Perry tore up to the roof of the cookhouse. Against the pale tinge of dawn on the horizon, he saw the swarm of raiders tearing upslope. He put them at less than a half a mile away, and two hundred in number. The Tides had the fortified position, but as he saw the horde of people streaming toward the compound, he didn’t know if the tribe could hold them off.
The first arrows soared toward them, cracking roof tiles around him with sharp pops. Twig appeared at his side with a full quiver and a shield, giving him cover. Perry took his bow and set to defending his home. He’d done this plenty of times before, but never as the one in charge. The realization came on him like a quiet madness, slowing time, making his every move complete, efficient, sure.
Fire lit bright points of light against the rising dawn. A blazing arrow sliced past him, landing on the crates by the cookhouse. Perry adjusted his aim to the archers trying to set fire to the compound. His arrows—and those of Brooke and the Tides’ other archers—sheared through the charging mob. Some raiders fell into the trenches he’d had excavated and covered, but still they kept coming, too many in number. He watched as they split into smaller bands, swinging wide to circle the compound.
Men were climbing the gates, chopping at them with axes. Perry fired his last arrow, spearing one of them through. Not enough. Too late. He heard a splintering crash and saw the gates split open. They’d been breached—and they were burning. Smoke wafted from the stables, and from the crates by the cookhouse.
Perry climbed down from the roof, drawing his knife as he leaped off the ladder. He drove it into a man’s gut as he ran past. Voices he recognized screamed around him. He heard them faintly, no thought in his mind but finding the next attacker, the moment of hesitation, the false step, and seizing it.
In flashes, he saw Reef fighting nearby, his braids swinging in a blur. He saw Gren and Bear. Rowan, who’d resisted learning a weapon. Molly, whose life had been spent healing wounds.
Perry caught the glimpse of a black hat moving across the clearing. Cinder. A man with braided hair like Reef’s snagged him by the shoulder, yanking him off his feet. Perry watched him cower, powerless, though he wasn’t. Not a person there had more power, but Cinder wilted and didn’t fight back. Willow darted forward suddenly and plunged a dagger into the man’s leg. She took Cinder’s hand and pulled him away, running into the nearest house.
A raider with metal studs around his eyes spotted Perry and charged forward, ax held high. Perry had a knife—no weapon to challenge an ax. With only steps left between them, an arrow struck the raider’s head, lifting him off his feet. The impact sounded like stone roof tiles cracking. The man’s body and the ax thudded to the dirt. Looking up, Perry saw Hyde on the roof above, the string of his bow still quivering.
He spun and plunged back into battle, losing time until someone yelled, “Pull back!” Around the clearing, others picked up the call. He saw the crowd grow thinner, no longer a thrashing, clanging mass.
Stunned, he watched the raiders retreat over the field they’d crossed no more than an hour before. Some carried sacks with them—food or other provisions. From the rooftops, Hyde and Hayden fired at them, forcing them to drop their stolen goods to run.
When the last of them had gone, Perry scanned the compound. Fires needed to be put out. The crates burning beside the cookhouse worried him most. He gave that work to Reef, then sent Twig to track the raiders and make sure they weren’t doubling back. Then he looked around the clearing. Bodies lay strewn everywhere.
Perry made his way around, finding each of the wounded, calling Molly over to those hurt the worst. He counted twenty-nine dead. All raiders. None of them his. Sixteen people had been wounded, ten of them Tiders. Bear had a gash on his arm, but he would live. Rowan needed a cut on his head sewn together. There were more injuries—a broken leg, smashed fingers, welts and burns—but nothing fatal.
At that point, knowing they’d all survived, he stepped over the broken main gate and walked beyond the compound until the flood of relief forced him to his knees. Digging his hands into the dirt, he felt the pulse of the earth move through his body, steadying him.
When he rose, a knot of brightness caught his eye to the east, and then another, just north. They were the glowing slash of funnels dropping from the sky. For a moment he watched the storms in the distance, absorbing the fact that his land was burning. He’d protected the compound from human attack, but the Aether was an enemy too powerful to fight off. He wouldn’t let that weigh him down now. Today, he had won. Nothing could steal that away.
He returned to the clearing and organized the handling of the slain raiders. First they stripped the valuables from the dead. The tribe would reuse weapons, belts, and shoes. Then they loaded the bodies on horse carts, making one trip after another over the sandy trail. At the beach, wood was stacked to form a pyre. When it was ready, he dropped the torch that lit the wood, speaking the words that would release the souls of the dead to the Aether. He did this with some amazement at himself. Here, in the aftermath of battle just as during, neither his voice nor his hands wavered.
It was well into afternoon by the time he took the path back through the dunes to the compound, his legs shaking with fatigue. Perry slowed his pace, and Reef matched him. They let the others pull ahead.
Bloodstains covered Perry’s shirt, his knuckles throbbed, and he was pretty sure he’d broken his nose again, but Reef had managed to come through the raid without a scratch on him. Perry didn’t know how he’d done it. He’d seen Reef fighting as hard as he had been, maybe harder.
