Chapter 21 · The Ninth Blood Lamp

The ninth lamp wasn't dead.

Alto could see it through the cracked floor of the governor's study, burning cold and blue in the crawlspace below. The other eight had guttered out when the sand voices stopped screaming. This one pulsed like a heartbeat.

And someone was wearing the governor's mask down there.

"Alto." Lira's voice came from behind him, ragged and small. "What is that?"

He didn't turn around. Couldn't. The lamp's pull hooked into his ribs like fishline, and every pulse yanked harder. His vision doubled—half the ruined study, half the blue glow swimming up through the boards.

"Get out," he said.

"I'm not leaving you here."

"Lira. Go."

She grabbed his arm instead. Her fingers were cold. "You're bleeding."

He was. The sand-cuts on his palms had opened back up, and red dripped onto the floorboards. Where it hit, the wood hissed. The blue light flared brighter.

"It wants blood," Alto said. The words came out flat. "Ashmar blood."

Lira's grip tightened. "Then we run. Right now. I'll get the horses and we'll—"

"It'll follow."

"You don't know that."

He did, though.