He reminded her of Commander Ricci; his eyes were full of the same hatred, the same disbelief. Even now, even as she shoved her blade into his stomach, he didn’t see how these women could possibly be a threat.

She and Anika showed him exactly how.

The last thing he saw as he fell was Anika’s grimace, her face streaked with blood, as she slashed his throat.

THIRTY-SIX

NOMI

NOMI SKIDDED DOWN the hallway to a long, twisting stair. Down two stories, to the ground floor. She could hear Maris panting behind her. They emerged into a long corridor dimly lit with sconces. Nomi listened for another shout or the sounds of conflict. Where was Serina?

“Nomi,” Maris said. “Look.”

A thick streak of blood arced along the wall like a garish arrow, pointing the way. Nomi ran. Around the corner, a body sprawled across the hallway, a pool of blood congealing beneath him. The soldier stared sightlessly at the ceiling. Nomi swallowed down bile. She carefully stepped over him, Maris sticking close behind her.

There were more bodies. They became a macabre trail, leading Nomi and Maris on. Soon, the sounds of fighting filtered back to them. Nomi prayed she wouldn’t come across Serina’s body.

Maris found a firearm in the arms of a dead soldier. Nomi snatched a dagger next to a dead woman in prison blue.

No living soul appeared. The rooms they passed—luxurious sitting rooms, an airy art gallery, a library—were all empty. Abandoned.

The next hall was filled with bodies, several deep in some places. Nomi skidded to a halt, realizing for the first time that she was still barefoot. The carpet was damp, soaked with blood. Beyond the carnage, the terrace opened to a wide patio. She could see figures moving, hear gunshots.

Here was the battle.

To her surprise, Maris charged forward without hesitation, picking her way to clear ground. Nomi followed, wishing she’d put on her boots so she wouldn’t have to feel the slick, rubbery give of bodies beneath her feet.

They stopped at the outskirts of the fighting. Nomi craned for a view of Serina, but there was too much movement, too much chaos. It was difficult to see who was winning, if anyone.

She wanted to climb up on a table and scream that Asa was dead, that they could stop fighting, but she knew it wouldn’t matter. She was as likely to get shot as have anyone listen. Still, she had to do something.

Suddenly, Maris darted forward. Nomi watched, eyes wide, as the former Grace planted her feet, raised her weapon, and fired into the crowd. A soldier collapsed, revealing Helena. The girl was staggering, bent forward from the waist, one hand grasping the other—bloody—shoulder.

“Helena!” Maris screamed. She grabbed her and pulled her away from the fighting.

Helena wrapped her good arm around Maris’s neck and buried her head in her shoulder.