Advocate Falan flashed a white-toothed smile. “Yes, well, we’re capable of retracting our claws for a while when it comes to matters of import.” He approached Ponto, who shrank away in fear. “Boy, you are aware your presence here was not planned?”

  Ponto nodded.

  “And you are aware every single other witness here today has upheld the guilt of your old mentor?”

  Another nod.

  “And you know lying in defense of a murderer is seen as tantamount to aiding him in the crime itself?”

  Ponto wilted in the chair, his posture growing worse with each successive question. He glanced at Itan with a guilty expression before nodding his head.

  “With that in mind, what happened the day of Ox Ughra’s death?”

  It seemed like the whole crowd held its breath; Itan realized he was sitting on the edge of his stool, eyes not blinking as he waited for Ponto’s next sentence.

  “I…” His eyes darted toward Itan, and then to the ground. “I don’t know, sir. My memory’s all blurry, I think cause of the fall.”

  Advocate Falan’s shoulders slumped. “What about the day of the fire at the bakery?”

  “The same. I’m sorry, sir.”

  Itan expected a surge of emotion – fear, or perhaps anger. But he felt nothing.

  “It appears this may have been a waste of the court’s time,” Advocate Falan said. “Thank you for your honesty.” He rejoined Leda and Elysa in the shade.

  The magistrate looked toward Itan, no doubt expecting him to ask his own questions. But he couldn’t think of anything. The only thought running through his mind was: I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die.

  “Accused Mirao?” the magistrate prompted.

  Itan shook himself. “Can I have a quarter hour to gather myself?”

  “Yes, you may. I think we could all use a break.”

  When the bells of the city announced the break was over, Itan managed to summon the strength to hobble to the center of the arena. His legs and back protested like they belonged to a body several decades old, but the knowledge they wouldn’t be protesting for long made it easier to bear. The pain was almost sweet, a reminder he still drew breath.

  The magistrate offered to bring Ponto back in for questioning, but Itan declined with a wave of his hand. He coughed into a hand since swallowing wouldn’t work, hoping the act would free up enough of the muscles in his throat to allow him to speak to the crowd. “Much has been said here today,” he said, in a voice louder than he’d expected but raspier than he’d hoped. “Many accusations have been leveled my way, each one less true than the last.

  “It is clear to me now that the vision of fairness in administration of the law is dead in Jaruna. My order sent me here as a final effort to help the departed find peace, but that will never come to pass so long as the living cling to familiar lies. I weep for all of you – too soon, you will experience the loneliness of being laid bare to the world with no one to care for you as you forget who you used to be piece-by-piece.

  “And then – and then – when you have lost the final shred of what made you human, her followers –” he pointed at Elysa, “— will quench your divine spark for their own base purposes. But I take comfort in one thought: I no longer have to bear the burden of attempting to save you from this prison you have all constructed for yourselves. No, let me die.”

  Itan faced the magistrate, his lip curling with grim resolve. “Give me the same fate as Esme. I will face the cleansing flames of the immortals.”

  Silence overtook the gathered men and women. Itan could see shock on the faces of the advocates who’d opposed him – Elysa included.

  Magistrate Nur cleared his throat. “That’s your right, Mister Mirao. We will build a pyre.”

  Chapter 22

  Tarana

  “No. Absolutely not.” Bilal folded his arms; the candle at the end table in their shared study cast deep shadows on his face, making it look like an actor’s masque. “I will not allow you to walk straight into the jaws of our enemy.”

  Tarana mirrored his posture. “He doesn’t know that we know he’s our enemy, though.”

  “So what? He knows Blacksword is working with the rangers. If he’s behind the dungeon breakout like you think he is, he sacrificed a lot of men to get his hands on Mer. What makes you think he wouldn’t do the same for you?”

  “He might, but he’ll underestimate me. You’ve seen what I can do. I can escape any force he’d send to kidnap Blacksword.”

