Chapter 33 · Dinner with the First Chair

The city was still falling when Mara Finch stole them a carriage.

Not a proper carriage. The thing had once been a delivery wagon, then a police transport, then a smoking heap of metal before Mara bullied its engine back to life with a screwdriver and three curse words. Its side panels were scorched black. One wheel wobbled hard enough to make Lio's teeth click together every time they crossed a bridge.

Above them, Veyra's upper districts glittered beneath a bruised violet sky.

Below, the lower platforms disappeared into cloud.

The descent engines groaned somewhere in the city's bones, each pulse dragging the floating metropolis another inch toward the abyss. Tower Nine had split open behind them. Smoke climbed through the broken streets, carrying the sharp scent of burned spell-oil and something older—wet stone, iron, and hot blood.

Lio sat on the carriage floor with Cael's head against her shoulder. His coat had been cut open from collar to ribs, and the white-bladed wound beneath it refused to close. Thin lines of black magic crawled from the slash, branching over his skin like frost on glass.

“You're bleeding on my boots,” she said.

His eyelids fluttered.