Yvere sat on the tail of the wagon, swinging her legs with agitated quickness, one hand pressed against the ear that sported her listening device while she held up the index finger of the other. Lapis wished to act in so nonchalant a manner despite the danger, but her heart refused to stop pounding a fearful rhythm.

“Darl says the guards are having trouble getting here because of the fleeing crowd,” the Jil said as Tuft halted next to her. “The janks don’t have the weapons to break through, but they’re trying to get a ram down here.”

“So we need to close the gate behind us and make certain it stays closed,” Dov said. He stood behind a makeshift barrier he created from his shield, two more doors he must have torn off the gate tower, and pieces of the platform. While the khentauree’s height exposed his head, the rebels with him had a nice hiding spot. That, combined with the looted armor, kept them as safe as possible.

More guards ran down the walkway towards the platform and ended their existence in a burst of cyan rays. Their buddies took positions behind the merlons, but their hasty shots from cover did no damage. The beams looked pale and thin, and Lapis wondered if the weapons had enough juice for a prolonged assault. Stars’ luck, most of their enemies carried the ineffective tech.

Ice coated the bottoms of the crenels and thick fog filled the gaps, so if they conducted another volley, they would need to stand to see.

“Yes, Darl,” Yvere snarled. She huffed in annoyance before pulling her weapon and firing at an enemy who popped up—and her beam sailed to its target, a blaze of deadly. “He’s sending another bird. I told him we’d need more. They’re expensive, I know, but—”

Dov pivoted to the side, and the glowing shot targeting him zipped over his shoulder and the wagon, leaving a splattered mark in the mud. He returned fire, and the man reared back, blood flying from his head in an arch, and went down.

Nolin, Diz, and the other two ran through the door, making for the bed of the wagon. A Ram exited after them and raced to Double Catch, who held a weapon and stood at the gate with two of his people. All three had looted tech armor, which she hoped served them better than their previous owners.

“Teivel’s staying to destroy the lever,” the man said.

Teivel? She shoved her fist into her tummy to quench the fury that rose; how dare he continue to use his rebel name?

The synboss looked at Yvere. “How long until the others get here?” he asked.

CRACK.

“The ram’s arrived,” Yvere said. “The others? Soon.”

Tuft buzzed, low enough Lapis vibrated. “They believe their toys will harm us,” he said, and his fingers curled into tight fists. From the spidery fractures racing from the impact site, she assumed they did. If Tuft did not have enough energy to strengthen the wall, let alone reform it, what would happen when they broke through?

Tech fight, and the janks would have charged weapons, even if those wielding them did not fall on the brighter side of life.

Guards rushed to the hole in the viewing box, yelling at the nobles to get out of the way. They took positions on opposite sides, as if the damaged structure would protect them from Dov’s attack. The khentauree swiveled his head to them and buzzed.

“How many do we send to silence?” he asked.

“As many as we must,” Tuft told him. “Those who stay to watch have chosen danger. We do not hold hands with the enemy.”

Dov destroyed the wooden supports and the wall in which they were embedded. Screams resounded as the end nearest the stage collapsed, the roof caving in as the floor gave way. The rest of the structure bent, groaned, and fell. Nobles scrambled to reach the entrance and safety; some made it, some did not. Wooden boards, furniture, and rich décor tumbled down with the unlucky, and thick dust wafted from the destruction. Wails for help rose from the haze-engulfed pile, and Lapis ignored them. They wanted to watch someone die that day, they could see their own life slip away.

She rubbed at her chest. How cold was she, to think that? That was not the person she desired to be—even if she had no plans to rush over and free them.

She looked up at the royal balcony; the king was flinging his arms around and yelling at those beyond the ice wall, his eyes bulged out far enough, she could see the whites around his pupils. A shimmer of sparkly yellow flowed up from the floor like waves, and she frowned. What was that?

A tall, stout man in shiny fake armor and a stomach-long beard rushed from the open door, snagged his arm, and yanked him from the railing.

