The Imperial aquila is made purely by the shapes of the city. It has habitation towers for claws, and avenues for wings. Its body is made of memorials, and its twin heads are spires. The murmur of voices and turning of papers fades away. All sound does, save for the cherubim humming far above me. I lean closer to read the names of the avenues and of the buildings, and as I do, my scars begin to burn more fiercely. Not just my face, but my throat and chest. My legs and arms.

My hands. They are the worst. The most painful. It is as though they are aflame all over again. Ablaze. I pull off my gloves just to allow the air to touch my skin, though I am dimly aware of Castanne raising his voice and then Ravara doing the same. I ignore them both. I ignore everything, save for the burning, and the humming of the cherubim. Save for my hands. I turn them and look at the scars lining and discolouring my palms, made by the melting of Adelynn’s sword on the Last of Days. And in them, too, I see a shape. I cross my hands as if I am about to make the sign of the aquila, and every single line and every discolouration matches up with the map beneath my hands. Everything save for one mark on the inside of my left palm.

Right where the eagle’s heart would be.

‘I already had the answer,’ I say numbly.

At my words, sound filters back in and I become aware of the others all gathered around me. All making the same mark as me. They are all looking at the map, save for Ravara, whose amber eyes are shining. She mouths two silent words, meant for nobody but me.

Thank you.

‘What district is this?’ Elivia asks. Her voice is possessed of a softness I have not heard since we first stood together in her chambers aboard the Unbroken Vow.

‘The fifty-fourth,’ Castanne replies. ‘It is a burned district.’

Ravara looks at him. ‘Burned,’ she says. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It was struck by debris from the fleet battle in the wake of the Rift,’ Castanne says. ‘When the enemy came in great numbers. The district was on fire for days. Perhaps weeks. We had no course but to isolate it and let it burn.’ He shakes his head. ‘It ravaged the surface structures. Killed tens of thousands.’

‘But what lies beneath likely remains intact,’ Silvera says. ‘District fifty-four was not always named so.’ He reaches out, stopping just short of touching the map. ‘It is old. Old enough that once it had a name and not a number.’

‘And what was the name?’ Elivia asks.

‘Canderum,’ Silvera says, his fingertips lingering over the map. ‘It means light.’

Ravara

RAVARA