14

Philia sneaks back out the pantry door.

“Be careful,” Olivia whispers. Even after Philia disappears into the night, Olivia stays at the door, watching until Copperhair’s long gone.

The air in the cottage has turned hot and muggy. Or maybe it’s just me.

When she returns, Olivia glares with hard, slitted eyes. “Who are those travelers? And why are they looking for you?”

My heart pounds wildly in my chest. My stomach churns with nausea. “Open a window.”

Olivia lifts the sash of the parlor window.

My mouth waters, and a flush creeps over my skin and swirls beneath my amulet. As cooler air drifts into the room, I pace in front of the fireplace.

Olivia runs her fingers through her short hair. “What did you do before coming to Maford, Kai? Tell me.”

“Will you shut up?” I shout at her. “I’m trying to think.”

“I don’t believe you,” she accuses.

“That I’m trying to think?”

“You nearly choked me to death just two days ago,” Olivia says. “Maybe you strangled somebody else the day before. You certainly know how to kill—you made that obvious last night.”

I clutch my stomach. “To protect your town, not mine.” I glare at her, my nerves sizzling and popping. “I may not remember my origin story, and right now, I wish that I could. But I don’t hang out with people who hurl other people through the air. I am not that person.”

Make amends.

Failure.

They destroy us.

You let them.

Sybel’s words and the Otaan giant’s accusations race around my mind as my underarms prickle with sweat and my pacing quickens. “And as far as me strangling you? You stole from me. Am I not supposed to respond? Am I supposed to ignore that?”

“Why can’t you remember?” she demands. “Are you willfully forgetting? What’s your family name? Where did you live before coming here? Where were you going two days ago before you arrived in our forest? Tell me that, and I’ll tell you how you should respond.”

My mouth pops open, then closes. I square my shoulders, then say, “I don’t have to tell you anything . And what I was doing, where I was going? That’s also none of your—”

“People of Maford,” a woman’s voice calls outside, chilly yet commanding.

Her voice raises the hairs on my neck.

Olivia stumbles over to the window. “Something’s happening at the chapel.” Olivia looks back at me with wide eyes. “I think it’s the lady Philia told us about.”

“Let’s go, then.” I head to the door.

Olivia grabs my hand. “What if she plans to do to you what she did to that bandit?”

I push out a breath. “What do you suggest I do?”

“Let’s just…” Olivia shakes her head. “Let’s just sneak out and listen to what she says. If you still want to confront her, then at least you know what to expect. You’ll have the advantage.”

A moment later, we creep out the pantry door and slip over to hide behind a discarded pile of stone and planks of thick wood, some pocked with rusty nails, some blackened from fire or mildew. From our hiding spot, we can see the three strangers standing before the chapel.

The air smells of night-blooming jasmine and snuffed-out candles.

My heart races like I’ve run up a mountain twice. Why am I panicking? I was the picture of calm and competence during last night’s fighting. Now, though? I can’t catch my breath. What’s different? I survey the strange men flanking the bottom of the chapel’s steps. They’re each as tall as three Maford men, one standing on another’s shoulders. They wear platinum breastplates without tunics, and long red ribbons wrap around their bare arms. Their skin is as white as the hair billowing like waves from their heads. The lower halves of their faces hide behind gray kerchiefs. They scan the square with gray eyes, ready to pounce if they find anything threatening.

I don’t know them.

At the top of the steps is the woman Phily spoke of. White-haired with rich light-brown skin and narrow eyes, she wears a cloak of swirling golds and blues. She’s not as tall as the guards but still taller than the average Maford man. She looks to be somewhere in her twenties and holds an ivory walking stick that looks like it’s made of clouds and snow, just like her long, thick hair.

I don’t know her, either. Nothing about them—their faces, their armor, their snow-white hair—looks familiar. So how do they know me?

Women and older men have gathered around the chapel steps. Their faces, bright with awe, quiver with fear. At their feet: the last few swords and daggers that survived the fight against Emperor Wake’s battalion. Were they planning to fight these strangers? Silence now drops like a heavy quilt over the town, but their thoughts and prayers sound like shouts.

“Supreme protect us.”

“Where’s Johny?”

“Where’s Father Knete?”

“We need Ealdrehrt!”

Jadon mentioned that the town leaders were meeting at the mayor’s house.

Where is the mayor’s house? They must still be there.

These villagers look as ill as I feel. Their muscles are rigid, and many clutch their stomachs as beads of sweat roll down their faces.

“You may call me Elyn,” the woman begins. Her voice is hard things and soft, granite and silk, lava and fresh snow, wise, warrior. She paces, twirling that cane as she surveys the crowd. “I’m looking for a young woman named Kai. She’s about my height, hair the color of plums and chestnuts, hair that’s way out to here.” She holds her hands far away from her head. “She’s strong-willed. Smart. Unforgettable.”