Kale. She had never seen him, but knew his description, had studied the rebel sketches. Kale, the man who led the palace soldiers into Nicodem that day. Kale, as much to blame for her family’s demise as Perben.

Her fingers curled around her gauntlet’s handle, a useless gesture since they were too far away to reach.

The general dragged the king through the open doorway behind him, shouting something as Gall twisted and wriggled and pointed at the grounds beyond the wall, then up at the skyshroud. Did he think Requet would save him? He would die for that belief.

“Nobody took him out?” They should have splattered him and left him to rot.

“There is a barrier around the balcony that repels my attacks,” Dov said. “Its source rests behind it as well, so I could not destroy it. It is fine; his guards cannot attack unless they drop the shield, and their raving king does not want to leave.”

But Kale just dragged him away!

Crack.

Thicker fractures formed across the wall. Tuft watched, as still and cold as ice, then swiveled his head to the parapet.

“They come,” he said.

Lapis’s emotions leapt as Sanna, then Chiddle, galloped into view. The cries of the remaining guards on the walkway died under hooves. The two khentauree snagged the bodies, heaved them over the edge, and jumped to the platform, then the ground, rocking those on their backs.

Jetta slid from Chiddle, frantically pushing through rebels running to loot the enemy. “Faelan?” she called.

“I’m here.”

She whisked to the tower door and threw her arms around him; he clutched her close, then they kissed with tearful relief rather than passion. Lapis glanced at Patch; no injuries, though a furious light in his eye meant something vicious rode him. He dismounted, his attention lingering on the viewing box.

“You OK?”

He nodded, meeting her gaze, his own softening. “I see you made it in time.”

She smiled through the sting of tears. “Now we just have to get down the hill before the ‘shroud crashes.”

“I will pull the wagon,” Sanna said abruptly. “There is no horse, and there are wounded.”

Double Catch fired through the gaps in the portcullis. “We’ve got guards on the road up,” he called. “Just palace regs, no Dentherions.”

“Watch for more men,” Dov told the two hiding behind the wooden barrier, then trotted to the gate. His cyan beam’s glow reflected off the cold iron, a bright spot on otherwise black-smudged bars.

“Gall’s going to regret Celem pulling everyone back,” Patch said, then turned to the Ambercaast khentauree. “Sanna, are you sure?”

“I will pull,” she said. “We need Chiddle for protection and I am strong. I will not leave the injured for the enemy.”

Lapis glanced around, but a horse did not miraculously appear to pull the wagon—and even if they found one, trying to keep it from scaring and running during the escape was pointless.

“We should use these as shields for the wagon,” Chiddle said, tapping at a door.

“I will make certain they stay in place,” Tuft promised.

Patch, Chiddle, and helpers wiggled the doors and boards out of the ground and set them against the sides and across the back of the wagon, leaving gaps to shoot through and a larger one in the back so people could get in and out. Tuft fused them to the vehicle. Those inside scooted away from the cold, but no one complained about the added protection.

Two more jets sputtered, emitting a weak, white mist.

Boom.

“Minq are attacking the outer wall’s defenders with Swifts,” Yvere called from her new position behind the back-end shield. “They’re giving us cover to reach the second gate. The parapet has tech barriers front and back, and while that’s saving the cannons, the operators can’t fire at us, either.”

Crack. Long streaks raced across the ice wall and the center of impact broke through, tiny blue bits falling to the ground.

“If you don’t have armor on, grab some,” Faelan shouted. Lapis dismounted, and a nice Ram helped her slip into a breastplate too large for her, but it did not have blood on it so it would do. The khentauree accepted helmets and breastplates, though the fit looked odd. Could they feel the edges digging in and scratchiness?

She hopped over to Patch and grabbed his hand as he finished squirming around in his breastplate. “I hate this shit,” he muttered before cupping her face and kissing her. “Same goes,” he told her. “Get a weapon.”

“But—”

She wilted under his look. Fine. She would grab a handheld tech weapon; that did not mean she would use it. He kissed her forehead in apology, then selected one for himself. His patch lights went into overdrive, and he snatched one last kiss before joining Double Catch at the portcullis.

