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  Then I’m shoved hard from behind, stumbling forward through the kneeling men and women.

  “Where is the healer?” Prince Shad roars, but I’m already there, crouching down beside the princess. My daimon joins me seconds later, eager to fill me with its essence and lend me its healing power.

  Celena’s back is ravaged, the wounds already bubbling with the poison from the Revoker’s talons. They look fresh, so it’s not too late to heal them if I’m quick about it. I hold out my hands and close my eyes, letting my daimon fully take over. Its energy flows through me, using my physical body as a conduit for its power.

  Through my daimon, I sense the damage, the torn flesh and the toxins that have already entered her bloodstream. The healing energy pulls the poison out, a sticky black substance that leaks onto the stone of the wall. The flesh, layers of muscle and skin, is knit back together until there isn’t so much as a scar left. I silently thank my daimon and it retreats. Then I open my eyes.

  Prince Shad is staring down at his sister. When the blue light of my power retreats, his dark eyes flick up to mine.

  “I removed the poison,” I tell him.

  “All of it?” I nod. His lips flatten into a grim line. “We’re taking her back to the Citadel. Come with me; the king will want to be sure.”

  My muscles grow rigid before I nod again. An audience with the king is the last thing I’m interested in, but of course, I can’t disobey a direct order from the prince, or any Nimali, really. I might grind my teeth into dust before I’m free of these people.

  The princess stirs, rolling over from her side to her newly healed back. The breaths of the half-dozen soldiers gathered around us catch as she blinks her eyes open. She meets my gaze and her brow lowers. She gasps for air and her face clears before breaking out into a joyous expression.

  I’ve been in the presence of the princess many times before. I’ve healed her and been the subject of her scrutiny, but I’ve never felt the breath leave my body when she looked at me. I’ve never seen her lit from within with pure happiness.

  Her smile as she sits up is a beam of sunlight in the darkness. “Victor?”

  I swallow, unable to answer, but disappointment crashes into me—which makes no sense. “My name is Ryin, Your Grace.”

  She tilts her head as her gaze roams over my face and body, then returns to my eyes. Her joy dims somewhat. “Victor,” she repeats, more uncertain. “Are we really in heaven?” Her voice is different, brighter, even in her doubt.

  Behind her, Prince Shad frowns deeply, troubled by her confusion. He clasps her shoulder and she turns around, noticing the others for the first time. Her mouth drops open with shock. She must still be processing everything she’s gone through. The trauma. The injury. And healing can take something out of a person. She’ll need rest.

  “Celena,” Shad says.

  She scrunches up her face. “Who?” She looks around again then down at herself. Then she seems to notice that she’s on top of a thirty-foot wall.

  She was already sitting in the middle of the platform, but still she scrambles closer to me, brushing against my legs. I slide out of the way—it’s forbidden for a Fai to touch a Nimali. The princess is too discombobulated to even notice.

  “Wh-Where am I?”

  “You’re back home,” Prince Shad says slowly. “In Aurum. We found you outside the wall just as Revokers attacked.”

  No light of recognition for him or his words shines in her eyes. Shad looks at me with worry in his gaze. “Did you sense something amiss when you healed her?”

  Celena’s head snaps toward me, her eyes peering intensely.

  “No, Your Grace. But I would not be able to sense a missing soul.”

  “Soul?” she screeches, curling into a ball and wrapping her arms around her legs.

  Shad sighs and runs a hand over his face. “You’ve been missing for two weeks, Celena. And it seems in that time, you have lost your memory soul.”

  Celena’s eyes widen and her head darts all around in jerky movements as she takes in everything. When she looks back at me, it’s like she’s expecting me to contradict the prince’s words, or…Or like she’s turning to me for comfort.

  I can’t gainsay the prince, nor would I, as his assessment is correct. She appears to have no knowledge of herself, her stepbrother, or anything else she should know. I didn’t see any trauma to her head that would explain missing memories, and if they are missing completely, then that could only be explained by the loss of the soul that controls memory.

