Near the edge of the patio, where sand kicked up over the tiles, two round wrought-iron tables lay on their sides like shields. Nomi grabbed Maris’s arm. “Look,” she said. “Let’s get her over there.”

Together, Nomi and Maris helped Helena stagger to the tables.

On the other side, several other injured women sprawled in the sand. A man crouched over them. He stood quickly at the sound of newcomers. Nomi faltered, shock waves reverberating through her.

“Renzo!”

Her brother was disheveled and dirty, with a scrape down his neck and his bloody shirtsleeves rolled to the elbow. He helped them sit Helena down. As soon as she was settled Nomi stood up and heaved her fist at Renzo’s arm.

“Why aren’t you on your way to Azura?” she asked wildly. “You were supposed to be safe!”

He rolled his eyes. “You snuck out in the middle of the night to avenge our parents.” He gestured past the tables. “And Serina’s leading an army. What did you expect me to do?”

“Where’s Malachi?” Nomi asked. “Did he come with you?”

If he was here, now that Asa was dead…

But Renzo shook his head. “He left Lanos when I did. He went back to Porto Rosa for Dante.”

“I hope he found him.”

A shout caught Nomi’s attention. She peeked over the edge of a table. It looked as if the fight might be slackening. There were far more women standing than men. The soldiers were faltering. Some ran down the beach and into the water, swimming their retreat.

Nomi thought of Asa, broken on a tiled patio on the other side of the palazzo. These men had no leader, no one shouting orders or sending for reinforcements.

With a glance at Maris, who was oblivious to anything but Helena, Nomi ventured onto the patio. Renzo went with her. “I’ve been grabbing the injured women and trying to get them out of the way,” he said. “I’m not a fighter. I don’t know—I don’t know how to do what Serina’s done.”

As they crept forward, they stepped carefully, walking the maze of clear tile between bodies. The moonlight turned the splashes of blood silver.

They found Serina in the center of the remnants of battle, knife raised, watching as the last soldier darted toward the waves. She was panting, sagging on her feet, her hand streaked to the wrist with blood, but she was still standing. She was alive.

Tears streamed down Nomi’s face.

The night settled back around them, the echoes of gunshots fading.

Serina looked up and froze, mouth open, when she saw Nomi.

Nomi threw her arms around her big sister.

They held on to each other, so tightly, as if somehow this embrace could erase the last few hours, the blood, the death, and maybe the months before that too, all the time they’d spent apart, fighting to save each other.