It came with the force of a gale, roaring so fiercely that Ranka’s ears popped. Ongrum went flying off her. The winalin witches bounced off one another and fell in heaps, scrambling for purchase.

On the dais, blood dripping from his lips, Galen stood.

“Do it,” Foldrey roared. “Blow them back, Galen!”

The Sunra prince raised his hands—and the sky answered.

Storm clouds appeared from nothing. The air dropped ten degrees and the sun vanished, concealed by the thick swaths of deep hurricane gray that now swirled in the sky. Lightning flashed overhead and Galen’s hands trembled, but still he kept them raised, lips moving silently as he called forth the storms that his forefathers had once used to wreck this wretched, sun-soaked land.

Behind him, Aramis knelt. She’d procured a crossbow from somewhere. A winalin witch snarled and hurtled toward them. Aramis barely flinched. An iron-tipped dart snapped forward and slammed into the witch’s eye. A second one followed, hitting her in the jugular. The winalin witch gurgled, scrabbling at her throat, and collapsed, dead.

To Ranka’s left, two winalin witches cornered Tafa, who held up her hands in appeal.

“I’m one of you!” Tafa cried. “I’m on your side!”

The witches limped forward, licking their lips.

Ranka pointed. “Galen!”

Wind took them down. But for every winalin witch Galen felled, another picked themselves back up. Witches and humans were falling one by one, and others were casting down their weapons and fleeing. What should have been a battle was now a bloodbath.

The cliffs had become a feeding frenzy.

Something slammed into Ranka’s side. She twisted, fearing Ongrum, but it was just some nameless winalin witch. Ranka bit back a sob and scrambled backward. The witch clawed at her, her mouth parted in hunger, and raked her nails down Ranka’s thigh. She raised a hand to strike her—and blood blossomed across her chest.

Foldrey stood behind her, a thunderous expression on his face as he drew his sword from the witch’s back and drove it into her again.

The winalin witch died with a whimper and fell at his feet.

The guard wiped the blood from his face and offered Ranka a hand.

Behind them, Ongrum fought three Hands at once. She was a nightmare, her natural abilities as a fighter aided by the animal hunger in her veins. Ranka swayed. She picked up a sword someone had dropped and turned the blood-slick weapon over in her hand, but it felt pointless.

A winalin witch hurtled toward them. Foldrey cut him down.

He turned to Ranka. “We’re going to lose, Bloodwinn.”

All around them, people were dying. Another winalin witch shot toward Galen and Aramis. It took four iron-tipped darts to stop her in her tracks, and she collapsed only a few feet from them.

Blood soaked Galen’s chest. If he kept summoning at this rate, he would die.