“I’ll work on the flames,” Ransom said, pulling a jar of rainstorm magic from his belt. Kiran noticed that Ransom too was looking low on supplies.

Bait pulled his lone Stormheart from his belt and said, “Distraction duty. I’m on it.”

Ransom and Bait timed their actions perfectly so that the appearance of the thunderstorm from Ransom’s jar might be confused for the Stormheart Bait was infusing with his magic, tricking the storm into thinking another real tempest was in its midst. The first downpour met the flames with a loud sizzle, smoke filling the sky until it was hard to tell what was storm and what was smoke.

Kiran chose that moment to attack, pushing his energy through the Stormheart he held and at the churning, rotating beast overhead. He managed to break up the formation, catching it by surprise, but then an awful howling sound came on the wind, and the rotation snapped right back, faster this time, pushing lower to the ground, closer to the palace.

The wind changed again, this time at his back; he felt a sharp updraft, matched by the rising heat from the flames, and his ears filled with a loud, guttural rumble that shook the ground beneath his feet. He looked up and backward just in time to see a funnel cloud dipping lower and lower before tearing a chunk away from the side of the famed golden-domed roof of the palace.

Bleeding skies. This was it. This wasn’t just a single storm. This was one of the onslaughts of multiple tempests that could not be natural. It was happening. The Stormlord was coming for Pavan, and too many people he cared about were still inside.

Four women from different worlds crawled out of the secret tunnel, and Aurora breathed out in relief to finally be on the ground floor. The tunnel had shook and shifted around them every step of the way, and though none of them had ever spoken a word, she knew they all had feared its eventual collapse.

Now that they stood in the light, Aurora could not keep her eyes off Nova. Her friend had lost weight; her once-round cheeks had unnatural hollows in the middle, matched by sunken skin beneath her eyes. Her steps remained unsteady, even once they stood on flat ground.

Captivity’s mark was clear on her, and Aurora wanted to reach out in comfort, in aid, but she couldn’t. Not after what she had let happen down in the tunnel. Not with the way another soul was trailing her own at the moment, as if waiting for a momentary lapse in her strength.