“Yeah, I did it.” Ember sucked in a wheezing breath.
“You okay?”
“No.” With another cough, Ember doubled over and shook her head. “I think I short-circuited my magic with that one.”
“What?”
The fae looked at Cheyenne with a fiery violet gaze. “You think I’m just sitting here without getting up to follow everyone else for fun?”
“Shit. No floating spell?”
“Nothing.” Ember snapped her fingers and opened her hands again. “Not even a spark.”
“Must’ve been some seriously intense healing.”
The fae girl scoffed. “He had the blight, Cheyenne. So yeah, it was pretty intense.”
Nothing personal. I’d be pissed too if I couldn’t walk after helping someone. Or float. Nodding slowly, Cheyenne sat beside her friend on the ledge and bumped her shoulder against Ember’s. “Two good things out of this, though.”
“Since when did you become the silver-lining drow?”
Cheyenne snorted. “Since the silver-lining fae went all dark and broody and could use a pep talk. Maybe.”
“Whatever. Go for it.”
The halfling watched the disgruntled raug warriors, who had gathered and were grumbling at each other, trying to find another outlet for their rage. “You saved a raug chief’s life, apparently. And we were clearly only getting inside this place with the approval of a chief who doesn’t want anything to do with Hangivol or the Crown.”
“You mean, you couldn’t have stormed the gates and blasted your way inside for another chat with a city leader?”
“Very funny.” Cheyenne rubbed her hands up and down her thighs. “But we’re in, thanks to you.”
“No problem.” Ember rolled her eyes. “I’m not accepting donations. You know, ‘cause I can’t walk or float around anymore. This is as good as it gets again.”
“Nah. You still look like a fae. Your magic probably needs a reboot.”
“It better come back.”
“It will, Em. I still need you around, so you don’t have a choice.”
Ember snorted, and they both laughed softly. “Okay, so what’s the second good thing?”
“Now we know it’s possible to reverse the whole blight thing, at least when it’s starting to take over magicals.”
“Huh.” Ember tossed a hand in the air. “Hope for healing Ambar’ogúl, right? I’d honestly settle for healing my own legs and leave it at that.”
“You’ll get there.” They sat in silence for a moment, then Cheyenne slapped her thighs and leaned toward her friend. “If I know those guys in there, they’re probably not waiting for us to get started with their chief-to-chief chat, but I don’t wanna miss it.”
“By all means, drow.” Ember gestured at the open door in the gates. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I’m not leaving you here. I was gonna offer to carry you with me. You know, drow strength and everything without having to worry about humans freaking out if they see it.”
Ember grimaced. “I’m not a fan of being carried.”
“Hey, I’m not a giant, bare-chested raug chief.”
“Oh, jeez.” The fae laughed and rolled her eyes. “That was one of the weirder things I’ve experienced. The guy’s got, like, sharkskin.”
Cheyenne snorted. “Sounds fun.”
“At least he wasn’t sweaty.” Ember shrugged. “Dammit, just carry me.”
“Yep.”
Cheyenne stood and bent over so Ember could hook her arm around her neck. Before she could scoop the fae girl into her arms, a raug guard whistled sharply from the open door and shouted something at them in French. Cheyenne straightened again and shook her head. “English.”
The guard frowned and banged the open door with another shout in French to someone up in the tower. “The healer’s not forgotten, drow. Don’t carry her. The Zokrí has a gift.”
“A gift.” Cheyenne turned toward Ember and raised her eyebrows. “From your hulking chief admirer.”
“Shut up.”
The grating creak and rumble of mechanisms turning in the huge metal gates echoed across the stone square, then a square section of metal at the base of the closest gate tower lifted like a garage door. The guard who’d called to them headed toward it and waited for a machine of black metal to fully emerge from the base of the tower.
“What the hell is that?” Ember muttered.
“I think that’s your gift, Em.”
“Oh, jeez.”
The raug guard reached into the center of the old-school O’gúl tech machine and tapped the controls. Eight legs unfolded from the undercarriage with a clang of metal on stone, and the main body lifted three feet off the ground. When the guard headed toward Cheyenne and Ember, the machine scuttled after him like a giant headless spider with a depression in its huge abdomen.
Ember grimaced. “No. Please, no.”
The guard stopped in front of them and offered Ember a sleek, two-inch bar of flattened black metal. “For you.”
The fae took it and turned the item over in her hand. “Looks like the barrettes I used to wear in grade school, without the clip.”
Cheyenne fought back a laugh and tapped behind her own ear. “Activator, Em.”
“Oh.” Ember lifted the piece of metal toward the raug and raised her eyebrows.
“Wear it.” The guard looked at Ember and Cheyenne, his thick brow flickering in and out of a confused frown as he tried to keep a straight face.
He’s gonna be wracking his brain forever, trying to figure out why a fae in Ambar’ogúl doesn’t know how to use an activator.
“Behind your ear,” she muttered.
“Yep.” Ember lifted the metal piece to the back of her ear and gasped when the tech synced with her vision and her magic. Her eyelids fluttered, and when her violet gaze fell on the black metal machine behind the raug, her mouth dropped open. “Oh. My. God.”
The guard grunted. “Until the healer regains her strength.” Thumping a fist against his chest, he bowed and quickly spun to march back to the small door in the gate.
“This is insane.” Ember studied the old-tech machine, her eyes flickering back and forth as she took in all the information the activator fed her.
“Told you you’d love it.” Cheyenne folded her arms. “If that one came with the spider chair over there, I’m guessing it’s one of the older models.”
“I couldn’t care
