But despite feeling wild and strong, sprinting up the steps was exhausting. Liv slowed and the men on either side of her each grabbed one of her arms and helped her up the rest of the way. They didn’t harass her for it. They were fighters and their bodies were trained for this. She wasn’t. It made her feel weak and helpless—and some small part of her felt trapped and wanted to wrench free. But she suppressed the urge.
They slowed as they came close to the top of the pyramid. Almost invisible from below, there was a square patio at the pyramid’s penultimate level, where lords could gather and religious rituals be carried out. It was from here that the men and women of Ru’s royal family had been slaughtered and thrown down the steps. Fuschias hung from baskets and pools of water and fountains kept the nobles cool, slaves brought fruit and wine from within the pyramid itself.
The drafters in Liv’s team had all pulled on their spectacles, and she did the same. She drafted a shell of superviolet and filled it with liquid yellow, as Gavin Guile himself had shown her. It felt like so long ago now.
“Who are you?” a voice asked from above. A soldier, challenging them.
A spear of blue shot through the man’s nose and into his face, and blood exploded from his eyes. Liv’s team charged.
There were more people on the top of the pyramid than Liv had guessed, but no drafters. She shot her flashbomb into the middle of the crowd and it burst, blinding the half of the men who were looking their way. Liv’s men were ferocious—easily some of the best drafters and fighters she’d ever seen. Phyros spun two axes that looked like halberds with their hafts shortened, and everywhere he went, men died, slaves died, women died. The blue drafters shot spikes through faces and necks, left and right. Phips Navid charged Lord Aravind, shouting vengeance, and was cut down by the noble’s bodyguards.
Liv stood back and shot flashbombs, feeling vaguely cowardly, but knowing that she was irreplaceable, and her flashbombs did their work. She only had to draw her pistol once, when a crazed slave had rushed her with a flowerpot. The woman had dropped at Liv’s feet, powder burns around the bloody hole in the center of her chest.
Then, abruptly, it was done. Men and women were moaning, but there was no fight. Liv’s team was down to five, somehow, and each of them was checking bodies, dispatching wounded enemies who were scrambling to hide or to find weapons.
“Got ten soldiers coming up the outer steps,” Phyros said. “I’ll hold the inside steps.”
Phips Navid was whimpering over by the throne. Liv walked over to him. His left eye was crushed, and there was a spear all the way through his stomach and coming out his back, and his knee was bent the wrong way.
“We get him?” Phips asked. “That swine Aravind? We get him?”
“Yes,” Liv said. “Looks like he took a spike in the groin. Phyros just opened his throat.”
Phips barked a laugh, but it ended in a whimper. “Good, good. Fourteen years I been hunting that bastard. Wish I could have done it myself. Wish… wish I hadn’t needed to. You believe in heaven?”
“I believe in hell,” Liv said.
He looked like he tried to laugh, but his face twisted in pain. “Do me the favor, will you? I’ll go find out for both of us.” He grinned again fiercely and held that grin stubbornly against his pain and fear. She told herself it was mercy, but she couldn’t move until she drafted superviolet once more. It had to be done.
She did it, blade slicing neatly through carotid and jugular. She stepped back on shaky legs. Turned away before she could watch what she’d done.
“Ladder’s back here,” Phyros called.
Liv hurried back to him and climbed up the ladder. There was a small ledge beneath the great polished mirror. But as soon as Liv approached it, she knew it was no ordinary mirror. Not only was this mirror massive—fifteen paces across at least—it was spotlessly clean. There was no dust, no scratches on its face. There were old, old runes carved into the iron frame, black with age.
From the top of the pyramid, Liv could see the battle unfolding at the walls. The Prince’s five hundred, decimated, had made it through the bloody smoky hell of that tunnel, and were pushing against soldiers in every street in that neighborhood. The black smoke of muskets rattling and the sound of men screaming rose even to here. But the Blood Robes were pushing in, gaining ground. In another half a block, they would push into a market, giving their superior skills a wider battle front. After that, Liv couldn’t imagine it would be long before they would reach the gate. But the fight wasn’t over yet, and it seemed that the Atashians on the top of the wall had a limitless supply of loaded muskets, pulling them out, shooting, being handed new ones, shooting, shooting, raining ceaseless death on the attackers.
Liv tore her eyes away. Her fight was here. She tightened her eyes to slits. The mirror seemed to hum in her vision. Strange. She looked down at the base and saw a black panel. She probed it with fingers of superviolet and felt the mirror shudder. It felt like there were little invisible levers inside it.
What am I doing? She looked at the soldiers coming up the pyramid. This was her last test. This was what she was made for. If she did this, the Color Prince would give her more than she’d ever dreamed. She’d never again be inconsequential. She could never again be ignored, despised, powerless.
They were going to win the battle for the city, but out there, somehow, the battle for the sea would turn on what she did here. This was her chance to pay back the Chromeria for every sneer, for using her against her father, for making her break her oaths, for defiling everything.
The tendrils of her superviolet luxin sank into the black box, found levers within, pulled—and the mirror swung, almost taking her head off. She let go of the luxin, and the mirror stopped abruptly. She drafted again and pulled another and the mirror tilted. She pulled another, and the mirror shimmered and turned blue.
“Quickly, my lady, they’re almost upon us!” one of the men cried.
“Working!” she shouted.
With the superviolet controls, Liv pulled another lever, and a green filter bubbled to the mirror’s surface. From there, it was a simple matter of pushing and pulling the first two levers. She caught the sun’s rising light in the huge mirror and shot it out over the bay. She turned it left and right and up and down, wondering if she would have any idea when she finally got it right, or if she was already getting it right. She felt something when the beam was aimed far out to sea, over Ruic Head, but that must have been her trying too hard. That wasn’t even remotely the right direction. She turned it over the bay, up and down, searching.
Then something vibrated—she lost it. She reached again and turned the beam back, the tiniest bit. It caught, and hummed. In a moment, the mirror went from a mirror to something else entirely.
The mirror collected all the sun and was sending a vibrant emerald beam out to the bane. It was visible in the very air, burning bright green. That wasn’t right; it wasn’t even possible. Mirrors never shone so bright that you could see the beam during the day. Maybe in fog, or smoke, or at night, the light might be visible, but not an hour after dawn.
And yet it was.
But as it vibrated on that perfect frequency, humming like music, Liv’s perception was pulled through the great lens itself—and suddenly, she could see the tower shivering up out of the sea, growing, right in front of her, as if it were only a hundred paces away, not thousands.