“The nearest are mine,” Mari growled. The shingles rattled beneath her as she leaped. Stasia kicked to her feet and then dove after her, axes above her like the wings of a hawk. She rolled shoulder-first to absorb the landing blow, then burst out of it with speed challenged only by her sister. Frightened cries greeted them. Her back was to Mari, but she heard the tearing of metal, heard the gargling screams. Her own foe lifted her spear and thrust it wildly. Stasia knocked it aside with both her axes, snapping the shaft in half. She kicked her heel into the woman’s stomach to kill her momentum, then swiped the axes back the other direction. One hit chopped off her shoulder, the other buried deep to the spine.

Stasia pulled the weapons free of the corpse in a spray of blood, then turned back toward their archers in hiding. She beckoned to them, for the way was clear, but before they could move, a sharp whistle pierced the relative quiet. Their father’s whistle. They were behind schedule. The archers dropped and climbed down from the rooftops, hurrying after the two Ahlai sisters. Stasia kicked open the first door, axes ready for the guards she anticipated. Instead a finely furnished and empty home greeted her.

“To the windows,” she hissed to the archers. “Half here, half the top floor.”

Mari bounded up the stairs, Stasia at her heels. Again, no soldiers in wait. The discovery left her uneasy. Such an obvious vantage point over the execution should have been guarded more thoroughly. Did the Imperator believe the resistance so easily broken by capturing a few wealthy backers? Stasia spun about, checking the bedrooms, but still nothing. When she returned to the stairs, Mari faced the window, whiskers twitching. A whimper escaped her throat, dutifully translated by the glowing word-lace.

“No… no, it can’t be.”

Stasia joined her side, and her unease twisted into full-blown dread.

The shrill whistle should have signaled the start of their rescue. Hidden members throughout the crowd would execute the watchful guards. The armed men and women near the back would draw steel and charge the stage to form a true battle line against any reinforcements. The archers hurrying to the windows on either side of her would take full advantage of the chaos to pick off scattered targets. Amid it all, the Vagrant Prince would descend upon the stage to cut free his faithful while the crowd cheered. That was the plan, a good one, as far as Stasia was concerned.

Instead the bodies hung from the ropes, each and every one of them dead. The Imperator was nowhere in sight, nor any magistrates. The Vagrant had not arrived. Battle raged, but it was wild and uneven, with hundreds of innocent men and women caught in the middle.

“They suspected an attack,” Stasia said.

“No,” Mari growled. “They knew how. They knew when. We were betrayed.”