Jane didn't know how long she stared at her brother.

At Phillip.

Phillip had been dead for years – that's what everyone had assumed. He had vanished one day without a trace. The cops had been called, and a missing person alert had gone out, but no amount of searching and investigating had yielded so much as a shoelace. As the years wore on—slow, agonizing years, in which their dad had locked himself in his office and their mom had given into despair—they had come (slowly, reluctantly) to accept that Phillip must be dead.

But here he was, now, alive and staring at Jane. So hollowed out by misery and pain were his eyes, Jane wondered if he were truly seeing her. He looked fevered, delirious. Jane's heart ached with the horror of it.

"Fantastic," he muttered, as she stared at him, lost for words. "Another illusion."

"No," said Jane. "No, I'm not an illusion—"

"Exactly what an illusion would say. Can't you all just leave me alone?"

Jane flinched at the savage despair in his voice. "Phillip—it's really me—it's your sister, Jane—"

"Right."

"What have they done to you?"

Phillip closed his eyes and turned his head away.

"All right – all right!" Jane's hands shook. "You need proof – Erm – your birthday is February 20th; my birthday is April third, our sister's name is Sandra, we were adopted, our parents' names are Clarissa and Patrick –"

She eyes Phillip helplessly. He stared back at her, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

"When we were—when we were kids, we used to play out in the yard – you would read us fantasy books in our tree house—you liked science, you used to collect animals, bugs and butterflies and things, show them off to us—you used to help us with our homework—sometimes you would even act out famous events using turtles we caught in the pond by the brook behind our house... Oh Phillip, we thought you were dead. The police never found your body—"

She wanted to reach a hand forward – maybe if she touched Phillip she could banish the suspicion from his eyes – but the magic barrier around his cell pulsed a sick, puke yellow. Jane did not want to know what would happen if her hand made contact.

"How do I get you out of here?"

"You don't," said Phillip dully. "Because I still think I'm hallucinating you."

"If you were hallucinating me, wouldn't you hallucinate me being ten or twelve, however old I was when we last saw each other?" Jane wanted to cry. "How do I get you out of this cell? Tell me!"

"I don't know."

"Well – well, what exactly did the person who magicked the barrier do when they set it up?"

Phillip leaned back against the wall. His chin and left cheek were scarlet with blood. "If you really are Jane... you shouldn't be here at all. How are you here?"

"There was a portal in Uncle Bauer's study –"

Jane broke off. Had her uncle been trying to open that portal so he could search for Phillip? She would have to think about that later.

"You..."

Some of the bewilderment and suspicion leaked from Phillip's eyes, to be replaced with... fear? Jane was not sure this was much better, but it was a start.

"You... Gods." He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed them blinked hard and stared at her. "Are you really... hell. You shouldn't be here. Don't let them find you... If Zakhar finds you –"

A frisson of fear chilled her spine. "Is he likely to come here soon?"

Phillip frowned.

"Look," said Jane. "I need to get you out. Can you please, please rack your delirious brain long enough to come up with something I could try? You've been on this world awhile – you must have some idea –"

A look of horror crept across Phillip's face. "I'm your Godstest," he said. "Jane, if you really are Jane and not some hallucination my delirious brain has concocted... then I'm your Godstest, aren't I?"

"Yes, and I really don't want to fail this one –"

Phillip struggled to sit up. "Okay," he said. "Okay. We're doing this. What do you have. Weapons, magical items, that sort of thing."

This was the Phillip Jane remembered, the take-charge, overbearing, sharp-as-tacks brother who had been the child prodigy growing up in the Huang house. "Magical machete," she said. "Knife. Boots."

"That's not a machete," said Phillip, staring her blade. "It's a kladenet."

"Er –"

"A magical falchion."

"Er..."

"Falchion. Machetes are huge knives... falchions are similarly curved but with hilts for protection in battle... the word is French, derived from the Latin word falx, which means 'sickle'. The kladenet is... I think... a falchion infused with magic, more popular in regions like Somita and northern Kanach... although typically still only the purview of the wealthy or those with magical talent –"

Phillip, Jane thought irritably, was the only person in the world who would spout off useless etymological facts during a rescue. "Focus, please," she said. "Will this weapon help us?"

"Yes... Maybe. Where did you get it?"

"From some dead guy in chain mail on the battlefield."

"Sounds legit." Phillip closed his eyes and adjusted himself against the wall. "Try using it to cut through the barrier. There may be backlash... try not to let it affect you too much."

Jane swung the kladenet at the barrier. Pain pulsed up her arm. She gasped and dropped the kladenet, which crashed to the ground.

"I told you there'd be backlash," said Phillip. "Again. I'll add my magic too."

It felt like the sword was embedded with a dozen electric eels, each with a vendetta against her. Fingers burning, shoulders screaming with pain, Jane swung again and again. Fractures appeared in the barrier, silver cracks that deepened with each strike.

