Nelay closed her eyes. Of course Jezzel knew her well enough to realize when she had given up. “I don’t see another option.”
“That’s because you’re convinced there isn’t one. You can’t succeed when all you see is failure.”
Nelay pulled away. Nashur motioned for two of his men to follow her as she headed toward the door. “Nelay.” Nashur rarely called her by her given name. “This is the only option left to us. You must see that.”
Her hands clenched to her sides, Nelay left the room and made her way to where the healers were treating the injured. In the shade of the palace gardens, people were packed in neat rows on the ground. The smell was terrible—waste and vomit mixed in with sweet opium smoke and herbs.
One of the healers looked up at her. “I sent your husband to Ziyid.”
“You did what?” Nelay blurted, her thoughts flashing to the beautiful woman King Zatal had loved.
“He’ll be better cared for by her—she’s the best healer the palace has.”
It was news to Nelay, who hadn’t even known Ziyid was a healer. She turned on her heel and took the stairs to the second level two at a time, her harried guards right behind her. Upstairs, she took the first hallway down the crowded corridor and stopped in front of the familiar door. She tried to push it open, but it was bolted tight. She slapped it with the flat of her hand. “It’s Queen Nelay. Let me in!”
After a moment, the bolts slid free and the door opened just enough to admit her. On the other side stood the oldest girl child—Nelay didn’t even know her name.
“Parisa, bring her here,” someone out of sight called.
The girl, Parisa, led Nelay through the receiving room, which was littered with high ranking Immortals and nobles. In the second room were more Immortals and nobles.
And Rycus. He was lying on his back, with Ziyid and Maran kneeling next to him. His leg rested in a bath of cloudy water. As Nelay watched, Ziyid ran her hand down his leg over and over again. His eyes were closed tight with pain.
Taking a deep breath, Nelay stepped up to them. Maran saw her first. “Nelay!”
Ziyid rubbed Rycus’s leg harder, saying, “It’s not too deep, but it wouldn’t stop bleeding.”
Worried, Nelay crouched beside him. His leg was cut in two places; he’d only shown her one. A chunk of skin hung off his knee, and there was a deep puncture in his shin.
“The warm saltwater flushes the wound,” Ziyid said, then took a pair of scissors and trimmed off the skin. Rycus winced and kept his gaze locked on the ceiling.
Nelay was having a hard time catching her breath.
Ziyid showed Maran how to apply a compress of pungent-smelling herbs over the wound and tightly wrapped it. Then she washed her hands in another basin of water her daughter brought and wiped them on a clean towel. “He should be fine as long as he changes the wrapping.”
“Thank you,” Nelay said.
Ziyid looked her in the eyes for the first time. “Maran has a talent for this. Would it be all right if she stayed here and helped me?”
Nelay looked at Maran, who was blushing. “If she wants to.”
Maran smiled. “Please.”
Nelay nodded.
Ziyid studied Nelay. “Rycus is my children’s cousin. He’s family. And you’ve done nothing but shown my family and me kindness. You don’t need to demand entrance. You are welcome here. Always.”
Nelay felt tears burning her eyes as Ziyid’s compassion chipped away at the hard shell she’d placed between herself and the emotions looming over her.
Without waiting for a response, Ziyid rose to her feet and moved on to the next patient.
“I’m going to be all right, Nelay,” Rycus said.
“Why did you hide one of the wounds from me?”
He took hold of her hand, his skin rough. “I just needed it cleaned. Nothing to worry you about.”
She let out a long breath. “Nashur thinks we should surrender.”
Rycus pushed himself up on his elbows. “You’re not considering it, are you?”
Nelay’s pulse thrummed in her wrist. “Maybe he’s right. The palace is overrun, and there’s not enough food for everyone.”
“Do you know what they’ll do to you?”
She let out a bitter laugh. “Does it matter in the end?”
“It matters to me.”
Nelay stared without actually seeing anything. The Clansmen who tried to assassinate us—what if they came in through the mine? Her mind grabbed hold of the thought as she remembered how enormous the mine had been.
