“She needs a healer,” he said.
“Yes, yes,” Davrosh said. “But first she needs medicine, for pain and swelling. There’s some in the sled. City Guard supplies. I’ll get it.”
“Hurry back, then get out of here. Get to the tower. Bring a healer.”
Nisha Davrosh appeared in the doorway. “I heard shouting. What’s going on, Remma? Who’s she?”
“A friend,” Davrosh said. She gave Nisha a small smile. “Go back to the party, Nish. We can handle this.”
“I know you can handle it. But I can help. I’ll get some blankets from my room.”
“Fine. Bring Garia, too. Have her find rags and cold water.”
“I’ll be right back.”
She left. Mig groaned. Her hair was loose and spread beneath her. She wore a gray cloak, smudged with soot and dust. Her skin was like moss left in the sun—pale, dry. Her eyes were shut tight. She arched her back and clenched her jaw.
“Gods, where have you been, Mig?” Sorrows asked. He brushed a strand of her hair from her forehead, tucking it over the point of an ear. She didn’t move. Took shallow, rapid breaths. He turned to Davrosh. “She crashed into me. I thought it was an ambush.”
“You thought she was Jace,” Davrosh said. “I understand. Wasn’t your fault.”
It was my fault. “Why would she show up now? Here. Tonight.”
“I don’t know. And why did Jace give you the pin? Why was Mig’s dress in that place the Seph led us to?”
“None of it makes sense. We need to talk to Mig. We need that medicine and a healer. Fast.”
Davrosh stood. “Right. I’ll go.”
She turned, running to the door as Garia Davrosh appeared.
“Good, you’re here,” Davrosh said. “I’m leaving to fetch medicine and a healer. I’ll be back in less than an hour.”
Garia stared at Mig. “What’s going on? Who’s she?”
“There’s no time to explain. Come with me to the stables. You can bring the medicine back inside.”
“You shouldn’t leave the party.”
Davrosh patted the air with her hands. “I know, I know. I’ll be back before the dance ends. But I need you to come with me now. Leave the rags and water here.”
“What are you talking about? What rags?”
“Didn’t Nisha send you?”
“You’re not making any sense, Remma.”
Sorrows stood. “Did you see Nisha? Just now. You would have passed her in the hall.”
“I didn’t pass anyone.”
An arrow can’t hit two targets. Mig lay on the sofa, dying. But upstairs, Nisha Davrosh might be dying as well. They both needed Sorrows. He knew it. Knew his decision would kill one of them. Knew hesitation would kill them both. Davrosh was already moving. Sorrows moved faster. Flew past her with long legs and powerful strides. Glanced at the front door, open to the night. Gods shun it, he thought. Turned away from the door and headed to the stairs. Took them three at a time. Jumped over Caruvi lying in the hallway. Blood trickled from a wound on her forehead. He ran to Nisha Davrosh’s door. Closed. Took the handle, pushed. Locked. He took a step back, lowered his shoulder. He was a big man. Strong. He took two steps, crashed into the door.
Boom!
The sound filled the hallway, filled the house. But the music kept playing somewhere below. The frame was thick oak. The door was more oak. Heavy. It hung on iron hinges. It trembled but didn’t yield.
He stepped back to the wall opposite the door. Drinnegan Pine, he thought. Waited for the rush of strength to flood his body. Instead, felt the emptiness against his chest where the Grimstone should be.
“Gods shun it,” he said.
His heart pounded. He took a breath. Took three quick steps, lifted his right foot up and kicked hard against the door.
Boom!
Louder this time. The music stopped playing below. Voices, shouting. Davrosh arrived, ran to the door, pushed at the handle.
“Locked,” he said.
“Splitting hells,” she said.
He backed up again. Opposite wall. Ran forward.
Boom!
“Again,” she said. “I’ll help.”
They both backed up. Opposite wall.
“One,” he said. Held out a finger. “Two. Three.”
They ran. They kicked.
Boom!
Their feet struck at the same time. His high. Hers low. He was big, strong. He had long, powerful legs. She was half-dwarf, muscles like iron bands. The door yielded. Iron popped from the wood, clanged against the stone floor inside the bedroom. Sorrows pushed in. Davrosh followed close behind, shut the door fast. Footsteps in the hallway outside. A voice. Garia.
“What’s going on?” she asked, loud, anxious.
“This door stays shut,” Davrosh said just as loudly.
“Let us in, Remma,” a male voice said. Nisha’s father.
Davrosh leaned against the door. “Keep this door shut. I swear to the gods, I’ll put my blade through anyone who opens it.”
She screamed the words. Emphasized every syllable. Her voice rang against the stone walls, against the glass window looking out on mountains hidden by the night. Her voice echoed in the empty room.
“Nisha’s not here,” Sorrows said. “They’re slipped.”
“What do we do?”
Sorrows shook his head and turned in a slow circle. Chair, mirror, table, tray. Nothing that would force a Walker into the gods-stream. A knock sounded on the door. A new voice outside, calm, asking questions. Caruvi. Davrosh said something that sounded like, Send the runner for Ostev.
They needed time. Sorrows walked to the bed. Hoped that Jace might stop if she saw him. He imagined Nisha Davrosh lying down. Pictured where Jace might be. Knelt by the side, looked up.
“Don’t do this,” he said. “Stop.”
Nothing. He ran to the other side, did the same thing. Nothing. He lay on the bed, spread his arms out wide.
“Don’t do it, Jace,” he said.
“What are you doing?” Davrosh asked.
“Have to get in her way,” Sorrows said. “Have to do something.”
“Her hands can pass right through you. You’re not solid enough. We’d need to collapse a wall onto the bed. Something that moves slowly in the gods-stream.”
Slow. Fen had talked about trees, boulders, hills, mountains. Things of substance. Homes were no different. Walls, floors, stairs, doors. All substantial. They needed something strong like that. Something strong enough to hold a daughter. To
