Chapter 31
31
T HE SKY IS A CHARRED ruin, its sapphire expanse blotted out by smoke and shade that climbs, and writhes, and sparks red. The churning squall boils upward. It is teeming, alive . Through its screen, Ishmah’s glittering rooftops waver behind a haze of slithering heat.
The labyrinth doesn’t deposit us in the palace courtyard. Rather, we emerge from a cave on the outskirts of the capital, Ishmah spread below us like crumbling coals. I estimate we are some miles from the city. Despite the distance, the screams are unmistakable. The smoke seems to have originated in the western part of the city, an industrial area where most of the workshops and forges are located. Meanwhile, amassing shadow sits as a denser layer below the fumes, squatting like a territorial dog over the palace. The sight chills me.
Somewhere inside the city is my family: Amir and Tuleen and Roshar and even Haneen, whose stories dragged me from those darkest days of grief. Ibramin, blessedly, will have reached Mirash by now. Those that remain, the South Wind—they encompass the whole of what I love.
Slowly, I turn toward the god who has captured my heart. How depleted he appears now, on this threshold between peace and war, darkness and light. “How confident are you that you can defeat Prince Balior and the beast?”
He lifts a hand to his face, expression pinched, and drags at the corner of one eye. “The beast drained much of my power, as you know. And neither my sword nor the wind works against it.”
Indeed, I’ve never seen Notus appear so weary. A nervous flutter captures my heartbeat in an irregular pitter patter. “That doesn’t exactly answer the question.”
He regards me for a long, drawn-out moment. In the end, he speaks only one word. “Sarai.”
It’s difficult to swallow. Miles we stand from Ishmah, yet the reek of smoke stings my nostrils, thin gray wisps skating over the sweltering earth. “Your sword couldn’t harm the beast inside the labyrinth, but what about outside of it? Whatever hold that place had on the creature is no more.”
He tears clawed fingers through his hair with a sigh. “I don’t know.”
I’m aware of what we face. I’m aware that tomorrow may not arrive for many, myself included. But… I’d hoped Notus would be strong enough to vanquish our foes. With limited residual power, he will need to take care of how much to use, and when.
I nod despite the fright cramming my chest. We will need all our strength to rid Ammara of this great evil. Our options are dwindling, few, but all is not lost. Not yet, anyway. “Now that the beast has been released, do you think it will do Prince Balior’s bidding?”
Notus shakes his head. “It will take time for it to relearn the shape of what it once was. Until then, it has likely fled to a safe place until its transformation is complete. The good news is that it will be unable to use its power until it has transformed back into its humanoid form. However, we still have the darkwalkers to contend with.”
“And Prince Balior’s army,” I add. “How much power would you need to take them all out?”
The South Wind’s grimace pulls the skin of his cheeks taut. “More than I have at the moment, I’m afraid.”
Despair drags at me. I stand firm. I will not allow myself to flounder.
“The beast likely hasn’t gone far if it intends to use Prince Balior for protection,” Notus says. “I’ll go search for it. Meanwhile, we need to evacuate the city. It would be safest to head for Mirash. We’ll need sailers, as many as can be spared. And horses. Do you think the palace could spare some of their mounts?”
Too easily, the uncertainty engulfs me. But I press a palm to my heart. I calm the child within myself. I assure her I am strong, that I will look after her in all ways. Safe , I think. You are safe.
“Amir would know,” I tell him. “I need to find him. If—” No. I will not consider what-ifs .
“Then we’ll find him,” Notus says, “and Tuleen.” His eyes blaze into mine with unswerving promise. “We’ll make sure that they’re safe.”
Yes. Ammara’s king and queen must survive. The future of the realm depends on it. “What of the darkwalkers?” I ask, voice low.
Notus stares at a point over my shoulder. A hot wind grazes the backs of my knees. Beneath the spreading darkness, shadow begins to blot Ishmah’s lower ring. From this distance, those fleeing are as small as ants, bursting through the city gates, crossing the dunes on foot or by horse. The perfect meal for any darkwalkers roaming the desert.
“We can’t kill them all,” Notus says. “There are simply too many.”
From the frequency of the screams, many will not escape with their lives. I watch a handful of citizens succumb to the creatures’ soul-sucking kiss. Their bodies collapse in the sand. Seconds later, the ashes of their desiccated forms scatter in the wind. Never have I felt so helpless as I do now, watching my people fall. I am mortal, and I am weak. It is a bitter truth. “Can you call the Lord—your brother—back?”
Notus shakes his head with obvious frustration. “Eurus has no loyalty toward me, nor I toward him. I’m amazed he answered my call to begin with.”
“What of your other brothers?”
“There’s no time. It would take days, weeks, for a message to reach them. I doubt they would heed my call for help anyway. We were never close.” A frown folds his brow, the baked skin around his eyes deeply furrowed, like cracks running through hardened clay. “We’ll head to the palace—”
“It would be more efficient if we split up,” I cut in.
