The balcony gives out, cracking and shattering as Cyan’s grip falters, and we tumble to the earth in a shower of dust and wreckage. Pain digs into my body as time seems to slow before I strike the hard rock and even harder ground. My vision blurs as blood drips in my eyes and I’m pelted and crushed by debris. Covering my head, I try to stem the worst of the damage as chaos rains from above.

It takes a moment for my head to stop spinning. A haze of dust surrounds me, and I can’t see more than a few feet through it. Slowly, I sit up, wincing at the ache in my limbs. I touch my head, my fingers coming away red. Screams and the sound of everything splitting and breaking fill the air. I seek out Cyan, Anemone, or Linden, but they’re currently beyond my sight.

I almost killed myself, but it created the distraction I needed.

This is my chance.

I stumble to my feet, rocks sliding out from under me, and it’s then I notice the rain has finally let up. Thank Zerra for small miracles. I shake my head. Not Zerra. Fuck that bitch.

I need to find the Alluvion ark and then I’ll run as fast as my feet will take me.

Coughing up dust from my lungs, I stagger on a throbbing ankle. How long does it take for this Fae healing thing to kick in? It’s been so long I hardly remember how it works. I pass the bodies of guards and palace servants. Some are still breathing, only knocked out, but some are clearly never waking up.

Guilt twists in my chest, because I did this. Am I any better than my grandmother, taking what I want and failing to acknowledge the consequences?

I swore I’d raze the palace to the ground if I had to. If Cyan had just listened to me, I wouldn’t have had to resort to such drastic measures. But none of that quiets the nagging shame that burns at the back of my throat.

As a few begin to stir, I tear the cloak from a fallen guard and wrap it around my head, using a portion to cover my nose and keep the dust from clogging my lungs. I scan the ground, searching for the guard Cyan handed the ark to. He can’t have gone far. I just hope he isn’t buried under an immovable pile of rubble.

A body with pale skin and long indigo hair emerges in the fog. Cyan lies on his side, his limbs askew and his eyes closed. I stare at him and let out a breath of relief when I see his ribcage expand. Not dead. Just . . . momentarily impeded. I didn’t want to kill him. I didn’t want to kill anyone.