If he raised his head more than a foot above the floor the smoke blinded and choked him, but there was still a hand’s breadth of relatively clean air beneath the pall, and Valyn dropped back down into it. He could see his Wing’s tactical lanterns—both still lit—and the shapes of the rest of the group moving in the fickle illumination. It was hard to be sure who was who, but Valyn could pick apart the voices now—Triste screaming, Gwenna and Laith cursing, Talal and Annick nearly silent as they moved over the floor. Of their attackers, Valyn could hear nothing.

“That other Kettral Wing?” Kaden asked, shifting beside him. “The Flea?”

“Might be,” Valyn said, working the problem through from a dozen angles at the same time. The attackers hadn’t simply blown up the building, which would have been easy enough. Either they wanted prisoners or, better yet, they had seen the carnage in the mountains, had sorted through the bodies and realized what it meant.

Be on our side, Valyn prayed silently. Please, Hull, let them be on our side.

“What should—” Kaden began.

“Stay quiet,” Valyn hissed, “and get down below the smoke.”

He glanced over the room once more, counted bodies. Pyrre was missing, he realized, although where the assassin had gone, Valyn had no idea. His Wing was handling the attack as they’d been trained, staying low, crawling toward the walls in order to follow them to doors, windows, cleaner air. The problem was that whoever tossed the smokers was probably waiting at those very doors and windows, and rigging the stairs had cut off their own most obvious escape route.

The most obvious escape route, Valyn thought, checking the distance to Gwenna’s charges, but not the only one.

He patted his belt pouch for the Kettral whistles. There was no way of knowing if their birds were still in the air, but if he and his Wing could win free of the building, the ledge was large enough for a grab.

If, he reminded himself. You’re not on the ’Kent-kissing ledge, and you’ve got four people who’ve never even contemplated a grab-and-go.

It was a grim fucking position, no doubt about it, and likely to get a whole lot grimmer.

A few feet away, Triste had risen to her hands and knees. Blind with the smoke and her own confusion, she was crawling frantically but aimlessly, trying to shout but choking each time she drew a breath. It wouldn’t be long before she passed out. Worse, she might remain conscious long enough to stand and stumble out one of the low windows. Valyn started toward her, then checked himself. Prioritize. Kaden was the Emperor, which meant Valyn needed to get Kaden to safety first, even if Triste fell to her death.