Corien’s back was to her, but not entirely. His mind might have another focus, but his stolen eyes would see if she moved.

The orchestra grew quiet once more—only hesitant pulses from the horns, cautious echoes from the reedy winds.

Eliana held her breath.

Then the full orchestra returned, and the full chorus, in a triumphant, pounding passage that shook the theater from floor to ceiling.

Run, Eliana. The Prophet, faint as a distant dream.

Corien leaned closer to Ravikant, tilting his head so his ear was near the angel’s sobbing mouth—and putting his face completely out of view. He was howling as Ravikant did, mocking him. His voice split with laughter.

Eliana did not waste a moment. She slipped free of her chair and followed Remy into the box’s shadows. The music pounded in her chest; Corien’s furious invectives, hurled at the admiral in tongues Eliana did not know, rang in her ears.

Remy grabbed her hand, helped her down a small flight of stairs in the darkness and out through a door left unlocked. Once outside, they ran. The narrow corridor circling the theater was eerily empty. Unease coiled tight in Eliana’s chest. Whatever Remy was doing, he was not doing it alone.

“How did you get inside the theater?” she asked quietly as they hurried through the shadows. “He locked every door.”

Remy cut her a quick glance. “Not all of them. One was left unlocked.”

A chill nipped her neck. “And you trusted that?”

“I didn’t have time to think about it. I only knew you were inside.”

His voice was so strange—it was his, and yet not. There was a new steel to it. His face betrayed nothing. Her brother, and a stranger too. Eliana wished there were time to hold him still by the shoulders and make him look at her dead-on until she knew him again.

They raced down a flight of stairs. At the bottom, hidden against the far wall, waited Jessamyn. Her leg was bandaged and her color wan, but her blood-spattered face was hard and eager for a fight. Three dead adatrox lay at her feet.

“That took far too long,” she hissed, then gave Eliana one assessing look. If she felt shame at having been a witness in that white room of pain, she showed none of it. “No one saw you leave?”

“If they had, we wouldn’t still be standing here,” Remy said darkly, moving to the nearest window to peer outside.

Eliana glanced from Jessamyn to Remy. Remy’s trimmed hair, his tunic and trousers that were certainly not prison wear. “You know each other?”

“I’m her virashta,” Remy said, as if that explained everything.

Beyond the glass, Ostia’s crimson light flooded the world, but it was Remy Eliana couldn’t tear her eyes from. How comfortable he looked with a dagger in his hand. The grim set of his face, the scars rimming his knuckles.

“Can you close that thing in the sky?” Jessamyn asked, gesturing at the window.

“Yes,” Eliana said, not saying the rest—that she would do no such thing until she had won and Corien lay in ruins.

“Somehow we’ve got to get you to it safely,” Jessamyn muttered, glancing out the window. “And the whole city’s gone mad.”

Remy shot Eliana a glance. She could see on his face that he knew what she had not said, and his mouth twitched with a small smile.

I will guide you to me. The Prophet’s voice came quietly. Tell them you know where to go. They will follow you.

“I know how to get there,” Eliana said firmly. “I know the safest path.”

Jessamyn’s eyes narrowed. “How?”

Eliana forced a wry grin. “I’m the Sun Queen. I know everything.”

He is distracted, but he won’t be for long, the Prophet warned. Exit the palace on the southern side. You will encounter several adatrox on the way out. Prisoners too. The beasts are swarming toward the palace. Some already cling to it, trying to bash their way inside. Go to the plaza where Corien brought you before he opened Vaera Bashta.

Eliana drew a deep breath, shifted her hands to feel the slide of her castings’ chains. Can I use my power?

Try not to. He will only remain ignorant of your escape for so long. The farther you get from him, the more easily I will be able to hide you.

Eliana swallowed against a cold knot of fear. She felt the Prophet’s presence, a supple layer of water coating her mind, but it was too thin for comfort.

“I need a knife,” she said, and Jessamyn pulled a long dagger from her boot. Eliana recognized it as a standard adatrox weapon. She tested its weight, her grip. She nodded once at Jessamyn in thanks.

“Follow me,” she said, and ran, Remy and Jessamyn close behind.

The palace was a cavernous tomb, its stone walls muffling the chaos beyond. The low boom of vaecordia cannon fire, the shriek of swarming cruciata. Eliana raced down a broad hallway lined with windows, the shadows sliced open by streams of red light. Adatrox clustered at the far end like animals huddling together against the cold. Abandoned by their angelic masters, their minds left in ruins, they turned at the sound of Eliana’s approach, bellowing wordlessly. Eliana rushed at them, gutted one, and by the time she whirled around to find the others, they were already dead. Jessamyn wiped her dagger on her sleeve. Remy wrenched his own knife from the belly of his kill.

Eliana turned away from him, guilt sitting hard in her throat. There was only ever supposed to be one Dread of Orline, and now the city of Elysium had given birth to another.

They raced down two flights of stairs, out into a great hall in the palace’s southern wing. Dark shapes slammed against the windows, then skittered up them, climbing the walls.

Adatrox rushed across the hall, straight for them. Eliana flung her knife into one’s throat. Jessamyn held another while Remy drove his dagger into its chest. Another stumbled out of the shadows. Jessamyn hissed something at Remy, and Remy ripped his knife from the first adatrox, spun around, and slashed it across the newest one’s neck.

They felled another five on their way out of the palace, then six more as they raced through the ring of courtyards surrounding it. A prisoner in rags leapt for Eliana, his eyes gone mad with fear, and with a fierce cry, Jessamyn threw herself in his path and slashed open his stomach. Another prisoner burst through the hedges and swung a huge club at her, metal spikes protruding from the wood. Remy leapt onto his back and slashed open his throat. The courtyards crawled with prisoners shrieking for blood, adatrox stumbling and flailing their swords.

Eliana let Jessamyn and Remy fight for her, but her head spun, and the world was a choppy haze of red and gold. Her power was desperate, chomping for release. Instead, she used her knife and picked up others from the soldiers she slew. She still wore her filthy jeweled gown and wished bitterly for a belt, hidden pockets, holsters, anything useful.