ZELLE CHARGES INTO THE CLEARING AS the King pitches off me, blood streaming down his face.

“Finish it!” she screams.

Behind her—Naja.

The white fox is astonishingly fast. She catches up to Zelle in two bounds, her sari loosened at the front and flaring behind her, and in one swift movement she reaches out, clasping Zelle in her long, clawlike fingernails, and snaps her neck in two.

The sound is awful, a clean, high crunch.

I stagger to my feet. Naja looks up, Zelle discarded in front of her. There are noises in the distance—clashing weapons, screams, something like the deep churn of fire—and I see flames reaching into the sky, lighting the night with streaks of orange and vermilion.

The Floating Hall is on fire. Which means the palace must be under attack.

The knowledge hits me hard.

We failed.

Then I lock eyes with Naja and everything else is whipped from my mind, leaving only the burn of anger, hatred, darkest, deepest pain, and Zelle’s last words to me, so simple, so terrible.

Finish it.

I lurch toward the King. The grass is wet with his blood and my feet skid, but the fall helps me, propels me forward. He sees me coming a second too late. His face contorts. Hands shaking, he reaches for the hilt of the knife embedded in his eye—but I get there first. Letting out a cry, I wrench it out of his blood-drenched socket.

And drive it into his throat.

Surprise. That’s his first expression.

The second is fury.

He jerks under me, but I cling to the hilt, fingers slick with the blood gushing around it. I throw my whole body forward, using my weight to embed the knife deeper. Together we fall. I’m flung forward, sprawled over his chest, but I keep pushing the blade into his neck. The sounds he’s making are horrible—gurgling, babylike. He thrashes. Lashes out. Even though they’re sloppy, there is still power in his blows, and the pain of my broken rib flares with each one. But I grit my teeth against it and hang on.

One of the King’s eyes is blue and piercing. The other is a vivid red mess.

I snarl like a wild thing and jerk the knife side to side. It barely moves, wedged into bone and cartilage, but I force it, feeling things breaking, the snap of living tissue. Over the King’s choked noises, there is an awful keening sound, high-pitched and raw, and I think at first it’s Naja, but of course it’s not.

It’s me.

Then I remember—Naja.

My fight with the King could have only lasted seconds. The fox female is upon me just as I turn to look for her, curved claws breaking skin, drawing blood as they dig into my shoulders. She tosses me to the ground. Kicks me again and again. The blows come too fast for me to escape. I can’t even catch my breath, can barely see. The pain is agonizing, unbearable, the hottest heat and fiercest white, a widening sky opening to swallow me whole. I’m going to die, and the knowledge of it, the searing certainty, is the worst feeling I’ve ever known.

“Get off her, you bitch!”

Wren’s voice rings out, as bright as a dream.

I don’t see her until she tears Naja off me, and even then it takes me a moment to recognize her. She’s wearing battle clothes, leather armor over a midnight-blue tunic and trousers, and her eyes blaze with the white of a Xia warrior, the same as that night under the theater. She draws two swords from the sheaths crossed at her back. Some unfelt wind moves the hair around her face, making her seem eerie, like some dark goddess, and even I get an instinctive lurch of awe.

Naja falters, just for a moment. Then she shakes herself. Draws tall. “I told the King it was you,” she snarls, and lunges.

They fight viciously. Instinct overpowering form. Naja’s all animal, the wildness of her demon form taking over. Gone is the composed court guard standing always at the King’s side. The cool, still gaze. She doesn’t even have a weapon because her body is the weapon. Hunched over in a crouchlike stance, she fights with spins and jabs, slashes and bites.

They move so quickly it’s hard to follow. The clearing is a whir of limbs and blood sprays, the thud of bone on flesh.

“He defended you,” Naja spits. Her mouth is foaming, blood turning it pink where it runs from a gash in her cheek. She blocks a parry from Wren and swipes a leg in a low sweep, which Wren jumps to avoid. “Even though you betrayed him by sleeping with that little golden-eyed slut, he said he couldn’t punish you yet because the Hannos have done so much for him. He had his suspicions, but he still hoped. That’s why he sent you home when he heard of your mother’s death. He was showing your clan the loyalty he deserved.”

