Millie shoots out the front door, now spitting black smoke, and she swoops up into the night sky. The windwender stumbles out after her, shouting curses, his hands and neck a bloodied mess of raw skin. I grip Saengo’s wrist, pulling her with me as we back away. With a glance at the stables, which have yet to catch fire, I gauge how quickly we can reach our drakes.

We can’t leave Jonyah behind, though. Cursing, I lift my dagger again just as the third shaman spills out from the teahouse.

“Which one is it?” he shouts, voice ragged. He tries to spit the bitter taste of smoke from his mouth.

The windwender grimaces with pain as he says, “Who cares? It’s got to be one of them. Just kill them all.”

“Works for me,” the other shaman says. Then it strikes me what he’s wearing. His clothes are singed and darkened by smoke, but the light from the burning teahouse illuminates the brooch pinned at the collar of his tunic. Two crossed swords.

Kendara’s informant. But that would mean this isn’t a random attack. This was a trap. They came here looking for the Shadow. For Kendara.

I nudge Saengo behind me and set aside my confusion. Even amid the heat pouring from the teahouse, a cold stillness spreads through my arms, my legs. Every bruise and abrasion fades. The chill of battle, Kendara calls it, when the mind and the heart go quiet and the body’s instincts take over. I hadn’t understood what she meant until now. My heartbeat stops trying to shatter my ribs. Everything becomes very simple.

Us or them.

I hurl my dagger. It strikes the third shaman in the throat. The windwender startles as his companion’s blood spatters his face. With a gurgle, the shaman crumples. Before he even hits the ground, the windwender wrenches the dagger free and flings it back. I duck the blade easily, diving for his legs. With a cry, he topples over, his cheek hitting the ground with a crack.

I climb onto his back, trying to get a grip around his neck to snap it. His skin and hair are too slippery with blood from Millie’s attack. He bucks and rolls, his fist glancing off my jaw before I can dodge. I shake away the pain, but then I’m suddenly weightless. Wind hurls me through the air. I shield my head as my body slams into the dirt. I curl onto my side, stiff and hurting.

Through the hair that’s come loose from my braid, I see him heading for the stables. My nails claw through the dirt as I pull myself up.

“Saengo,” I shout, struggling to my feet. “He’s getting away.”

When she doesn’t respond, I look for her. She’s lying on the ground. The dagger hilt juts grotesquely from the center of her chest.