Winter

Her internal systems were frayed, her processor a mix of scrambled messages, and she could feel at least two disconnected wires sparking in her stomach. She picked her gun off the ground.

It took forever to find Cinder as Iko weaved in and out of the chaos with her bad arm dangling at her side. She held the gun ready, shooting when she thought she could save someone, ignoring the countless scratches that appeared like magic on her clothes and synthetic skin. What were a few more scratches at this point, anyway? For once she was glad not to have nerve endings. She just hoped her body didn’t shut down on her with all the sustained injuries.

By the time she made it to Cinder, she was out of bullets. Thank the stars, Cinder was staying out of the fight for once. Some of the stone statues lining the courtyard had been knocked over and Cinder was hunkered behind one, watching the battle like she was waiting for the right opportunity to move into it.

Iko slipped down beside her, pressing her back against the statue. “Nice speech earlier.”

Starting, Cinder whipped her head around, nearly taking out Iko’s button nose with an instinctive punch. She froze just in time. Relief clouded her eyes. “You’re all right,” she gasped. “Wolf?”

“May have anger management issues. Scarlet?”

Cinder shook her head. “I lost her.”

An enemy soldier came from nowhere. Cinder pushed Iko aside and shoved the soldier’s head into the statue with her metal fist. The statue cracked, a chunk of stone clattering to the ground, and the soldier collapsed unconscious.

“Cinder, you’re bleeding,” said Iko.

Cinder glanced down at her shoulder, where the wound they’d bandaged up at the mansion had bled through. She looked unbothered by it as she grabbed Iko’s elbow and tugged her into what protective cover the statue could offer. “Levana went back in the palace. I need to get in there.”

“Do you think Kai’s in there too?”

“Probably.”

Iko nodded. “Then I’m going with you.”

A trembling scream drew Iko’s attention back into the skirmish in time to see a woman from the lumber sector turn her own knife on herself and plunge it into her chest. Iko’s eyes widened. She couldn’t look away as the woman dropped to her knees, staring openmouthed at her own traitorous hands.

Beside her, Cinder let out a battle cry and rushed toward a thaumaturge. She grabbed a knife out of a guard’s hand right before he swung and in the same movement—

Iko recoiled. She’d witnessed enough death already, even if this one was an enemy.

“Iko, come on!”

Lifting her head again, she saw Cinder leap over the fallen thaumaturge and keep running, straight for the palace doors. She was still gripping the guard’s knife, but Iko wasn’t sure how much of the blood on it was new.

“Right. We’ll just kill all the bad guys.” Iko looked down at her limp hand, shook it out a little, and watched her fingers wobble uselessly. “Good plan.”

Bracing herself, she rushed into the melee, weaving her way between those fallen and fighting. She caught up with Cinder as she sprinted through the yawning doors of the palace. Iko followed her, then skidded to a stop. Her gaze traveled up and up and up, to the top of the massive goddess sculpture centered in the main hall. “Whoa.”

“Iko.”

She found Cinder panting on the other side of the statue, her attention darting one way and then the other. The bloodied knife was still gripped in her whitened knuckles.

“Which way do you think she went?” Cinder asked.

“Down to the spaceship ports so she could run away, never to be seen again?”

Cinder cut her an unamused look.

“Or maybe to call for backup?”

“Maybe. We need to find Kai. Levana will use him against me if she can.”

Iko tugged on a braid, glad that, no matter how bad of a shape her body was in, her hair still looked good. “The coronation was supposed to take place in the great hall. We could start there.”

Cinder nodded. “I don’t have access to the palace blueprints anymore. Can you lead?”

Iko’s internal synapses fired for a few moments before they managed to compute Cinder’s words. She recalled all of their planning and plotting, all the diagrams and maps and strategies they’d drawn up. She raised her good hand and pointed. “The great hall is that way.”

*   *   *

Scarlet could hear her grandmother’s voice, gentle yet firm, as the battle raged around her. She’d already gone through two magazines and she had seen more claw-torn abdomens and tooth-ripped throats than even her nightmares could have shown her. Still, the soldiers kept coming. She knew they had one regiment on their side, but she couldn’t begin to guess how many of the soldiers were fighting with her and how many against her, and no matter how many fell, more were always there, ready to replace them.

Afraid she might shoot an ally when every blood-soaked civilian looked like an enemy, Scarlet focused on the obvious targets. The thaumaturges in their maroon and black jackets were easy to spot even in the fray. Every time Scarlet felt her conscience creeping up on her—it was a life, a human life she was about to take—she would see one of the civilians put a gun to their own head or stab one of their family members to death, and she would pick a thaumaturge whose face was tight with concentration and all her qualms would disappear.

Hold the gun with both hands, her grandma would tell her. I know they do it differently in the dramas, but they’re idiots. Line up your target using the front and back sights. Don’t pull the trigger—squeeze it. It will fire when it’s ready.

The thaumaturge in her sight line stumbled back, a dark spot appearing on her red coat.

Click. Click.

Scarlet reached for her back pocket.

Empty.

She cursed. Shoving the gun into her waistband, she spun around, searching the ground for another weapon. Having been so focused on targeting her enemies, she was surprised to find herself in a sea of bodies and blood.

A drop of sweat slid down her temple.

How many had they lost? It seemed like the fighting had just started. How were there so many already dead? Dismay filled her lungs.

This was a battlefield. A massacre. And she was caught in the middle of it.

She released a shaky breath, wishing she could release her terror along with it. Her grand-mère’s voice had disappeared as soon as she’d put away the gun. Now there was only the sound of killing. Screams and war cries. The stench of blood.

Spotting an axe, she bent to pick it up, and didn’t realize until she found resistance that the blade was buried in a body. Grimacing, she shut her eyes, gritted her teeth, and pulled it free. She didn’t check to see who the body belonged to.

She was exhausted in every way, exhausted halfway to delirium. Her attention fell on a middle-aged woman who at first glance reminded her of Maha, but older. The woman was trembling from shock and her arm was cut and torn—by teeth, Scarlet guessed—and she was using her good hand to drag an injured man to safety.

Scarlet stumbled forward, gripping the axe handle. She should help her.

She went to drop the axe, but then her fingers twitched, which was her first warning. Eyes widening, she looked down at her hand. Her knuckles whitened on the axe handle, gripping it tighter. A shudder ripped through her body.