The stench of burned bodies.

The sky tears open. Rain pelts my face, turns pink as it mixes with the blood weeping from my open cuts.

I swivel my head, searching every horizon.

Thunder rumbles across the sky, but for once, I ignore it.

“Zev!” I shout, cupping my hands around my mouth. “ZEV!”

Tides, is he still under the rubble?

I don’t see him anywhere. Tides damn me, I don’t see him.

“We need to find Zev.” I don’t recognize my voice.

Tumaas’s face is grim as he exchanges a brief glance with Mona. “We need to find Sura,” he says gently. “And we need to defend the camp. He’ll make it out, Mayah. Maybe he already has. Please.”

I don’t have time to cry. I don’t have time to hope. Tides, he’s right. Zev is a strong, capable wielder. He doesn’t need me to save him.

Focus. Focus, Mayah.

Sura needs you. These people need you.

Tumaas and Mona climb down the mountain of stone. I spare one more glance around me, waiting for Zev’s hand to push through the stone.

“Mayah!” Tumaas shouts from below, and I startle. With a deep breath, I follow them.

“I need food,” I say at the bottom. My hands and feet are scraped raw, but I don’t waste my reserves.

“The armory is closer. We’ll hit that first. Then the kitchens, yeah?”

I nod. Mud squelches beneath our bare feet as we dart through the rain. Everywhere around us, people are running, taking cover, helping dig out leveled buildings. We turn a corner—an earthwielder stands wedged between two buildings, summoning thick roots through the splintering stone.

I don’t think. Just react.

Around me, everything blurs. But my arms are steady.

My hands rise into the air. Raindrops converge into a glistening spear, then freeze into lethal ice. With a wave of my hand, it plunges into his heart. A sickening squelch. He falls to the ground.

We keep going.

Lightning flashes across the sky. Tumaas’s gaze flicks to me, but for once I’m not afraid—I’m desperate.

Every boom of thunder, every bolt of lightning, gives me hope that maybe Zev is alive. Maybe that it’s his wrath raining down around us.

That, maybe, he’s searching for me, too.

Mayhem reigns at the armory.

Rebels scramble to grab weapons, shields, anything that might give them an advantage in battle. But the attackers seem to have deduced the armory is a prime spot to find converged rebels.

Through the sluicing rain, my eyes narrow on the glinting chestplate of one of the attackers—a tree with a lightning bolt cut through it.

Tides. The attackers are Arbinji soldiers.

They form a line, launching a concerted attack. Earthwielders tear mounds of dirt from the ground, catapulting it toward our heads. There’s one stormwielder among them. He raises both hands. A flash of lightning shoots down, incinerating two rebels toward the front of the throng.

I cage my yelp inside my chest and join the fighters while Tumaas and Mona rush into the armory. Another boom of thunder rumbles through the night air. My eyes alight on the stormwielder. I focus on the rainwater clinging to his body, coaxing it into his nostrils.

Into his lungs.

Hacking coughs erupt from his chest as he tries to expel the water, but it’s useless. I hold it inside him, pooling it until his airways are submerged.

His knees buckle.

The light dies from his eyes.

Around him, his companions drop dead, roots piercing abdomens, arrows lodged into chests.

But there are still too many.

I block their attacks again and again, sweat and rain running down my forehead. One of the soldiers raises a hand—roots erupt from the earth, coiling around my legs. He hauls his hand back, face drawn tight with focus, and—

—an arrow lodges into his throat.

I whirl as best I can with the thick roots entrapping my legs, shoving away the memory of the last time an earthwielder held me captive.

Tumaas stands behind me, three swords in his grasp. It’s Mona that holds the crossbow. I dip my chin in thanks, accepting a sword from Tumaas, quickly slicing through the roots.

Together, we fight.

Men and women fall to the ground.

Screams grow louder.

My shoulder brushes against the earthwielder beside me.

Rain and blood soak the ground.

And then, in the distance, I see him bolting toward me.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

MY HEART DROPS. MY knees nearly buckle.

He’s alive. He’s alive.

Bleeding scrapes and gashes line his face and arms, but besides that, he appears uninjured. A large sword dangles from his hand, glinting red with blood.

Zev’s pounding footsteps draw the attention of the remaining Arbinji soldiers. Their mouths part.

“Commander!” one of them shouts. “It’s the Comm—” A thick root tunnels through his abdomen, emerging on the other side covered in dark, thick blood. His knees squelch as they collide with the damp earth.

Zev doesn’t spare a glance for the dead man. His eyes are fixed on me. Five more strides, and I can touch him. I can tell him how I’ve agonized about whether he still lived.

Tumaas beats me to it. “Thanks for not dying,” he says to Zev. He jerks his head toward me. “She’s been driving herself—and us—insane.”

Zev’s eyes blaze with the force of a tempest as he looks at me. My voice catches in my throat.

“We need to find Sura,” Tumaas says, glancing between us.

“She’s in the children’s tent,” Zev replies, still looking me over. “There’s a safe room dug beneath the floor.”

“You saw her?” I ask.

“Yeah. I went there first. I thought you might—” He cuts off abruptly, gesturing impatiently at Tumaas. “Go check on her and the kids. They were fine when I left, but that could’ve changed. Stay with them.”

Tumaas looks poised to argue, Zev’s commands grating at him. But in the end, all he says is, “Tides protect you.” I’m not sure if he’s speaking to me or Zev. A single nod, and then he and Mona dart off.

I raise my glowing palms to Zev’s face, but he clasps them, bringing them down to my sides.

“Save your reserves,” he says gruffly. “You’ll need them.” Rough hands cradle my face, tilting my chin to inspect the shallow cuts marring my face.

“I’m fine,” I whisper. “It’s—it’s Arbinj.”

He nods, his expression grave. “They’re here to rescue me.”

Ice frosts my veins.

“Do—do you want to be rescued?”

His gaze cuts away. “Even if I return with them, they won’t let anyone here live.” His jaw clenches. “So, no. I don’t want to be rescued.”

I don’t know how long we run through the camp, stopping and helping where we can. Digging people out from rubble, killing Arbinji soldiers along the way.

My clothing is drenched with more foreign blood than rainwater by the time we reach the kitchens. There are more rebels here, wielders scrounging for whatever they can find to maintain their reserves. Zev cuts through the panic, his massive body easily weaving through the crowd. He returns with two loaves of bread and three apples and thrusts them at me.

“Eat.”

Crumbs scatter across the muddy floor as I tear a loaf in half and hand it to him, along with two apples.

We eat quickly, then emerge back into the frenzy.

So much pain. So much death.

We’ve rounded a corner when a wave of water crashes into us, sending me tumbling into Zev. He catches me, hands clutching my hips. I’ve scarcely regained my bearings when another wave swirls up to my thighs.

And freezes.

My head shoots up.

Three warriors stand before us, clad in blue and white.