Wren’s knuckles are white where they grip her swords. “Loyalty?” she says with a disbelieving laugh. She lurches forward, arms arc overhead as she leaps, bringing down the two blades together as one.

Naja dances back just in time.

“He doesn’t know the meaning of the word,” Wren spits.

“And your people do?”

“They thought they did. They learned the hard way that it’s a rare thing in this world.”

“Ironic, isn’t it? How now they’re the ones teaching others that same truth. Tell me, how does it feel to betray the demon who has been unfailingly dedicated to your worthless keeda clan all these years?”

Wren ducks a blow. Naja recovers quickly, and this time her elbow catches Wren in the side, causing her to stumble.

“Bitch,” Wren pants.

Naja laughs. “Manners, Paper whore.” But I catch her barely veiled awed look again as she appraises Wren’s unnatural appearance.

In the time it takes for the fox to hesitate, Wren strikes out. One of her swords catches Naja’s shoulder. Blood spurts in an arc, staining her snow-white fur. Hissing, she lashes out, her heel cracking across Wren’s jaw, making her head snap round and drawing a spurt of red, the crunch of bone.

The two of them drop back into defensive stances, chests heaving. Wren swipes a sleeve across her mouth.

Then Naja looks to me. Her eyes widen. “Watch out!” she yells.

Wren pivots to look, lowering her swords a fraction—and opening up space for Naja to attack.

But I saw what the fox was planning a second before she acts. As Naja kicks off her back feet, I lunge to intercept. We collide with a crunch. Pain screams through me as my broken rib is crushed even more, the gashes in my shoulders ripping open. I throw a punch, but it’s weak and she overpowers me in a second. Tosses me aside. She swings an arm back, clawlike fingers aiming for my throat—

“Wren! Lei!”

Naja falters as Kenzo bounds into view.

He moves fast on his muscled wolf haunches. He’s gripping a bamboo stick sideways in both hands. Its ends drip with blood.

“Go!” he roars. “There’s no time!”

Naja’s face is wild. “Keeda-lover!” she spits.

She starts upon him in a whir of kicks and claw swipes. Kenzo holds her off with his staff, his powerful wolf haunches digging into the earth as she pushes him back.

“Go!” he shouts at us again.

Wren hesitates, her eyes slipping back to their normal brown. “But—”

“Now!”

She stows her swords and grabs my hand. As she pulls me away, I look back over my shoulder and catch one last glimpse of the King’s body sprawled upon the bloody grass. He looks strangely small. His limbs are thrown out at his sides, as if he’d fallen over from too much sake. At his neck, the knife juts, sticking up where I left it, and a ragged exhale escapes my lips.

It’s over. It is done.

I did it.

The King is dead.

Wren leads me in the direction of the Floating Hall, the growls and thuds of Naja and Kenzo’s fight fading behind us. As the trees start to thin, the hall comes into full view. It’s utterly consumed by flames, a glowing dome of gold. Heat blazes off it. The noise is a living thing, full with electric crackling. From under it come the sounds of battle; metallic clash and hoof thunder, screams and yelling. Flecks of burning ash drift through the air, like the opposite of snow.

This is it, then. Master Takeo’s prediction. A night of smoke and flames, the palace destroyed from the inside out by a girl with fire in her veins.

“What happened?” I call out to Wren as we run.

“Our cover was blown,” she shouts back. Her hair whips behind her. “Someone must have given us away. You got to the King just in time.” She squeezes my hand. “You did it, Lei. You killed him.”

I almost trip. “But now the court knows who was involved! Everything you were working for, the care you all took to keep it secret—”

“We’ll worry about that later.”

“And why are you even here? You shouldn’t have come back, Wren. You shouldn’t have risked it.”

“Of course I came back. I had to make sure you were safe.”

When we reach the edge of the gardens, the ground shifts from loamy earth to a hard stone path. We’re right by the hall now. Underneath, the lake glows from the blaze above. Its surface fissures with ripples—the fish are jumping, stirred by the heat. There are bodies in the water, and I cast a terrified eye over them, praying that none of them belong to Baba or Tien.

