How do you fight an enemy who never shows his face?
The murder of crows must band together with a privateer prince to face their greatest challenge yet. But though Kaz is playing for the Dregs, Nikolai suspects that the future of the world is at sta...
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Inej hovered in the air, frozen for a quavering second before gravity realised she was wingless and human and snatched her down. She fell silently, her mouth forming the names of saints, her body tight and controlled, ever an acrobat. Head over heels, twisting for purchase where there was nothing but empty space. Perhaps she hoped to roll off the impact. Perhaps she hoped to unfurl invisible wings and fly. Perhaps she merely hoped for a painless death. She didn't know anymore.
She passed window after window on her downwards fall, and time was crawling so unbearably slow that she caught snapshots of the lives of the people within, their domestic rituals caught momentarily in candlelit silhouette, framed by frames meant for glass instead of stories.
There was a brisk wind, and she fell at an angle. She tumbled like she had leapt off the wire, like there was an audience roaring below her, a trapeze waiting for her grasping hands, a net to catch her if she missed. But there was no net to embrace her tiny form in its furls – only the mercilessly unbending ground. She refused to scream.
Under, over, nothing but air, now desperate, now losing control of her fear. She had drawn closer to the cathedral wall, close enough to feel the rush as each crenellation or cracked stone saint whizzed past her. She could have believed that it was the building that was moving, not her. At this speed, colliding with the rapidly approaching building would be just as fatal. She might even impale herself on a stone lance or mossy spire. The wind, once her friend, was now yet another factor that hastened her fast approaching death.
Twisting, turning, arching back and grasping hands. Stone raking skin, flashes of crimson dotting the grey. The world was losing its focus. Everything blurred into smudged grey and inky blue. Which way was up? Which way was down? Yellow smears of light as windows. Invisible wings and rushing air.
Her fear was taking over her. She opened her mouth and an involuntary cry of terror spiraled into the night. Grey, blue. Grey, blue. The colors merged. Blue, grey. Her hair lashed her face. Her fingers snatched at emptiness.
Confusing. Everything was confusing. Surely she should have landed? Surely she should be lying broken on the floor? Up, down, wind tugging her hair, tickling her face. Thoughts losing coherence. Broken images flashing past. The tang of terror. Pounding blood.
Breathe, Inej. She was going to die. To die. But her life didn't flash before her eyes, only slate-colored stone and slices of sky. Her vision focused, sharpened by fear. The ground was petrifyingly close. There – there! A ledge, perfectly positioned on the side of the building. She had only a second to choose. She let her acrobat's instincts guide her.
The ledge sang past.
Her arm snapped out. Her fingers grabbed stone.
And held.
Her arm was wrenched out of its socket by the awful jerk, sickening pop heralding a wave of pain, but her fall had been broken and she held on for a precious few seconds, body flush to the wall, the relieving agony rushing through her dislocated shoulder telling her that she was not dead. Her grip slipped and she let go of the ledge, but this time she felt no fear in falling the last few meters, her battered body ducking into a roll as she landed to soften the impact. Safe.
