Serina crouched low behind a small outcropping, studying the cliffs for any hint of her shooters. She didn’t see anything. Good.

The boat was nearing; it was close enough now that Serina could hear the rhythmic pounding of the steam engine. She couldn’t see onto the deck yet. But soon.

The engines slowed.

Slowly, the boat approached the pier.

A crowd of people stood on deck. Serina’s heart moved to her throat and started to choke her. Three rows, ten deep. But not of prisoners. There were no women aboard.

Asa had sent troops. He’d seen Nero’s signal. Every hope she’d had that this was a regular prison boat evaporated. The shriek of the boat hitting the pier split the quiet apart. Smoke still hung in the air, a haze that gave the sunlight a strange quality, like looking through dirty glass.

“What do we do?” Mirror whispered. “There are so many of them.”

“We stick to the plan,” Serina replied, her heart sinking. “Markswomen first. Then—then we fight.”

Serina had hoped, prayed, it would be easy… a few sailors, a couple of guards. A quick victory.

The troops jumped onto the pier. Thirty men on the concrete slab—they overwhelmed it. Two of them tied off the boat. They all held firearms. These were not sailors, not like the men who’d brought Nomi and Maris from Bellaqua. These men were prepared for trouble.

Before the soldiers could head for the path, the women hidden in the cliffs began their assault. The gunshots echoed against the stone, louder than the crash of waves.

Several soldiers fell where they stood. Others lifted their weapons and returned fire.

Curls of smoke rose from the firearms. The cacophony swelled.

Blood screamed in Serina’s ears. Her girls, Val… they were up there. They were targets. She prayed the cliffs would keep them safe, keep them invisible.

Bullets flashed. Several dinged against the pocked concrete. Chunks of rock crumbled, falling back onto the pier.

More soldiers fell. Serina tried to count—four bodies, no, maybe six. Ten? The smoke and the chaos blinded her. Beside her, Mirror trembled with nerves.

Serina’s hand was slick on her knife. Such a small weapon against bullets and brute strength. But there were more women waiting in the shadows behind her than there were soldiers. And that boat meant freedom.

Gradually, the gunfire from the cliffs slowed. Then, abruptly, stopped.

No more bullets.

Serina swallowed. There were still at least fifteen soldiers standing. Maybe more. And they had plenty of bullets.

The men on the pier realized they were no longer being targeted. They paused, waiting.

Serina raised her knife and roared.

TWENTY

NOMI

NOMI HELD ON to the horse’s mane with both hands, newly dizzy by the height and the grief pounding in her chest.