“Plums and chestnuts?” Philia holds her hands out from her head. “No. We haven’t seen anyone like that.”

“Shut up, Phily,” Olivia thinks. “Don’t try to be clever.”

Elyn’s gold eyes brighten, and her white hair darkens to gray, but that agitation dies; her eyes soften again, and her hair reverts to the color of snow. She stares at the redhead.

Philia drops to her knees, clutches her gut, and her skin pales.

“There’s no need to be foolishly obtuse,” Elyn says. “Of course , she could’ve changed her hair. Kai is extremely versatile. Her style tends to befit her situation .”

I am? Does it? I glance down at my borrowed tunic and breeches. Nothing special. I don’t stand out anymore. Which befits my situation: the need to blend in. Oh .

“Enchanting little town you used to have,” the woman says, eyes skipping to the splintered carts, the mounds of limestone, the pools of congealing blood. “ Someone was angry.”

When no one says anything, she saunters down the steps. “Oh dear. There’s no food here.” Elyn plucks a withered potato from an overturned produce cart and tsk s. “Hardworking people like you deserve more than this shriveled-up thing.” She twists the potato in the air, and that shriveled-up thing becomes a fat thing, a potato big enough to feed two people.

She tosses the potato to Philia, who catches it. “Are you tired of potatoes? Philia , yes?”

Olivia thinks, “Oh shit, oh shit, how does she know her name?”

With a damp face and tear-filled eyes, Philia whispers, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you ever go to bed with your stomach growling, Philia?” Elyn asks.

A glittering teardrop slips down Philia’s bright-pink cheek. “Yes, ma’am.”

Elyn smiles. “Oh, I’m too young to be a ‘ma’am,’ but I appreciate good manners.” Then, with a wave of her hand, Elyn summons an entire cartful of fat carrots, onions, cabbages, peapods and potatoes, all big enough to feed three families for a week.

The villagers gasp, and some reach with tentative hands out to the vegetables.

“Not so fast,” Elyn booms, her voice paralyzing the villagers. “I need your help with something before you can enjoy the food.” She paces before the villagers, a commander facing her pitiful army. “Have you seen this before?” She flicks her hand, and now she’s holding a necklace heavy with a ruby-and-gold-jeweled moth.

Olivia and I both take a breath.

The onyx stone in the moth’s thorax swirls with all the colors ever created. This amulet resembles the one hanging from my neck. But Elyn’s pendant is an illusion.

“Well?” Elyn asks.

An old man who presented me with twisted carrots as his thanks for saving the village peers up at the amulet, then shakes his head. “We’re not a rich village. Just farmers. Treasures like the one you’re holding? If someone owned that , they wouldn’t be living here . Not anymore.”

Elyn says, “Okay,” and flicks her hand again. The pendant’s gone. She furrows her brow, clearly frustrated. Even with all her power, Elyn can’t sense me. Her lips become a hard line, and the freckles across the bridge of her nose darken. She’s beautiful, and she’s plump. With that cape, with that flawless skin, she’s obviously rich. She’s also wearing an amulet around her neck: six small rubies on a swirling rose-gold vine surrounding a dove, a glossy black stone in its center.

Maybe she’s Emperor Wake’s daughter. Only a royal could afford an amulet with—

Wait! My amulet also boasts jewels. Maybe I’ve run away from Brithellum after all, deserting my position at the court and leaving behind my important and wealthy family. Maybe I did attack someone before I met Olivia, and maybe Elyn is Justice Incarnate, searching for me, a fugitive, to mete out punishment.

“I’d appreciate any help you can offer,” Elyn says in her honeyed voice. “No detail is unimportant. Everything matters in this task. Kai may have forgotten, but we made an agreement, and she broke her half of that agreement. So much is at stake right now. Life and death, I must say, though that sounds incredibly dramatic.” She turns to Philia. “With that in mind, one last time. Any tidbits to share?”

Is that desperation I hear?

Philia closes her eyes, and she shakes her head.

Elyn tilts her head. “Really: Kai and I… We’re old friends. We go back, way back, and I’d simply love to catch up with her and talk out our differences. Do each other’s hair, ha.” Another small smile at Philia before she looks back at the carrot farmer. “Have you thought of anything yet? Anything at all, old man?”

He shakes his head.

Looking at this group of villagers, I recognize most of them as the ones praising my name and showering me and Jadon with gifts. I see a few malcontents, but by the way they’re shaking, they’re now too scared to speak.

