It came as a shock when she lifted her head to find the hunched backs of the prisoners just a few paces off. She had no idea how long it had taken them to traverse the island—it felt like days—but the screaming and dying to the west meant the battle wasn’t over yet. They weren’t too late.

She turned her attention to the square. Balendin stood near the center, ringed with the dead and dying, his face a mask of rapture and rage, the vessels at his temples pulsing, sweat matting his hair to his scalp, slicking his cheeks. Gwenna ducked back down behind the low, broken wall that hid them from view.

“Why don’t we just shoot him?” she hissed.

Talal shook his head. “Annick tried. He’s shielded. We can’t get at him.”

Gwenna took a deep, shuddering breath. Between the pain, the disorientation, and the shock at finding herself alive at all, she hadn’t allowed herself to consider what they were coming to do. It was the logical tactical decision. The only decision, as far as she could see. And it meant murdering scores of Annurians.

“What about a starshatter?” she asked, pulling the last remaining munition from her belt. “Will his shield stop that?”

Talal spread his hands hopelessly. “I don’t know. I just . . . I don’t know.”

Gwenna’s stomach clenched, and she forced down the urge to vomit. She could take a chance on Balendin, but they would only get the one chance. She risked another glance over the wall. A young man, no older than her, was groveling at Balendin’s feet. His eyes were gouged out, and when he tried to scream the sound came out a gurgling, slithering mess. Someone had slit his tongue, she realized. And they were starting on his fingers.

“Sweet ’Shael,” she said, sliding back behind the wall. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

Talal nodded grimly, hesitated, then extended his hand. “You light the wick. I’ll throw it.”

“It doesn’t matter who fucking throws it,” Gwenna spat.

The leach didn’t flinch. “Yes,” he said quietly. “It does. You don’t have to do this alone. You light it. I’ll throw it. We came here together, and we’ll finish it together.”

Suddenly, for no reason Gwenna could understand, she found herself weeping, the tears hot as coals on her cheeks.

“All right,” she said, words choking in her throat. She fumbled for the striker, found it, made a flame, and pressed it to the wick. “Together,” she said, passing the starshatter to Talal.

He took it, stared a moment at the burning wick as though it were a snake, closed his eyes, and mouthed a silent prayer. Then, with a roar, he stood from behind the wall and hurled it into the center of the doomed captives.

With a roar.