“Good-o.” She turned back to the gate. “Now let me work.”

  The trick, Meriwether had explained, is it must be believable. Morgan pressed her palm against the gate again, feeling the trickle of want that powered the device. It needed to be used, to be connected to a far place. She left her hand on it and breathed. Closed her eyes and leaned her head against its surface. It felt chilled, like metal left in water. It was smooth as glass but smelled of stone. The Raven Queen reached inside herself, to that well of power she’d always had, and said, “Open.”

  She heard Vertiline’s shout of No! as the Justiciar finally took notice of what was going on. Felt the gate click and crack, the runes on the outside rim rotating, the grind of ancient rock deep and insistent. Dust silted, and the gate shimmered. Beyond: the stars. A platform stretched, a strip of white material within a glass tube heading toward a tower. Farther still, the orb of this world. Morgan saw clouds and the blue-green wonder of it, the real jewel of the Three, and wanted to reach out and touch it.

  A blaze of Light reflected against the gate’s stone drew Morgan about. Vertiline was carving a path to her position. The Feybrind at her side once again placed that odd-looking weapon at the Raven Queen’s head. That by itself was concerning, but more worrisome was that each and every door in the room opened.

  In flowed troops by the battalion. Morgan’s math said Vertiline might be good, but those were terrible odds. The weapon at her skull pressed harder.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Everything hurts. This is why I try and keep away from sharp objects. Sight of Day turned his golden gaze to Vertiline. The platinum-haired warrior fought with efficient ferocity, the signature of her type, trained by the human’s Three to murder their foes. Every move just so, every foot placement a work of art.

  The People could fight well, but the Tresward were the great barometer. They were also great healers, but Vertiline’s Sway hadn’t … fixed him. Something on the inside tugged and pulled at every movement. The good news is I’m no longer leaking. Leaking is bad. He didn’t blame Vertiline for this. She is best with a blade in hand. The Sway is something few master, and the People are … different to humans. The Three’s gaze does not fall so evenly on our needs.

  His eyes turned to the Vide, rank upon rank of assassin storming the room. The Tresward are arbiters, but there is only one of them here. He took a weary sidestep as a human tried to skewer him, then helped himself to his opponent’s weapon by using his clever fingers to pinch there and there, the blade popping free like a seed from a squeezed lemon. Sight of Day caught it, kicked the assassin in the groin, and sidled up beside Armitage.

  His friend was wholly motivated on trying to keep his body count up to his wife’s level. Sight of Day admitted there was a large number of ambient bodies to show proof of his endeavours. The Vhemin made a tremendous amount of noise and it hurt Sight of Day’s ears, so he slipped on by, heading toward the Raven Queen. The gate behind her showed a starry void with a spire overlooking a world that Sight of Day expected he stood on. He resisted the temptation to look up and wave, if only because the roof was in the way. No one seemed to have noticed Morgan except for the fossil who accosted her.

  Oh, and Sands Apart, who padded at his side. Her ochre eyes were wide, everywhere at once, and focused on all the wrong things. He gently slid behind her and ran a woman through who was aiming for his friend’s back. Sands Apart whirled at the clatter of dropped weapon, Feybrind hearing picking out the slightest noises through the howl of the melee.

  {I didn’t see.}

  He offered his sword to her, then retrieved the fallen blade. {Your first epic battle?}

  {It doesn’t feel epic!} Her fingers were angry, her tail a-lash. {It feels terrifying!}

  {Just wait until you hear the bards sing of it. There will be at least a thousand Vide against our four.}

  {There are a thousand Vide!}

  {See how stories come to life?} He offered her a half smile, then parried a spear thrust, letting the weapon slide along the edge of his steel. The borrowed blade was surprisingly good, and he looked for a People’s maker’s mark on the pommel while his assailant recovered his balance. Nothing there. Maybe humans are learning our tricks after all.

  The spear man had another go, and Sands Apart cut him down with irritation. {Are we going to help the queen?}

  {It’s she who may help us.} Sight of Day padded through the melee, taking care to not move so quickly as to draw undue attention. There were a lot of humans in this room, and all headed toward the Light blaze of Vertiline.

