again; someone in the distance screamed. Jewel turned to look over her shoulder; Avandar filled her view. He grabbed her, lifted her—and to her great surprise, threw her. He followed.
Only Avandar hit the ground, and as the platform crumbled, it was a significant drop. She should have joined him. Instead, the wind caught her, buoying her up, as if she had invisible wings. She caught threads of pale, platinum hair as they drifted across her open mouth.
“ATerafin,” a familiar voice said. “Ah, my pardon. Terafin.”
She looked up into the familiar face of Meralonne APhaniel. Snow circled them both.
“I see Sigurne did not exaggerate,” he said, although he spared Snow only a glance. Instead, he faced what was left of the platform as obsidian emerged, shedding planks as if they were splinters.
“Terafin,” he said, his face impassive, his eyes narrow, “guard yourself. I believe the Kialli has come for you.”
Chapter Two
IT WAS NOT THE FIRST TIME Jewel had seen demons, nor would it be the last. But this one was unlike any other she had seen. It was dark, and its skin caught morning light, reflecting it as it unfurled great, glowing wings—of fire. Where they touched the gaping hole left in the platforms erected for The Ten and the Kings, wood began to burn.
Meralonne spoke in a voice that hinted at Winter wind, and the creature turned to face him; as he did, he laughed. The laughter was like an earthquake, a sensation more than a sound. Even caught in Meralonne’s spell as she must be to stand suspended above the cobbled streets, she felt it reverberate.
“Illaraphaniel, I did not think to find you here, among the cowering mortals.”
Meralonne inclined his head.
“Stand aside, little Prince, and I may—may—be moved to stay my hand. I see no battle here.”
“Darranatos.” Meralonne, for as long as Jewel had known him, had always become strange and wild when presented with a fight that anyone sane would flee in terror. His eyes would widen slightly, his lips would turn in a feral, perfect smile.
Today, there was no jubilation to be found in his expression; it was a pale mask of grim determination, as terrifying in its way as the slow emergence of the demon had been.
“Snow—”
“He’s ugly,” the cat replied. He flew in a tight circle that went nowhere near the demon, and he looked enormously puffy in spite of the chill wind.
Below them, people screamed. Not all of the voices raised were raised in terror; some were raised in command. The Kings, she thought dimly. The Kings were upon the field. If it was a field of cobbled stone, stone building, wooden wagons, and cloth roofs, it mattered little; the presence of a demon twice the height of a man turned the familiar into a battlefield.
She had walked through these streets while demons destroyed everything in their wake; they had even felled trees before she and Avandar had made their escape. Avandar had been their target on that day.
Jewel! The private voice she found so uncomfortable brought her a measure of relief.
I’m here—I’m with Meralonne. I think he recognizes the demon.
His silence was marked.
Avandar, do you?
He is not an enemy you can fight in your current state, was Avandar’s reply. You have managed to survive significant foes in your time, but there is a limit to what you can avoid by simple instinct.
He’s here for me, was her flat response.
Yes, Jewel. But you do not yet know how to fight him.
She closed her eyes. She knew what he was asking.
Yes, he said. Lord Celleriant is not wrong in this. You have the tools to defend this city, but you have no will to use them. Not yet.
These are not my—
They are, Jewel. The Common speaks to you as strongly as the Terafin manse.
But it didn’t. The wind she felt did not enrage her; the demon invoked fear, not furious defiance. The trees had no voice.
The fire, however, did.
* * *
It spread like liquid, consuming the fallen chairs and the broken slats on which they had once been standing. As they burned to embers, the creature’s wings grew taller, wider, brighter; had they not been demonic, they would have been beautiful.
No, they were beautiful. Darranatos was, in height and form, beautiful. She had no doubt at all that he would kill anyone fool enough to stand in reach; no doubt that the deaths would be painful and unpleasant, because fire was. But her mouth was dry, her voice absent, as she looked at the creature’s