  But when she looks at me like this, dark eyes rounded and fearful and seeking solace? From me? For the first time, I feel sorry for a Nimali. The emotion is brief and I shove it away the way I suppress the anger and rage, because just like them, it will do me no good. I must squash any sympathy for my enemy, for not a single one of them would show anything similar for me. I am not here to reassure her or ease her path, not after what her people, her own father, have done to me and mine.

  I tear my gaze away from hers and lower it, faking deference. A hiss escapes her lips. Shock? Dismay? It doesn’t matter. The princess needs nothing from me but what I have already provided. I saved her life, and it’s more than she deserves.

  And if her eyes haunt me, the sadness brimming in them gutting when I catch another involuntary glimpse, I ignore that as well. I must.

  Chapter Three

  TALIA

  I stare at Victor, my head still spinning. Victor all grown up—which is something he never had the chance to do. The darkness and the cold fade away. I can’t tear my gaze away from him.

  As a kid, he was a little awkward, sort of gangly, already six feet tall at the age of thirteen with dark freckles and a giant, reddish-brown afro that was perpetually lopsided. I was absolutely smitten. He was the son of my father’s housekeeper, and for a few months they lived in a little apartment above the garage. I used to spy on him through my bedroom window as he shot hoops in the driveway until my stepmother complained that the bouncing gave her a migraine. He and his mother found their own place after that, and I would only see him every once in a while, on school half-days or holidays. Then, when he was sixteen, he was in a park with some friends and was killed in a drive-by shooting.

  If he’d lived, he’d be twenty-eight, and that’s about the age of the man next to me—the one with Victor’s face and a different name. He’s still lean, his hair still tinged with red. But there is no light of recognition in his gaze. I’d thought for a moment, blinking to look up into his eyes, that I was in heaven and would be reunited with people who were important to me, like the pre-teen crush I never quite got over. But that spark of joy flickers and dies. If this were heaven, would he have kept growing older?

  A shiver races through me, cutting through the thin fabric of my gown. And heaven wouldn’t have me somehow on the top of a giant wall surrounded by men and women who dress like futuristic renaissance faire cosplayers. They’re all in black, the material tough and leatherish and fitted with reinforced shoulders and elbows and knees. It’s pretty badass, and I wouldn’t mind an outfit like that too. Looks warm. The only other person not dressed like Mad Max meets King Arthur is Victor—no, not Victor, Ryin. Who’s dressed all in dark gray, his clothes softer and less armor-like.

  He won’t look at me anymore, and I miss his attention. He’s the only familiar thing here, and even if he’s not Victor, his presence is still a grounding rod in the electrical storm that has become my life—afterlife, whatever.

  The man on my other side stands, extending his arm to me. After thinking about it for a second, I take his outstretched hand and he helps me to my feet. Which are not cut up anymore. The pain in my back is gone as well. I stretch my shoulders, surprised to find that I feel good, with not so much as an ache anywhere. Weird.

  I stare up at the man who hasn’t let go of my hand yet. “Who are you?” I whisper.

  He winces, but recovers quickly. “My name is Shad. I’m your stepbrother.” He searches my face, maybe for recognition, as I search his in turn. I’m speechless, thinking of my actual stepsiblings: the twin girls with ash blonde hair born just a few weeks after I went to live with my father and his wife.

  “Shad.” I repeat his name. He towers over me, at least six-foot-three or -four. His dark hair is cropped short, and he reminds me a little of a classmate whose mother was Korean and father was Black. Maybe he has a similar background.

  Behind me, everything is still. I peek over my shoulder to find a half-dozen people still on their knees in rows of two.

  “Are they okay?”

  Shad cracks a small smile. “They can’t rise until you tell them to, Your Grace.”

  He looks at me expectantly. Your Grace. That means royalty, right? Or at least nobility. I think back to all the historical romances my stepmother kept in boxes in the basement.

  “Does that mean I’m like a duchess or something?”

  “It means you’re a princess. And your father, the king, will be extremely eager to have you home. Come with me, please. We’ll figure all this out.”