My stomach jolts. Kenzo promised to keep them safe. But how can he protect them when he’s fighting with Naja?

“My father,” I choke. “Tien—”

“They’re being looked after,” Wren promises.

Slowing, she leads us around to the east side of the lake. I’m finally able to breathe somewhat normally, though now that the shock is wearing off, pain replaces it. My wounds from the King’s and Naja’s attacks burn and throb. They’re hurting more with every step, but I grind my teeth together, determined not to show it.

“How are we getting away?” I ask.

Wren looks round, firelight sliding across her face. “The same way I got here so quickly. Wings.”

With a tug on my arm, she pulls me off the path and into the undergrowth. We swipe away the tangled branches. The ground is uneven, clumped with roots. I focus on my steps, trying not to trip.

I hear the demon before I see him: the deep rumble of giant lungs. Wren calls out, and a croaky voice answers.

“Did you find her?”

“Yes,” she replies as we emerge into a dappled grove. “Merrin—meet Lei.”

Wind tugs the furled petals of flowers from the magnolia trees lining the clearing, a whirling flurry of pink and white. Some of the leaves catch on the dusky pewter feathers of the huge bird demon rising to greet us. He is an owl-form, far larger than any demon I have seen, with an intelligent face—beaked owl features molded with human—and keen orange eyes. Like Madam Himura’s, his arms are long and humanoid, rippling feathers wound over them and fluting out at the edges in the weird hybrid wings that all bird-forms share. He has his elbows cocked, his wings only extending halfway in the small grove, but still their span is impressive. Each feather is tipped with black. Power thrums from him, and as we approach he stands a little taller, the pierce of his eyes making me falter.

“Merrin?” I say.

He gives me a mock bow. “At your service, lovely. But I’m afraid we have to hurry the introductions.” His head tilts, listening. “Someone’s coming, and I doubt it’s a welcoming committee.”

He dips a wing to the ground. Wren leads me up along it and onto his back. I try to move lightly; his feathers are soft, downy-light.

Merrin laughs, a rattling sound at the back of his throat. “No need to be so gentle, sweetheart. I’ve caught mice for dinner heavier than you.”

Behind me, Wren tucks her legs alongside mine and leans forward, gripping the back of Merrin’s feathered neck. “Ready?”

Before I can answer, we jerk back.

There are shouts, thudding footsteps.

A blaze of arrows cut through the air.

“Hold on!” Wren yells, pinning me down as Merrin kicks off the ground so powerfully the shudder in his muscles ripples through my own.

We lift into the air, the forest rushing past. A second volley of arrows fly our way and Merrin careens sharply to the side to avoid them. An arrow tip grazes my cheek. He banks. One wingtip brushes the treetops. He rolls a tight corner, then beats hard to gain height. In just a few seconds we are soaring high, the clouds just above our heads, a dark, silver-glazed belly.

I’ve always wanted to fly, to know what it’s like to dance on the wind currents.

The reality is nothing like I imagined. Merrin cuts fast through the air, the pounding of his winged arms rocking Wren and me, and I cling to his feathers, convinced I’m about to slide off his back at any second.

Far below, the palace is a blaze of lights and fire. Relief washes over me, as fierce and radiant as a sunburst.

We’re free.

Then Wren cries out, “To the right!”

My head whips round and I spot them—a group of Moon caste bird demons. There must be more than twenty. I make out the shape of hawk, crow, vulture, eagle. Of all the demon forms, bird castes are the most foreign-looking, with their unsettling blend of feathers and beaks with humanoid form, and to see so many now, winged arms spread wide, racks fear through me.

They’re approaching fast, not weighed down by passengers. Though they aren’t as large as Merrin, everything about these birds screams predator. Glowing yellow eyes. Beaked, hook-tipped maws. Armor is strapped to their bodies, their taloned feet fitted with blades.

Merrin lets out a hiss. “Not these assholes.”

“The Tsume!” Wren shouts in my ear. “The King’s elite bird warriors.”

“And of course,” Merrin says, “they keep badgering me to join. How many times must an owl say no?” There’s a pause. “Sorry about this, girls,” he says, then tucks in his wings.

We flip upside down—

And plummet through the air.

