“What are you doing here, kid? I thought I gave you the day off.”
Iris turned to see Helena on the other side of the street, smoking a cigarette. Her heart leapt to see her boss, hale and alive albeit rumpled and bleary-eyed, and she hurried to embrace her.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” Helena said, awkwardly patting her back. “And before you ask … the Tribune pulled through, also. What about Attie?”
Iris nodded, tears welling in her throat. “She’s okay.”
“Good. Now what in Enva’s name are you doing out here, alone and—” Helena was interrupted by a sudden peal of gunfire.
Iris jumped, pulse quickening as she crouched down. Helena took hold of her arm, rushing her toward a pile of rubble for cover.
“Listen, kid,” Helena said, stomping on her cigarette. “You need to get home or stay with people you trust. The streets aren’t safe, and they won’t be that way for a while. Not with the Graveyard emerging from their dens.”
“The Graveyard?” Iris repeated. “Why would they be coming out and firing at people? At a time like this, after what we just survived?”
Helena raked her fingers through her hair. “Because the chancellor’s dead. A god is also dead, if the rumors are true.” She noticed the ichor stains on Iris’s clothes. “They’re rounding up Dacre’s soldiers. To execute them.”
* * *
Roman and Shane passed over the threshold to the realm above.
The light was dim, but as Shane locked the door behind them, Roman could see they were standing in a decadent bedroom. Floor-to-ceiling curtains were drawn over the windows, but a slice of sunlight limned a four-poster bed and a massive mirror, ornately trimmed in gold. The carpet beneath Roman’s grimy boots was plush and soft.
It was the sort of bedroom his parents would have, which meant they must have emerged somewhere north of the river, in one of the wealthier neighborhoods.
“Where are we?” Roman asked, his voice hoarse.
Shane didn’t reply. He moved to the bedroom door and opened it, slipping out into the corridor.
Roman followed, but when they reached the foyer, Shane came to a startled halt.
Soldiers rushed back and forth from one room to the next, overturning parlor tables and chairs, taking shelter behind anything they could find, including a grand piano. Their guns were ready, their faces tense, like they were about to engage in a skirmish.
“We need to get out of here,” Shane murmured as he spun, taking hold of Roman’s upper arm. “Quickly. Back to the bedroom door. This place isn’t safe.”
Roman didn’t understand what was happening, but he could sense the pressure that was building, like he had swum down to the darkest, coldest depths of a pond.
It reminded him of the trenches. The moment before the barrage.
A line of Dacre’s soldiers jostled past him, hissing orders at each other. Confusion, bewilderment, and desperation hung in the air, and Roman was as eager as Shane to get away from it when he saw a soldier slumped against the wall, coughing into his sleeve.
Blood dripped from his chin. Pain glazed his eyes. His face was remarkably pale.
Roman stopped.
He knew the sound of that wet cough. He could taste it at the back of his mouth, and he knelt before the soldier.
This wasn’t someone who had willingly fought for Dacre, despite the uniform he wore and the forces he was among. This was someone who had been wounded and nearly killed by the gas, and then healed just enough to serve, his mind scrambled by Dacre’s magic. Someone just like Roman.
“Leave him,” Shane said, panic clipping the words. “We don’t have time!”
Roman was not about to abandon this person. He eased the man’s arm over his shoulders and helped him rise.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
“You should … leave me,” the soldier said, coughing up more blood. “The Graveyard … is coming to kill us…”
“We need to get you to a doctor.” Roman glanced down the hallway, but Shane had vanished. Shane had left him behind, and while Roman was grateful he had saved him from the prison below, he couldn’t help but think how cowardly the lieutenant was now. To run and hide when the end was nearing. “Let’s try to leave out the back.”
The two of them limped down the corridor, arriving at a sunroom. Through the glass walls Roman could see figures crouched low, running through the gardens. Individuals who wore masks to hide their faces, rifles in hand, coming closer.
Before Roman could turn around, a rock sailed through the glass wall. No, not a rock, but something round and metal, ticking as it came to a stop on the floor.