Rashana didn’t have to find the same path the humans took. The revelation dawned on her with such force that she almost lost her grip on the girder to which she clung, suspended hundreds of feet over dark green waves. True, she couldn’t fly, but she could turn her body into a boat and float across the water. Or maybe sink beneath the waves and walk on the ocean floor until she reached the other island; she didn’t have to breathe, after all.

Visions of the Adaro butchering the kraken dissuaded her from that course of action, but she was determined to put her boat concept to the test. She’d seen tin washbins float before, if they were thin and broad, spreading out the water across the water. Metal floating on the ocean seemed almost as strange as metal soaring through the air, but at least she had seen it happen before. No one would ever see metal fly.

Lowering herself from ledge to ledge, Rashana finally reached the smooth stone surface of a support pillar. She found an access hatch off one of the girders with a twinge of annoyance. Too bad the stairs were blocked in the first tower. They could have all walked up together. They wouldn’t have left her behind. She wouldn’t have run out of energy.

But then Jarkoda wouldn’t have repaid his blood debt. She was determined to show him loyalty for all the days of his life. Indara hadn’t talked about what would happen after the Bridge, but the way that Taras had looked at her with horror and resolve didn’t bode well. She wouldn’t be allowed to forge her own path. Her plan was to swear an oath to the halfdragon. The monks would take her in and shelter her under their supervision.

But would they let her leave? Or would she trade one form of slavery for another? The fear gave her pause. She would have to simply trust Jarkoda’s goodwill. A suspicion wormed its way to the surface at that thought. Was she trying to save him just so she could secure her own position afterward? It seemed unbearably selfish.

Rashana shut down her processing abilities and ran down the steps as fast as her body would take her. Her mind slowly woke back up as she reached the bottom of the tower. The exit led her almost directly to the beach. Time to test out her boat theory.

Standing knee-deep in the water, Rashana pulled her arms and legs alongside her shell. She directed her energy into the metal, melting it and fusing it together in a new form, shaping herself into a little round coracle. At the last moment, she pulled one arm free, fingers flattening into a fin-shaped paddle. Her new body bobbed on the waves, dangerously close to going under with each swell of water. She stretched herself a little thinner, raising the gunwales a few inches, and instantly felt more buoyant.

She dipped her paddle into the water and set off across the short stretch of sea, directing herself toward the next man-made island. Halfway across, a bump underneath her announced the presence of fish. Or, at least, she hoped it was only a fish.

A scaled arm lifted up out of the water a moment later. Taloned hands grabbed the side of her boat body and hauled. An emerald-hued creature with spiral tattoos lounged on her back, obvious that it rested in a living boat.

Panic welled up in Rashana. She swung the paddle up out of the water and hit the beast in the head. It shrieked, eyes going wide in alarm, and started praying to the gods to save it from the witchery of a boat possessed by some evil presence.

It dove into the water, swimming away with such power and grace that she felt a little sad to have scared the creature. But only a little.

Her hull scraped up on the sand at last, and she let herself melt back into her usual form. A few strands of seaweed hung from her head, and she arranged it like hair. She liked the look.

Satisfied she was fully restored to her sleek, beautiful body, she set off at a run, following the fading trails that had reappeared in the air above her, growing closer to the earth the farther she went. They must have flown down from the heavens, held aloft by those strange wings she had seen in the memory fragments.

A pang of jealousy hit her at the realization, but she extinguished it and kept moving. The clan couldn’t be too much farther ahead, now. The trails grew in vibrancy, although they were still only pale gossamer threads compared to the blazing white light that Taras had conjured for her to follow. She hoped that he and Rhae were faring better than these three.

The clash of steel and roar of a dragon caught her senses a moment later. She broke into a full sprint, pushing energy into limbs designed for fast, fluid movement. The rush of exhilaration in her own strength filled her, and she flung herself off the top of a small cliff to join the fray below, a scream of vengeance rising from her soulbond.

The shocked look on Jarkoda’s face when she hurtled past him made the chase all worth it. Confusion registered in his eyes, followed by elation. He roared again, a warcry of victory, and unleashed a stream of fire at the enemy.

They jumped back, avoiding the flames, in a dance she could see they’d grown used to; scorch marks in the sand and a few traces of blood told the story that Jarkoda was formidable, even if he didn’t have as much power or fine control over the flames as he would with another decade of training. The enemies wearied, but many of them were still alive.

Rashana summoned her whip and short sword. She could fix that.

The first warrior lifted a reinforced bone mace to block her sword. She sheared through the bone weapon, through his arm, and through his head, splattering the woman next to him.

She screamed and leaped backward, eyes wide, calling out a warning to the others. They fanned out in a semi-circle around Rashana. The fighters with swords and knives stepped back, making way for a handful of spear soldiers to fill the gaps and level their blades at the new threat.

Rashana snapped the whip in her left hand, severing the blades off two spears. She launched into the middle of the array, deflected a thrust with her sword, and slammed a metal elbow into a soldier’s face. His head rocked backward, the cheekbones cracking under the force of her blow.