An idea hit her suddenly with the force of a sandstorm. A move that could save them all. She was standing and moving toward the door before she’d made a conscious decision to do so.
“Nelay?” Rycus called. He stood and started limping after her.
“You should stay here,” she chided him.
He settled his baldric over his shoulders. “We wouldn’t have anyone left to fight if everyone who was hurt sat back.”
At the door, Nelay turned to pin Maran with a stare. “Remain here unless I call for you.”
The girl pushed herself to her feet. “Where are you going?”
Nelay held out her hand. “Just stay here.”
Maran nodded reluctantly.
Nelay slipped out after Rycus, then told him her plan as they walked. Soon they entered the war room, where she glanced at the group of commanders. “Where is High Commander Nashur?”
After receiving four different answers, she held up her hand for silence. “Find him. Now. See that he meets me at the observation tower.” Four solders split up to do her bidding. “Has anyone seen Yavish? Did she survive?”
“She is seeing to the palace’s catapults now, my queen,” a man spoke up.
“I need her as well.” Nelay trotted up the steps and emerged in the burning sun. She looked out over her city—the ruined buildings, the smoke, the bodies scattered everywhere. And watching her from the center of every archway were the three fairies, Nos, Siseth, and Tix. “It won’t be long now,” Siseth said darkly.
Before Nelay could think of a reply, they turned and flew away. She closed her eyes for a moment to calm herself, then opened them and studied the catapults built behind her walls. She noted the placement of each one, as well as the distance to the outer walls.
Rycus watched her patiently. Perhaps he, like Jezzel, had come to recognize when she was maneuvering the players of the field. Making everything fit.
Nashur joined her, his eyes bleary and red-rimmed. Then Yavish appeared, saying, “Queen Nelay, the only thing standing between the clans’ armies and ourselves is a handful of soldiers, a far-too-thin wall, and my catapults. You’d better have a good reason—”
“I have a plan,” Nelay interrupted. “It’s dangerous and terrible, but it just might work.” As she and Rycus related everything, the group fell quiet.
When they had finished, Nashur broke the silence. “You remind me of Zatal. Had he lived, the whole world would have bowed beneath your combined cunning.”
From her seat by the fire in the war room, Nelay watched the council plan their defenses, speak of contingency plans, and briefly discuss how the armies would regroup, retake one of the other cities, and from there, retake Idara.
It was in that council that she saw the majesty of men. They would willingly shed blood—even die—to protect their people. They were not just strong of body, but also of soul.
As night wore on into morning, exhaustion took hold of her and she fell asleep. Maran’s hand on her shoulder woke her. Nelay was in a strange bed, with sunlight streaming in from the window. She felt the heat of midday. “Where? How—” she began.
“You’re in Ziyid’s bed. And I’m pretty sure Jezzel drugged you,” Maran said softly. When Nelay’s expression hardened, Maran grunted. “You should thank her.”
Groggy, she sat up and found some milk and banal bread, which she ate hungrily.
“Hurry,” Maran said. “Nashur needs you.”
Nelay finished it quickly, then took a moment to clean herself up before heading out. She located Nashur in the war room. His face was tired, but his eyes were as sharp as the blades at his back. He nodded. “We’re ready. It will give the armies courage to see you.”
Rycus held out her baldrics, then helping her put it on since her back was still stiff. “Did you sleep?” she asked him.
“Not as much as you, but enough,” he said teasingly. He limped beside her as they left the war room. Jezzel, Hazar, and Ahzem took up positions around them.
Nelay shot Jezzel a look, which she returned with one of smug satisfaction. “You need me, Nelay. Remember that.”
She rolled her eyes. “Like I need a bug in my eye.”
Ignoring that, Jezzel studied Rycus’s limp. “You’re supposed to stab them, not the other way around.”
He nodded sagely. “If only you had told me before.”
Jezzel smirked. “I’m telling you now.”
At the doorway to the throne room, Nelay paused, watching as the surviving Idarans moved in a steady stream down the corridor that eventually led to the dungeons, and from there to the mine. Scattered around the palace were the remnants of Idara’s vast wealth—the precious gold pitchers and chests of coins, left behind in favor of blankets and food.