“You’re joking.”
“You keep the darkwalkers at bay,” I say. “Search for the beast if you can. I’ll head to the palace to search for Amir and Tuleen.” And Roshar, though the man has likely already fled the capital, his precious Zarqan in tow.
The South Wind stares at me as though I have suggested we strip naked in the middle of a red storm. “We’re not splitting up. Wherever we go, we go together.”
“We must ,” I urge. “You can’t quell Prince Balior’s army or the darkwalkers if you’re busy protecting me.”
“I also can’t fight them while worrying about whether you’re dead in an alley somewhere,” he growls through his teeth.
I breathe out hard through my nostrils. I’m not getting through to him. The South Wind, as stubborn as they come. “I hear what you’re saying, Notus, but there’s no time.”
He shifts onto his heels, then forward, agitation forcing movement into his body. Sand begins to swirl around his legs. “We’ll head to the palace. Once we find Amir and Tuleen, we’ll return to the g—”
“You’re not listening to me,” I snap, and my voice fractures, crumbling to bits. “I can’t face the darkwalkers. You know I’m useless in a fight.” The violin may have granted me an advantage in the labyrinth, but it’s gone now. It provided music, not miracles. “It won’t be for long—”
“I can’t lose you again!” he snarls. Then he looses a breath, and his shoulders slump, the fight going out of him. “Not again,” he murmurs.
Death has dogged my heels my entire life. I am well acquainted with its mind-numbing fear. It is unfair, but life is unfair. This is what must be done. If we are to save Ammara, then we must part, only for a short while.
Reaching out, I gather his wide, strong body into my arms and pull him close. He’s trembling.
“You won’t,” I whisper against his cheek. “I won’t allow it.”
It is easy as breathing, to part his lips with my own, gift him love and reassurance in this wordless form. Our bodies slot together like tiles in a mosaic. The strength of his arms encircles me: a hardened exterior armoring a soft heart.
When we separate, I lift a hand to his cheek, my eyes wet. We have come far, he and I. It is something I did not believe was possible. But I am no wounded girl. He is no exiled god. We belong to one another. We have built our own home.
“Clear a path toward the palace,” I command. “I’ll find you when I’m done.”
Notus frames my face in his warm, roughened hands. “I love you,” he says. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I trust you.” Then, quieter: “I love you, too.”
His eyes soften, and he gathers me into his arms. “Then it’s time for you to spread your wings.”
A vicious snap launches me skyward, and I scream, my dress billowing around my legs as I soar upward. Then, a plummeting descent, the air snatched from my lungs. Wind softens my fall. It cradles me in the middle of the sky before nudging me into an upright position as Notus shouts from below, “Run, Sarai! I’ll catch up.”
Of course he would use the last of his depleted power to aid my cause. That frustrating, wonderful, insufferable, doting god.
I run. The wind buoys me. It nudges me ever onward, my eyes stinging from the smoke as I near the capital, Ishmah in flames far, far below. The buildings are small blocks of red stone, like child’s toys. The people are bright dots of colored fabric. Gradually, the wind begins to lower me toward the city streets. My heart hurts at what I witness. Chaos, everywhere.
I’ve never seen so many darkwalkers. There must be hundreds. They flock like flies to carrion. They tear into flesh and suck free the life and breath of the living. Meanwhile, hordes of townsfolk stream down the Queen’s Road. They haul carts, goats, children, whatever they can carry. Some are not fortunate. They are slow, infirm, aged. Easy pickings. I turn my eyes away, only to catch sight of silver flashes through the shadow below. Prince Balior’s army, corralling Ishmah’s citizens like goats led to slaughter.
As my feet at last alight on solid ground, I hurry in the direction of the palace, swept along with the current of those fleeing. It feels like shoving through a wall of skin, so tightly packed are the streets. Sweat oozes from my pores, and breathing grows difficult in the thickening smoke, each inhalation a choked rasp, a stifled wheeze.
It is all grasping hands and bullish desperation, and I struggle to remain upright, my pleas to make room falling on deaf ears. Someone’s cart rams the back of my knees. Another’s elbow clips my hip bone.
As the road curves past one of the public gardens, the boiling air intensifies, drenching all in an orange light. Beyond the iron fence, the garden’s many flowering plants succumb to flame, which leaps from tree to bush to flower bed. I hack a cough, my throat burning. Then: more screams. My head snaps around. Nothing behind. But—there. Two darkwalkers lope ahead, tearing into the crowd. The shrieks are bloodcurdling, the way forward blocked. I change direction, darting down a side street.
Unfortunately, many have the same idea. I attempt to squeeze past a large family when a scraggly woman turns to me, red-rimmed eyes streaming tears. “Where’s my son?” she cries. “I need to find my son!”
She takes in my dress, my bare, sweat-drenched face. Her eyes widen in recognition.
