outside the wall on the plains below—the ground directly under the city was almost impassable due to fallen wreckage.
Kira walked the path that had been forged to the southeastern elevator, the only one that had remained functioning through the entire attack. The azure masks received credit for that . . . and the people praised them for saving the city in general as well, between putting out the fires quickly and killing six Emberhawk terrorists—including Sylendrin, whom Lee had killed.
Kira would make sure he would be honored for that. If there would be some sort of memorial, her little brother’s name would be on it.
She glanced up through the charred and gnarled branches and spotted a team of men throwing new ropes to rescue a pair of yelling stranded survivors. She’d heard that they’d lost paths to some of the elegant upper sections of the village entirely. Few residents recalled seeing the legendary beasts at all, and those who repeated their tales did so with varying degrees of truth.
Kira stepped off to one side, catching the attention of salvagers who sifted through the remains of collapsed houses. She asked for directions to the artisan district, and they pointed with solemn faces.
Her fingers grazed the bandages on her neck and shoulder as she walked. The burns didn’t hurt in their center, but the outsides were lined with blistering skin. The pain became easier to deal with as she hurried past a doctor’s tent full of people on cots who would never look the same.
She knew she’d arrived at the artisan district not by the blacksmith, tanner, or carpenter’s shops, but by the sounds of heartbreak. Mourners wailed beside bodies that lined the streets in orderly rows. Mothers. Fathers. Children. Spouses.
Kira’s knuckles turned white around the herb bundle as she passed. Five wagons clustered in a yard between a pottery barn and the kilns. Men lifted cloth-wrapped bundles to each, avoiding dark stains.
Kira’s feet urged her to return to Het’saya instead. The cries of broken families raked against her soul, and the smell threatened to overwhelm her. Still, she had to say goodbye. Last night had only worsened the gaping wound in her heart. Maybe if she saw her little brother one last time before the burial, she could breathe again.
A soot-streaked volunteer pointed her in the direction of the wagon destined for Navarro. She almost wished he hadn’t.
Lee’s skin wasn’t the right color. But his expression was peaceful—at rest.
He didn’t belong on that cart. It was all she could think as she wept until she ran out of tears. Her baby brother didn’t belong there.
45
RYON
“I’m fine.” Ryon hugged his mother back—again. She pulled away and gazed into his eyes as if looking for a hidden thorn, and he glanced away. “Really.”
“Okay, baby.” She pushed up on her tiptoes and pulled his neck down to kiss his forehead. “I’ll just be helping cook for the homeless, so send Aegwyn down to the kitchen if you need me.”
“All right, Mom,” Ryon said. “Let me know if I can help.”
His mother gave him that disapproving look that dared him to cross her. Gwyneth was one of the most gentle, loving women on the planet, but when it came to protecting her children—either her own blood or those in her orphanage—she was the scariest creature Ryon had ever beheld.
“You lie down and stay that way,” she said, and he obeyed before she got any ideas.
Ryon pulled the covers up to his chin and sighed as the door shut behind Gwyneth. His sister, Aegwyn, would be back soon to deliver lunch. But the last thing he wanted was to be babied right now. So what if his hands were burned and his insides were bruised or whatever. He didn’t have to see far distances to be able to help. There were so many people injured more severely than he was—he could hear them moaning in Het’saya’s other rooms. The inn must have been opened as a refugee shelter, but he couldn’t know for sure because someone was always guarding him.
Right on cue, the door opened again.
“Iggy, please tell mom that I—” Ryon cut himself off. That blur didn’t match Aegwyn’s form or colors.
“You’re awake!” Kira hurried to his bedside, her soft features sharpening into focus. “How do you feel?”
“Fine,” he lied, relieved to see the detail of her curls and the bright flecks in her gaze. “Are you okay?”
Kira pursed her lips, then broke eye contact and set a bundle of aloe vera leaves on the