Jezzel nudged Nelay and she moved on, out the palace doors and into the bright sun and sweltering heat of the courtyard. Weaving through the soldiers, they climbed the wall’s steps and stood looking down at what remained of Idara’s armies. Their uniforms were no longer uniform, for their ranks had been forced to swell with citizens and Nelay’s Redeemed. There was a contingent of priestesses as well, their armor and eyes gleaming with the hunger to be proven.
“Do you want to say something, or shall I?” Nelay asked Rycus.
“You’ve a knack for it,” he replied.
She looked out over her army, her heart swelling with pride. She reached up and pulled free one of her curved swords.
“Here we go,” Jezzel whispered in a playfully mocking tone.
“These past few days, I have seen the indomitable will of Idara,” Nelay shouted, holding up the blade for them to see. “It is in your strength, true. But it is more than that. It is in your courage and goodness.”
She paced before them. “I saw it as you gathered around me to free the Idarans trapped in the city, knowing some of your brothers might not live to see the next sunrise, knowing you might not live to see the next sunrise.”
Nelay stopped and looked many of the soldiers in the eye. “I see it now. Though fear courses through your bodies, you do not stand down, you do not turn away.”
She pointed beyond the wall. “The Clansmen will charge the gate when they realize what we’re doing. They will try to stop us. We mustn’t let them.”
No one cheered—they couldn’t even if they wanted to, for surprise was a large part of their attack, and they must not make too much noise.
After a few more words of encouragement from Nelay, Nashur dismissed the soldiers.
“That is why you give the speeches,” Rycus commented from beside her.
“It’s kind of scary how good you are at that,” Jezzel said dryly as she handed Nelay a bucket of water.
Nelay dipped her veil inside, soaking it. More buckets of water were being passed around so the soldiers could dip their veils. Nelay tied hers up, the wet fabric feeling strange against her face. “And so it begins,” she said to no one in particular.
Nashur turned to her and Rycus. “You two will be split up. That way Idara stands a better chance of one of you surviving.”
Rycus straightened. “I’m not leaving her.”
Nashur watched him steadily. “And what could you do for her that her guards cannot?”
“He’s right, Rycus,” Nelay said gently. When her husband ground his teeth, she added, “This is about more than just us.”
“All right,” he grumbled. He kissed her forehead, something she was growing to love. Then he turned and went where Nashur told him to go.
Nelay waited, Yavish at her side. The ovat picked up, gusting and blowing hard. Nelay glanced at Nashur for confirmation. He nodded once. She lifted her hand, holding it long enough to be sure it couldn’t be missed.
Behind her, she heard the scuff of dozens of footsteps, the creak of the catapults, and the clack as the gears caught. She dropped her arm. The catapults thwacked and their load launched out, sailing over her city, beautiful still even after days of siege.
The boulders hit, causing an explosion of mud brick. Nelay was too far away to hear the chaos, but she raised her telescope and studied the broken buildings. There didn’t seem to be Clansmen scurrying about. That far from the palace, the buildings must have been abandoned.
Yavish called out adjustments, one at a time, then ordered the men operating the catapults to reset them and wait for her command.
Below, Nelay watched as the Clansmen streamed out of the beautiful homes closest to the palace, shrugging into their armor, holding their axes and shields while they looked about blearily in confusion. She wondered how long it would take them to realize what she was doing.
Within minutes, the buildings were in rubbles. Behind her, Nelay could hear the flaming arrows catch fire. They hissed as they passed above her, going so fast it appeared the fire had gone out. But as soon as they hit, the luminash inside those buildings exploded, burning so hot there was little smoke. The other catapults launched, smashing another building to pieces, until there were thirteen burning buildings.
For a moment, inexplicable sorrow consumed Nelay. She was destroying her beautiful city, hollowing it out to rubble and ruins. But she would rather see it destroyed than home to her enemies.
