The Chancellor’s nostrils flare and he shouts. Because of the barrier, I can’t hear it. But his men raise their arms in unison. I clench, my muscles tightening in angst as I watch them aim magic at the barrier. The cracks on its glossy surface spread. Their arms lower. He yells and they fire again. It’s been going on like this for days. But each “aim and fire” twists the corkscrew in my chest. That dome breaks, then what? I clench my fist.

I fight.

Outnumbered and all. I picture Moms’s face. There’s no other way. The General’s demise must have reached the Chancellor’s ears while I was in East Row. He is always poised, pensive, stoic. Three days ago, when they started this siege, they were collected, organized. But now, his reddened complexion, his corded throat, say the orders he’s shouting are rooted in exhaustion and frustration, not control. Which I intend to exploit.

I wish I could have seen his face when he learned that hundreds of my people still exist. That some actually got away when he showed up to unify the tribes under him. And that they’ve been hiding inside Yiyo for generations, their magic fractured, a wisp of what it used to be. But even still, resiliently hopeful, strong, and ready.

A twig snaps behind me and I turn to find Jhamal pressing in beside me. He’s no more than a breath away, a wall at my back. The siege glows orange in his ebony eyes.

“They won’t break through,” he says.

They will. I’m sure of it. But I swallow the words. I don’t want his hope to falter. Hope is its own kind of magic. But Jhamal studies my eyes and finds the truth. The lines deepen on his face and I squeeze his hand in reassurance.

He gestures for everyone to come together and hundreds in shining gold armor emerge from the shadows. They surround us, eyes flicking between the two of us.

“It appears the barrier will break today,” Jhamal says, broadening his shoulders, forlorn shadowing his expression.

“It will,” I say. “But we can exploit the Chancellor at his most vulnerable point.”

“The island is our home,” says a Ghizoni clad in armor with bear-claw insignia perched on his shoulders. “We know these paths better than anyone. We should take cover in the thickest leaves and let them come to us. Ambush them.” He tightens his grip on his curved blade.

“So we line up here,” a girl with a braided topknot says, digging the tip of her shield into the ground, drawing a picture of the plan.

I glance for another view of the Chancellor. The barrier’s thinning with every attack, magic sizzling its dulled surface. Rage is burned onto the Chancellor’s skin. I’m the true threat. The opposition to his power. What if…

“I’m the carrot. Dangle me.”