low groan, his grip on her legs slackening. His hold on her Affinity wavered again.
Ana was on her feet even before the yaeger rolled over, clutching his dripping nose. Dimly, she heard him shouting something at his squad, saw looks of panic flit across the Whitecloaks’ faces as they mounted their horses.
She threw her Affinity out and ran, fighting the yaeger’s block, her legs pumping desperately as she tried to close the gap between her and that black wagon.
The remaining Whitecloak spurred his horse, and the wagon jolted into movement, picking up speed. Only the kapitan circled toward them, bow and arrow out and cloak billowing behind him. “Kaïs!” he shouted.
The yaeger’s answering call was cut short as Ana hurled her Affinity against his power. For a moment, his wall splintered; she sensed a glimmer of the bonds in the kapitan’s body and grasped them—
The kapitan’s eyes widened and his horse careened sharply to one side as his body seized beneath her control. “What in the Deities—” His arrow tumbled from his grasp, and a glass vial shattered against the ground. Even from several dozen paces away, Ana could make out the green liquid oozing between the cracks of the road.
“Kapitan!” Behind her, the yaeger let out a choked cry. “You must retreat! She’s dangerous!”
The kapitan hesitated, his eyes darting between Ana and his fallen soldier. Ana seized the opportunity. “Come get me, you sick bastard!” she shouted. Make him angry. Goad him. Anything to stop that blackstone wagon from leaving this square.
Yet as Ana flung her Affinity at the kapitan again, he seemed to arrive at a decision. With a last glance back, he turned his horse and galloped after his squad.
“No!” Ana choked. But the wagon and its flanking riders sped off through the stalls, growing smaller and smaller.
Hopelessness tightened around her throat.
She had no idea how long she ran, chasing the wagon even after it disappeared between the red-bricked dachas of Kyrov. It was only when she tripped over a loose cobblestone and fell to the ground, splitting the fabric of her gloves and cutting her palms, that she realized she was crying. And a different voice filled her head.
Don’t go where I can’t follow, May had asked of her.
She’d let happen what she’d sworn she’d never let happen to May. May had saved her in the moment she’d most desperately needed saving. And she had failed May.
And…it was her fault. Ana bit into her hand to stop herself from screaming, her tears mingling with blood and dust. In another life where she might have been born differently, normally, she would still be the Kolst Pryntsessa Anastacya Mikhailov, second heir to the throne of Cyrilia. And in that life, a kinder life, the laws would be just and the people in power would be good and the good people would win.
She pounded the cobblestones once, crimson smearing on the dusty ground. She could sense, through her Affinity, people milling around her and slowing down to look, but none stopped to help.
This was not that world, Ana thought. This world was neither just nor kind nor good, and you chose to keep fighting or to surrender.
Ana climbed to her feet, dusting off her tattered cloak as she turned to face the Vyntr’makt. Her Affinity flared with each step, the world thrumming with blood as she ran.
She found the yaeger where she’d left him. A small crowd had gathered, and several people knelt at his side with handkerchiefs and strips of gauze. How eager they were to help the monster draped in a cloak of white.
Ana focused her Affinity and flung several onlookers back, her hands raised for dramatic effect. “Leave,” she snarled, her voice cutting through the shrieks of the crowd. “Leave, or I’ll kill you all.”
She turned to face the yaeger. Blood ran in rivulets from where she’d smashed the rock into his head, streaming down his cheeks. He glanced up at her from a bruising eye and tensed.
He was Nandjian, Ana realized with dull surprise, taking in his olive skin and dark hair. She thought of the ambassadors who had graced the Palace’s Grand Throneroom during court sessions with Papa.
Had he traversed into Cyrilia of his own volition?
She felt his power descending over hers, but instead of the iron hold from before, it was softer. Weaker.
She shrugged him off easily and seized his blood, pulling him into a sitting position. He coughed, and crimson trickled from his lips. “That broker. Where is he taking her?”