“Raise the gate!” Faelan shouted.

Those who needed to ride clambered into the wagon, leaving a handful of people to fire at the enemy through the iron bars. Sanna grabbed the tongue with both hands, waiting, while Jhor did something with the square tech in his hands. Lapis had forgotten he joined them on this adventure, he had been so quiet, and she wondered what occupied him, that he appeared oblivious to his surroundings. Jetta returned to Chiddle, and Tuft helped her onto his back.

“Where’s Brander?” she asked as her brother took a position behind the wagon, holding his weapon in both hands.

“He’s watching Perben.

She hissed at that.

“To make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, I need to be the last one out.”

“Lanth said he will do anything to protect you,” Tuft said, sharp and annoyed.

“That’s true, which is why I need to be the last one out.”

Tuft motioned to his back. “Then I will make certain you will be so.”

The gate creaked up as Faelan used the wagon and her arm to mount. He squirmed into place, then slipped his hand around her waist. She did the same to Tuft as ice secured their legs to his barrel.

Quiet descended as they waited for the portcullis to rise. Lapis focused on it, her vision narrowing, the shouts, wails, and hisses from the jets muting, as if the shadows swallowed her surroundings. She could feel the thud of her heart, the faintest brush of cold breeze against her cheek, and drowned in the insistent ringing in her ears.

The Rams, Patch and Dov fired, and she caught a flash of light from beyond the gate. Swifts soared by, raining tech death down on the regs attempting to reach them. She bit her lips together, trying to prepare herself for what she would see on the way down. Faelan’s arm tightened around her waist, and she wondered if he dreaded it, too.

Dov took off, and Sanna heaved the wagon into slow motion. Chiddle set his hands on the back and shoved, getting the wheels to move quicker through the mud. Bits and pieces of earth flew from them as the khentauree gained speed, and she whisked beneath the gate. The Rams on the ground followed, aiming to the left. Lapis checked around; had they all made it out?

“There are two in the tower,” Tuft said, then leapt, avoiding a shot from the parapet; more guards. Lapis’s heart thudded painfully in her chest, and she squeaked as she gasped for air.

Faelan pointed in their general direction and fired as the khentauree streaked under the gate.

The iron clanged down after them.

Her brother craned around, and Lapis looked behind; a rope dangled from a lopsided hole in the stone, and Brander snagged it. He wore a tech breastplate and gauntlets and had a weapon strapped to his back, as prepared as he could be for the inevitable fight. He propelled down, and after a moment, Perben, in a leather cuirass and armed, followed. Her gut reaction was to ask Tuft to grab the firearm from him; she did not trust he would accidentally miss and strike someone he held a grudge against.

Like her.

Smoke puffed out of the opening; they lit the place on fire? Brander hit the ground and ran as if flames licked his heels, and Perben raced after him. They hurdled over limp bodies—so many bodies, so much blood. Spears and swords littered the mud near the deceased—not tech weapons. Had Gall so depleted his resources, he could not arm his finest with Dentherion gear? Or had the soldiers taken the most viable stuff with them when they returned to Dentheria?

BOOM.

The top exploded, sending shards of wood, tile, and chunks of stone the size of her head into the air. Debris rained down, and Tuft said something nasty as he avoided a larger piece that nearly broadsided him. Lapis bent over, covering her head, and Faelan provided what protection he could.

The guards who had yet to fall turned and ran.

The khentauree wound around rubble and bodies, keeping to the less muddy parts of the unpaved road. Blackened divots marred their way, and Sanna swerved onto the shoulder to avoid the pits. Chiddle helped get the wagon back to the lane, a difficult task since the thick mud stuck to the wheels and refused to let go.

At one point they lifted the whole thing, people still inside, across a gap. Strength did not lie just in the tera-khents.

Despite the jostling, the people shooting at the retreating guards struck their targets, and more enemies fell into the mud and did not rise.

A shadow swamped them. She gasped as a Swift soared over them, beams aiming for the fleeing men, whose hand-held, martial weapons could not return fire. She doubted they would survive to reach safety.