  Bilal rubbed his temples. “Assuming he hasn’t broken Mer, or else he’ll know you’re Calamity. Assuming the castle guard isn’t on his side. Assuming your father isn’t of a same mind as Prelate Gratianos, and decides to have you arrested so he can replace you with someone else of his choosing.”

  “That’s cold,” Tarana said, “Even for my father. No, he’d never do anything like that.”

  “You’ve never been in a city under siege before. The pressure makes people do crazy things.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Fine. You win. Maybe it’s a bad plan. But the idea of Death lingering on that plateau – with my sister – I just can’t take it. She’s the only person I have left to fight for. I’m only in this damn city to try and keep her safe.”

  Bilal studied her in silence for a moment. “Of course. I understand the kind of emotions that drive us to place ourselves in danger. If you’re choosing this, I’ll stand with you. As will every ranger at our command.”

  “We can’t ask that of them.”

  “Why not? Commander Fevre passed command onto me, didn’t she? And in my professional opinion, this city is a lot safer with you alive. If you’re determined to retrieve your sister from that castle, we can at least put a company of rangers at your back.”

  Tarana sighed. “It’s not exactly a subtle plan.”

  “No, I don’t suppose it is,” he admitted with a hint of a smile. “I know what my strengths are, and subtlety isn’t one of them. But I can tell you one thing – it certainly won’t be what Death and his men are expecting. And when something goes wrong, it gives you and your sister the best chance of getting out of there.”

  “So you’re going with the ’so stupid no one would expect us to try it’ school of thought?”

  “Yeah, I suppose I am.”

  “Alright, then. Give the order. We leave for the plateau at the top of the hour.” Tarana opened the door to leave.

  “Heard,” Bilal said. As Tarana headed for her room, he left in the opposite direction.

  Her leather coat was tangled amidst the disheveled bedspread, a heap of fabric that took Tarana a few seconds to unravel. The worn fabric fit her poorly, but Bilal had insisted she take it anyway to serve as an added layer of protection. She looped her sword belt over her hips, pulling it tight and testing with a quarter-draw of the weapon.

  A horn sounded from outside, drawing her attention. Tarana skidded into the hall, joining a stream of rangers heading out to investigate. As she stepped out into the morning sun – squinting against the sudden light – another blow of the horn sounded from high atop the city walls.

  “What do you think it is?” a woman to her left asked.

  “Whatever it is, it can’t be good,” Tarana replied.

  A wicked smile spread across the woman’s face. “Maybe we’ll get to fight someone, eh? It’s been too long since our last good scrap.”

  “One way or another, there’ll be blood spilled today.” Tarana’s eyes trailed to the plateau, lingering for a moment. With a shake of her head, she made her way toward the wall.

  She bounded up the steps, trailed by a group of nearly a dozen rangers. Each leap left them further behind until she could no longer hear their heavy breathing – but she could see the top approaching. Two seconds later, she’d reached the last few stairs. With a turn of her head, she spotted an anxious-looking sergeant wearing the wolf patch of Fevre’s company.

  “What is it?” she asked, approaching the man.

  “Something happening down below. Tevulun men are charging the back of the Ma’isan camp.”

  Tarana followed his eyes to the ground below. A group of soldiers – all of them on foot – were in a full-out charge toward the back of the Ma’isan line. One of the men carried a pike with a banner attached to it, the cloth frayed and almost completely torn in half. A gust of wind carried the two pieces, bringing them together for the briefest moment.

  She gasped. “It’s a gryphon! That’s Prelate Gratianos’ army!” They were few in number, so few compared to what she remembered. As the back of the formation rounded the steep hill below the Ma’isan camp, she estimated those in sight numbered in the low thousands.

  “Death be kind,” the sergeant said. “There’s no way they’re going to make it to the gate.”

  “No, not without our help.” She turned to the group of rangers who’d been following her, the first of which had just crested the stairs. “Spread the word. Gratianos is attacking the Ma’isan camp. We have to sally out and help him. Where’s Bilal?”

  The rangers all shrugged.