  The fossil noticed their approach, as did the Raven Queen. Sight of Day had a soft spot for her. Troubled by her past, but more troubled by her present, because of the people in her care. She thought longer-term than most humans, and tried to look after others, and like the People, was diminished for it, her kingdom in another’s hands, and with a cruel gun to her head as a reward.

  “That’s far enough,” the fossil said.

  Sight of Day half-smiled. {You have one of the slaver’s speech collars. Don’t you think the world is noisy enough already?}

  The fossil’s weapon didn’t move from Morgan’s skull. “The world will be rung like a bell, and all will hear Wild Sur’s thunder.” He paused a moment. “Yes, that is my true name. This gift,” he touched the horrible scars on his skull where his ears had been mutilated, “took my hearing. No one Commands me, so I walk free. But this,” he touched the collar at his neck, “lets me use their devices, including one of these.”

  The fossil extracted one of those annoying boxes from his belt. Sight of Day had seen their like before. They could harvest one’s true name and allow the holder to use one of the People as their slave. It could push a person beyond all limit to perform atrocities.

  The fossil pointed the box at Sands Apart, so Sight of Day took a quick step toward her, then decked her. She went down like a dropped rock, ochre eyes closing, about as much use to Wild Sur as a sock puppet. The fossil’s golden eyes blazed with anger. “You wish your own slavery to come so quickly?” He pivoted the box to Sight of Day. “Well, then⁠—”

  Morgan dropped her shoulder, putting her elbow into Wild Sur’s solar plexus. The fossil’s weapon discharged. Sight of Day dropping below the burning path of heat and rage. He kicked Morgan’s feet out from under her. It was the fastest way to get her below the line of fire. He ignored the surprise beginning to bloom in her eyes, sucker-punched the fossil as his weapon started coming back to Sight of Day, grabbed the box from mid-air, and tossed it into the beam.

  It vanished in a haze of particles. Wild Sur stumbled back, golden eyes agog. “Those are rarer than unicorn blood.”

  {Unicorn blood is quite common, if you know the right unicorns, and are very polite.}

  The weapon swung about to face Sight of Day. He saw the glowing barrel, heat hazing the air, and wondered if this was how he’d die. It seemed fair, and he was fine with it. He’d stopped Sands Apart from being Commanded. No one should have to face that. And he’d stopped Morgan from being turned into a haze of particles like the ancient’s Command device.

  The Raven Queen was slowly pulling herself toward the gate. I can still be useful as a distraction. He half-smiled. {Brother, you have fallen far. Your age has mired your wits as much as your body. Their trinkets are not the People’s way.}

  “You see a fall, but I have flown. Our way has gotten the People killed, whittled away, shavings from a stick no one cares about. Who will stand and protect us, if not I?”

  {And yet.} Sight of Day folded his hands together for a moment, stilling his tail. {I live, despite the weapon you point at me. Do you still see the way back?}

  “I see one who I would have join me. The golden eyes are the rarest of all Feybrind. We are the best ones. They made us that way. Let us use it. Let us fix the world.”

  Sight of Day felt his side tug. It was a reminder of Vertiline’s healing word, and of his friends who didn’t have golden eyes but were very good people despite it. {You say ‘fix’ but I think you meant ‘rule’.}

  Morgan had made it to the gate. She pressed her hand against it, huddled, small, a pool of potential. Sight of Day continued ignoring her as Wild Sur thrust his weapon at him for emphasis. “It is the same thing. You can’t fix what you don’t own.”

  {I have fixed many swords and suits of armour. I have put wheels on broken carriages and mended garments. I owned none of those things.}

  “You split the argument into meaningless pieces. You are filled with cowardice.”

  {There is meaning on both sides of any argument. Bravery doesn’t have to roar.} The gate above Morgan surged, the starscape vanishing, and Sight of Day took a step back. Oh, my. What has she done? The gate turned an inky black.

