The human fled through the forest, and the corvani followed.

Gunshots slapped the meaty bark of the mushroom trees, exploding through the shelves of fungus, ripping at his wings and tails. They caught only his feathers.

Imperial spiderachs. Three of them, he guessed, by the rotation of their bullets. It had been a long time since he’d seen one of these constructs.

The cyrans had come through the gate and dominated the avians with their firearms and war machines. How many avian rebels had died fighting those things? And how many innocents?

No. No time to think about that. All that mattered was getting to the human.

The Sajaahin drums echoed all around the cavern, making the trees, the dirt, the puddles of water vibrate. Rumbling all the way up to the dark ceiling high above. Dust rained from above, mingling with the falling spores of the forest. The clouds choked him as he flew.

Eolh ducked under the capped limbs of one tree and almost ran into some white, hard-skinned creature. It had too many bright red legs, and it hissed at him, raising milky-white mandibles covered in hard bristles.

Eolh threw himself backward with a strangled caw. The thing flinched at him, hissing again, and retreated back into its hiding place, whiter-than-white eyes glinting back at him.

He slipped into the undergrowth and circled around. If he could fly, that would make this so much easier. But he had seen what those rifles could do.

Ahead, a cluster of long, low hovels—only about shoulder height—were half-sunken in the filthy forest mud. Windows and smoke holes and doorways had been cut into the hovels, though many of the long walls were caved in.

Gunshot ripped through the forest behind him, splattering fungal debris across the hovel to his left. The shot came from the ground, which meant the constructs were closing in.

Eolh dove into one of the mud hovels and immediately regretted his decision. Whatever had lived in here had abandoned it a long, long time ago. Bones and tools made of rock were scattered across the soggy dirt floors. Filthy puddles pooled in the corners, and Eolh had to crouch down just to walk without hitting his head. Skirts of fungus grew along the walls, glowing a bright, fluorescent green that made Eolh feel like he was inside the stomach of some massive beast.

He stopped. Held his breath. Clanking footsteps marched along the side of the building. A construct’s clicking voice was muffled by the mud walls.

“Negative sighting,” it declared.

A pause as it listened to some instruction.

“Affirmative. Returning to route.”

The clanking footsteps started away, then stopped.

“Possible heat signature detected.”

Eolh cursed to himself. Of course he couldn’t hide. Even though the spiderachs were cyran-made, they were built on top of old tech. That’s what made them so rare.

If he stayed where he was, he would die.

Eolh grabbed one of the stone tools and hurled it out of the hut. As soon as he heard a gunshot, he heaved himself out of the sunken chimney hole and jumped at the construct, his knife drawn.

It had been over a decade since he’d last fought one in the dark alleys of Lowtown. But killing a spiderach was like flying: once you learn how, you never forget.

Two slices on the rotator wires where its head met its body. That disabled the gun pivot. Then four cuts, one under each knee.

The construct sank heavily into the dirt.

Just like old times.

CRACK! CRACK! Gunshots ripped open the hovel’s ceiling, spraying him with splinters of ancient, dried mud. Eolh dropped to the ground and rolled behind the disabled spiderach, using its body for cover. The next shot sang against metal, showering him with sparks.

Another spiderach, its long legs churning and squelching furiously at the mud, rushed toward him.

Eolh started to run. Another spiderach was waiting for him.

Its twin barrels aimed at his head.

But no gunshot.

Instead, Eolh heard a deep thrumming buzz like the vibrating wings of some huge beetle. The lance of an energy beam sliced through the construct, cleaving it in half. Rusted metal turned to liquid.

The buzzing started up again, followed by another vicious zap. A hole appeared in the last construct. Steam poured up from the fresh slag, and the spiderach collapsed.

An avian walked through the broken remains of the spiderachs, gloriously unafraid as if nothing could touch her. Her feathers were dusty and black and almost invisible against the cavern gloom. In her hands, she held an old tech carbine, which she aimed casually at Eolh.

Eolh got to his feet. He held up his knife, as if that would do any good.

“Where’s the human?” she asked.

“What human?”

“Don’t play games with me. I’ve been following you for two days now. Where is the human?”

“Don’t know.”

She was tall, taller than Eolh. She lifted the carbine to her goggles, sighting him down her beak. There was color on the tips of her fingers, where her feathers had gotten wet. A rich, regal brown. And her beak was not corvani at all but razor sharp like one of the falkyr.

Or an oqyllan. But why would a royal come down here?

“The human,” she said again. Commanding. Impatient.

Wait. Every muscle in his body tensed. He knew that voice.

“It’s you.”

Here was the coward who had sold the Cauldron. The traitor who had let Lowtown—and all those people—burn. Eolh squeezed the hilt of his dagger. His chest went tight with a breathless rage.

“But why would they send you?” he said. “Why has the Coward Queen come all this way?”

Her regal crest feathers raised. Good. She’s angry.

“One last time, corvani,” she said. “Where is the human?”

“He’s mine.”

In answer, the Coward Queen placed one feathered finger on the carbine’s trigger. It was an ancient weapon, its sleek design unlike anything Eolh had ever seen, but there was no question in his mind: all she had to do was squeeze, and he would die.