I scream as we hurtle toward the earth, wind lashing my face, my gut lurching. Tears stream down my frozen skin. The drop is so fast that one of my hands slips from where I’m clutching at Merrin’s feathers, and the wind tugs at me, trying to yank me away. With a twist of her arm, Wren grabs me. She digs her heels into Merrin’s sides, holding us down. The caws of the Tsume follow us.

Ahead, the rooftops of the palace are getting closer, but Merrin doesn’t slow.

“We’ll crash!” I yell.

Neither Wren nor Merrin answers. I squeeze my eyelids shut; the last thing I see is the curved eaves of a temple roof hurtling toward us.

Merrin pulls out of the dive without a second to spare.

The movement is so sudden it almost jerks us from his back. Pain flares through my rib cage and shoulders. Wren and I grunt, our arms almost wrenched from their sockets, but we manage to cling on.

Thuds, shrieks, the sound of wood shattering behind us. Some of the Tsume didn’t pull back in time.

I risk a glance round and my pulse stutters.

Some of them did.

They speed toward us. The hawk at the head of the group lets out an ear-splitting caw. He gains on us in seconds and slashes out with a metal-tipped talon, the blade catching Merrin’s flank. He cries, dropping suddenly, but then he rights himself and takes a sharp turn, weaving between the rooftops.

The hawk follows. Smaller and lighter than Merrin and the rest of the birds, he gains on us quickly again, this time drawing up beside us. Garnet eyes glitter from under a hooded bronze battle helmet that wraps his upper face and covers the top of his short beak-nose, tapering to a sharp hook.

“Shame on you, brother,” he says, his voice a high-pitched croak. “Letting Papers ride you.”

Merrin shoots a quick look over his shoulder as Wren reaches back to draw one of her swords. “At least I’m not wearing that ridiculous hat.”

The hawk hisses. With a flap of his wings, he swerves towards us, lashing out with his metal-hooked beak. Wren is ready for him. Still clinging on to Merrin’s feathers with one hand, she arcs her other arm toward him, blade flashing. The sword catches the hawk across his helmet with a metallic crash. He squawks in surprise, faltering, just as we take a sharp turn.

There’s a sickening crunch. I look round to see the hawk tumbling down the side of the tall temple pillar we managed to avoid.

Merrin flies between the rooftops, the palace a blur of shapes and colors. The perimeter wall rears up ahead. We fly straight for it. Again, Merrin turns at the last second. The bird demons following us hit the black rock at full speed, the sound of their necks snapping loud as a whip crack. Twisting round to look, I see the huge crow pull up just in time—though judging by the way he lands sprawling on the top of the wall, clutching a winged arm across his torso, he damaged one of his shoulders.

He lets out a furious shriek as he watches us fly on.

Below, the landscape changes to the shadowed stretch of bamboo forest. Darkness falls as the lights of the palace recede. Merrin keeps close to the treetops, but as time passes and no more of the Tsume come for us, he spreads his wings wide and takes us up into the clouds.

“Oh, dear,” he says when there’s nothing around us but white mist and eerie silence. “They’ll only want me even more after that.”

I let out a shaky laugh. My skin feels raw, lashed by the wind. The air is wet up here in the clouds. Beads of water cling to my body, making me suddenly aware that I’m still just in my thin dancing slip, though the gold fabric is soaked through with red: my own blood, and the King’s.

“Is this a good time to wish you a happy birthday?” Wren asks, and I laugh again. She lowers her lips close to my ear. “You have it with you, right?” she asks, serious this time.

I know immediately what she’s referring to. “Yes,” I reply.

She plants a kiss on my cheek. Her breath is hot on my frozen skin. “You can open it when we land.”

I sense the pull of my necklace, suddenly heavy where it’s hanging, exposed, over my collarbones and swinging with Merrin’s wing beats. All these years waiting for this day, waiting to discover the word—the future, the world—my Birth-blessing pendant contains for me. But now, flying through a sky that tastes like ash and endings, I’m not sure I want to know anymore.

We were meant to escape the palace quietly. Instead, the Hannos and their alliances have been exposed.

There is no doubt about it. A war is coming.