  Wild Sur spun, weapon rising to face the black. He looked set to parrot more words, so Sight of Day felt it a small mercy that demons broke through at that moment, a cloud of hate and villainy flowing into the world again.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  The tide of demons leaped over Morgan. One tried on a leer, but the expression was stillborn as it was trampled by its brethren.

  I hope my Lord du Reeves knows what he is doing, or I have damned us all.

  As a curiosity, the demon horde swept right on by the three Feybrind before her, wings, claws, and gangly legs all diverting past them like a stream around stones. The monsters surged toward the humans in the vaulted room. The mass of Vide were a beautiful target for things that feasted on the corrupted, warped things in a human soul.

  She saw men and women taken mid-stride, their smooth motions turning jerky for a few paces before they straightened. Newly gleaming, silvered eyes looked over the room, their mouths widening in smiles that hungered for more than food.

  Sight of Day stood stock still, his mouth hanging wide, golden eyes wider, as the demon horde thinned, their ranks surging into human hosts. The flap of leathery wings subsided to a trickle of slower horrors. Wild Sur was similarly carved from basalt, the two People viewing the world totally differently, yet united in their horror. The ancient Feybrind turned to her, his weapon held in slack hands. “What have you done?”

  “What was necessary. It has ever been my lot to finish what others left undone through lack of wit or motivation.”

  “You think me … unmotivated?” The synthetic voice was cultured, but Morgan was sure the Feybrind’s tone would have risen octaves at a gallop if it were able.

  “I think you lack vision.” Morgan stood, dusting off her raven black robe and straightening her collar. “Here, I have given you what you always wanted. An army of monsters.”

  “I don’t control demons. No one can.”

  “You also lack education.” She plucked a mote from her sleeve. “One who can destroy a thing controls it.”

  “You think you can destroy them? You are a back parlour Ritualist.”

  “And it seems you lack wisdom. A single person must not hold all the cards. A good ruler must play a varied hand.” Morgan’s eyes hunted the throng before her. Vertiline hunkered behind the weight of her shield, a Light-rimmed guard protecting her husband. Tarragon stood in her shadow, her blazing sword held in mid guard. Armitage was frozen in astonishment, an unconscious Vide held slackly in one hand. The Vhemin let the woman drop. It was the only movement in the room. “I admit, I expected my Lord du Reeves about now.”

  Sight of Day turned to her, his gaze unreadable. {He has not traditionally been overly reliable.}

  “He has but one task.”

  Wild Sur looked at the heavens. “Perhaps this type of incompetence is why the ancients destroyed the world. How marvellous.” He swung his weapon to bear on Sight of Day, then looked to Morgan. “Put them back where they came from, or I will destroy all you love.”

  Morgan offered Sight of Day an apologetic smile. “You were going to destroy all I loved before things turned poorly for you. Your hand is lacking aces.”

  “Your hand is lacking any cards at all!”

  Morgan turned her smile sad, and directed it toward Wild Sur. “For all your long years among us, you understand us not at all. The world functions as a marvellous clockwork. All things happen for a reason. For example, did you not wonder why so many demons were waiting right at this portal? It seems convenient for them to huddle at a disused entrance to our realm.”

  Wild Sur’s golden eyes narrowed. “They are always eager to run to our lands.”

  Morgan’s back was to the gate and the blackness within. She hoped it remained midnight, because the damnable Holomancer was still nowhere to be seen. Her eyes settled on Tarragon, because the once-fairy struggled with her blade, as if Requiem were an unruly goat unwilling to take the collar. The sword stuttered and flared, skymetal brilliance and lightning fury in flashes, before it tore free from the warrior’s hand, tumbling end over end and into the gate behind Morgan. Her smile, still regal, still ready, turned wintry. “Run to? Not quite. They are running from, sirrah.”

  Wild Sur took a sudden step back as Sight of Day’s expression turned to the intersection of Surprise Road and Terror Street. Morgan felt hot breath on her back for a moment before a black-clawed stumpy leg smashed the stone beside her. She recoiled, stumbling left, just in time to avoid being squashed as a companion leg joined the first.

  She looked up, up, and up to the massive demon forcing its way through the gate. Horns, wings, fangs, and a terrifying visage atop all. It clambered through the gate like a burglar through a window, huffed a great bellows breath, then stamped toward the melee.

