The wheels of Chaol’s chair splashed through puddled blood. “What is it?”

Aelin straightened, Gavriel and Fenrys going still.

Nesryn pointed across the city, to the wall of mountains. “We intercepted a group of Morath soldiers toward the end of the battle—trying to bring that dam down.”

Rowan swore, and Chaol echoed it.

“I’m assuming they didn’t succeed thanks to you,” Aelin said, gazing toward that too-near dam, the raging waters of the upper lake and river it held at bay.

“Partially,” Sartaq said, a muscle feathering in his jaw. “But we arrived after much damage had already been done.”

“Out with it,” Hasar hissed.

Sartaq’s dark eyes flashed. “We need to evacuate our army off the plain. Right now.”

“It’s going to break?” Chaol’s father demanded.

Nesryn winced. “It likely will.”

“It could burst at any moment.” Sartaq gestured to the khagan’s army on the plain. “We need to get them out.”

“There’s nowhere for them to go,” Chaol’s father said. “The water will roar for miles, and this keep cannot hold all your forces.”

Indeed, Rowan realized, the keep, despite its high position, couldn’t fit the size of the army on the plain. Not even close. And the keep, towering high above, would be the only thing that could withstand the tidal wave of freezing water that would sweep from the mountains and across the plain. Obliterating everything in its path.

Hasar fixed her burning stare on Chaol. “Where do we tell them to run?”

“Summon the ruks,” Chaol said. “Have them gather up as many as they can, fly them out to this peak behind us.” He motioned to the small mountain into which the keep had been built. “Put them on the rocks, put them anywhere.”

“And those that don’t make it to the ruks?” the princess pressed, something like panic cracking through her fierce face.

Rowan’s own heart thundered. They had won the battle, only for the enemy to get the final say in their victory.

Morath would not allow the khagan’s army to walk off the plain.

It would destroy this army, this shred of hope, in a simple, brutal blow.

“Was it a trap all along?” Chaol rubbed at his jaw. “Erawan knew I was bringing an army. Did he pick Anielle for this? Knowing I’d come, and he’d use the dam to wipe our host away?”

“Think on it later,” Aelin warned, her face as grave as Rowan’s. She scanned the plain. “Tell them to run. If they cannot get a ruk, then run. If they make it to Oakwald’s edge, they might stand a chance if they can climb into a tree.”

His mate didn’t mention that with a wave that size, those trees would be submerged. Or ripped from their roots.

Gavriel asked, “There’s no way to fix the damage done?”

“We checked,” Sartaq said, throat bobbing. “Morath knew where to strike.”

“What of your magic?” Fenrys asked Rowan. “Could you freeze it—the river?”

He’d already thought of it. Rowan shook his head. “It’s too deep and its current too strong.” Perhaps if he had all his cousins, but Enda and Sellene were up north, their siblings and kin with them.

“Open the keep gates,” Chaol said quietly. “Any nearby are to run here. Those farthest out will have to flee for the forest.”

Rowan met Aelin’s stare.

Her hands began shaking.

This cannot end here, she seemed to say. Panic—panic indeed flared in her eyes. Rowan gripped her trembling hand and squeezed.

But there was no truth or lie that might soothe her.

No truth or lie to save the army on the plain.

Elide found her companions and their allies not in a council room, but gathered on the battlements. As if bodies and gore didn’t lie around them.

She cringed at each step through blood both black and red, trying not to meet the sightless eyes of fallen soldiers. She’d been sent by Yrene to see how Chaol fared—a panting, fearful question from a wife who had not heard anything of his fate since the battle began.

After hours helping the healers, Elide had been desperate to escape the room that reeked of blood and refuse. Yet any relief at the fresh air, at the ended battle, had been short-lived when she saw the bloody battlements. When she noted her companions’ pale faces, their tense words. All of them were gazing between the mountains and the battlefield.

Something had gone wrong. Something was wrong.

The battlefield stretched into the distance, healers darting amongst the felled bodies with white banners high to indicate their locations. So many. So many dead and wounded. A sea of them.

Elide reached Chaol’s side just as Nesryn Faliq leaped atop her beautiful ruk, launching into a dive for the army below. No—the other ruks.

Elide laid a hand on Lord Chaol’s shoulder, drawing his attention from where he watched Nesryn fly off. Blood-splattered, but his bronze eyes were clear.

And full of terror.

Any message that Yrene had given Elide faded from her memory. “What’s wrong?”

It was Aelin who answered, her bloodied armor strange and ancient. A vision of old. “The dam is going to break,” the queen said hoarsely. “And wipe away anyone on the plain.”

Oh gods. Oh gods.

Elide glanced between them, and knew the answer to her next question: What can be done?

Nothing.

Ruks took to the skies, flapping toward them, soldiers in their talons and clinging to their backs.

“Has anyone warned the healers?” Elide pointed to the white banners waving so far out into the plain. “The Healer on High?” Hafiza was down there, Yrene had said.

Silence. Then Prince Sartaq swore in his own tongue, and sprinted for his golden ruk. He was spearing for the battlefield within seconds, his shouts ringing out. Kadara dipped every few moments, and when she rose again, another small figure was in her talons. Healers. Grabbing as many of them as he could.

Elide whirled to her companions as soldiers began running for the keep, trampling corpse and injured alike. Orders went out in the language of the southern continent, and more soldiers on the battlefield leaped into action.

“What else—what else can we do?” Elide demanded. Aelin and Rowan only stared toward the battlefield, watching with Fenrys and Gavriel as the ruks raced to save as many as they could. Behind them, Princess Hasar paced, and Chaol and his father murmured about where they might fit everyone in the keep. Those who survived.

Elide looked at them again. Looked at all of them.

And then asked quietly, “Where is Lorcan?”

None of them turned.

Elide asked, louder, “Where is Lorcan?”

Gavriel’s tawny eyes scanned hers, confusion dancing there. “He … he went out onto the battlefield during the fighting. I saw him just before the khagan’s troops reached him.”

“Where is he?” Elide’s voice broke. Fenrys faced her now. Then Rowan and Aelin. Elide begged, voice breaking, “Where is Lorcan?”

From their stunned silence, she knew they hadn’t so much as wondered.

Elide whirled to the battlefield. To that endless stretch of fallen bodies. Soldiers fleeing. Many of the wounded being abandoned where they lay.