Nikolai had never dreamed the Fjerdans would attack a civilian target or risk harming the Shu queen. Had they known she would depart early or simply gotten lucky? Or had Queen Makhi known when the bombs would fall all along?

He couldn’t be sure, and he couldn’t consider the implications now.

Far below, he saw fires burning in the lower and upper towns. He didn’t know how much damage the Grand Palace had sustained, but two of the Little Palace domes had crumpled and one wing was engulfed in flame. At least they hadn’t managed to strike the dormitories. No one would be in the classrooms or workshops this late at night. He could see a smoldering crater at the lakeshore, mere feet from where Grisha children trained and slept. They’d been aiming for the school.

Nikolai peered into the night. Fjerda painted its flyers dark gray for stealth. They were almost impossible to see, and hard to hear over the roar of the Peregrine.

So he cut the engine. He let his flyer’s wings catch the air and he listened. There. To his left, thirty degrees. He waited for the clouds to part and sure enough, he saw a shape moving, lighter than the night around it. He sent the engine rumbling to life and pushed the plane into a dive, firing.

The Fjerdan bomber burst into flame.

The rattle of gunfire filled his ears and he banked hard right, chased by another bomber. He needed better visibility. The clouds gave cover, but they were his enemy too. Bullets pinged off the side of the Peregrine. He couldn’t tell how much damage he’d sustained. He remembered the feeling of plummeting toward the earth when David’s rocket had hit. There would be no Squallers on hand to save him now. He should land and take stock.

No. He wasn’t setting down, not when the people below, his people, were still vulnerable.

The clouds were heavy, he couldn’t see. But the demon inside him could. It was made of night. It wanted to fly.

Nikolai hesitated. He’d never attempted something like this. He didn’t know what might happen. What would it mean to give up control? Would he ever regain it? And while you debate, your people suffer.

Go, he told the demon inside him. It’s time to hunt.

The sensation of releasing the monster was always a strange one—a breath snatched from his lungs, the feeling of rising up to pierce the surface of a lake. Then he was in two places at once. He was himself, a king taking a risk he shouldn’t, a privateer making a gamble he must, a pilot with his hands gripping the Peregrine’s controls—and he was the demon, racing through the air, a part of the dark, his wings spreading.