  Tarana turned back to the sergeant. “Send someone to find him. Tell him the plan’s changed. We’ll meet at the main gate.” She charged down the steps without waiting for him to confirm the orders.

  An absent glance on her way down revealed the city awaking to the danger. Squads of guardsmen flowed toward the main gate, pushing aside any citizens who asked about what the horns meant. Three streets from the base of the stairs, men and women streamed out from the ranger’s compound in various states of readiness, many of them still securing weapons or looking around for their officers.

  Trusting someone would get word to Bilal, Tarana rounded the base of the stairs. She paused for a moment’s breath before continuing toward the main gate. It felt as if her blood was on fire, demanding action to help Prelate Gratianos and what remained of his men; with each step, she felt the hum of Calamity grow. The thunderheads above pulsed in her veins, demanding to be released.

  Two squads of city guardsmen spanned the street ahead of her, their hands finding positions on weapons as they saw her approach.

  “This way’s closed off, ma’am,” a man with a broad nose and deep-set eyes said. “Orders of Captain Okal.”

  “Have you seen what’s happening out there?” Tarana asked, reaching for the hilt of her own sword. “There’s men – your men – dying! We have to help them!”

  The broad-nosed man closed his eyes, a pained look passing over his face. “I’m aware of that, ma’am. Best leave this to the trained professionals. We have no need for amateur sell swords.”

  “Do you know who I am? I’m Blacksword!” Tarana drew her weapon, angling it so they could see the burned metal.

  The guard burst out laughing. “By Calamity, you’re Blacksword? The way Fevre’s men talked about you, I expected – but no no, this is better! Okay, Miss Blacksword. You can take your daddy’s leather and that cute little dagger you call a sword and go on home. Best run along quickly, before you hurt yourself.”

  Thunder crashed overhead, seeping out from Tarana at the flare of anger the guard’s mockery inspired in her. She ground her teeth against each other; the looming storm took all of her strength to control. Rain began to pour, and she decided to let it run its course. If nothing else, perhaps it would provide some cover for Gratianos and his men.

  The guardsmen’s smiles turned to frowns at the sudden change in weather. The one who’d spoken before tensed. “How long have you been with the rangers, Blacksword?”

  “Years.” She glanced up, squinting at the hard rain. “If you’re asking if the rain is mine, it’s not. Last I heard, Calamity was with Gratianos.”

  “Huh. Well, that’s a shame. Having her here would change things considerably.”

  Over Tarana’s shoulder, she heard a small group of rangers skate across cobblestone to come to a stop behind her. “Where’s your captain?” she asked the guard. “Surely he wouldn’t say no to help from the rangers. If he’s going to sally out to help Gratianos, he’s going to need all the help he can get.”

  “No one’s going out, Miss Blacksword.” The broad-nosed man’s eyes flicked from Tarana to those behind her. “Orders are to gather up and hold the gate. I think you’ll agree, we’re safer in here than we are out there.”

  “Safer to starve, you mean. Safer to die. Slowly.” Tarana heard more bootsteps behind her; one of the older guardsmen grabbed another by the scruff of his neck, whispering something into his ear that sent him running.

  Bilal’s reassuring voice came from over her shoulder. “We’re with you. All of us are here.” He stepped forward, addressing the broad-nosed guard. “On whose authority are you blocking passage on this street?”

  “That would be Captain Okal. As I was telling your esteemed friend over there, the captain has ordered us to make sure no one gets close enough to the main gate to do anything stupid.”

  I could solve this in an instant, Tarana thought. The raw force overhead begged for her direction; all it would take is a single bolt and they would know her identity. As if sensing the thoughts going through her mind, Bilal locked eyes with her, shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

  Rain trailed off of Bilal’s yellow coat as he stepped forward. “And which one of you proposes to stop us? Those men out there are the first sign of relief we’ve had in months. The way I see it, any man who serves as an obstacle to them getting to the gate is a traitor.”

  “All the same, we have our orders.”

  “Don’t choose to die here,” Tarana said. “This is your last chance. Move or we’ll cut through you.”