Tuft slowed so Brander and Perben could hit the lane in front of them. “Yvere says that those manning the ram are using the ladder to reach the parapet,” he said, as emotionless as Lapis had heard him. He swiveled his torso and stared behind; the explosion had decimated the gate and the walls on either side, and a thick black smoke rose from the flaming debris, wafting to the east. She did not think the enemy could see through it well enough to target them from the parapet.

Another pass by the Swift made certain that smoke was not their only problem.

A thick buzz escaped the ice khentauree as he gained speed, but did not pass Brander or Perben before they caught the wagon, sloppy mud flying from their boots. The wheels did not like it much, either, with the stuff caking the tyre and the spokes. The mud seemed thicker the further downhill they traveled, and Lapis ran scenarios through her head about what to do if the wagon bogged down.

“Enemy!” Dov shouted, pointing to the right. Guards topped the slope, each bearing a shield she had only seen used in riots. From the glimpses she had, she thought they wore tech armor and had more effective weapons than swords and spears. Several looked up, and her chest clenched.

“Where are the palace Swifts?” she asked, dread shooting through her as fast as a snake.

“Sanna says they cannot rise because the skyshroud blocks their dock,” Tuft told her. “Jhor intercepted the enemy communications, and the chatter is that the pilots crashed into the parapet or the skyshroud because the Dentherion pilots did not train Jilvaynans to thread through such narrow spaces. She believes the far corner is sagging more than the rest of the ship because of this damage.”

“That means the king can’t take his evacuation Swift unless he risks dying,” Faelan said as he pointed his weapon and swept his arm back and forth while firing.

“Yes. If he leaves, it will be by ground transportation.”

The long shadows cast by the skyshroud wobbled. More jets sputtered and extinguished—and here they were, having a semi-calm conversation about a topic that would not help them escape the palace before it crashed.

Tuft held up his right hand; a spinning circle, like the one he used to take out the ropes, formed above his fingertips. He threw, and it expanded as it flew to the enemy. It slammed against the front shields, coating them in ice. A volley of beams followed, with Chiddle’s beam punching through two. The men holding them collapsed, creating an opening in the line.

Jetta, firearm firmly held against her shoulder, fired into the gap, and each strike felled a guard.

The roar of engines reached them just before tech bikes sped around the edges of the line.

Before panic encased her head in mental wool, the front tires of the first four tore apart under Dov’s intense beam, and the riders pitched forward; one took out two more as his buddies ran into his body, with both the vehicle and the rider flipping over and slamming into the mud. More came, slipping and sliding, their spinning wheels showering the shield bearers in mud and water.

Tuft buzzed, disgusted, and the mud, water, and splashes froze. The front and side men stopped; cries and shouts rose, and arms flailed in response, as those behind them, not realizing their trouble, rammed into them.

The bikes jerked to a standstill. Their riders tumbled over the windshields and onto the solid earth, rolling and skidding. Before they halted, everything melted into a morass. Those who were able tried to roll over, but the sticky muck did not release them so easily. The rebels and Rams attacked, but the beams from the lesser weapons did not penetrate the body armor—Dov and Chiddle’s, however, did.

She wished them all ill luck in getting out of their mucky trap without being struck.

The road turned right, leaving their backs to the enemy. Lapis peeked at their opponents, afraid. As the rear guard, they were the most exposed, but instead of pressing an advantage, the remaining bike riders scrambled on hands and knees to hide behind the shield-bearing guards who looked to have sunk to their knees in the soft earth. She counted four who attempted to retrieve their machines, and none of them stood back up after the military khentauree struck them.

So far, so lucky. Hopefully that did not run out.

Electric shimmers ran through the air on the parapets to either side of the gate, indicating a tech shield. Cannon operators faced them, but they did not take down the defenses to attack. She guessed, as soon as they traveled beyond the outer wall, they would drop them and activate the larger weapons. Too bad the Swifts had not taken them out.

The jet directly above them spluttered.

They weren’t going to make it. They were going to get squished by a skyshroud.

