She did not flee from his anger, but instead she used it like a wind to fill her sails and push her upward. Behind her, the heat of the twin pyres grew with each step. The smoky incense washed away the reek of the threat below.
Byrd cursed. “Don’t think you can escape that easy.”
Though she couldn’t see him, she heard him rush the stairs. Startled at his boldness, she froze.
Kindjal called to her brother, panic in her voice, perhaps only now realizing she had pushed him too hard. “Byrd, no! You can’t.”
He stopped long enough to growl back and reassure his twin, “Don’t worry. Father will clear my debt if it comes to that.”
The exchange cut through Nyx’s shock. She turned and fled up the steps, running toward her doom.
* * *
ALREADY ADDLED, NYX fought to keep her footing as she reached the school’s summit. With only rumors and stories to guide her, she was lost.
According to Jace, the ninth tier was nothing like the others. It supported a circle of towers, each holding various levels of study. The western half—its towers built of dark volcanic stone mined from the foundations under the school—held the classes in alchymy. On the other side spread an arc of blazing white turrets constructed of limestone hauled in from the cliffs of Landfall to the east. Among those white towers, the mysteries of godly orders and ancient histories were revealed to the ninthyears.
Knowing such knowledge would be forever forbidden to her, Nyx ignored both sides and fled toward the twin pools of brightness at the summit’s center. The two pyres glowed like the very eyes of the Father Above. For centuries, the pair had stared down at the students below, daring them to come closer, to gaze deep into the wonders and terrors contained therein.
Above the pyres, darker shadows roiled into the sky, stirring with bitter alchymies and sacred incenses. As she drew nearer, the scents overwhelmed Nyx, erasing all detail around her. The roaring fires deafened her. Even the flames cast aside all discerning shadows into one continuous blaze.
It was as if the world had vanished, leaving her floating in a brightness of stinging smoke and grumbling flames. So be it. Knowing she could go no farther, she stopped between those pyres, ending her frantic flight.
She put her back to the fires. She refused to cower.
Steps away, a harsh panting cut through the roaring.
Byrd.
“I’ll drag you back by your hair if I must,” he threatened.
He punctuated his threat with a hard smack of her cane against the stones. She heard the wood crack with the impact, sounding like the break of a bone. It felt as if he had shattered an old friend.
Both despairing and angry, Nyx considered tossing herself into the flames, to thwart him even now. But she had been raised by a dah who tamed bullocks, alongside brothers who never relented. She lifted her arms, prepared to do as much damage as possible before it was over.
As she readied herself, her dah’s last words returned to her: Remember the Mother is always looking out for you. She wished that were true, most of all now. But she held out little hope. Still, she prayed with all the strength inside her.
And an answer came.
Only it wasn’t the Mother Below.
As Byrd rushed at her, the tiny hairs along Nyx’s arms and neck shivered. Then she heard it. A screech split the sky. The cry crashed into her, washed through her, shook her bones and teeth. Then her body ignited into a torch. She felt her skin blister, her eyes boil. She imagined the flames of the pyres had struck her, buffeted into her by the sweep of large wings overhead.
Despite the pain, she ducked low.
Ahead, a scream—not a beast, but a boy—carried toward her.
It cut off in mid-cry.
Then a body struck her, knocking her onto her back between the two pyres. The fire inside her instantly died, as if snuffed out by the bulk atop her. Knowing it was Byrd, she fought to free herself.
As she did so, a gush of hot blood washed over her neck and chest. Her fingers tried to stanch the flow—only to discover torn flesh, the stump of a neck. She gasped and struggled in terror. Byrd’s head was gone, ripped from his body.
Tears burst along with a sob.
No …
She struggled to get free of his weight—then it was ripped off of her and tossed into the alchymical pyre. On her back, she elbowed and kicked her way deeper between the fires. Flesh and blood sizzled and smoked to her left.
No …
Through the brightness of the twin blazes, a dark shadow grew before her. Her left leg was grabbed, pinned to the stone. The shape crested over her. A bony knuckle crushed into her belly, another into her right shoulder. She had once been trampled by a panicked hundred-stone bullock heifer. What held her trapped now was far heavier, its purpose more deliberate.
No …
The shadow covered her fully, ensconcing her in the darkness of wing and body. A hot breath, reeking of meat and iron, blew across her face. Wet nostrils snuffled her from her crown to her neck and settled there.
No …
She felt bristled lips part—then the icy press of daggers into the tender flesh of her throat.
No …
Fangs stabbed deep, bringing a flash of sharp pain, followed by a cold numbness. The press of muzzle choked her. She could not breathe. The icy chill spread outward, pumped into her body, tracing through her blood.
Then shouts cut across the roaring fires.
The ninth tier had finally woken to the assault.
The mass atop her burst away, crushing her worse, then carrying her aloft for a breath, before finally letting her go. She crashed to the stones. On her back, she felt the heavy beat of wings, the roil of heat from whipped flames. Smoke swirled, bringing the smell of sweet incense and burning flesh.
For a moment upon the stones, she again had the strange sensation of both staring up at the sky and down at her body at the same time.
Then it was gone.
As she lay there, the coldness continued to spread. It numbed her limbs until she could not move, barely breathe. She felt the ice, like poisonous claws, dig into her heart and clench. The world immediately went dark, far blacker than any blindness. All sound dissolved to silence as if she were diving into the deepest pond.
All that was left was her heartbeat.
She bore witness to each slowing spasm.
No …
She fought to hold, to will another beat.
As she did so, a new noise rose from the dark depths. It distracted her focus. Screams and shouts filled her head—hundreds, then thousands, then more. The ground trembled under her, then bucked wildly. It all ended with a thunderous cracking that left her hollow and barren. In the aftermath, all that remained was an awful silence, far emptier than anything she had experienced.
If she could have, she would have wept.
Only then did she realize the truth.
In that empty silence.
Her heart had stopped.
TWO
THE ROOTLESS STATUE
Smash the hamer
An’ crack the anvelt,
Karve the brimstan
An’ empti the vein.
Onli then can a hard heart be brok’n,
Brok’n enough to mende.
—Old miner’s canticle
4
RHAIF WOULD HAVE died if his bladder hadn’t been so full.
The only warning came from the cloud of dust shivering into the air from the chalky floor of the tunnel. Rhaif would’ve liked to attribute this unusual phenomenon to the strength and fury of his stream splashing against the nearby wall. But he knew better. Fear crimped off his flow and drove him to his knees. He propped a hand against the large boulder behind which he had sought privacy. The surface vibrated under his palm.