“Princess Sarai.” My title, whispered like some forgotten fortune. “Please. Help me.” A claw-like hand latches onto my arm. She forces me against the wall of a nearby building.
“Get off me,” I growl, yet I cannot shake her loose.
“It’s Princess Sarai!” the woman shouts through her tears. “She’s come to save us!”
The surrounding mob lurches toward us. It thuds into walls and clambers over piles of refuse.
Princess!
My sister is missing, Your Highness—
… do anything to help…
Black begins to blot the edges of my vision, for always, the smoke thickens, the fire spreads. I shove the woman back, gasping. She presses forward again, cornering me, an animal in a cage. “You need to let me through,” I manage.
No one moves.
My eyes flick side to side, scanning the alleyway. Left: blocked. Right: blocked. But a nearby stack of crates provides a means of reaching the metal roof. If I cannot go forward, if I cannot go backward, then I will have to go up.
A forceful shove sends the woman back. Leaping onto the lowest crate, I scramble toward the top and heave myself onto the pitched roof, the boiling metal searing the skin of my palms. Its sting sends me to my feet, one foot placed lower on the incline. Turning, I peer down at the gathered crowd, their faces tipped toward me in hope. “I’m sorry,” I call down. I can’t help them all. I need to find my family, too. My heart clenches with guilt as I spin around and leap across the rooftops toward home.
It is a treacherous journey, stumbling across the fiery metal crowning the Red City. I take care with where I place my feet, avoiding holes or areas weakened by rust. Thankfully, the homes are pressed close, so it doesn’t take long to travel to the upper ring. Eventually, I reach a gap too wide to cross and am forced to drop down onto the street.
The nearer I approach the palace, the thicker the shadow-smoke becomes. My skin, smothered beneath the drenched cotton of my dress, feels as if it is melting off my bones. As the breathable air continues to deplete, my visions wavers.
Another turn. The road skews beneath my feet, and I slump against a building, gasping. Ahead, bodies spoil the streets. My gaze maps the roads and alleyways. There, the narrowest of escapes, a thread of a path. I squeeze between two overturned carts and find myself on the eastern edge of the palace.
I sprint uphill, dodging escaped goats, harried mothers, soot-streaked watchmen attempting to direct traffic. Something explodes to my right. The cries are so numerous they bleed into a hum. Then—the palace, swarmed by citizens hammering at its rising outer walls in hysteria. Two women clip my shoulder in their desperate run toward the gates. They are firmly shut.
The guards have likely abandoned their posts, fleeing Ishmah with all the rest. None may enter. Which means I must find another way inside.
I shove through the crowd toward a row of nondescript buildings shaded by the towering wall. But my footsteps falter at the sight before me. Oh, no. No, no, no… This is where the tunnel leading to the stables is located, but a building has collapsed, blocking my path.
“Your Highness!”
I whirl, catch sight of a woman I recognize—one of the palace maids. Ash streaks her gaunt cheeks. “This way.” She gestures me toward an alleyway across the street.
We slip into a concealed tunnel whose location I wasn’t aware of. When it splits off, the woman points me to the left. “The throne room is that way. Good luck, Your Highness.” She disappears down the other fork.
Perhaps a quarter-mile later, the tunnel deposits me into a storeroom below the kitchens. Dark, enclosed, rough stone walls. The dry air smells of sweet grain.
Before long, I’m climbing the stairs to the third level. I’m speeding across marble floors and careening around pillar-lined corridors, past gardens with still pools. No guards. No staff. Only smoke fills the palace halls.
Halfway down the passage, I skid to a halt, breathless with realization. The door to my right, its plaque askew: Royal Tailor . I shove inside. “Roshar!”
Colorful bolts of fabric litter the workroom floor and tables. But the space is otherwise empty.
The tightness in my chest eases, just a touch. Good . Wherever Roshar has found himself, better there than here.
Amir’s chambers aren’t far. I reach them in a handful of minutes, the doorway gaping like a mouth from when I watched Notus blast through the doors in the labyrinth mirror. Bedroom: empty. Study: empty. All empty. I pace, and pace, and pace. Where could he have gone? The last I saw of Amir and Tuleen, darkwalkers were attempting to infiltrate their quarters. Except—not these quarters.
The king’s chambers, which Amir would have moved to following his coronation, are located at the end of the hall. No guards flank his doors. The handle gives under my hand. It glides open on oiled hinges.
A window lies open on the far side of the room, curtains snapping in the smoke-heavy wind. The massive bed is neatly made. Everything is coated in a fine layer of ash. “Amir?” Slowly, I shuffle toward the library. “Tuleen?”
I nudge the door open. Unoccupied. Both sitting rooms are as well. Mounting alarm sends me through the connecting door leading to the queen’s chambers. Those, too, are empty. Retracing my steps, I veer toward his study, and there is Tuleen, cowering behind the desk near the window, a gag cutting across her mouth. At my entrance, her eyes widen.
The door slams shut at my back.