“You won’t find him without me,” Eolh said.

“What do you want?” she said. She took a few steps toward him, towering over him as if she expected him to kneel and whimper. He would only get one chance. Gods, how he had dreamed of this chance.

That’s it. Keep coming closer.

“I can pay you, corvani. You will never need coin again.”

“You think I would take money from you?” He spat. “You sold us out, you craven. You damned us all.”

“Where is he?” Her voice was forced and emotionless.

“Why would I tell you?” He was gripping his knife so tight his fingers were going numb. “So you can sell him to your imperial masters? What did they promise you this time, coward?”

Eolh dared to take a step closer to her. He could see how the word coward cut into her. But then, the Queen said something that didn’t make any sense.

“Call me what you want, corvani. I’m here to save him.”

Eolh cocked his head, furrowing the feathers on his brow in confusion. “You? Save him?”

Here was the Queen who had sold out the rebellion. Here was the Queen who had set avian against avian and let the imperials burn Lowtown to the ground. The reason his already-miserable life had gone to all eight hells.

And yet . . . she had just slagged two spiderachs.

“Why?”

“He is the savior,” she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “The imperials care not about the prophecy. And if I don’t get to him first, corvani, then we will lose our last hope for salvation.”

Eolh looked down at his knife.

Was this a game of hers? he wondered. Or did she actually believe what she was saying?

It almost made sense, except for one thing.

Long ago, the Cauldron was ruled by falkyr warlords, or priest-kings of paradise, and once by a brave, young passerine. Short-lived monarchs, all.

Then, came the Royal Oqylla. The fairest and noblest of avians. True leaders who gave more than they asked for.

Even when the cyrans first opened the gate, and their soldiers poured through, the Oqyllan line stood proud and stubborn against their new laws. The new Magistrate threatened each one with a new kind of public death, but they remained steadfast.

Until came the exception: the Coward Queen. The one who traded her city for a crown. She who sold her people to the imperials, just to save her own life.

Now, she lived in perfect comfort with all her imperials and all her nobles, sneering down at the poor, suffering masses.

But that image didn’t match the avian before him, covered in sweat and blood and dust. Wouldn’t a coward send someone else to do the dirty work?

“Please,” she said, “I don’t want to harm you. I’m just here for the human.”

How strange, to be begged at gunpoint. Can I believe her?

Eolh glanced at the twin flanges of the carbine still aimed at his chest.

Did he have a choice?

“Listen,” Eolh said, “I think we might be on the same side here.”

“No, we are not.”

Again, her words took him by surprise. She pulled the goggles off her face, letting them hang around her neck. Her hard stare made him feel like a piece of rotten meat.

“Unlike you, corvani, I have no intention of selling the human. However, I will pay more than anyone. Gods above, I’ll pay your buyer off, too, if that’s what it takes. Name your price.”

Eolh crowed a dark laugh. “You think I’m trying to sell him?”

“Why else would you want him?”

He hated the way she looked down on him. Hated the way she assumed all he cared about was money.

A few days ago, she would’ve been right. But things had changed. Things were still changing.

And he had a job to finish.

So Eolh squared his shoulders, unruffled his feathers, and lifted his beak until they were eye to eye.

“Listen, Your Royal Highness, I’m doing someone a favor. I made a promise to get him to safety. That’s all. No less.”

Her eyes narrowed, disbelief plain on her face. “For a favor, you’re a long way from Lowtown.”

“Look.” Eolh showed her the knife in his hand, and then he laid it down in the dirt. “This is a hard thing for me to ask, especially of you, but I could use some help.”

It was a stupid plan, he knew, sticking his neck out like this. A thousand doubts crashed through his mind. What if he was wrong about her? Should he kill her now?

Why was he down here, anyway? That damn android. She had told him to come down here, to find a city below.

And she had been right, hadn’t she?

“Tell me where he is,” the Queen said. Only this time, she lowered her carbine. Eolh felt something loosen in his chest.

“I lost him.” Eolh’s crest feathers flattened with shame. “I told him to run.”

“You left him alone?”

“What was I supposed to do? This is his home, anyway. Or it used to be.” Eolh looked around at the low mud huts. The fungal orchards glowed in the distance. At the huge spiral hill and the cavern walls far beyond, swallowing them whole.

“Everyone he knows is dead. We were traveling together, and then he—”

A shadow peeled itself off one of the mud huts. Its legs were clearly mechanical, but the rest of its body was slender muscle and covered in shining mucus. It aimed a rifle with two webbed hands.

“Get down!” Eolh lunged at the Queen. He tackled her before she could move.

A piercing whistle sang through the air.

A bullet. It bit into his wrist so hard he spun and fell into the dirt. At first, he felt nothing but the cold, wet mud on his back. Then, his wrist erupted in seething, white-hot pain.

He remembered screaming. He remembered watching her squeeze off lances of energy from her carbine, slicing down the row of huts. The sound of pure light slicing white-hot lines through mud walls and fungal trees.

Eolh remembered looking down at the stump of shredded meat where his hand had been. Two small white shapes stuck out of his wrist. Blood pooled in the stump and started dripping down his forearm.

“My . . . hand . . .”

His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he fell into a velvet darkness.