“You might think you’re protecting her.” Elyn’s gaze stays on Philia’s bowed head. “She is a danger to you.” Then she looks at the group. “She’s a danger to Maford. She’s violent, selfish.” She narrows her eyes. “Trust me when I tell you that she’ll turn on you just like she’s turned on her family, on me.”

Carrot Farmer shakes his head. “She’s been our savior. Our champion.”

“No she hasn’t. She’s the Vile,” another farmer says, finally working up the courage to speak. He then spits to the ground. “She’s trash.”

“Really?” Elyn asks, smiling at him . “Trash?”

Why is she suddenly smiling?

The farmer collapses. No light—not amber or blue—glows around his body. He’s dead.

“What just happened?” Olivia whispers. “Why is Old Milton on the ground? Didn’t he tell her what she wanted to know?”

I shake my head. He didn’t, though. He insulted me.

Maybe Elyn didn’t like him referring to me as trash? On that, Elyn and I agree.

“Take this seriously.” The stranger pushes a breath through clenched teeth. “If you don’t help me find her, she will bring each of you death. She’s already brought you so much violence.”

A woman is now crying as she gazes down at Old Milton.

A blast of thunder booms from the skies above.

“So, you’ve been no help,” Elyn says. “You’ve wasted my time. I don’t appreciate that.” She fakes a gasp, then looks to the sky. “Oh, look. More guests.”

A howl as vicious as thunder and deeper than the bellows of the stormiest sea shakes the town square. In the sky, I can see the outline of the creature that made that deafening roar, only by its vibrant blue glow and its belly filled with flame.

The villagers scream, huddling together for protection.

“So,” Elyn says, her voice heavier, “if you decide that you’ve seen my old friend, just call my name and I’ll come running.”

My skin feels like it’s being poked by millions of knitting needles, and the tendons of my neck tighten. I want to scream, but I can’t scream. Not yet.

Another blast from the sky, this one bursting with flame. A fireball strikes the steeple of the chapel. When the smoke clears, Elyn and her sentinels are gone, no longer holding court in the village square.

Townspeople scream and scatter as another fireball strikes the chapel.

“C’mon,” I tell Olivia, scrambling out from the rubble.

People dart from the square to their homes. The closest buildings to the chapel, though, are already burning.

“Where is Father Knete!”

“Run!”

“The chapel’s on fire. We have to put out the fire!”

People duck and shove, cry and stumble as a giant creature— is that a fly? —swoops and shoots burning breath into the village. Smoke billows to the sky as flames lick across the rooftops and consume the remaining carts of vegetables.

“Kai!” That’s Jadon.

I grab Olivia by the arm and race to find him. Thankfully, he’s wearing his steel-and-leather breastplate again and carrying two swords.

“Where have you been?” I shout.

“Raffolk was scared shitless, and he forced us to stay to protect him. I left anyway and ran to get my armor and—” He peers at my hands. “Where’s the sword from the Otaan soldier?”

“At the cottage,” I say.

“Use this for now.” He tosses me his second sword, one with a silver blade and a golden-leather handle.

Another roar from the creature still circling the smoky sky, and that roar sounds like scores of beasts and infinite boulders slamming into a canyon. Its bellow vibrates across my face and shoulders, pinches my skin, and constricts my lungs.

The jail catches fire. Most of the timber cottages are burning, too. The flying beast dips lower to the ground.

I duck, and now I can better see this creature. Shit. I gasp, and my blood runs cold with recognition.

Cursufly.

But the creatures I remember were the size of deer. The cursufly now hovering over the burning church is bigger than any deer. It’s larger than a cottage. Its six scaled legs are thick as birch tree trunks. Its vulture-like feathers are as long as cottage doors. White lights glow where eyes should be. Long, lank hair falls from its head like a crone’s. Flames shoot from its mouth, and the stench of sulfur gurgles like an everlasting spring in its belly.

Smaller cursuflies swoop through town, fire bursting from their mouths also.

I’m prepared to fight but not sure how. These things fly. Jadon and I do not. And now, I remember something horrifying about cursuflies. They feed on human flesh. We may not be able to reach them in the air, but if these creatures are here to feed, then they must come down to where the food is. And that’s what I shout to Jadon. “That’s the only chance we have.”

He looks ill at the suggestion, his complexion gray, but nods.

So, we wait, legs spread apart, swords held back, willing the giant flies to come closer…

One creature hovers before me and studies me with its white eyes. Before it unlocks its jaws, I thrust my sword into its heart, then hop back as green blood bursts and spills onto the dirt.

One cursufly down. Countless to go.

Other villagers have taken up their weapons and are hacking and swinging their swords, their brooms and rakes, whenever the beasts get too close. They’re not killing them, though, since they’re unable to reach them to strike a fatal blow. We’re losing this fight.