  “And you’ll run up against the full force of the city guard, Miss Blacksword. You and those rangers. Then again, I suppose it’s been the guard against the rangers for quite some time. May as well settle that debate.” He drew his sword; once they recognized what was happening, the men to either side of him readied their weapons as well.

  “What is the meaning of this?” a voice bellowed. A pair of arms in pristine armor appeared between two of the guards, pushing them aside to reveal Captain Okal. He turned his head to spit at the sight of Bilal and Tarana; it mixed with the rain, washing away down the gutters. “You two. I thought we had an arrangement.”

  When Tarana didn’t speak up, Bilal replied, “The reappearance of Prelate Gratianos’ army changes things, as I think you’d agree.”

  “It changes nothing. We’re still outnumbered two-to-one. Best forget about what’s out there, boy.”

  “I make it closer to three-to-four. But that’s beside the point. Gratianos’ charge has taken the Ma’isans by surprise. They’re scrambling, disorganized. If we take advantage of it, we might be able to break the siege.”

  “We don’t have time for this debating,” Tarana said.

  Okal ignored her. “Break the siege?” His forced laugh stabbed through the rain. “Unlikely. If we were to sally out, when we lost – not if, when – those who were left wouldn’t be enough to keep the Wolves at bay. The city would burn itself down, even if the Ma’isans never breached the walls.”

  “By the immortals! Isn’t it worth trying, at least? Unless you’d rather surrender now?”

  “We don’t have time for this!” Tarana repeated. In her mind, she pictured the Ma’isans falling on Prelate Gratianos’ hopeless charge. He’d given them a precious gift – an opportunity to turn around the story of Vicrum – and each minute they spent arguing it slipped further from their grasp.

  Captain Okal looked past Bilal and Tarana. “Rangers, as the only higher officer in this city not under arrest, I order you to stand down. I will assume command, of course, and we will maintain order.”

  A dread laugh answered him. “Do you think we’ve forgotten why you’re the only higher officer who isn’t under arrest?” a man with a puckered scar running across his jawline asked. “To the Everlands with your orders. We’ll die before we obey you.”

  “Very well.” Okal looked over his shoulder to signal a group of heavy footmen; they stepped forward, raising shields and pikes as they formed a line in front of the original set of guards.

  Skora, Tarana thought. If we let this happen, we may as well surrender now. Bilal’s wide eyes begged her not to do anything, but she ignored him and took a step forward. “Captain!” she shouted. “Attend!”

  A white arc flared down from the clouds, igniting the length of Tarana’s raised sword. The cobblestones at her feet cracked as the energy passed through her, searing her leather coat and turning the surrounding rain to steam. An echoing boom travelled through the thick air, followed by silence. Moments later, exclamations came from all sides and the guard fell to their knees in deference.

  Tarana lowered her sword, trying not to think of the implications of revealing herself to such a large group. “As I said, we don’t have time for this. Tell your men to open the gate. If there are any horses left, send riders out to distract our enemies on their flanks. Bilal is in command of the rangers. I’ll lead the guards through the center. Once we meet up with Gratianos’ force, we’ll retreat back to the city.” She looked around. “Well, what are you waiting for? Move!”

  Bilal grabbed her sleeve, maintaining the grip as he rose from his knee. “All due respect, but you’re wasted on leading a charge. You should be atop that wall, where you’ll be able to spot the weak points in their formation and hit them with thunder from above.”

  She nodded slowly. “You have a point. I don’t trust Okal to lead them, though. He’s a coward through and through.”

  “I’ll lead them.” Resolve hardened in his eyes. “You know I’m no coward, Blacksword.”

  “No, you’re not.” She was struck by the urge to say something in case he didn’t return, but words failed her. Instead, she clasped his forearm tightly, trusting in the gesture to convey what she couldn’t put in words.

  Surprisingly, it appeared to wound him rather than give comfort. He squared his jaw and nodded once – more to himself than to her – before joining the mix of soldiers heading toward the gate.