My mind returns in a single moment of clarity.
Xarion.
My purpose replaces the rage roiling inside me as I focus on him and the horn calling through the chaos. The Leymak are within the city. I have to get him to the tunnel.
Wiping the blood from my brow, I turn and look into his eyes. “I’m here,” I assure him. He nods, his face twisted with strain. “I’m here with you.”
Taking his hand, I push through the double doors. But before we disappear into the darkness of the stacks, I glace one last time over my shoulder—
—at the ruin and betrayal and death.
Narcos roll a large copper machine down the street. Steam billows from a pneumatic tube on the apparatus as it pumps. With a high whir it builds momentum, then unleashes dozens of arrows. They soar through the air, arc, and rain down on the army of Shythe. I bow my head.
Then we’re gone.
Chapter Sixteen
Lunia sparks a dome of Charge in her palm and touches a copper coil held in a vinegar-filled vase. With a snap, a direct current travels up the wire to illuminate a glass bulb, brightening the dank underground tunnel.
The Narcos’ power may be more sought after by the scientists for their automata and machinery, but when it comes to darkness—utter and complete—the Shythe chase it away like no other.
Dropping my head in my palms, I try to gather my thoughts. The scene of the Pharos attacking our city replays in my mind, and a shiver runs over my skin as another, similar image takes its place.
The vision Candra sent me that day on the barge.
“Star.” Xarion kneels before me, takes my hands from my face. “Let’s get this off of you,” he says low, then begins to wipe the smeared blood from my face with the hem of his robe.
His touch is soft and comforting. And his shadowed green eyes say more than words as they hold mine. There is no coming back to Alexandria. He must be struggling not to storm from our hidden tunnel, to go and defend his family against the traitors—his once-devoted guardians.
I should have prevented this.
It’s the one thought that shines clearest in the darkness.
“Xarion,” I say, cupping his hands in mine. “I’m sorry—this is my fault. I could have—”
“No, it’s not.” He presses his lips together hard. “I should have handed myself over to Octavian months ago. All that he wants is the throne.”
I’m about to argue when Phoenix says, “We can dispute faults and martyring later.” His bright gaze drops to the spot where Xarion’s hand holds mine. “We need to keep moving.”
Anger flares, slithering up the walls of my chest like a trapped viper. I bolt up and whirl on him. “You had to have known about this, Phoenix,” I snarl. “How could you not?”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. He pulls his back straight, towering over me. “I don’t think you want to pass judgment at this time, Star”—he glances at Xarion—“as it seems we’ve all got secrets to unearth.”
I glower at him, at his threat. I’m not so stupid to think my friends wouldn’t discover my feelings for Xarion. But the rage in his fiery eyes conveys the loathing he feels toward those feelings.
I nod. “Understood. But tell me how the Narcos were able to disobey a command? How they can attack their home.” I fist my hands.
Phoenix’s features soften, and he sighs. “I don’t know.”
I open my mouth to demand again, but halt. He must be as upset as I am about the Narcos turning on our master. Even more so—they’re his kindred. “I’m sorry, Phoenix.”
He waves off my apology. “It’s forgotten.”
Lunia steps between us. “Try it,” she says, inclining her head toward Xarion. “Let the pharaoh give you a command.”
My head whips around as Xarion stands. “I command you to wave your hand again, Phoenix.”
It’s a weak command, but one that the Narco before me shouldn’t be able to ignore—yet, his hands, glowing with the bright red of his power, remain at his sides.