She fashioned a sack from one of the bedsheets, trying to put out of her mind the recent memory of being tangled in it, Corien’s mouth hot on her skin. Her hands shook as she stuffed her makeshift bag full of clothing. Then she grabbed a blank page from the notebook on Corien’s desk and a pen and stuffed them into her bodice.

She flew down the hidden staircase that began behind the mirror in the bathing room—a secret passage through which Corien could enter and exit his rooms privately. It was mid-afternoon—the laboratories and barracks, the mines and forges, would be bustling with activity, but the fortress itself was quiet. Rielle hurried to one of the supply storerooms near the kitchens, grabbed potatoes and hard rolls, a few strips of cured elk meat. She couldn’t guess what food they would be able to find or where their journey would take them.

She reached out with her mind, wondering if she would feel Corien watching her.

Silence. He was there, but distant, a faint shadow in her mind. He was still working. There was still time.

Inside an empty office that belonged to one of Corien’s scout commanders, Anadirah, Rielle found a small leather rucksack with a strap meant to fasten around the torso. She transferred the food into it, leaving the clothes ready and waiting on the floor. Then, with a pounding heart and a face cool as ice, she strode through the fortress to the little room in the east wing where Obritsa lived.

“I will see the marque,” Rielle announced to the two adatrox guarding the door. “At once.”

They blinked in confusion, their eyes gray and fuzzy, but she stood firm, staring them down, and soon they unlocked the door and stepped aside.

Blood thundering in her skull, Rielle entered the room and shut the door behind her. Whatever angels had been assigned to control those particular adatrox would soon let Corien know what had happened. It was an odd enough thing to risk disturbing him.

Near the blazing hearth, Obritsa sat in a chair, tightly bound by long coils of thick chains. The girl was obviously uncomfortably warm, her pale-brown skin slick with sweat, her gaze bleary. So bound, she would not be able to thread. The art required use of one’s hands.

Obritsa looked up at Rielle’s entrance, her eyes puffy from crying but her face hard with hatred. “Have you come to kill me at last? Or have you simply come to tell me that my Artem is dead?”

Rielle ignored her, and with a quick lash of power, she dissolved the chains in an instant, leaving Obritsa abruptly free and sitting in a cloud of iridescent ashes.

“We don’t have much time,” Rielle said, withdrawing the paper and pen from her bodice and beginning to sketch a map of the fortress. “He’ll come for us soon. I need you to take me away from here, as far away as you can manage. Bear in mind that we have a long way to go, and I’ll need you to keep your strength. I’ve gathered supplies and clothes and hidden them in a closet down the corridor. We’ll retrieve them before we leave. Dress quickly. I think the best route for us to take is due north, through the White Wastes. We’ll cross the ice fields and the pole, then enter Astavar from the north.”

“Your sudden change of heart is surprising.” Obritsa’s eyes glinted with a new sharp light. “He showed you, didn’t he? You saw what he’s been making. The elemental children he stole from my country. He keeps them in cages. In his laboratories, he perverts their magic and turns tortured godsbeasts into monsters. You saw it all.”

Rielle paused in her work. Memories of the last few days lingered in her mind like scraps of nightmares. She longed to chase after them, examine what Corien had done and marvel at the inventiveness of it.

She longed to condemn him for it and personally see to it that he was punished.

The contradictions of her own heart made her want to scream.

“The Gate must not be opened,” she said, refusing to look at Obritsa. If she glimpsed a single smug smile, she would burn it off the girl’s face. “These abominations he has made are crimes against the empirium.”

Then she braced herself, holding still and silent, as if uttering the words would bring him crashing through the door.

But the only sound in the room was the crackling fire. She released a shuddering breath.

“We’ll destroy the castings we already have. I know where they’re kept.” She pointed at her scribbled maps. “You will take me there first, and then to the castings. That will create a distraction, perhaps slow him down. We’ll go to Astavar next, find Tameryn’s dagger.”

“Are you capable of destroying them?” Obritsa asked, watching her closely. “They were forged by the saints.”

Rielle laughed a little, distractedly scratching at her temple. “I’m capable of anything. Now, quickly, while I am still myself. Before anyone gets to me.”

She closed her eyes, pushing against the distant rumble of the empirium, the nibbling of its black-gold waves. Her scratching fingers drew blood.

“You can’t touch me,” she whispered. “You can’t have me, not yet.”

Obritsa sounded slightly alarmed. “Who are you talking to?”

Rielle ignored her. “If you want to stop him, you’ll do as I command. Now.”

The girl rose from her chair, then hesitated.

“Artem is too heavily guarded,” Rielle said at once, “and we’ve lost enough time as it is. We’ll have to leave him behind.” She thrust the map at Obritsa. She could feel the edges of her control fraying, her thoughts spilling out. “Hurry, damn you! He’ll come for me at any moment!”

Her mouth in a thin line, her eyes hard and glittering, Obritsa worked quickly, her deft fingers summoning bright threads from the air and crafting them into a humming ring of light. She glanced at Rielle.

Rielle stepped through the light, and Obritsa followed shortly after. The threads unraveled with a simmering hiss, and the ring collapsed, snapping shut.

They dressed hurriedly in Anadirah’s office, Obritsa dwarfed by the too-large furs. A gentle pressure was building in Rielle’s mind, her thoughts shifting into a familiar configuration.

“Hurry,” she whispered, her fingers shaking as she tied her scarf and hat into place. “He’s coming.”

Obritsa, eyes wide, summoned more threads. They stepped through the ring and into a small unadorned room of stone in one of the fortress’s towers, just as Rielle had instructed—but horror overcame her as she realized the truth.

The room held only one casting: Saint Marzana’s shield, sitting alone in the center of the floor. Pale shafts of wintry light from four different windows intersected on the shield’s battered face.

Obritsa closed her threads and turned. “Where are the others?”

Rielle stared at the shield, a hot white rage rising within her.