Celeste

  A deep, concussive boom slammed through the compound, hard enough that dust sifted from the ceiling and the lantern flame on the wall jumped wildly. The stone beneath our feet shuddered, like the basement itself had flinched.

  Every prisoner froze.

  Lioren’s head snapped up, eyes wide, as mine met his.

  “Move!” I yelled.

  He turned back, shouting to the prisoners. “Up the stairs. Now. Hurry!”

  The prisoners stumbled into motion, fear lending speed where their bodies had none.

  I took the stairs two at a time. The boom slowly fading through the stone, a dull ringing that made the air feel thin.

  At the top, I reached the door and pressed my ear against it for the briefest moment. I eased it opened and looked into the hallway.

  The corridor stood empty, dim, and silent. I stepped out, then glanced back.

  Lioren stood at the head of the stairs, ushering the prisoners up, one hand on the hilt of his sword, eyes fixed on the hallway, ready for anything that came through.

  I gave him a quick nod and moved on alone.

  The hallway felt longer than before. At the end stood the outer door.

  I opened it carefully and stepped into the night.

  The compound was brighter.

  Firelight flickered across the yard. I looked up—and my breath caught.

  The leaning tower burned like a torch, flames climbing the wood and pitch, sparks spiraling into the night sky. Smoke rolled upward in thick black waves, carrying the sharp, bitter scent of burning resin.

  Men were pouring out of the main house, shouting, some half-armored, some barely dressed, all turning toward the fire.

  One of them turned and saw me.

  His face twisted in surprise, then anger. His hand came up, fingers spreading as he drew breath to Cast—

  Ice punched through his skull from the side.

  The man dropped where he stood, crumpling without a sound.

  I turned.

  Art stepped into view through the smoke and firelight. His eyes found mine in an instant.

  “Run!” he shouted. “Now!”

  I spun back toward the doorway.

  Lioren and the prisoners were already behind me, crowding the threshold, eyes wide at the fire and shouting.

  “This way!” I called, “Follow me—move!”

  I ran into the yard, keeping low, heading for what little shadow remained along the far side of the compound, the hidden door beyond the wall. Behind me I heard the prisoners scrambling to keep up, Lioren urging them forward.

  A streak of fire tore past my shoulder, close enough that the heat scorched the air against my cheek.

  I twisted, throwing myself sideways as the blast struck the ground where I had been standing, dirt and sparks bursting upward.

  A man stood twenty paces away, one hand still glowing, eyes wild in the firelight as he drew breath to Cast again.

  I didn’t give him the chance.

  Ardor flared in my palm and I drove it forward. The Light struck him in the leg, punching through flesh and bone. He screamed and collapsed, clutching at the wound, the glow around his hand guttering out as pain stole his focus.

  I lifted my hand to finish him but I caught movement to my right.

  A man was charging straight at me, barefoot, bare-chested, a short sword raised over his head. His face was twisted in fury, teeth bared, eyes wide and hungry for blood.

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  I shifted my aim and fired.

  Ardor struck him square in the chest.

  The force of it drove him backward for half a step, but his momentum carried him to the rest of the way forward. He crashed into me, dead weight slamming me to the ground as the breath burst from my lungs.

  The sword fell from his hand beside my head.

  For a moment I couldn’t breathe. His weight pinned me, hot blood soaking through my clothes as I shoved against his shoulders, trying to push him off.

  Hands grabbed the body. A young woman and a little girl, two of the prisoners. They heaved with me, dragging him aside enough for me to scramble free.

  “Thank you,” I managed, already pushing to my feet.

  I turned, searching for the others.

  The older woman who had walked beside us lay sprawled on the ground, unmoving. Stone jutted from her torso in jagged shards, dark with blood.

  My stomach clenched, but there was no time to stop.

  A few paces away, Lioren stood with his back to the prisoners, two men already lying at his feet. His blade moved in quick, brutal arcs as he held off five men at once. Fire flared beside him—a teenage girl we had freed, her hands shaking but determined as she hurled bursts of flame that force the attackers to keep their distance.

  A short distance away, the first young woman I had freed crouched on the ground, arms wrapped around two small children, her face buried against their hair as they cried in terrified silence.

  Nearby stood a gaunt freckled girl, scarcely grown, her eyes darting between the fighting and the open yard.

  Another attacker turned toward them, sword already lifting.

  My heart slammed.

