Hassan could understand all too well the frustration of sitting idle. He was grateful that Hector wanted to fight for him—he felt better having his friend at his side.

His mother and the rest of the army had already taken their positions throughout the city. Reclaiming Nazirah would require several coordinated attacks, but the main thrust of their assault would be on the palace itself. They would surround it and force Lethia to draw her soldiers in while the rest of Hassan’s mother’s army marched on the city. Once they secured Ozmandith Road, Hassan and his squadron would lead the charge into the palace.

The wait was excruciating. Hassan had nothing to do but consider everything that could go wrong. The loss of their Graces was a blow to the rebels. Without the enhanced strength of the Legionnaires, they had lost most of their advantage. Luckily, the explosives and smoke bombs Zareen and her alchemists had created before they lost their Graces would still work. Hassan hoped it would be enough.

As if she could sense his thoughts, Khepri took Hassan’s hand.

It was then that they saw it. Red smoke, bright against the gray sky, billowing up from Ozmandith Road.

“It’s time,” Khepri said to the others.

“Good luck,” Ephyra said from the corner of the room. She and Illya would remain in the Library, away from the fighting.

Hassan and his squadron moved swiftly, bracing themselves against the downpour. Khepri led them up the road, where a mile out from the palace gates he could see his mother’s soldiers defending the road from Herati footmen.

“We need to get closer,” Khepri said, her gaze focused on the far end of Ozmandith Road.

She and the others formed a tight knot around Hassan as they pushed through to the road.

Just a few hundred feet from the gates, a loud boom cracked through the air. Someone shoved Hassan to the ground. Panic flared in his chest as the world spun around him. Dust and debris pelted down.

Hassan’s mind went white, his ears ringing. He lay there, pinned and motionless, until he felt Khepri sit up, seizing Hassan by the elbow.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her voice sounding strangely muffled, though she was only inches away.

Hassan sat up in the mud, head swimming. “What happened?”

On his other side, Hector looked up toward the gates. “It looks like your aunt’s soldiers have some kind of explosive. Bright white flames.”

“Godfire,” Hassan said. And, if he had to guess, chrism oil. A trick that Lethia must have learned from him, when he’d toppled the lighthouse.

“Well, whatever it is, it worked,” Hector said. “Your mother’s soldiers are falling back.”

“Lethia knows she’s beaten,” Hassan said. “This is nothing but a desperate gambit.”

“Prince Hassan!” Faran emerged through the fray, mud-splattered and limping.

Hassan leapt to his feet. “Faran!”