“Rin. Look at the hills.” Venka pointed toward the lowland valleys. “I think they’ve sent ground troops.”
Rin exchanged a glance with Kitay.
Before he could speak she launched herself into the sky.
The ground column was impossible to miss. Rin could see them so clearly through the forest, a thick band of troops marching on Arlong from behind. They were barely half a mile from the refugee evacuation areas. They’d reach them in minutes.
She cursed into the wind. Eriden had claimed his scouts hadn’t seen anything in the valley.
But how did one miss an entire brigade?
Her mind raced. Venka and Kitay were both screaming at her, but she couldn’t hear them.
Should she go? How much good could she do? She couldn’t destroy a column of soldiers on her own. And she couldn’t abandon the naval battle—if Feylen appeared while she was miles away he could sink the entirety of their fleet before she could return.
But she had to tell someone.
She scanned the channel. She knew Vaisra and his generals were ensconced behind fortifications near the shore where they could oversee the battle, but they would refuse to do anything even if she warned them. The naval battle had few enough soldiers to spare.
She had to warn the Warlords.
They were scattered throughout the battleground with their troops, she just didn’t know where.
No one could hear her shout from this high up. Her only option was to write them a message in the sky. She beat her wings twice to gain altitude and flew forward until she hung right over the channel, in clear sight but high out of range.
She decided on two words.
Valley invaded.
She pointed down. Flames poured from her fingers and lingered for a few seconds where she’d placed them before they dissipated. She wrote the two characters over and over, going over strokes that had faded from the air, praying that someone below would see the message.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then, near the shoreline, she saw a line of soldiers peeling away from the front. Someone had noticed.
She redirected her attention to the channel.
Nezha’s ship had been almost completely overrun by Imperial troops. The ship’s cannons had gone silent. By now its crew had to be mostly dead or incapacitated.
She didn’t stop to think. She dove.
She landed badly. Her dive was too steep and she hadn’t pulled up in time. She skidded forward on her knees, yelping in pain as her skin scraped along the deck.
Militia soldiers converged on her instantly. She called down a column of flame, a protective circle that incinerated everything within a five-foot radius and pushed the approaching soldiers back.
Her eyes fell on a blue uniform in a sea of green. She barreled through the burning bodies, arms shielding her head, until she reached the single Republican soldier in sight.
“Where’s Nezha?” she asked.
He stared past her with unfocused eyes. Blood trickled in a single line from his forehead across his face.
She shook him hard. “Where’s Nezha?”
The officer opened his mouth just as an arrow embedded itself in his left eye. Rin flung the body away, ducked, and snatched a shield up from the deck just before three arrows thudded into the space where her head had been.
She advanced slowly along the deck, flames roaring out of her in a semicircle to repel Militia troops. Soldiers crumpled in her path, twitching and burning, while others hurled themselves into the water to escape the fire.
Through the blaze she heard the faint sound of clashing steel. She dimmed the wall of flame just for a moment to see Nezha and a handful of remaining Republican soldiers dueling with General Jun’s platoon on the other end of the deck.
He’s still alive. Warm hope filled her chest. She ran toward Nezha, shooting targeted ribbons of flame into the melee. Tendrils of fire wrapped around Militia soldiers’ necks like whips while balls of flame consumed their faces, blinding their eyes, scorching their mouths, asphyxiating them. She kept going until all soldiers in her vicinity had dropped to the ground, either dead or dying. It felt bizarrely, exhilaratingly good to know she had so much control over the flame, that she now possessed such potent and novel ways of killing.
When she pulled the fire back in, Nezha had fought Jun to submission.
“You’re a good soldier,” said Nezha. “My father doesn’t want you dead.”
“Don’t bother.” A sneer twisted Jun’s face. He raised his sword to his chest.
Nezha moved faster. His blade flashed through the air. Rin heard a thick chop that reminded