"Keep going," said Phillip's voice, thready with pain. "Keep –"

Without warning, the barrier exploded.

Jane flew backward and landed hard; breath left her lungs in a whoosh. For a moment, she stared at the ceiling, dazed. Above her, fragments of magic hung in the air, glittering and fading to nothing.

Owww.

Nearby, she heard coughing. She scrambled to her feet. "Phillip? Phillip! Are you okay?"

Her brother's eyelids fluttered.

"We did it," he muttered. "Just... as I thought... superficial barrier... weak... They... didn't expect outside attack, mostly it was just to hold me in..."

The barrier had felt strong to Jane, but this was no time to argue. "We gotta go."

She draped one of his arms over hers, and they began a slow shuffle out of the cell. Jane's insides felt queasy. Phillip was missing two fingers on his right hand. His back was caked in blood, and his feet were bare. The stench of old vomit stung her nostrils.

Now that Phillip was out of his cell, the sheer impossibility of Jane's task hit home. They were in an enemy stronghold, and Phillip was badly hurt. How were they going to sneak out without being seen?

"Did you say... you had a spare knife?" Phillip panted.

She handed it over. "We need to get you a uniform – to get past the guards –"

"Laundry... on the first floor. Passed it... earlier. This way."

But they had barely gone thirty feet before Phillip doubled over, panting. He rubbed his forehead, his face ashen.

"We can stop for a bit –"

"No! Zakhar will... know we're gone."

"Do you want me to levitate you –"

Phillip heaved himself up again. "Save your energy. Not much farther."

It was only five minutes before they arrived at the mess hall, but it felt like much longer. With each stop to rest, Jane's insides roiled with fear. By the time they arrived, her nerves were wound almost to breaking point. She nearly cried when she saw that the mess hall was occupied by not one, but two armored Kanachskiy soldiers.

Phillip put a finger to his lips. Silently, he pointed to a door on the opposite side of the hall, directly beyond where the soldiers were sitting. Jane gulped.

Sucking in a breath, Jane summoned a concealment charm. Then – slowly, carefully – she slid through the doorway and began to tiptoe across the mess hall.

The soldiers were occupied with their card game and didn't seem to notice the shadow she made as she hugged the wall, mouse-like, barely breathing. Jane reached the opposite door, turned the handle, and pulled.

There was an awful squeal of unoiled hinges.

Both soldiers turned.

Jane shook. She knew – from practicing with Nikolay – that her concealment charm was passible when nobody knew she was there. Unfortunately, it didn't stand up to scrutiny, especially not at close range.

So the fact that the soldiers were looking at her was a very bad sign. Even worse, her mind had gone hideously, horribly blank. The younger soldier reached for his sword and – crapcrapcrapcrapcrap –

"Don't stab me!"

Her voice sounded high and terrified to her own ears.

The soldier lowered his sword, looking surprised.

"A woman!" he said. "Is the Somitan military so decrepit, they are now sending women to infiltrate our camp?"

The other soldier was already racing toward the doorway. He opened his mouth, as if to shout. And then he stopped, mid-stride. Blood spurted from his neck, great globs of it, splashing to the floor. He tumbled backward, a knife protruding from his neck.

Jane gasped. Beside her, the shorter soldier yelled and whirled around. He advanced on the doorway.

On Phillip.

Phillip's face was gray. He seemed to be using the wall to support his entire body. But he still managed a cool stare for the advancing soldier.

"You're that prisoner they brought in this morning. And who is she? Your whore?" The soldier jabbed a finger at Jane. "Imagine how Velos will thank me when I see your foul face returned to his cells!"

He kicked Phillip's leg, and Phillip crumpled to the ground. The soldier sneered. He raised a leg to kick Phillip again –

Jane's hands constricted around her weapon. Before her brain could process what was happening, she sprinted forward, her movements fueled by rage and terror. The Kanachskiy didn't even have time to turn before Jane's arm came down. The kladenet embedded itself in his back.

The soldier roared with pain. Jane yanked the blade free and then stabbed again. It was a messy attack, fueled by panic and terror, but this time her strike landed true. The blade pierced straight through the Kanachskiy's chain mail and emerged out the opposite side. Jane, still frantic with terror, pulled the blade out and hit him with the flat of the blade on the head, again and again, until the man grunted and toppled over –

He was down – he was down, and there was blood everywhere, pooling all over the floor – Jane stepped backward, the blade held in front of her, in between her and the man she'd just –

"I stabbed him," she said in disbelief. Her hands shook. "I stabbed him in the back, and – I –"

"Get the other soldier's boots," said Phillip.

"I think – I think I hit an artery –"

"Get them, Jane!"

