Page 143 of The Dragon's Promise

I couldn’t do this alone.

As if in response, there came a rumble from the mountains. I rocked back on my heels. The demonfire too shuddered, and then it roared back up, higher and fiercer than ever.

I looked up. With the trees gone leafless, I had a clear view of the Holy Mountains.

Shiori, the demons murmured through the wind. Let us free.

Could they help me? Would they help me?

The wind whistled against the dagger on my hip. All I needed to do was offer a taste of my blood, and they would come. One quick gash across my arm would do the trick.

But I couldn’t find the courage.

My hesitation cost me. Demonfire sprang in every direction, flames flaring higher than the trees. It came at me without mercy, swelling and roaring like some monstrous beast. No matter where I ran, it followed, destroying everything and everyone in its path.

Andahai had been right. It was a trap. The demonfire wouldn’t rest until it had me.

With every bit of strength I possessed, I let go of Takkan’s hand and shoved him away from me. My betrothed was strong and steady, but I’d caught him by surprise. He stumbled back, out of the demonfire’s range.

A wall of flames shot up, separating us. Fire looped around me, trapping me inside and keeping Takkan and my brothers out.

As long as I lived, I would never forget the anguish in Takkan’s eyes as he stood on the other side of the fire. His gaze passed over me and ran along the width and height of the flames, as if gauging them for some way through.

There isn’t one, I thought. Takkan, you mad fool—get out of here!

Priests and priestesses emerged from behind the smoke, charging for the wall of demonfire. For me. Takkan’s arrows went wild, and my brothers raised their bows to join him.

Bodies fell. Forward, backward, on their sides. Blue-feathered arrows protruding from their backs.

But our enemies were too many. And as soon as the cultists passed the wall, slipping through as if it were made of water, not fire, no knife or arrow could follow.

My birds and I attacked valiantly together as they advanced. I scored a gash across the abdomen of a priest, stabbed a priestess’s collarbone, narrowly missed another’s heart. But we were only delaying the inevitable.

From behind, someone grabbed my wrist and wrenched my dagger out of my grasp. A priestess swung her spear at my back, and my bones made a horrible cracking sound as I slammed forward onto my stomach. A barrage of kicks came at my ribs, and my chin banged against the hard-packed dirt, my mouth so full of filth I couldn’t even squeak in pain.

“Where’s your magic now, bloodsake?” they jeered as my concentration broke and the paper birds fell lifeless at my sides.

“This is for Guiya.” A kick to my back.

“For Janinha.”

“For Kiata.”

Pain came in an explosion of white, and my entire world went blank before snapping back into strident color.

I bit down on my lip, tasting blood. They goaded me to scream, to curse or cry out. But I didn’t make a sound. These zealots couldn’t kill me. Not by beating me to death, anyway. The only acceptable way for me to die was by demonfire so they could collect my precious ashes.

“So full of spirit, Shiori’anma,” said a priestess, holding up her spear to catch her breath. “In another life, perhaps you might have joined us.”

I wasn’t listening. My lips were clamped together, and one of the tiny paper birds Qinnia had folded blew past my cheek.

Awaken, I called out to it. Help me.

As its wings fluttered, I called out to the rest of the tiny birds. They were the size of spiders, and Qinnia had been right: I did need soldiers of all sizes. Soldiers small enough to fly unnoticed.

Kiki would say I was out of my mind, and maybe I was. But I was no longer afraid.

I’ve changed my mind, I told the tiny birds. Tell the mountains I’ve changed my mind.

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