Riv sat in her chair, stunned by what she was seeing, blood everywhere, Ben-Elim snarling, screaming, the White-Wings in the centre of the room forming a loose square, not knowing what to do, who to attack or defend. One of them gathered his wits and shouted a command, and then they were making for Israfil, the Lord Protector.

No, this is wrong, the whole world is going insane.

Shapes surged through the open window, more Ben-Elim, ones that Riv recognized from the circle that had formed around her as she’d sparred with Kol, just before she’d collapsed.

Kol was struggling with Kushiel, the two of them spiralling in the air, wings beating furiously, Kushiel gripping Kol’s wrist with the knife, pummelling at Kol’s face with his other fist. Ben-Elim that had swept in through the window grabbed Kushiel, one hacking at his wing with a sword. A scream, a burst of feathers and Kushiel was falling, Kol ripping his knife free, stabbing it into Kushiel’s torso as they fell together, again and again and again.

A hand on Riv’s arm: Aphra, with Dalmae behind her, then Bleda and his men. All of them were staring dumbfounded, their cold-faces forgotten. Other figures swept into the room, Ben-Elim, Lorina’s White-Wings, some of Aphra’s hundred too, all with weapons drawn, joining the fray. Riv glimpsed someone in cloak and cowl.

‘Come, Riv,’ Aphra said. ‘While we can.’

‘No,’ Riv snarled, ‘we have to help Israfil.’ She surged to her feet, too quickly, her head spun; she swayed, stumbled forwards, pulling out of Aphra’s grip, threading her way through the bloodshed and chaos.

Israfil was trading blows with two Ben-Elim, stabbed one through the shoulder as he rose higher, the other swinging and catching his ankle.

Riv skirted the White-Wings trying to reach Israfil, who was beset by Ben-Elim from above. She crashed into two Ben-Elim, sent them both tumbling to the ground and she reeled away, saw Kol fly at Israfil, slamming into the Lord Protector from behind, slicing at a wing, Israfil crying out and falling, crashing to the ground. Kol landed behind him, Israfil trying to rise, one wing twisted and limp, a spray of blood splattering his white feathers. Kol stamped on Israfil’s sword hand, the crack of a wrist breaking, and grabbed Israfil’s hair, yanking his head high, resting his knife blade against the Lord Protector’s throat.

Riv yelled and ran at them, snatching up a short-sword from a dead White-Wing as she ran, raising her blade for a swing that would split Kol’s head. Kol heard her scream and stared at her, part-screamed, part-laughed a feral challenge back at her.