Chapter 11 · The Second Voice in the Black Box

The signal flare burned above Riftport like a second, smaller sun.

Red light spilled over the square, over the overturned carts and the blood-dark stones, over the faces packed behind the soldiers’ shields. Every eye seemed fixed on Xia Lan. Some watched with hatred. Some with fear. A few watched the boy she had dragged out of the crush, as if the child’s survival had somehow made her more dangerous.

The boy clung to her coat with both hands.

His signal pistol lay between them, still smoking.

Xia’s left side burned where the flare’s metal casing had struck her ribs. Warm blood slid beneath her shirt and disappeared into the waistband of her trousers. Her wings were folded tight against her back, one silver feather bent at an ugly angle. The pain was manageable. The crowd was not.

Above the western seawall, the thirteen artillery towers glowed white-blue.

A low vibration rolled through the city. Windows trembled.