The Thorn stumbled over Satrine, Dayne right behind him. “I’ve never seen anything like that! There’s no way Minox can control that!”
“He’s not,” she said. She pointed to the rope on his belt. “I was hoping you could anchor him back down.”
“Maybe,” he said. “But—”
“Just be ready,” she said, taking one end of the rope, quickly wrapping it around her waist. She held the shackles ahead of her and went toward Minox and Senek. The magic slammed at her, but went around the shackles like it was a rock in the river.
She just had to push upstream.
Seven steps. Every one of them impossible. It didn’t matter. She had to push through, save Minox. Stop these bastards. Make this city safe for her daughters, for Loren, for everyone.
Another step. She was right next to Minox and Senek, both of them with hands around each other’s necks. Only one thing to do to save her partner.
She grabbed Senek’s arm, even though it was like grabbing a snake made of fire. She held in the scream, held in the pain. She just needed another second.
She brought up her other arm and clapped the irons on Senek’s wrist.
Now it was his turn to scream.
She pulled him off Minox and drove him to the ground. Knee on his back, she latched the other half of the irons on his other wrist.
Still the tempest of magic did not cease. Minox was the center of the storm, spiraling around him.
“WHERE?” he shouted. “TELL ME!”
She unwrapped the rope from her belt, and prayed to Saint Deshar that Veranix Calbert was up to the task. Taking a deep breath, she lashed it around his hand.
The storm of magic exploded to the sky, and it was all Satrine could do to stay on top of Senek, to grab hold of Minox’s body, keep him anchored.
Then the storm came rushing down, all pulling into Minox’s hand, sinking into it like water down a channel.
And then it was all gone.
Saint Bridget’s Square was near silent for a moment, save for Minox’s heavy breaths. She glanced over to the Thorn, holding the other end of the rope, being held up by the Rynax brothers and Dayne. All of them looked like Satrine felt. Impossibly spent.
Then the silence was broken by a beautiful sound. Constabulary whistles cutting through the square. Emergency calls. She looked and saw dozens upon dozens of Constabulary regulars run up, grabbing zealots, tackling the beasts to the ground.
“Let’s hear it for the Green and Red,” she said to Minox weakly.
“Indeed,” he said.
“Hey,” Veranix called. “I don’t know about you, but I am famished. There’s this great Fuergan place—”
“Wait,” Minox said. Then a look of horror crossed his face, and he looked up to the machine.
The rings were still spinning. It was still glowing. And Crenaxin still stood on top, pulsing and surging with energies.
“Come my children!” he shouted in words that sliced across her bones. “Come to me and feed the fervent fire! COME!”
Several of the constables stopped struggling with zealots. They all let go of each other and charged at the machine, diving at the cages. They clamored to get inside the cages, and as soon as they did, aged into dust with a look of rapture on their faces.
And to her horror, Satrine almost—almost—wanted to join them.
Asti and Verci ran over and pulled Satrine and Minox back to the rest of them.
“What is this?” Dayne asked.
On the platform, Crenaxin’s whole body began to shift and change. It grew to ten feet, twelve feet, fifteen feet tall. His skin became scaly and blackish-green. His face stretched and his mouth became full of teeth, as great wings burst forth from his back.
“Come my vessels! We shall ascend! The Nine will rise! The world will burn for them!”
Several of the beasts stood up, surrounding the machine as the magical energies flooded into them. Eight of them, one in front of each statue. Their bodies began to roil and shift as more of the zealots and constables and other civilians all fought each other for the privilege of throwing themselves in the cages.
“Well,” Veranix said. “I guess we have to wait on the Fuergan place.”
Chapter 24
DAYNE COULD NOT COMPREHEND WHAT Crenaxin had become—scaled, winged, fanged, and the size of a house. In no way human anymore. And the beasts on the ground, linked to each other and the statues with beams of light, were starting to change as well.
“So that’s the High Dragon,” Asti said.
“Aladha va calix,” Minox said. He glanced over to Veranix.
“Thought the same thing,” Veranix said. “I guess this is on me to finish.”
Minox chuckled darkly. “I didn’t mean to imply that.”
Dayne raised an eyebrow at them, but he didn’t have time to think about what they were talking about. The constables, the zealots, other civilians—they all were trying to get in the machine, sacrifice themselves to it. Crenaxin’s voice had driven them to it. The same sort of power that Ret Issendel had used at the Constabulary House, making everyone stop. But here they obeyed him to their death.
“Why not us?” Dayne asked. “Why are the six of us immune to his power?”
“The three of us already were,” Asti said. “And maybe you’ve beaten it.”
“Doesn’t explain your brother and Inspector Rainey,” Dayne said. “Everyone else in the square is trying to kill themselves.”
“Maybe that’s your answer,” Satrine said, looking over to the church.
A cloistress—no, the same young woman from Saint Limarre’s the other evening—stood on the church steps, holding up a mace and a shield. Jerinne’s shield. Why did she have Jerinne’s shield? And she was screaming something, words Dayne couldn’t make out.
“Her?” Veranix, Asti, and Verci asked in unison.
“Sister Myriem,” Satrine said. “I think she . . .”
“No!” Minox yelled, running over to the crowd of constables climbing into the machine.
“That’s his
