Chapter 7 · The Taxman's Iron Wings

"Rowan!"

His hand closed around Lyra's before he could think. Her fingers locked around his as the farm lurched beneath them.

"Move!" Lyra shouted.

Soil slid toward the western rim, dragging half the cabbage rows with it. The broken windmill screamed overhead, metal scraping metal and throwing sparks into the dark. Beneath the island, something vast pulled in a breath.

Pip's antlers blazed white.

"Get him away from the line," Lyra said.

"I'm trying."

Rowan caught the young storm-beast against his chest as its legs folded. Pip's heart hammered under his palm. Too fast. His bad shoulder screamed under the weight, and every breath scraped his ribs raw.

The light beneath Pip's hooves pulsed once.

A voice rose through the ground.

PRIMARY HEIR CONFIRMED.

The words weren't sound. They stamped themselves into Rowan's skull, cold and precise.

UNAUTHORIZED SUCCESSOR DETECTED.

Pip screamed.

Its antlers tore free from the leyline channel. Blue-white fire snapped between the tines. Rowan stumbled as the creature jerked backward, nearly smashing its head against the dirt.

"Pip! Look at me!"

The storm-beast thrashed.

"Rowan, the pump house!" Lyra yelled. "Now!"

Another tremor split the terrace. A crack opened between Rowan's boots, spilling pale light from below.