  “Keep running!” I shouted to the two prisoners beside me. “Go straight for that wall. Push the crate aside and push against it until it opens. Don’t stop!”

  They hesitated only a moment before turning and running.

  I spun back toward Lioren and the others and ran to meet the man bearing down on the children, Ardor already gathering in my hand.

  The night roared around us, fire, shouting, steel ringing against steel, and somewhere behind it all, I could hear more men coming.

  I drove the Light forward.

  Ardor struck the man across the side, burning through cloth and flesh, spinning him half around—but not before his blade completed its path.

  The girl screamed.

  Two fingers fell to the dirt, and blood poured from her hand in a bright, pulsing stream.

  Rage surged through me.

  I closed the distance in two strides and drove another burst of Ardor into the man’s chest, dropping him where he knelt.

  I dropped to my knees beside the girl.

  She was sobbing, clutching her hand, blood running freely between her fingers. The young boy beside her stared in horror, frozen in place. The other little girl pressed against her leg.

  “Let me see,” I said, already reaching for her wrist.

  She shook her head wildly, crying, but I caught her hand anyway, closing my fingers firmly around it. Blood soaked my palm instantly, hot and slick.

  I drew a breath and let Healing flow.

  Warmth spread from my hand into hers, knitting torn flesh, forcing the bleeding to slow. I couldn’t restore what was gone, but I closed the wound enough that the blood stopped spilling and the trembling in her arm eased.

  Her sobs softened into shaky breaths.

  I released her hand gently. “Hold it tight. You’ll be fine.”

  She stared at me, wide-eyed, tears streaking the grime on her face.

  “Go,” I said, more urgently now, sending her the same direction I’d told the others to run.

  The young woman nodded, wrapping an arm around the freckled girl’s shoulders and pulling her upright. The children clung to her as they began to hobble away, the girl cradling her injured hand against her chest.

  They had only gone a few paces when two more men rushed in from the smoke, hands already raised.

  A shout came from the side.

  Fire burst across the yard in a sudden, violent flare. A boy—thin, barefoot, and hair matted with grime—stood with one shaking hand outstretched.

  Blue flame roared from his palm.

  I had never seen Fire burn that color. But the scale of it felt hauntingly familiar. It reminded me of Art, and the way his flames could devour space in an instant.

  The blaze engulfed the two men. The slavers screamed as the fire swallowed them whole.

  Stone tore upward from the ground in a jagged burst. One of the shards struck the boy across the brow with a sickening crack.

  He dropped instantly, falling to the ground.

  I spun toward where the earth had risen—but the yard was dissolving into smoke and sparks, shapes moving in the distance nearer the main house.

  “Go!” I shouted, already moving.

  The woman and children fled, stumbling faster now, fear lending strength.

  I reached the boy and dropped to my knees beside him. Blood ran freely down his face, pouring from a deep gash along his brow and into his eye. His chest rose in shallow, punished breaths, dazed but alive.

  “It’s alright,” I murmured, pressing my hand gently against the wound. Healing flowed through me, knitting flesh just enough to close the bleeding, to keep him conscious.

  His breathing slowed, though his eyes still swam with shock.

  I lifted my head.

  Across the yard, Lioren held up an Ice shield across his forearms. Cracks webbed through it, frost spreading where blows and Castings struck again and again. Bodies lay scattered around him, yet more men were pushing forward now.

  Behind him, the girl who was fighting by his side lay on the ground, clutching her side. Blood darkened her clothes as she struggled to breathe.

  Smoke rolled thicker across the yard, spilling from the burning houses along the main hall and the lean-tos crowded against them. Sparks drifted through the air like fireflies, carried on the rising heat from the tower above.

  I scanned the yard for any sign of Art, straining for even a glimpse of him. Shapes moved, men shouted, but I couldn’t find him in the chaos.

  A tight knot of dread formed in my chest.

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

  I turned back toward Lioren, toward the wounded girl, toward the prisoners behind me, pushing desperately for the wall.

  Then the night shattered.

  A blinding white burst tore across the yard, bright enough to swallow the firelight and turn every shape into shadow. A thundercrack followed, loud and violent, something unseen ripping through the smoke faster than my eyes could follow.

  I threw an arm over my eyes, stumbling as wind and dust slammed into me. Smoke and ash rolled across the yard in a choking wave, swallowing everything until there was nothing but a white glare and the roar in my ears.

  And then I couldn’t see anyone at all.