Page 92 of All the Wandering Light

“You have to leave.” River seemed to speak half to himself, his attention on some point beyond my shoulder. “The emperor doesn’t trust you. He’ll trust you even less after the star disappears. Your life is in danger.”

I let out a disbelieving laugh. “My life is in danger? Is that supposed to be news? I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here.”

His gaze returned to mine, sharpening. “You have no idea what—”

“You’re in greater danger than I am.” I glared at him, suddenly furious. The tumult inside me, the fear and anger and shock—the captain’s true identity, the overwhelming majesty of the palace, the looming attack—all were overtaken by a single resolution: River was not going to leave me again, and I was not going to leave him. “Any moment, someone could guess what you are. Every guard carries an obsidian dagger next to their sword. You need someone to watch out for you—why is that so hard to accept? I saved your life. You said it yourself.”

He stared at me. I knew, somehow, that we were both seeing the same thing—him clinging to the ice after falling from the Ngadi face, closer to death than he had come at any point during his career as Royal Explorer. At some point, we had moved even closer together. He was still gripping my arm. I heard courtiers’ voices, very close—people were walking past us, unseeing, as if we were caught in a separate world.

“You’re impossible.” His voice was low, and the statement had a strange resonance, as if he was voicing a long-held belief. “Do you care so little about your own life?”

It was as much a statement as it was a question. River’s expression was a tumult—exasperation warring with anger and concern. I was tired of it, suddenly. Tired of arguments and half-truths. So I grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him.

I half expected him to freeze in surprise, but he reacted almost instantly, as if I had anticipated what he had been about to do himself. He placed his hand against my face, pressing me harder into the stone column as he kissed me back. The shadows around us seemed to ripple as I wrapped my arms around his neck and drew him closer.

Twenty-Eight

THE SOUND OF shouting broke us apart.

I would have ignored it—I would have ignored anything, in that moment—but River made a sound of surprise and drew back. That was when I realized that, in addition to the shouting, there was the smell of burning.

The shadows River had summoned dispersed, and he stepped away from the pillar. I followed somewhat unsteadily. River was holding my arm. I could still feel his hand sliding up the back of my neck and into my hair, where it had tangled. My heart hammered and my face was too hot, but slowly, my senses were returning.

I had kissed River.

I felt faint, but not from the kiss. What was wrong with me? River was my enemy. We had spent days fighting for control of the star. He had betrayed me on Raksha, while I had left him to die in the Ash Mountains. Yet I had kissed him. And I wanted to kiss him again.

I forced my attention back to the hall. The courtiers near us on the balcony had frozen, craning their necks—it was clear that something was happening inside the hall, but what? The dragons’ lights darted chaotically.

“Kamzin.” River’s hand tightened on my arm.

I turned, following his gaze. The lights of the Three Cities flickered below us—but some lights burned too brightly under the starry sky. I caught another whiff of smoke, and froze.

“The city is burning,” River murmured.

It was true. As I watched, a temple began to glow, flames licking at the night. At least a dozen buildings were alight in as many quarters.

But that wasn’t what made me freeze. It was the shade of the fire, darker than ordinary flame, as if leeched of heat. And yet it devoured buildings hungrily, burning stone and wood alike.

Witch fire.

Several courtiers joined us at the railing, their faces gray with shock. People small as insects gathered in the streets below, gesturing and shouting. Soldiers, recognizable by the armor that flashed in the firelight, seemed to be herding them away from the burning buildings. The scene was chaotic, especially in contrast to the placid bustle that had filled the streets earlier that day.

“The soldiers are evacuating the city,” River murmured, his sharp eyes distinguishing what I could not.

The shouts inside the hall took on a darker quality. “Lusha,” I breathed. Lusha was still in there, dancing with the man the witches had come to the Three Cities to kill. The realization drove every other thought from my mind. “We have to find her.”

River held out his hand.

I looked at him. There was no anger in his face, or deception. He looked serious and oddly uncertain as he waited for my response, his hair in disarray and his familiar eyes searching mine. The last of my misgivings flickered and died. I took his hand, and we dove into the chaos.

For chaos it was. The musicians had fallen silent, their songs replaced by an alarmed babble that echoed throughout the cavernous hall. Near the balconies, nothing seemed to be happening—some courtiers stood motionless, looking about uncertainly, while others pushed toward the arched doors at either end of the hall. Someone screamed, and more joined the pushing.

My breath faltered as I realized why.

The hall wasn’t on fire, as I had first feared. Strange apparitions had flickered into existence. Pillars of shadow like dark twins of the columns that supported the roof. At first, I thought that was all they were—ordinary shadows thrown by the dancing firelight. But nothing could be casting them; they stood alone, hovering like black fog.

I cried out as shadow-pillar reared up not a yard away, opaque and featureless. A frightened dragon darted past, and the pillar seemed to shatter where the beast’s blue light touched it. It drew together briefly, then dissolved.