Stop. She wanted to plead. I am your princess. I am the Princess of Cyrilia.
But being Princess had only meant a crown on her head and the walls of a palace to protect her from this fate.
The fate of being born an Affinite.
The yaeger was barely a dozen steps away now. She could see the chiseled lines of his face, the hard edges of his muscles like cut marble, trained to be lethal. His Affinity clamped over hers like an indomitable mental wall, and her Affinity vanished.
Still, Ana raised a trembling hand—
The ground exploded. The yaeger’s face barely registered surprise before he was thrown backward, skidding across the street, cobblestones tumbling around him. A crack had split the road between Ana and the yaeger. Her confusion was mirrored on his face as they stared at the rocks and dirt that seeped out from the fissure, rising slowly into the air.
From a row of stalls behind them, a small figure stepped into the middle of the street.
May’s fists were clenched, her brow furrowed in concentration. In the dead silence, her voice rang out sharp and clear across the street: “You will not hurt her.”
She tilted her head. Without warning, the suspended rocks shot toward the yaeger. He grunted as a dozen fist-sized rocks slammed into him, pounding him backward.
His hold on Ana’s Affinity wavered.
Ana acted. She smashed her Affinity down on the yaeger’s bonds, seized him, and hurled him farther down the cobbled streets, away from May, away from any possibility of even reaching May. He’d have to kill Ana first.
She felt a flash of triumph as he slammed onto the ground and lay there, motionless.
She didn’t see the other Whitecloak until it was too late.
A shadow fell between the stalls behind May: a Whitecloak with a bow and arrow, aimed and ready.
Ana was already screaming, and even as she tore toward May, a part of her was telling herself that this was not real, not real, not real. Time seemed to slow as she ran with all the strength her body would give.
The arrow shot forward. May staggered. And then, slowly, she fell, soft and graceful as an autumn leaf.
Time had stopped. Ana was in one of those dreams where, no matter how hard she tried to run, she was moving too slowly.
Twelve paces.
Not. Enough.
From the shadows of the stalls, the black-cloaked broker emerged, the gold lining of his collar glinting in the setting sun as he bent down. May’s head lolled like a rag doll’s in his arms as he turned and sprinted for the prison wagon.
Fury exploded in Ana. “No!” she screamed, raising a hand and summoning her Affinity.
But there was nothing. Instead, she found that unfamiliar wall against her power again, unyielding and absolute.
Several paces from her, the yaeger pushed himself to his knees. Mud and blood ruined his perfect white cloak; already, bruises were beginning to blossom on his exposed skin. But Ana felt no satisfaction, only blind fury, as he lifted his eyes to meet her gaze. Her steps slowed.
A distance behind him, the broker had almost reached the wagon. May’s limp form was slung across his shoulders, and Ana could make out the shine of her hair.
She glanced at the yaeger. Glanced back at May’s disappearing head. And put a burst of speed into her steps.
The yaeger shot forward. His fingers latched on to her ankles and yanked. Ana flung her hands out, catching herself before she slammed into the cobblestones.
She twisted, spitting hair from her mouth and grappling for purchase on the ground. “Let me go!” she screamed, kicking at the yaeger, but his grip was steel against her legs.
Beyond the vast stretch of road, the prison wagon loomed, its doors open like the mouth of a hungry beast. The broker leaned into its shadow as he deposited a small, limp form into the wagon. May’s head lolled once, and then disappeared behind the wagon’s blackstone walls.
The other Whitecloak locked the doors.
Desperation as she’d never felt before twined around Ana, squeezing the air from her throat and wringing tears from her eyes. “May!” she bellowed, her voice cracking. “MAY!”
At her scream, someone looked back—but it wasn’t May.
The broker with the sun-bleached hair turned to her. His pale eyes locked with hers. They narrowed for a moment, and then he turned and was gone.
Ana’s hand closed around something hard—a piece of cobblestone, displaced by May earlier.
Picturing the broker’s hateful blue eyes, Ana smashed the stone into the yaeger’s face.