“Calm down,” Faelan whispered in her ear.

“How do you know I’m upset?”

“You’re so tense, you might as well be a bowstring.”

Resentment poured through her; she did not think she could relax.

The shield bearers planted the objects into the soft earth, leaving gaps for the barrels of their weapons, and squatted behind them. Chiddle and Jetta did not give them a chance to fire, spraying them with cyan attacks. Perben and the Rams joined them, while Brander and fellow rebels took a position to the left of the wagon, their attention on that side of the road.

Sanna stopped.

Lapis gasped, but Tuft shook his head. “A shortcut,” he said, and cantered to the Ambercaast khentauree.

“We need to hurry!” Yvere said, her hand clamped over her ear and squinting, as if that would help her hear. “Darl says Swifts are headed this way, and they have Fort Durain’s insignia.”

Faelan hissed.

“I thought all the troops went back to Dentheria,” Lapis said.

“Gall’s desperate for military support since Celem withdrew from the puppet states, and Diros suggested the Red Tridents—and that’s not a coincidence, since Drakeways has some smuggling agreement with him. He was going to house them in Fort Durain, keeping them as a surprise force to use against an uprising. When the janks found out, they protested because they knew about the Trident involvement with Drakeways at Torc Bedan, and took it to their division head. Gall got some official correspondence from Celem and it looked like he broke the deal. I guess he went through with it anyway.”

Wondrous.

Tuft moved behind the wagon, and an ice ramp formed between their position and the road below, which curved and ran straight to the gate. The enemy, when they realized the intent, fired despite the danger of being struck. The khentauree erected an ice sheet defense, thin enough that, when struck, chips spun into the air.

Other rebels and Rams hid behind it, shooting around the ends. A Ram got hit, and he rocked back, nearly colliding with Tuft’s legs. Friends helped him into the wagon, where Diz’s friend took charge of his injury. She slapped his weapon into the fence’s torso; he grabbed it, looked down in horror, and firmed his lips in mental preparation for using it.

Lapis had never felt a kinship to Diz until that moment, but his reluctance reflected hers and she appreciated it.

Sanna hefted the front up, and Tuft took the back; she felt quivers race through him as they positioned it in line with the ramp. Before they set it down, ice fused the axles and spokes of the wheels so they would not turn, and thick, frosty skis molded to the bottoms.

“We’re going!” Sanna buzzed, jerking on the tongue. She eeped as the wagon slid, not so much guiding it as holding on for dear life and sliding with it.

The speed increased. So did the loudness of her eep. Jhor and everyone in the wagon joined her.

“Sit down, slide,” Chiddle commanded. Dov performed a tiny leap onto the ice and skated down, his torso pointed at the enemy and firing the entire way. The humans whisked after him, scrunching down to make as small a target as possible. The ice wall dissolved, and the rest of them brought up the rear.

Tuft stumbled and Lapis screeched as Faelan’s grip tightened around her; Chiddle grabbed his arm and kept him upright. The khentauree looked at his right hind leg; a tech strike dented the chassis.

“Tuft! Are you OK?” Worry zapped Lapis.

He buzzed, so dark and deep, she hunched down, afraid. A humongous icicle formed in his left hand before he targeted the enemy. He threw, and it disappeared in a blur of speed before it plowed into the front line and kept going.

Shields bursting apart and terrified shrieks proved how effective the pointed tip was.

“Sanna said to conserve,” Chiddle chided.

“I’m fine,” Tuft snapped. “They are not.”

A minute cocking of his head, and Lapis realized Chiddle did not approve, either. How depleted was Tuft? How much longer could he function? What would happen if he drained himself? Worry skated from her chest to her head and combined with her growing fear concerning their flight as they slid down the ramp, reached the road, and galloped for the gate.

Once they opened the portcullis, they had to race down the zigzag road on a deforested slope and sweep into noble habitations spanning the bottom before the mercs arrived.

She fought between sobbing and laughing as her hope teetered on the edge of a crater, knowing even a tiny wind of ill luck would send it into the depths.