Relia shot a glance at the nearest hallway. If she ran now, she could probably make it without getting burned. Unfortunately, Kalden stood on Kyzar’s opposite side, farther from the door.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Kyzar said to the other Artisan. “This is between the Unmarked and the Grevandi.”

Zakiel nodded once as he sauntered inside the lobby. Well, it was more of a courtyard now, since the night sky was visible above their heads. “I don’t care for your war, cousin. I’m here to settle a debt.”

Cousin? If this guy was the Dragonlord’s nephew, then what did that make Kyzar? The other Wing’s son? The Dragonlord’s son? Relia was all about juicy family drama, but now wasn’t the time to ask.

“A debt?” Kyzar shot Relia a look as if this were all her fault.

Zakiel’s reptilian eyes fell on Relia, then shifted to Kalden. “There was a girl with you before—a Silver. She stuck a stolen blade in my friend’s back.”

Akari. Relia didn’t recognize this guy from Costa Liberta—she’d been too busy running to memorize any faces there. But he clearly remembered them. He’d probably connected the dots when their faces showed up on the news.

“She’s all yours.” Kalden gestured to the collapsed section of the hotel on his right. “Her body’s buried in the rubble.”

His words came out calm as he spoke—almost cold and indifferent. Typical Kalden. Would it kill you to muster up some tears?

Zakiel took two more steps forward. He dropped his techniques, and they burned by themselves in the air, surrounding his body like a multicolored halo. One was trueflame—a mix of fire and plasma like Kyzar’s aspect. The other was frostfire, which he’d probably gotten from a potion. If he could conjure ice at will, he would have used it to stop their truck in Costa Liberta.

“You’ve got a terrible paizho face,” the dragon said.

“I don’t need to bluff,” Kalden replied. “Help us recover her body, and I’ll prove it to you.”

“Enough.” Zakiel threw a hand forward, and a flaming Missile closed in.

Kalden reacted at the same time, hurling a pair of forged mana blades at the technique. In that moment, Relia knew he wouldn’t survive.

But instead of the deadly collision she'd expected, Kalden’s blades split through the fire mana, turning it to mist.

Azul’s ashes. He really is a machine.

By now, several dozen Apprentices had gathered around, chanting the word “Unmarked” in unison. She thought she saw Hector’s face in the crowd, but she couldn’t be sure.

A human form flew down from the sky, tearing between the canyon of broken hotel fragments. The ground shook as Valdez landed several paces behind the enemy Artisan. His clothes hung tattered in bloody ribbons, and crimson streaked his face.

“Another one?” His grizzled face broke into a dark smile. “Must be our lucky day.”

And with that, all three Artisans sprang into motion. Relia couldn’t say who struck first. One second, they were all standing still. The next, they were clashing together with their bodies and mana.

Kyzar closed the distance with a pair of glowing plasma blades. His cousin countered with fire and frost, and Valdez broke the flames with bursts of wind. The trio moved too fast for Relia’s eyes to follow, striking several times in a single second.

Relia raised her own shield and ran through the storm of mana. Kalden began forming more blades, as if he intended to join in.

Idiot. She’d helped him advance to protect him. Not so she could put himself in more danger. Relia grabbed his wrist and let him back toward the staircase.

Zakiel leapt forward, closing the distance between himself and Valdez, slashing with flaming claws. The Wind Artist kicked off against the ground, but Zakiel hit him with a frostfire technique. Valdez’s body froze in midair before crashing into the rubble.

Kyzar slashed toward his cousin’s face. Zakiel blocked the plasma blade on his forearm and struck low, searing his opponent’s leg.

“Wait.” Kalden held his ground, jerking Relia back. “He needs our help.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Relia flared her Cloak and tugged harder, pulling him into the safety of the corridor. Kalden might be as strong as her now, but she had several years of experience on him.

“Your death mana helped Elend,” he said.

“That was different. That was a Grevandi—probably hopped up on soulshine. This guy’s from the royal family.”

“We can still help,” he said.

“Akari needs us more.”

Kalden shook his head. “Zakiel will come after her if he wins. Better to fight him now on our own terms.” And with that, he twisted his arm free and leapt into the fight.

Darn it. New Apprentices always thought they were invincible, even against the higher ranks. It didn’t help when they had the skills to back it up. Apparently, Kalden and Akari had been champion duelists in their past lives, and Relia believed it after what she’d seen tonight.

But he was still a sheltered boy from a rich family. No matter how hard his training had been, he still didn’t understand the consequences of real war. He didn’t realize how fast one Artisan could end his life.

The two dragons exchanged several more blows, and each clash seemed to shake the world. Then Zakiel stuck his claw into Kyzar’s eye, and everything froze. Kyzar screamed as he fell to his knees. His plasma blades faded to mist in his hands.

