wall.
The giant’s face contorted in rage. He pinned Jesper by the throat and hauled back to strike a final time.
A thousand thoughts jammed into Jesper’s head in a single second: His father’s crumpled hat. The gleam of his pearl-handled revolvers. Inej standing straight as an arrow. I don’t want an apology. Wylan seated at the table in the tomb, gnawing on the edge of his thumb. Any kind of sugar, he said, and then … keep it away from sweat, blood, saliva.
The chemical weevil. Inej had dumped the unused vials on the table in the Ketterdam suite. He’d fidgeted with one when he and his father were arguing. Now Jesper’s fingers fumbled in his pants pocket, hand closing over the glass vial.
“Parem! ” Jesper blurted. It was one of the only Shu words he knew.
The soldier paused, fist in midair. He cocked his head to the side.
Always hit where the mark isn’t looking.
Jesper made a show of parting his lips and pretended to shove something between them.
The soldier’s eyes widened and his grip loosened as he tried to tear Jesper’s hand away. The Kherguud made a sound, maybe a grunt, maybe the beginnings of a protest. It didn’t much matter. With his other hand, Jesper smashed the glass vial into the soldier’s open mouth.
The giant flinched back as glass shards lodged in his lips and spilled over his chin, blood oozing around them. Jesper rubbed his hand furiously against his shirt, hoping he hadn’t nicked his own fingers and let in the weevil. But nothing happened. The soldier didn’t seem anything but angry. He growled and seized Jesper’s shoulders, lifting him off his feet. Oh, Saints , thought Jesper, maybe he’s not going to bother taking me to his pals. He grabbed at the giant’s thick arms, trying to break his hold.
The Kherguud gave Jesper a shake. He coughed, big chest shuddering, and shook Jesper again—a weak, stuttering jiggle.
Then Jesper realized—the soldier wasn’t shaking him, the soldier was just shaking.
A low hiss emerged from the giant’s mouth, the sound of eggs dropped onto a hot skillet. Pink foam bubbled up from his lips, a froth of blood and saliva that dribbled over his chin. Jesper recoiled.
The soldier moaned. His massive hands released Jesper’s shoulders and Jesper edged backward, unable to tear his eyes away from the Kherguud as his body began to convulse, chest heaving. The soldier bent double as a stream of pink bile spewed from his lips, spattering the wall.
“Missed me again,” said Jesper, trying not to gag.
The giant tipped sideways and toppled to the floor, still as a fallen oak.
For a moment, Jesper just stared at his enormous body. Then sense returned to him. How much time had he lost? He bolted back toward the chapels at the end of the thumb nave.
Before he reached the door, Inej emerged, hurrying toward him. He’d missed the meet. She wouldn’t have come after him unless she thought he was in trouble.
“Jesper, where—”
“Gun,” he demanded.
Without another word, she unslung it from her shoulder. He snatched it from her, running back toward the cathedral. If he could just make it up to the arcade.
The siren sounded. Too late. He’d never make it in time. He was going to fail them all. What good is a shooter without his guns? What good was Jesper if he couldn’t make the shot? They’d be trapped in this city. They’d be jailed, probably executed. Kuwei would be sold to the highest bidder. Parem would burn a swath through the world and Grisha would be hunted with even more fervor. In Fjerda, the Wandering Isle, Novyi Zem. The zowa would vanish, pressed into military service, devoured by this curse of a drug.
The siren rose and fell. There were shouts inside the cathedral. People were running for the main doors; soon they’d spill over into the thumb, seeking another way out.
Anyone can shoot, but not everybody can aim. His mother’s voice. We’re zowa. You and me.
Impossible. He couldn’t even get eyes on Kuwei from here—and no one could shoot around a corner.
But Jesper knew the layout of the cathedral well enough. He knew it was a straight shot up the aisle to where the auction block stood. He could see the second button of Kuwei’s shirt in his mind’s eye.
Impossible.
A bullet had only one trajectory.
But what if that bullet could be guided?
Not everybody can aim.
“Jesper?” said Inej from behind him. He raised his rifle. It was an ordinary firearm, but he’d converted it himself. There was only