The window was open. Danjin cursed the servants. How had they let this happen? Mischief might get out—could be out there clinging to the wall right now, oblivious to the risk of falling.

He ought to call the servants and get someone else to deal with it, but he found he could not stop himself walking toward the opening. Cold air surrounded him. He moved to the edge. Felt his toes curl over the sill, chilled by the wind.

I am on the brink, he thought. Then he frowned. Why aren’t I wearing shoes?

He looked beyond his feet at the ground far, far below, and everything began to spin.

Suddenly he was standing at the base of the White Tower, looking up. He ought to have felt better now that he was outside on good, firm ground, but this only terrified him more. The tower loomed over him, leaned over him. Too late, he saw the cracks form.

He saw it crumple, saw the fragments fall toward him. He could not move. Rubble pelted down upon him, beat him to the ground, covered him, smothered him. He fought the terror. Told himself to lie still…

“Danjin.”

He felt hope. If he could hear someone, perhaps he was close enough to the surface that they could dig him out. His throat was dry and full of dust, and he could not make a noise.

Patience. There can be no fast way out of this.

But he must also hurry. He had to decide how to use his remaining strength carefully…

“Danjin. Wake up.”

A hand grasped his arm. Rescue!

“Danjin!”

He woke with a start and took in his room, the blankets wound tightly around his body—but not his feet—and his wife staring down at him.

“What?”

Silava straightened and placed her hands on her hips.

“There is an army outside.”

An army? He untangled himself from the blankets and followed her to one of the windows. This side of his house faced one of the main streets of the city. He looked down and stared in surprise at the lines of troops marching past.

It was strangely thrilling to see them. Hanian soldiers were always visible in the city, from the clean roads of the noble families to the low streets of the rougher parts, but never this many at once. The steady tread of their sandals sounded so confident and organized.

“They’re not wasting time,” he muttered to himself.

“For what?”

“At the meeting last night, Juran announced that the Pentadrian army has entered Sennon and declared their intention to rid the world of Circlians,” he explained. “It’s been so long since Hania faced a military threat. A few nobles expressed their doubt that our army was up to it. This will convince them.”

She looked down at the troops. “Where are they going?”

He considered. “Probably to the Temple to seek the gods’ blessing.”

“All of them at once?”