Mikhail winced as one of the Alchemist soldiers finished lashing his hands behind his back.

  “You’ve caused the Guild no small amount of trouble,” Voronin said, his sing-song voice muffled by his half-mask.

  Mikhail spat at Voronin’s face, which in the cold had a rather interesting effect. The glob of spit solidified into a tiny ice ball as it sailed through the air.

  Unfortunately, Mikhail forgot to account for the wind and the ice spit missed Voronin.

  Voronin shook his head and sighed. “Immature, Mikhail. I expected more from you. Get him on board.”

  As the soldiers dragged Mikhail away, two figures emerged from Katavsk’s entrance. The light spilling from the open door back-lit them, and Mikhail’s hearts sank as he recognised the short, rotund figure with a mess of wild hair being escorted by a lithe woman in a Sentinel coat.

  Dominik. Held captive by Zinaida.

  “No…” he muttered.

  Zinaida shut the door, but not before Mikhail saw the Sentinel guard sprawled on the floor, motionless. Had she killed him?

  Zinaida soon reached them. Her hood and half-mask were up, and her eyes glittered in the light of the moon.

  “I trusted you,” Mikhail said to Zinaida, aghast.

  Zinaida glanced at him and shrugged. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that, kid.”

  “But why?”

  “My duty to the Alchemist Guild—and to family—will always come first,” she said, shrugging one shoulder.

  Mikhail stared at her, at the traitor. Loathing knotted his stomach. “You killed Alarick and Irmina.”

  Zinaida grunted and yanked Dominik towards a waiting airship.

  Dominik looked back at Mikhail, his expression of defeat echoing the avalanche of hopelessness that now crashed over Mikhail. The Alchemists had him, they had Dominik, and they had the journal.

  He’d lost.

  Voronin led the way with Zinaida towing Dominik close behind. The four soldiers surrounded Mikhail. Judging by the grip on his arm, at least one had strength extract coursing through his system.

  Knowing Voronin, they were probably all boosted. Voronin wasn’t taking any chances on securing him. Not this time.

  This elicited a chuckle from Mikhail. So much effort to capture one weak, scrawny and tired dishonoured Alchemist.

  Mikhail peered over his shoulder at the stone building leading to Katavsk. Somehow he knew Klara had been inside when the gong sounded and had joined the fight. If he was honest, he didn’t even blame her. Now he just hoped that she still lived.

  They were fifty yards from the building when the door slammed open, bouncing off the stone with a crack audible over the roaring wind.

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  The soldiers spun at the sound, tensing.

  Mikhail’s jaw dropped.

  A barefoot Klara stood in the door, her coat whipping around her as the wind caught it. Her hood was off, leaving her high ponytail exposed. The predatory half-mask of the Sentinels still covered the lower half of her face. A long, wicked knife hung from her right hand where she carried it, thumb on pommel, blade extended behind her.

  She stepped into the night with a limp, and Mikhail’s eyes went wide at the dark stains covering her coat.

  “Kill her,” Voronin said with casual dismissal.

  Swords drawn, three Alchemist soldiers converged on the lone, wounded Sentinel. Mikhail tried to yell at Klara to be careful, to go back. But his voice caught in his throat.

  One soldier remained with Mikhail, hand tight on his arm as he towed him after Voronin.

  Klara vanished.

  Not literally, but in the whorls of snow that lashed the moonlit plateau she might as well have. Mikhail caught a glimpse of black closing in on the soldiers. Then Klara appeared in the middle of them.

  He watched, unable to tear his gaze away as she moved, a spectre of death amongst the soldiers. They fought back, all boosted themselves, but Klara was too fast, too accurate.

  She disappeared, reappearing behind one and her blade plunged into the man’s side. He cried out, his scream torn from his mouth by the wind. The two remaining soldiers blurred towards her, and Klara swiped the legs from beneath the soldier in front of her.

  The soldier never had a chance to fall as Klara threw him at the two approaching Alchemists.

  Mikhail had a strange sense of déjà vu. Only days ago he’d watched Zinaida take on three stariki in a similar manner, yet where Zinaida moved with chaotic efficiency, Klara moved with deadly grace. They knew the same moves, but Klara had taken those moves and turned them into an art form.

  The two soldiers dodged their flying comrade, only to have Klara appear behind the left one, her hands snaking around his head.

  Mikhail turned away, grateful for the roar of the wind. When he looked back, the soldier’s body slumped to the snow, head facing the wrong direction. Of Klara, there was no sign.

  “Get us out of here!” Voronin screamed.

  The soldier escorting Mikhail boldly lifted him.

  The wind whipped against Mikhail’s exposed face as the Alchemist party broke into a speed extract boosted sprint. Zinaida had similarly lifted Dominik.

  Suddenly, Mikhail was flying, no longer carried by the Alchemist soldier.

  The world spun around him. Airships. Snow. Hard ground.

  He hit the plateau and tumbled for yards before slamming into something painfully solid. He lay gasping in pain, trying in vain to breathe.

  The hulking grey bulk of an airship loomed above. Had he hit it? A beam of light stabbed the night and voices yelled.

  Familiar voices.

  Yuri’s crew?

  Mikhail struggled to roll to his side and fresh agony flared in his ribs. The beam lit a black airship now rising into the night. Mikhail recognised it. How could he not? He’d seen it land a dozen times on the Alchemist Guild roof. Voronin’s airship.

  But what happened to Klara?

  He spotted two of Yuri’s men helping her to her feet. By her side, an Alchemist soldier lay. Judging by the way his body twisted, most certainly dead. Klara pushed Yuri’s men aside and staggered. “Where is he?” she asked, looking around.

  Mikhail raised an arm, waving. Talking wasn’t an option yet, but the hand proved sufficient.

  Klara saw him and stumbled over, falling to her knees as she reached his side.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, her voice hoarse.

  Mikhail managed a nod.

  Then he saw the dozens of punctures riddling her coat.

  Klara saw his gaze and grimaced. “Nishkuk broke my fall. I’m fine, strength extract healed the muscles… not sure about everything else…” She chuckled and tipped forwards, landing with a thud beside Mikhail.

  Mikhail’s head lolled back as Yuri’s men swarmed around them. His thoughts drifted through a thick haze as the crew lifted him and Klara and carried them to safety and warmth. Mother remained lost, but he’d found Klara. A smile touched his lips. He’d take that victory for today.