Two spears jabbed her in the stomach. One cracked on the metal, while the other just pinged harmlessly to the side. A red-scarfed spearman gurgled as Rashana ran him through. He clutched at the blade in his stomach, a look of confusion on his face, and slumped to the ground, convulsing in his death throes.

Screaming in rage, the soldier next to him blurred forward, slamming into Rashana with a burly shoulder. They went down in a tangle of flesh and metal, but Rashana threw him free as though he were a child. She cracked her whip arm, gouging out his eye. He stumbled back, clutching at his face, and she took off his head with a swing of the sword.

The rest panicked and fled. Rashana chased the stragglers down, slashing down with her sword to cut their hamstrings and send them tumbling into the dirt. She reached the end of the line and sprinted back, blades flashing, beheading them all. She skidded to a stop in front of her team and saluted with the bloody sword.

“Bout time you woke up, rust-bucket,” Gruvrik grumbled by way of greeting.

Rashana transformed the lower part of her face into a beard, mimicking the dwarf. She dropped her usual speech pattern to a lower register and stomped around in a circle, gesturing wildly. “Bring me some rum!”

Jarkoda managed a tight smile, but he still held Maeda in his arms. Rashana didn’t know how to feel about that. He belonged to her, now, didn’t he? She’d chosen him over the rest of the team! What was he doing with that Hammerhead, anyway? When Maeda didn’t move, she finally realized that he supported her limp body. Maybe something was wrong.

Jarkoda stared at her, working his jaws for a moment before he spoke. His voice held a note of disapproval. “We must find the antidote to the poison. If you’d left any of them alive, then maybe they could have told us what to do to heal her. Otherwise, I fear she already has one foot in the grave and will follow the Bridge people soon.”

Rashana shrugged. “Telyim has the antidote. Go ask her.”

Gruvrik tugged on her metal beard. “Now that’s creepy. Put it away. And tell us how you know who Telyim is, anyway. We just met her!”

Rashana let the beard melt back into her face. She was showing off, she knew that, but she couldn’t help herself. Drunk on the raw energy of her enemies, she fairly glowed with power. She stalked toward the unconscious woman, stopping to admire Maeda’s handiwork. “That was quite a punch.”

Jarkoda and Gruvrik exchanged glances. The look carried with it the weight of exclusion, and it cut her in a way that a knife never could. It wasn’t fair. They weren’t fully human, either. They knew what it felt like to be ostracized. Yet here they were, staring at her like she was some demon who had crawled out of the Abyss. She grimaced. She was a hybrid, but she could make a good argument that she was more human than they were.

Taras’s voice echoed in her mind. She could still hear his relief as he said: Now we know her limits. Like he’d been gearing up for a fight he wasn’t sure he could win, but then he’d seen a faint glimmer of hope. At least he’d known he couldn’t win against her.

“I feed on memory,” Rashana finally said. Her voice sounded flat, matter of fact.

Jarkoda stared at her, transfixed, horror in his eyes. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He was going to save her, help her live in a world without brief windows of wakefulness and long, dark days of dormancy.

Rashana felt her anger rising. Perhaps she should just harvest the halfdragon. He could give her enough energy to stalk the Bridge for weeks, feasting on the remaining souls. Then she could return to Laurentum and track down Indara. If she grew strong enough, then perhaps she could sever their soulbond without losing her identity. She would drain Indara dry and usher in a new era, an empire of metal and machine—

Shuddering, Rashana pushed all the thoughts of madness away. She searched across the battlefield for Telyim. When she found the seer, Rashana crouched down in the dirt next to her, searching for her pouch. It was tied to a belt hidden under the first fold of her robe. Inside, she found a pungent smelling bit of dried herbs.

She handed the herbs to Jarkoda. “Mix them with a little water and heat them up. Your flame breath should do the trick. Feed it to Maeda, and she should live. Make sure to use it all, just to be safe. She should be fine in a few days.”

“And you, Rashana?”

She could have kissed him for the tenderness in his voice, even as guarded as he was, but she settled for a smile. She was gaining better control over the metal face; the extra power helped her shape her expressions much more easily than usual. “I’ll recover soon. I drank too much, too fast.”

He nodded and prepared the herbs, careful not to let anything spill as he poured the mix down Maeda’s throat. She coughed and gagged, but kept it down. Anxious minutes passed, but finally her eyes fluttered open and the color started to return to her cheeks.

Rashana smiled down at her, an epiphany dawning like warm sunlight on a shriveled soul. As jealous as she’d been a few moments before, she still didn’t want to lose Maeda, even if the woman was as prickly as a pufferfish.

“Took you long enough to show up,” Maeda rasped.

“I was . . . delayed,” Rashana said, looking away. It sounded lame as soon as she’d said it, but it would have to do.

Maeda chuckled. “Glad to see you’re pulling your weight around here. Lucky you can’t be poisoned. We would have had them on our own if not for their cheating ways.”

Rashana lifted her head and met Maeda’s gaze this time. She offered a small smile as a peace offering. She didn’t want to risk alienating them. “I hear that’s what family does.”

Family. The word seemed foreign, but it felt right, somehow. Rashana forced away the madness and bloodlust. She’d only known the team for a few days, but she already knew that she loved them too much to lose them again. They were stuck with her now, for better or worse.