Zakiel withdrew his blood-stained claw, slashing several more times across his cousin’s chest. Kyzar’s body shone like molten rock as he flared his Cloak, and that probably saved his life. Still, he couldn’t hold out forever, and Zakiel pulled back his clawed hand, readying the finishing blow.

The Apprentices all struck together, hitting the Artisan with their combined strength. And, of course, Kalden charged into the center of the storm, attacking with a whirlwind of six spinning blades.

Zakiel dropped his cousin and raised a protective dome. Mana with blinding light and deafening thunder. Then he lashed out with his own techniques, and a bloodbath followed. Apprentices died screaming, even faster than the Martials back on Arkala.

Relia added her attacks to the barrage, but only her pure mana. She didn’t dare use her aspect with so many others around.

Kalden moved with impossible grace as he fought—more like a Master than an Apprentice. And it wasn’t just his body. His mana flowed around him at impossible angles, controlled by his intention rather than his channels. That should’ve been impossible at this level. Maybe a piece of the Blade Artist still remained inside his soul?

Zakiel tried to charge Kalden several times, but Kalden always slid away, using the rubble as cover. Kalden’s reflexes were slower, but he seemed to predict the Artisan’s moves before he made them.

All the while, the remaining Apprentices kept up their bombardment, draining the Artisan’s mana as he focused on Kalden. Relia almost dared to hope this would work.

Zakiel must have sensed the same thing because he stopped chasing Kalden and raised another dome around his body. Fire was terrible at blocking other aspects—she’d seen that while sparring with Hector. Still, he fed his Constructs more mana, holding back the barrage.

Inside the safety of his dome, Zakiel retrieved a vial from his belt and drank it in one swallow.

More frostfire mana.

“Run!” Relia shouted to Kalden. “Get out of there.” She didn’t know what Zakiel had planned—but it was probably an answer to Kalden’s whirlwind technique.

Kalden just stood there in his fighting stance, his face a stoic mask. Either he thought he could win, or he truly wasn’t afraid of dying.

The frostfire left Zakiel’s hands, swirling around his body in an elaborate pattern. The ground froze around his feet, and a white mist gathered inside the dome.

A Ritual technique.

Rituals were a combination of Circuit and Construct techniques. They let Mana Artists use their aspects to dominate their surroundings. She’d seen Elend do this before, but she’d rarely seen it from an Artisan. It was possible, sure, but it normally took them far too long to form. Even then, the mana was spread too thin to damage Artists of their own rank.

Unfortunately, it was perfect against weaker opponents.

Relia shouted at Kalden again, but he didn’t listen, and she couldn’t grab him through that whirlwind of blades.

Zakiel dropped his fiery dome, and the mist lashed out at the surrounding Apprentices. Their bodies froze where it touched them, then the ice shattered in chunks of red.

The mist hit Kalden’s blades, and they snapped like brittle iron. Realization finally shone in his eyes, but he was too late to retreat. The mist spread to his outstretched hands, freezing around them.

Kalden screamed as the ice erupted in white flame, taking off his right hand at the wrist. His left hand fared better, but he still lost several fingers as he staggered back.

Hector emerged from the crowd behind the Artisan, pushing back the mist with blasts of heat. He held a blade in his right hand—the one they’d stolen from the Grevandi Artisan before.

“Hey!” Relia emerged from her cover to draw Zakiel’s attention. He threw a flaming Missile toward her, but she deflected it with a blast of pure mana.

Hector seized the distraction and swung his blade at Zakiel’s neck, just as Akari had done in Costa Liberta.

Zakiel spun around like a whip, swiping a claw across Hector’s abdomen. Hector froze midswing, and his weapon clattered to the ground.

Several more Apprentices attacked, but Relia didn’t watch the outcome. Instead, she flared her Cloak and raced toward Kalden. She put his arm over her shoulders, forced him to his feet, and ran behind a pile of stone rubble.

“I’m okay,” Kalden said as she set him down.

“You’re not okay.” Relia pressed her hands to the stump of his right arm and filled it with life mana.

“I’ve lost limbs before.”

“In school matches!” she snapped back. “That wasn’t real.” Tears clouded her eyes as she forced more mana into the wound, draining her reserves. “I can’t fix this. I can’t regrow hands or fingers.”

Kalden blinked down at his missing hand, seeming to notice it for the first time. His gaze shifted to his other hand where he’d lost his thumb and forefinger.

“It’s okay,” he said again. “Someone can.”

He still didn’t get it. He still thought this was just a game.

Relia could close the wounds with time, but they didn’t have time. The sounds of battle faded behind them, and footsteps followed as the Artisan approached.