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The sun returns and it's over.
I let Wolfgang press his pocket square tenderly over the small wound, so close to the fresh scar I now have from him pushing me into the sacrificial pit. My eyes are incapable of looking away from his smoldering, yet icy, gaze. I barely register Constantine walking back to the small table near the side of the stage, vials and dagger in hand.
Once again we are alone, standing before the people of Pravitia.
But this time I can feel Wolfgang’s thumb smoothing over the scar, his Adam’s apple bobbing around a tight swallow.
The air shifts.
I break our gaze, looking at the crowd, then at the families sitting behind us, while the feeling only intensifies. It takes me a moment too long to realize what’s happening.
My dear god of death whispers the answer into my ear.
I look back at Wolfgang in alarm.
“We need to?—”
I don’t have time to finish my sentence before an explosion sends me flying backward.
31
WOLFGANG
The smoke burns my eyes, choking me from the inside and out. I can barely think, the ringing in my ears distorting my senses. It dulls the screaming and wailing surrounding me like a deadly ripple of sound.
I’ve been flung into rubble, the stage now blown to bits. I try to move but my thigh throbs in pain, and I grit my teeth. Looking down, my eyesight still blurry, I find some kind of shrapnel lodged into the muscle. Without much rational thought, I pull it out. Removing the ragged piece of metal out of my thigh has all my senses rushing back simultaneously, and I cry out at the pain, snapped back to reality.
The screaming intensifies, the smell of burning flesh making me gag. I look around, trying to gather my wits. By the look of it, I must have been out for a few minutes. The crowd in the city square has dispersed but what has been left in its wake is mayhem.
Blood, death and …
“Mercy!” I bellow. The sudden terror of finding her dead has me pushing through the pain and standing. I take a few wary steps, my injured leg slowing me down.
Through the thinning smoke, she appears standing amidst the chaos, blood dripping from a gash near her temple and onto her ripped gold dress. I shout her name once more, stumbling over the wreckage, trying to get to her. But she doesn’t seem to hear me, her eyebrows knitted in worry as she looks all around her, a faraway look dulling her eyes.
“Mercy,” I press when I finally reach her, gripping her upper arms so she focuses on me.
“I can’t find Gemini,” she says, her voice sounding far away while she continues to avoid my gaze. “I can’t find Gemini,” she repeats under her breath.
“Mercy,” I urge, giving her a small shake. “Look at me, you’re bleeding,” I say as I frantically survey her face and body, pushing her hair back to examine the cut.
Her eyes finally snap to mine. “I’m fine, it’s just a …” she trails off, her attention now behind me. “Gods be damned,” she breathes.
My stomach sinks before I turn around and find Constantine pinned to the ground, her lower half crushed under a large beam. Given she doesn’t feel pain, I’m not surprised to find her conscious. But the absence of pain doesn’t negate the severity of her injuries. Belladonna is kneeling beside her, holding her hand while Aleksandr and Constantine’s father are struggling to move the beam off her. But by the look of their failed efforts, it’s much too heavy for them to do alone.
Guilt digs its claws into my chest when I realize that my best friend’s well-being hadn’t even crossed my mind until now. Nor that of my parents. Who, with a hurried glance around the bombed stage, are nowhere to be found.
I grab Mercy by the wrist. “Come. We need to stay together.”
Her vacant expression tells me she must be in some kind of shock. She nods, and I slide my hand down from her wrist, intertwining our fingers together. I try to ignore the piercingthrob in my thigh, as she follows me without any resistance, weaving us through the rubble.
“Sasha!” I yell out when we’re close.
His head swivels around until he locates me. “Wolfie,” he says in relief. “I couldn’t … Tinny …” he mutters when I reach him.
Mercy kneels beside Belladonna, reaching over to smooth a few bloody strands away from Constantine’s forehead. They exchange a few words, but I can’t make out what they’re saying, only that Constantine looks a lot less bothered than she should be, acting like this beam is but a mere nuisance.
I pull Aleksandr into a quick embrace. “Are you okay? Are you injured?” I ask while giving his body a quick survey after we pull away.
