anyone else,” she snarled.
The carriage jerked to a halt as a loud thump sounded on the roof. Both Ana and Sadov turned their heads to the small window above. A cobweb of cracks ran across it, fracturing the moonlight from outside.
A shadow flashed. The carriage swayed. A second thump sounded and the glass split into more fissures, the cracks reverberating through the carriage. Ana had the sense to duck as, with a final resounding smash, the window exploded into a thousand glittering pieces and fell upon them like rain.
As the glass settled, Ana lifted her head. Shards slid off her hair and shoulders and clinked onto the floor. Someone—or something—had stopped the carriage and smashed the window.
In the corner, she heard Sadov groan, the sound of glass crunching beneath him.
A shadow flitted above. Ana craned her neck. There was nothing but the swaying of trees and the barest glimpse of the moon hanging overhead like a silver scythe.
She felt the intruder before she heard him: a brush of fabric against her wrist, a rustle at her ear. She turned, and stifled a gasp.
The intruder was a child—a scrawny, preadolescent boy—wearing formfitting clothes. He circled the walls of the carriage, melting in and out of the shadows, and at last came to a standstill beside her.
Before she could draw breath to speak, the boy’s hands were at her wrists, and she heard the faint jangle of keys. They sounded like small, ringing chimes. His touch was featherlight, his fingers cool and soft as they deftly worked her shackles. Left hand. Right hand. Ankles.
Ana scrambled to her feet, pressing herself against the wall, hands curling into fists.
The boy took a step back and, with all the grace of a dancer, knelt before her. The pool of moonlight pouring in from the broken window above framed him like one of the performers in the Palace’s Crystal Theater. Graceful. Poised. Controlled.
“Meya dama.” A female voice, quiet, steady, and sweet as silver bells. The intruder looked up. It was a girl: a girl with a small, slender face and wide, dark eyes. Her black hair was cropped just beneath her chin, curling under with a hint of waves. She could not have been much older than Ana.
Kemeiran, Ana realized with surprise. A second realization hit her, harder than the first. She’d seen this girl, many nights ago, beneath the sultry glow of torches and the low rumble of battle drums. “The Windwraith,” she breathed.
The girl straightened. Before she could speak, a groan sounded from the other end of the carriage. Sadov stirred.
The barest movement, and blades glinted in the Windwraith’s palms. Yet as Sadov’s eyes focused on them, Ana knew with sickening premonition what would come.
The wall of fear that hit her was crippling: dark and utter terror that gripped her stomach and paralyzed her. She crumpled to the ground, images flickering through her mind. Ramson lying in a pool of blood in the banquet hall. Papa’s body convulsing, blood spurting from his mouth. Eight bodies, strewn across the cobblestones, twitching as life faded from their eyes.
Dimly, she heard a thump as the Windwraith hit the floor. The barest whimper escaped the girl’s throat, her face shadowed with whatever nightmares haunted her.
Sadov inched toward them, clutching his side from the blow the Windwraith had dealt him. He raised a hand, and moonlight lanced off the blade he held.
He was going to kill the girl.
Ana threw herself in front of the Windwraith. Sadov paused, hesitation flashing in his eyes. “Get out of the way,” he snarled, “or I’ll kill you both.”
The slightest of movements behind her, and suddenly, wind blasted across the carriage, throwing Sadov to the floor. Ana reached out for something to hold on to, but the Windwraith’s arms were already wrapped tightly around her center.
They held each other as the squall around them rose to a scream, slamming Sadov against the carriage door. Another blast and the door flew open, and Sadov tumbled out of sight.
The wind died; the world quieted.
Ana untangled herself from the Windwraith, her heart still racing. She looked to the other girl, who had picked herself up without a sound. Tears streaked her face, and she clutched the wall with one hand, a dagger in the other as her chest hitched with small, shallow breaths.
“Are you all right?” Ana asked, her gaze fixing back on the open door. Beyond, the forest stretched out in alternating patterns of shadow and moonlight.
“Yes.” Her voice was as faint as