“You think I won’t do it?” the General screams. “That I won’t kill this scudding traitor? Drop it now or he’s dead.” He’s still got one arm looped beneath Reed’s neck, positioned so that his heart is behind Reed’s shoulder.

Reed will be angry at me for not aiming for the General’s head—for not taking them both out. But I take the only shot I can live with.

My bullet glances the meaty part of Reed’s arm and buries into the General’s chest. He roars, releasing Reed. My brother turns, trying to tackle him, but the General swipes with his blade, catching Reed in his already injured arm. They both collapse, Reed to his knees, the General against the wall.

I race to Reed. There is blood everywhere. His arm hangs limp, his shirt drenched. He slides his legs out from beneath him, rolls back to look at the ceiling, grimacing.

I twist back to the General, bring the rifle up again. Aim.

But before I can fire, an ear-piercing screech fills the room. Something rushes me from the balcony, a blur of dark feathers. I lose hold of the weapon as talons rake my face, and I drop to my knees. A wetness drips through my lashes.

I glance up, wincing through the pain.

The General is still braced against the wall, perhaps an arm’s length from me, the falcon on his shoulder. He glares at me down the length of his blade. His leather robes are dark near the patch that reads GENERAL. There’s a small hole in the material, the mag-rifle shot embedded in his skin below. The shot should be fatal, but maybe he got lucky. Maybe he’ll live just long enough to take me with him.

“Why?” he asks. “Why you two?” His eyes dart to Reed.

“We’re blood. The strongest of bonds.” I blink rapidly. Have I lost an eye, like the Prime? I don’t think so, but the pain is white-hot and my vision is wrong, obscured by red.

“I don’t understand. Reed served me loyally for years, only to betray me . . . why? To claim Bedrock when the Verdant is all that will save us?” His breathing is labored, the words a trial to get out.

“You’ll never understand. You wear those stars on your neck and think it makes you better than everyone else. It’s not about being better. It’s about being the same, being family in blood or spirit. Being willing to die for those people to secure a better future.”

“Then you die for all the wrong reasons—fight for the wrong reasons.” The General pushes off the wall, steps nearer. “You are weak. The water is fading. A ruler has to be ruthless, and I am marked as worthy. I wear the stars of our gods around my neck. I alone can save the wastes!”