong and steady once more. I’m supposed to be hurt. She leaned into Simon’s body, let him help her along.

A chorus of high-pitched whines began behind them. The door through which they’d exited burst open. Eliana saw Lord Morbrae search through the smoke, spot them, raise his gun. The whines escalated, shrill and dissonant.

Simon shoved Eliana ahead of him. “Get down!”

She obeyed, skidding down a wet slope into a narrow, swampy ravine. Simon threw himself down after her and covered her body with his own.

The world exploded.

• • •

Someone slapped her.

Eliana surged awake with a gasp. “How long?”

“Three seconds,” came Simon’s impatient reply. “Get up.”

She obeyed, then froze. A terrible sound floated down to her from the blackened sky.

Screams.

She climbed the ravine, slipping on the slick wall of mud, and peeked over the rim into chaos. The outpost’s main building lay mostly in ruins, debris scattered as far as she could see. And from the ruins came those screams—agonized, beastly.

“The prisoners,” Eliana whispered. She looked over at Simon. “Some could still be alive.”

“Yes,” Simon agreed, “or it could be adatrox or my own soldiers who didn’t get out in time.”

Eliana lifted herself up by the roots of a watchtower tree. “We should try to help them.”

Simon pulled her back down. He began reloading his revolver. “No. We ride north.”

“Did you not hear me?” She flung out her arm in the direction of the outpost. “There were children in that prison. They had them in cages—”

“Yes, and if Red Crown had carried out their raid tomorrow as planned, they would have gotten them out. But you ruined that when you ran away. We couldn’t risk letting anyone who’d seen you, or heard whatever intelligence you delivered, leave here alive.”

Eliana stared at him in horror. “What?”

A shot rang out near the outpost, followed by another. Simon pointed one gloved finger. “Hear that? My soldiers, disposing of the survivors. Listen.”

Eliana did, hearing a third shot, then a fourth, a fifth. She reached for the tree roots once more, but Simon pulled her back down and held her close, arms pinned at her sides.

“Listen to them die,” he hissed, his mouth hot at her ear behind the cold, hard mesh of his mask. “Their blood is on your hands.”

Eliana half-heartedly fought to free herself, but as the shots continued, and the horrible screams abruptly stopped one by one, she subsided.

It will consume you, her mother had warned her.

She breathed past the foul knot of shame burning the back of her tongue.

“We’ll add them to your tally, hmm?” Simon’s voice was furious. “Do you even remember how many people you’ve killed, Eliana?”

Eliana nodded, her eyes and mouth dry. She felt shriveled, undone. She closed her eyes. Yes. Yes, she remembered. Including Harkan? He’d be alive now, were it not for trying to protect her.

What had she told Remy?

We can’t know for certain.

He could still be alive.