  Just then, an enormous golden eagle swoops down from the somber sky to land at Shad’s feet. It’s bigger than I’d ever thought an eagle could be, standing almost waist high. I think of the squawking and screeching after I was attacked and tense, gripping Shad’s hand tighter.

  He gives me an odd look, then gently disentangles himself and crouches near the creature. I’m no bird expert or anything, but I didn’t think they’d be okay this close to a bunch of humans. This one seems to have no problem with it, though. Can you train an eagle?

  Shad reaches for something gripped in its claw. I take a step back instinctively, but there’s literally nowhere to go because I’m on the top of a fricking wall that’s crowded with people.
I can’t see much to the left, either, but I think it might be a city over there. A low breeze stirs the air, and I can barely make out tall buildings rising in the gloom.

  The eagle spreads its massive wings, making me turn back to watch. My breath catches and a fresh wave of cold washes over me as its wings beat, carrying it silently into the air.

  “Are you ready?” Shad asks as if that whole thing didn't happen, or as if it happens every day. Maybe it does here.

  “I think so?” My voice is pitched up because I really have no idea. I have so many questions that I don’t even know where to start. Where am I? How did I get here? What attacked me? Why do they think I’m their princess? I should tell them I’m not, but what happens then? Being mistaken for a princess isn’t the worst thing that could happen. It’s better than being mistaken for a criminal or something, but unease still coats my skin. I didn’t get a choice in any of this, and the possibility that it’s all some sort of elaborate hell hasn’t left my mind.

  Shad offers his hand again, and I pause before taking it. As he begins to stride away from the others, I tug on him to stop, then turn around.

  “Um, you all can get up now,” I tell the kneeling men and women. They rise as one, all staring at me. I shift from foot to foot, uncomfortable with this attention, and flinch as the cold stone cuts into my bare feet.

  Shad looks down at my toes, then his head snaps up. “Sergeant, give the princess your boots.” A blonde woman, her hair cropped in a cute pixie cut, immediately begins unlacing her boots.

  “Oh, that’s—” I begin, but Shad cuts me off.

  “Are you cold?” His quick manner seems more efficient than rude. I’ve been warmer, but I don’t want anyone else to lose an item of clothing, so I shake my head.

  “Healer, you’re with me,” Shad says. And Victor—Ryin—approaches, his features grim.

  It’s weird, and vaguely cringe inducing, sticking my feet into the still-warm shoes someone else just removed, but they’re a perfect fit. The soldier stands in her socks, pride shining in her eyes.

  “Thank you,” I tell her, and she looks surprised before bowing to me.

  “You’re very welcome, Your Grace.”

  Shad seems to be in a hurry, so I follow him with Ryin a few steps behind us.

  “Will she be okay without shoes?” I ask.

  “She’s a soldier, she’ll be fine.” His words are clipped but the tone is reassuring.

  I look back, realizing that while all of these people are soldiers, none of them appear to be armed. I haven’t seen a single gun or rifle. I’m still pondering this when we reach another pair of soldiers, a man and a woman, standing at the base of one of the giant light posts that line the wall. Both snap their four fingers to their chins and then straighten their arms back to their sides in precise movements that suggest some kind of a salute. Then they bow low at the waist.

  Shad acknowledges them with a brief nod. “Ladder,” he says, and they rush to unfurl a rope ladder that ripples down the city side of the wall.

  “We have to climb down?” There’s a tremor of fear I can’t keep from my voice. Shad squeezes his large hand around mine.

  “Yes. But it will be perfectly fine. I’ll go first.”

  I try to clamp down on the shaking that’s taken over my limbs while ignoring the pitying looks the two soldiers are giving me. Ryin’s face is carefully blank. That’s also how I know he can’t be Victor. He was mischievous, full of laughter and lightness, a class clown. Ryin seems like the light has gone out of him. He’s stoic and his energy is heavy. I look away when he catches me staring.

