SERINA

ORACLE AND EMBER carried Petrel’s body back to the cave. They placed it with care on an old wooden table with scorched legs that sat in the back corner, away from the sleeping pallets. Two women lit torches near Petrel’s head and feet. Another brought water to wash away the blood.

Serina sat with the others, arms hugging her knees to her chest, and watched. No one talked or readied themselves for sleep, even though it was well past midnight.

Serina’s eyes burned.

Oracle wrapped Petrel in a white sheet, smoothing the threadbare material over the girl’s cheek and down her arm. Ember and two other women approached, and between the four, they raised Petrel’s body onto their shoulders.

Serina joined the procession back out of the cave and into the night. She didn’t know where they were going. She was only aware of the darkness pressing close, Petrel’s white sheet leading the way.

They walked for what felt like hours. At some point, a reddish glow subsumed the light of torches. The path steepened, narrowed. When at last the line of women stopped, dry sulfuric heat pulsed against Serina’s cheeks.

Another caldera extended into the darkness, but this one was alive.

Below them, the skin of the earth had burst, exposing a small pool of lava, bright enough to stain Serina’s vision red.

Oracle’s voice rose into the night. One by one, the other women joined, and a song flowed out above the restless snap and crackle of the lava. Serina didn’t know the words, but the eerie cadence dug inside her chest and soon she was singing too.

Fire, breathe

Water, burn

Terror, wane

Your reign is over.

Fire, breathe

Water, burn

Stars, lead the way

Your sister is here.

With a great cry, Oracle and the other three raised Petrel’s body high above their heads. Then everyone else screamed too, their voices swooping out into the night like a flock of hunting birds. The white sheet glowed red as Petrel’s body dove into the volcano. Sparks flew high, fluttering right up to the stars.

The women stood vigil until the last of the sparks died, and the night was silent again.

Serina swallowed against the grittiness in her throat, sore from yelling. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, and her cheeks were wet. She followed the line of women back down the side of Mount Ruin, down into the jungle, but when she reached the entrance to the cave, she kept going, desperate to be alone.

A narrow path led toward the coast. The moonlight guided her through the trees, out to another massive lava field, where the whorls and waves of rock shone silver. The quiet of the night was absolute. But out of the corner of her eye, far away, lights twinkled.

She picked her way across the wasteland toward them. It wasn’t until her feet skidded to the edge of the cliff and the screaming wind and crashing waves pounded against her ears that she realized that the glittering beacons were the lights of Bellaqua. In daylight, the city was invisible, but the faintest sparkle now shone from out of the black.

Her heart twisted. Somewhere out of sight, in a palazzo girded with gold and glass, Nomi was probably dancing with the Heir. Serina knew her sister hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. But with every cell of her body, she wished that Nomi had, for once, behaved as a woman of Viridia should.

Serina stared down at the white morass below. Could she jump? She could try to swim, escape the pull of the island and let the currents take her to Bellaqua. Or maybe she would sink, and find her own sanctuary to follow all the despair.

“It’s not the best cliff for jumping.”

Serina staggered back, away from the ledge, terror shooting through her. But it wasn’t Bruno. Instead, Valentino stood next to her, his dark hair ruffled by the wind. With the roar of the waves, Serina hadn’t heard him approach.

Looking down at the roiling surf below, he added, “There are currents here that’ll bob you along for a fair distance before they suck you under. The best cliffs for jumping are the ones with lots of rocks below. You’re more likely to die on impact that way. Quick. Maybe painless, if you hit it right. Some girls don’t. They break their backs or their legs, and then they scream as they drown. The southern cliffs are best. They have the hardest landings.”

Serina wrapped her arms around herself. It would almost be worth it, to wash the blood from her mind, to silence the nightmares.

“Don’t jump,” Val said, his voice stolen by the wind.

Serina glanced at him. In the darkness, she couldn’t read his expression. “You just told me how.”

“That’s because it’s your choice. And you should make an informed one.” He stared out at the distant lights. “But I hope you don’t jump.”

“Why?” Serina asked. He wasn’t forcing some power play on her, like Bruno. And it wasn’t possible that he could be forming a romantic interest in her. In her threadbare prison uniform, her face sunburned and her hair dirty, she was a far cry from the elegant prospect who had ascended the stairs of the Superior’s palazzo two weeks ago.

So why did he care if she lived or died?

He shrugged, his gaze never leaving the star-touched ocean. “Somebody I cared about was sent here. Before I came. She jumped.”

Serina’s breath caught, a tightness spreading across her chest. “I’m sorry, Valentino.”

“Val,” he corrected. “I think about her a lot. Mostly I wonder what would have happened if someone had stood by her, like I’m standing by you.” He removed his hat and ran a hand through his unruly hair. “Maybe she’d still be alive.”

“So you try to talk down the jumpers,” she said. But he was still a guard. He still stayed here, playing his part in this cruelty. Like Bruno. Serina stared at his profile, clear in the moonlight. Her voice hardened. “What about the fighters? Does it bother you to watch women kill each other? Or do you cheer, like all the other guards?”

“Bother me?” He turned fully toward her, a muscle working in his jaw. His voice vibrated with emotion as he said, “Every night, every time I close my eyes, I see them. Always, always they’re in pain. I carry them with me, and I will until I die.”

Serina stared at him, shocked. It was the last thing she had expected him to say.

“Please,” he said, and now he was pleading, barely audible over the screaming wind. “I’d rather you didn’t haunt me too.”

Serina stared at him, softening despite herself. She was sure the words weren’t meant as a comfort, but nevertheless they reassured her. If she died here, at least one person would remember her.

He turned back toward the cliff, and something about the way he stood, the pain she’d heard in his voice, made her ask, “Do you ever find yourself on the ledge?”

Val glanced at her, and the shadows in his eyes were deep and unfathomable. “All the time.”

Sometimes Serina wondered what Nomi would do if she were here. Maybe Nomi would be a strong fighter, or like Oracle, smart enough to strategize and help the others. Maybe she’d try to work a way around the rules, like she did at home. It was impossible to predict, but there was one thing she did know. If Nomi were here, she would never give up. It had always been one of her most frustrating qualities.

Tears built behind Serina’s eyes.

Nomi wouldn’t want Serina to give up either. Serina would have to live with Petrel’s memory, with the blood and the nightmares. She’d have to keep fighting. Even Petrel had told her to. You fight back, she’d said. Always.

The steady, screaming wind cut through Serina’s thin shirt. She turned away from the cold, distant sparkle of Bellaqua and back toward the path. On impulse, she reached out and squeezed Val’s wrist.

“Don’t jump,” she said.