There, framed by the flames of death, was a squad of three men in red uniforms. They carried swords.

Surely they wouldn’t kill children, Matisse thought, her hand shaking as it held its lantern.

Then she saw the glint in the soldiers’ eyes. A dangerous, grim look. They advanced on her group. Yes, they would kill children. Elantrian children, at least.

“Run,” Matisse said, her voice quavering. Yet she knew the children could never move faster than these men. “Run! Go and—”

Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, a ball of light zipped from the sky. Ashe moved between the men, spinning around their heads, distracting them. The men cursed, waving their swords about in anger, looking up at the seon.

Which is why they completely missed seeing Dashe charge them.

He took them from the side, coming through a shadowed alleyway in New Elantris. He knocked down one soldier, sword flashing, then spun toward the other two as they cursed, turning away from the seon.

We need to go! “Move!” she cried again, urging Idotris and the others to keep going. The children backed away from the sword fight, heading out into the night, following Idotris’s light. Matisse stayed near the back, turning with concern toward her father.

He wasn’t doing well. He was an excellent warrior, but the soldiers had been joined by two other men, and Dashe’s body was weakened by being Elantrian. Matisse stood, holding her lantern in trembling fingers, uncertain what to do. The children were sniffling in the dark behind her, their retreat painfully slow. Dashe fought bravely, his rusty sword replaced by one that Sarene must have sent. He knocked aside blade after blade, but he was getting surrounded.

I have to do something! Matisse thought, stepping forward. At that moment, Dashe turned, and she could see cuts on his face and body. The look of dread she saw in his eyes made her freeze up.

“Go,” he whispered, his voice lost in the clamor, but his lips moving. “Run!”

One of the soldiers rammed his sword through Dashe’s chest.

“No!” Matisse screamed. But that only drew their attention as Dashe collapsed, quivering on the ground. The pain had become too much for him.

The soldiers looked at her, then began to advance. Dashe had taken down more than one of them, but there were three left.

Matisse felt numb.

“Please, my lady!” Ashe floated down beside her, hovering urgently. “You must run!”

Father is dead. No, worse—he’s Hoed. Matisse shook her head, forcing herself to stay alert. She’d seen tragedy as a beggar. She could keep going. She had to.

These men would find the children. The children were too slow. Unless … She looked up at the seon beside her, noting the glowing Aon at his center. It meant “light.”