Chapter 32 · Let the Sky Keep Growing

"Tell me that wasn't the capital."

Lyra's hand locked around Rowan's wrist. Her nails bit into his skin. The floor tilted under them, stone groaning like something alive was tearing itself apart beneath their feet.

"It wasn't." Rowan's voice came out rough. The air tasted like copper and burned rain. "Eastern islands. Three of them."

"And the capital?"

He looked toward the First Heart.

The great crystal engine had gone black at its core. Cracks of white-blue energy crawled across its surface, branching like frost. Every few seconds the chamber flashed with a view of the sky beyond the broken arches.

Islands were falling through the clouds.

Not drifting. Falling.

One distant island rolled, its waterfalls turning into silver ropes that streamed sideways into open air. Another split down the middle. Houses and towers tumbled from its underside like toys shaken from a box.

"How long?" Lyra's grip tightened.

"Minutes."

A laugh echoed across the chamber.

Severin Morn stood on the shattered platform above the main valve, coat snapping in the wind pouring through the cracks. Blood ran from one temple. His smile stayed neat and cold.

"There," he called. "Now you understand the cost of freedom.