The Clansmen’s leaders were shouting their men into formations, but it was clear they didn’t understand what was happening. Now it was time for the second part of Nelay’s plan.
Yavish called for what little luminash they had to be unleashed on the buildings the Clansmen had taken as barracks—all of them just out of range of the Idaran bows.
There weren’t any kilns inside the palace, and no one had seen Kidin. The next part wouldn’t be as effective without the hot sand, but Nelay was betting it would work, for buildings burned easier than men.
Nashur ordered his soldiers to release their fire arrows. Driven by the ovat, the outer fires had picked up speed, smoke pumping from them in great billowing clouds. Now the smoke from the new fires chugged out, making Nelay’s throat sting and her eyes water.
Her view of the Clansmen grew hazy, but she saw enough to know they finally understood. They were trapped between a fire and a wall. Even if the flames didn’t kill them, the smoke would.
They charged, their battering rams slamming into the gates. But they didn’t use the rolling shed to protect themselves, and the Immortal archers picked them off, one at a time.
The smoke grew thicker, and Nelay pressed the barely damp veil to her mouth and fought the urge to cough. Below her, Clansmen broke rank, snatching ladders and thrusting them against the wall.
One swung up in front of Nelay, the hooks at the top of the ladder biting into the mortar. Two Immortals tried to pull out the hooks, but they weren’t budging. Jezzel pushed Nelay behind her and then stood shoulder to shoulder with Hazar and Ahzem, their swords drawn. An enormous Clansman launched himself up and over the wall, his axe chopping down, killing an Immortal instantly. He wielded his axe in short, inelegant, untrained chops that cut into her Immortals as more Clansmen vaulted over, pressing forward.
“Get that ladder!” Jezzel cried. “Or we’ll be overrun!”
Nelay felt a surge of anger that such unrefined weapons would be allowed to harm her Immortals. The enormous Clansman, easily twice her size, locked gazes with her. He said something in Clannish, but she couldn’t hear it over the blood rushing in her ears.
He charged toward her. Jezzel tried to block him, but she couldn’t disengage from her own battle. His fir
st swing was uncannily fast, too fast for Nelay or her blades to block it. She let her instincts and training take over, throwing herself back and slashing her blades under his shield, toward his soft middle.
When he let out a groan, she knew she’d hit her mark. She twisted her wrists to come back around, her eyes trained on his axe as he repositioned. He swung at her again, but his swing lacked the speed of his first two strikes. She stabbed his unprotected arm, her blade severing the tendons and spraying blood.
The axe fell from his fingers. He stumbled back from her, his badly injured arm held across his bleeding middle. In his other hand, he still held his shield. She saw the grim determination in his eyes. He was going to die, but he wasn’t going to stop fighting. Nelay swung her blades at his side. He blocked with his shield and rushed her. Light on her feet, she sidestepped him, cutting into his other side. He fell.
She was already spinning for the next threat, but the Immortals had managed to remove the ladder. The last two Clansmen were backed against the wall, fighting a losing battle.
Nelay felt something wet on her face and wiped at it with the back of her arm. Blood. Her eyes shifted to the enormous man at her feet, who was watching her, his gaze full of bloodlust. He didn’t try to block her as she thrust a blade down into his chest. The two remaining Clansmen looked at the half dozen Idarans and jumped from the wall.
“You all right?” Jezzel asked Nelay.
Trying to get the images of death out of her head, Nelay nodded, the smoke causing her to cough. Jezzel handed her a bucket, dripping with fresh water. After Nelay had dunked her veil again, she held it over her mouth and breathed through her nose.
Suddenly, she realized the battering ram had gone silent. Why had the Clansmen stopped trying to get out of the city? She peered between the parapets and squinted through the thickening smoke. The Clansmen were soaking the gate with liquid.
“What are they doing?” Jezzel asked.
“Their weapon!” Hazar cried.
Nelay saw a flash of silver and looked closer at the gate. Fairies. She grabbed a telescope from an Immortal and peered down. These were different from any fairies she had seen before—pale blue and silver, their wings like fine glass with angular, flower patterns trapped beneath.