  Shad steps onto the flimsy rope. If they’re up on this wall all the time, why haven’t they built permanent steps? Why do they rely on rope ladders to go up and down? I press my hands to my belly and take a deep breath.

  “Come on, Celena,” Shad says, face tilted toward me. “You can do this.”

  I’m willing my courage to be up to the task and peer over the edge of the wall. The fog down there is so thick I can barely see how far I have to fall. That should be comforting, but it’s not. I smile at him, a little shakily, and step onto the ladder.

  The thing is more stable than I thought, made of no kind of rope I’ve ever seen before. But whatever the material is, it bounces less than expected. Still, it’s no picnic climbing down. Ryin is above me and I get a good look at his boots—thick-soled shit-kickers just like everyone else here has.

  I just keep climbing, humming to myself as I go to keep the crazy away. My arms are jelly and my legs are noodles but, amazingly, they hold up.

  Finally, I get to the ground, where Shad is smiling at me, proud. But I don’t take a full breath until Ryin jumps down the last few rungs. More soldiers are gathered down here, some warming themselves around a trash can fire. They snap to attention when they see Shad. When they see me, eyes widen, jaws drop, and low bows follow.

  “The princess has been found,” Shad announces. “I need air and ground support back to the Citadel.”

  Eight soldiers salute before breaking off into a run and disappearing around a building. I look around wildly; are there helicopters here? Then Shad leads me across cracked asphalt toward a crumbling brick building and into what looks like a garage. As we step farther inside, flickering blue lights come on showing a much larger space than I was expecting filled with trucks and SUVs. But I don’t recognize the makes or models of any of them. All insignias are completely foreign. Now I do stop walking.

  “Where did you say we were again?”

  “Aurum,” Shad says. “That’s what we call the city.”

  He leads us to something very similar to a Jeep Wrangler on four giant wheels with a soft convertible top. It’s Ryin who opens the passenger door for me, but he doesn’t offer a hand to help me into the high seat. I climb up myself before he shuts the door.

  He settles in the back and Shad slides behind the wheel. Instead of a key, he shoves what looks like a screwdriver into the ignition.

  “Are we stealing this?” Surprise cuts through my voice. He looks over at me, brows high. “You don’t have a key.” Now he looks like I have antenna growing out of my forehead; I sink further into the seat cushion. “Never mind.”

  His screwdriver thingy engages the engine and then we’re off. We rumble out of the garage and onto a pockmarked street where the fog isn’t quite as thick as before. It eases even more as we drive, giving me a view of the street: craggy and cracked, not maintained at all. The city is abandoned, dead even. As we crest a hill, the mist rises even more, revealing a postapocalyptic wasteland.

  The buildings within sight are in various states of decay: houses, shops, apartment buildings, all crumbling. There are plenty of lots that are nothing but piles of rubble. Abandoned, rusted, windowless cars line the streets. Some intersections are full of cars, as if there had been a massive traffic jam too big to clear and folks just got out and left their vehicles behind.

  In other places, someone has made a path through, literally slicing cars in half and pushing them out of the way. Vegetation rises from the long unused sidewalks and side streets. Nature has reclaimed much of the area that isn’t being actively used as a throughway.

  I’m waiting for the zombies to appear.

  I take in as much as I can through the haze. But I sit up straighter when something that looks a lot like Coit Tower rises far off to the left. But the famous landmark couldn’t be here, right? My gaze sharpens and I squint up trying to get a look at any street signs.

  Most are missing, but we make a turn and a sign dangles from a cable on the side of the intersection. Market Street.

  “San Francisco?” My voice is incredulous. “We’re in San Francisco?

  Chapter Four

  RYIN

  The princess leans over in her seat, pressing her nose to the glass of the window. I view her in profile, amazed at the emotions playing on her face. Her widened eyes are full of wonder, and her voice is awed. Gone is the stoic woman with the chilly demeanor who I’ve seen marching through the Citadel for the past three years. Without her memory, she is much changed. I’ve never encountered the like before in one who lost a memory soul; it is fascinating to witness.