A silence followed as they considered her words and the prospect of working with buskers, who sold magic rather than protected it. Saxony could see them weighing up her call to arms with their lives. It wasn’t an easy decision to make, but whether they acted or not, the lives of their people would still be on the line. At least with Saxony, they’d have a chance at surviving.

“You are not a Liege,” Lionus said, looking at Saxony like she was a strange creature.

I know, Saxony thought. I’ll never be one of you.

It was the bane of her recent days and made her thirst for the time when it was just her, Karam, Tavia, and Wesley, and she had some kind of authority.

“You are not a Liege,” Lionus said again. “But you speak as one.”

Saxony didn’t dare to breathe.

“I will follow you,” Lionus said. “I will send members of my Kin in Volo to help you create this vision of peace and fight our common enemy.”

“I will follow too,” the other Volen Liege said.

And then the Wrenyi Liege. And then each of the Uskhanyans, again and again until all eleven of them had pledged themselves.

It would mean dozens, maybe a hundred more Crafters on their side.

Saxony bowed her head in thanks. There were no words to describe the way her heart pounded with gratitude in that moment, knowing that these leaders of magic had put their faith in her. She was giving them something to fight for. She was giving them the chance of a new age where they would never have to be scared again. She was giving them hope and they took it gladly.

Dante Ashwood was trying to build a new world, but now Saxony could build a world of her own. One where her people could truly be united, truly be safe, and truly be free.

8

WESLEY

Creije was turning to ash.

The tall rainbow-stretched buildings still stood, the streets still gleamed in a glorious sun-flooded maze, and the sky remained bright and endless in the day, while shadowed in misdeed whenever the moon hit the air.

It looked very much the same, but so much that the once-great capital had stood for was disappearing. All that it was and hoped to be, every dream the tourists brought to the city or from it, seemed to be chipping away.

In this district, the fourth they had taken, the floating railways that once coiled through the cobblestone were now desolate and empty, the thrum of jugglers and street performers giving way to a silence that made Wesley’s toes curl. The city was dying in every way that counted.

Only three more districts stood.