  And then across it, slamming Vide aside as it made for the exit. Morgan froze as another giant demon came through, a third, and then a fourth, each a mistake the Three would not countenance. What have I done? What have I done?

  The first demon made the great doors and slammed them aside, great lumbering strides taking it to the battlefield outside, the other three in pursuit. Morgan was about to get up when a massive, red-scaled, taloned forearm slammed into the ground beside her. She looked up into a redfire dragony grin.

  //NOW IT’S A PARTY,// Ormeon the Redeemer said.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  The calm of the sky belied the carnage below. Evanne perched on the side of Dancing in the Storm. She saw four massive creatures burst from the castle. They looked like they were super pissed off, and in a hurry to boot. They lumbered away from the action.

  Hitch glimmered blue at her side. “Elder demons.”

  “Does that mean they’re old, or in charge?”

  “Both.”

  “I think I saw you fight one of them.”

  “I think you saw me get my ass kicked by one of them.” He tapped the shiny new metal over her breastplate. “Not even this is impervious to them. Don’t get in a punching fight. In fact, leave them to someone else, like your mother. She’s just about angry enough to do for four, I reckon.”

  “You’re looking at the wrong thing,” the Oracle said.

  Evanne stifled a scream, but still jumped in alarm. “Where have you been?”

  “I’ve … travelled. Now, attend.” He pointed, directing her attention to the roof of the castle. “See there?”

  Evanne’s visor helped her weak human sight. Her vision swam with detail as her viewpoint raced across the distance. She swung her arms wildly, trying to get her balance as she adjusted to the new perspective. Breathe. You’re a bard. Look like you meant to do that. She stilled, then cleared her throat with the Trick of confidence. “Looks like the lordling and those two merchants.”

  “I think you should go get them.”

  “Why’s that?” She looked at him, the visor seamlessly switching back to the here and now. “You planning something?”

  “No. We’re crashing.” He shrugged apologetically. “The ship’s taken a lot of damage. We’ll go down somewhere. It’s probably going to be on top of them.”

  Evanne frowned. “No, you’re doing this all wrong.”

  “I’m … I’m an oracle. I know the future! I see truth in the stars. I am physically incapable of doing anything wrong.”

  “Except that time you fell to your death.”

  “I got better.”

  “Leave this one to me,” Evanne said. “Best settle down before you hurt yourself again.” She cocked a glance at Hitch. “Can I carry people on this?”

  “You can carry one or two at a time. Depends on whether they’ve eaten recently.”

  “Got it.” Evanne stepped off the side of the flying city, her armour flaring, the fangs in her wrists drinking deep as she powered toward the castle. She bit her lip, pushing past the pain. The demons had made good time, and she spied Myryntir dogging their steps, the great blue dragon showering them with lightning, which appeared to bother them not at all.

  She almost flew into the side of the castle in astonishment as a red dragon burst from the gates, bounding on all fours before springing into flight. The dragon’s hide was pitted and scarred, not all shiny magenta. Some scales scorched or cracked, but none of that looked like it slowed her down. “Hitch, is that dragon wearing a saddle?”

  “Where there’s a dragon, there should always be a dragonrider.”

  “Where’s the dragonrider, then?”

  “Stick the landing, then we’ll talk.”

  She took a turn around a crenelated tower and came in for a shaky landing right in front of the lordling, who had the good grace to look surprised. He’d been peering through a hole in the castle roof, Amber and Jade shoulder to shoulder beside him. He gave her a once-over. “Evanne, why are you here?”

  “The sky city is going to crash on you.”

  “That’s bad,” he admitted.

  “I can get you up there.”

  “Why would I want to be on something that’s going to crash?”

  “I’ve got a plan,” she said.

  “I’m quite nervous.”

  “Okay. How’s your plan working out?”

  He frowned, then glanced at the sky behind them where the red dragon and Myryntir swooped, lightning and fire blasting the demons below. The demons answered with bolts of purest black. “Not great. I was hoping for something better than a dragon.”