I look over to Jadon, and as tall as he is, he can’t reach flies that dart out of the way before his sword can make—

A smaller cursufly hurtles toward me, its head down like a ram.

I turn to face it, tripping over some dropped potatoes, and my sword tumbles to the ground. With nothing but my hands, I swat blindly at the creature before it bites me. Wind from my slap sends the cursufly slamming into the side of the burning jail. I gape at the fiery fly. How could a swat do something a sword couldn’t?

Barking pulls me back into the now.

Milo! The poor dog is trembling beneath a cart, hiding from a cursufly.

Another cursufly swoops at me from the right.

I raise my hand to see if swatting it works again.

The beast is thrown backward, stopping only when it crashes into the burning tavern.

But I didn’t even touch the creature. That realization puts a hitch in my step.

Milo barks as the cursufly bumps the cart, trying to overturn it.

I run faster, stopping only to grab my sword. At least this beast is low enough to slash with my sword. Hands burning, I grip the handle tighter. What the…? The fingertips of my free left hand are glowing coral, red, and blue, and they’re hot, so hot that I wince and flick them for relief. This time, I see blue air burst from my glowing fingertips, and immediately, the cursufly racing beside me goes flying into a burning shop.

Did that just happen?

I sprint to the cart protecting Milo, and this time, I intentionally flick my hand at the cursufly threatening the Gerys’ dog. Blue air gusts from my fingers. The fly goes whoosh. The cart flips. Milo scurries over to me. My mouth hangs open because what the fuck ? Have I always been able to wind whip and only now have rediscovered it? Or is this a new power? I drop the useless sword and scoop up the dog in my right hand. Does my right hand push wind, too?

Another fly homes in on Milo and me.

I switch the dog to my left hand and thrust with my right. I send the creature flying into the darkness. Left hand out—another fly gone. Right hand out—a cart lifts high in the air and knocks a fly to the ground. I laugh. “Milo, do you see this?”

The dog barks and licks my face.

There’s a fly over there, chasing the old carrot farmer.

I push my hand. Blue air crackles. Cursufly gone. Oops . Too much wind—I’ve also knocked down the farmer. But he gets up and gapes at me.

I’m just as amazed as you are, old man.

Every time I flick my hand, wind bursts from my fingers, causing the cursuflies near me to lose all control, landing in heaps, never moving again.

Where’s Jadon?

My gaze skips around, from fire to fire, from one collapsing cottage to the still-burning chapel. Milo hops out of my arms and races through the smoke to…

Zinnia Gery! She’s standing on two feet. She’s not dead and strong enough to catch Milo bounding into her arms. Her amber glow has softened. How is that possible?

I can’t help but gawk at her as she and Milo rush back to their barn, which is miraculously still standing. I spin around, trying to find Jadon again, but all I see is the ground around me flickering with dying amber light of fallen villagers, and villagers with no light at all.

A single cursufly screams above me. I see fire bubbling in its cauldron-like belly as it lets loose a fall of fire. In the light, I see Jadon, still on his feet, still fighting. He swings his sword and dodges the fly’s ball of fire.

As the cursufly blasts another fireball and then another, Jadon rolls and ducks, but he’s running out of room. The fire is spreading and encircling him.

I race over to Jadon before he’s trapped in a ring of fire. I skid to a stop and thrust both of my hands at the beast. Blue wind swirls from my fingers, lifting the massive creature higher into the air. Higher. I keep my hands up, and the fly hangs there, its legs twitching, completely helpless in the space it should own.

Huh. So I can also control this wind? Let’s see what else I can do with it.

I hammer down my hands.

The creature slams into the ground and craters the earth.

Jadon barrels toward it, his blade ready.

The giant cursufly, now amber, writhes in its new grave, and that fire in its belly fades.

Jadon plunges his sword into the belly’s hotspot, and his blade quivers and turns fiery orange, burning up to the hilt, making the pommel glow like hot coal. He jerks back—his leather gloves are smoking.

“Are you okay?” I shout, running toward him. “Where’s Olivia?”

“Don’t know,” he pants. “What did you just do?”

Before I can speak, though, something behind him catches my eye. “What is that?”

“Is there another one?” he asks. “I’m so tired of fighting.”

But there is no new enemy to fight. A group of ragged villagers, including Olivia, are staring at the chapel, which is still engulfed in flames.

Jadon and I edge closer to the group.

They’re staring at the doors of the chapel, which aren’t singed or even covered in ashes. On these impossibly white doors, someone’s used red paint—or blood—to leave a message:

we will help you rebuild

we will give you riches

give us kai