“What’d you do this morning?” he asked.
Reef smirked. “Slept late. You?”
“Read a book.”
Reef shook his head. “I don’t believe you. You look worse after you read.” He was quiet for a moment, the humor disappearing from his face. “We got lucky today. Most of those people had no idea how to fight.”
He was right. The raiders had been desperate and disorganized. The Tides wouldn’t be that lucky twice. “Any idea where they were from?” Perry asked.
“South. They lost their own compound a few weeks ago. Strag got it out of one of the injured before he drove them off Tide land. They were after shelter. My guess is they got word of our weak numbers and decided to take a chance. They won’t be the last ones to try.” Reef tipped his chin at Perry. “You know you probably wouldn’t be standing here if you’d been wearing the chain? They’d have targeted you. Take the leader down and the rest is easy.”
Perry stopped. He reached up, feeling the absence of the weight around his neck, and then noticed that Reef was carrying his satchel.
“It’s in here,” he said, handing it over. “Strange thing about you, Peregrine. Sometimes it’s like you know things are going to happen before they do.”
“No,” Perry said, taking it. “If I could predict the future, I’d have avoided a lot of things.” He slipped the chain out of the leather pack. For an instant he held it in his hand and felt a connection to Vale and his father through it.
“They’re calling you a hero for this,” Reef said. “I’ve heard it a few times already.”
Were they? Perry pulled the chain over his head. “First time for everything, I guess,” he joked, but it made no sense to him. What he’d done today felt no different from trying to rescue Old Will during the storm.
As he walked up, he found the tribe waiting at the compound. They spread into a circle around him. The clearing had been washed down with buckets of water, but the mud beneath his feet held traces of ash and blood. At his side, Reef muffled a grunt, reacting to the scent that hung in the afternoon air. Pure fear was hard on the nose.
Perry knew they wanted to be reassured—to be told that it was safe now, that the worst was over—but he couldn’t do it. Another tribe would raid them. Another Aether storm would come. He couldn’t lie and tell them that everything was fine. Besides, he was terrible at speeches. If there was something genuine and important to be said, he needed to look a person in the eye and say it.
He cleared his throat. “We can still put in the better part of a day’s work.”
The Tides looked at one another, unsure, but after a few moments they broke off to fix the protective walls and the roof tiles, and make all the other repairs that were needed.
Reef’s voice was quiet beside him. “Well done.”
Perry nodded. The tasks would help put them at ease. Repairing the compound would calm them more than any speech he could give.
Then it was time for him to do his own work. He started from the western edge of his territory and made his way east. He found the Tides, every one, in the stables, in the fields, at the harbor, and looked into their eyes and told them he was proud of what they’d done today.
Late that night, with the compound silent, Perry climbed up to his roof. He gripped the heavy links around his neck until the cool metal warmed between his fingers. For the first time, he felt like their Blood Lord.
20
ARIA
Ready?” Aria asked Roar.
They’d made camp by the Snake River, which would lead them the rest of the way to the Horns. Branches were strewn across the harsh, gravelly banks, and the wide river ran smooth as a mirror, reflecting the swirling Aether sky. They’d moved swiftly through the afternoon, keeping ahead of an Aether storm. The distant shriek of the funnels carried to her ears, prickling the skin on the back of her neck.
Roar leaned back against his satchel and crossed his arms. “I’ve been ready since the day I woke up and Liv wasn’t there. You?”
They’d spent the past week climbing Ranger’s Edge, a frigid mountain pass bordered by sharp, soaring peaks that looked like shredded metal. Between her ears and Roar’s, they’d steered clear of encounters with other people and wolves, but they hadn’t been able to escape the constant wind that sliced through the pass, trapping it in what felt like perpetual winter. Aria’s lips had chapped and cracked. Her feet had blistered, and her hands were numb, but tomorrow, two weeks after they’d left the Tides, they’d reach Rim at last.
“Yes. Ready,” she answered, trying to sound more confident than she felt. The magnitude of her task was hitting her. How was she going to discover protected information from Sable—a Scire who despised Dwellers? A Blood Lord who trusted no one with the secret he guarded?
She pictured Talon’s legs swinging over the pier. If she failed, how would she get him out? Would it be the end of Reverie? Aria shook her head, pushing away the worries. She couldn’t let herself think that way.
“You think Sable will want to bargain?” she asked. They planned to tell him that they’d come on behalf of Perry, who, as new Blood Lord of the Tides, wanted to rescind the betrothal Vale had arranged a year earlier. They’d also try to buy the information of the Still Blue’s location.
Roar shook his head. “I don’t know. The Tides already accepted the first half of the dowry. The only way Perry can repay him is in land, but with the Aether getting worse, that might not be enough. Who would take on new territory just to watch it burn?” He lifted his shoulders. “It’s a long shot, but it might work. From what I know, Sable’s greedy. We’ll try it first.”