Jane looked at Phillip. He crouched on the ground, hugging the leg the Kanachskiy soldier had kicked. His eyes beseeched her. "Someone will have ... heard... please, Jane."

The fog lifted from Jane's mind. She hurried forward, trying to ignore the blood pooling from the man she'd just attacked –

Killed.

"Get the knife and his weapon," said Phillip. "Block the door... conceal us..."

Jane nodded. She helped Phillip struggle into the old soldier's boots and a tunic from the nearby laundry station. "They'll all be on us in a few minutes," Phillip panted. "Have to... get out fast. Have you ever flown a wyvern?"

Jane shook her head. Soldiers pounded on the door to the mess hall. The lock wouldn't hold them for long. Jane levitated Phillip into the air.

And ran.

The laundry opened into another series of corridors, each more mazelike than the last. Phillip called out directions, his voice growing weaker as they went. Jane didn't dare look back. She poured more magic into the levitation spell, urged her feet to run faster. Her lungs burned. Her calves were on fire.

They rounded a corner. Jane skidded to a halt. Three dozen wyverns stared at them, with varying degrees of alarm.

They had found the stables.

She turned to Phillip and was alarmed to see his eyelids drooping. "What now?" she asked frantically.

"Cut..."

"Phillip?"

"Cut... all the tethers you can find... all the wyverns loose..."

Jane slammed the kladenet into the nearest wyvern's tether. It stomped and shuffled, and she had to duck as its tail crashed down, inches from where her head had been a moment before.

She ran, dragging Phillip behind her, slashing tethers as she went. Behind her, she could hear the shuffling snorts of the wyverns; their terrified brays echoed thorugh the stable. She didn't stop until she reached the very end of the stable. The wyverns that stood there were smaller than the others and seemed slightly less imposing. Jane stopped in front of a blue female with white ears.

"Okay, Phillip! How do I ride this thing?"

He didn't answer.

"Phillip...?"

"Tired..." he murmured.

Jane looked at the wyvern. They wyvern blinked at her. It was smaller than the dragon she'd tackled with Nikolay, but each of its scales was still bigger than her hand.

"Please don't eat me," Jane muttered, and she scrambled up its back.

Kanachskiy men were hammering at the back of the stable door – she could hear the squeal of hinges forced open by magic. Jane hauled Phillip after her with a combination of adrenaline and magic. She kicked her wyvern, first gently, then with considerably more force.

The wyvern eyed her with detached curiosity.

"Move!" Jane cried. "Giddyap! Mush!"

If only wyverns came with an instruction manual! Jane glanced toward the doorway. Darkness filled the doorway – Jane saw a black shape, inhuman, with scarlet eyes...

Desperately, Jane smacked the wyvern with her kladenet. The animal jumped and bucked, but still didn't take flight. Near the doorway, a chaos of wyverns shrieked and stomped. The shouts of soldiers filled the stable, and then a sound like a minor explosion. A second later, an arrow whizzed past the wyvern's left wing and thudded into the stable wall.

That was the last straw for the poor beast. It let out a displeased bellow and reared again, almost unseating Jane. Then it took off into the night. And not a moment too soon. As Jane looked over her shoulder, past the crush of bewildered wyverns and soldiers, she saw again that hideous blackness – those red, red eyes watching her through the dark...

Then the stables were out of sight, and they were joyously, thankfully airborne, the wind in their faces, surrounded by the whupping wings of a dozen other wyverns who had also taken off in fear –

Jane took a firmer grip on the wyvern's back and on Phillip, who lolled perilously in her arms. She tried not to look at the ground, which was terrifyingly far below.

A shout from behind made her tense again. She tried to spur her wyvern faster, but as before, her urgings seemed only to confuse the animal. Her heart sank. The wyvern was heading – not toward the Somitan forest, as Jane had hoped, but in the direction of the dense forest on the Kanachskiy side of the no-man's-land. Jane tugged on the wyvern's scales, in a fruitless attempt to turn it.

To add to her horror, the dawn light showed a magical whirlwind fast approaching. The wyvern had spotted it too. It let out a panicky bellow and turned sharply –"No! Stoppit, wrong way, you stupid animal!" – so that it was directly on course for the Kanachskiy side of the border. But its sudden turn caused it to fly into a second whirlwind, which had just appeared from behind the trees.

The wyvern screamed. Jane screamed too. Glass shards whipped into her at agonizing speed – and the fun didn't stop there. As Jane threw a protective magical shield around them, she smelled the sick-sour odor of Dragonsleep.

"Get out of the storm!" Jane screamed at the wyvern. "Get out, get out, get out!"

For once, the wyvern obeyed her. With an agonized cry, it launched itself through the whirlwind and out the other side. But the wyvern was faltering; it flew slower and slower, with listless, tired wingbeats.

At last it alighted on the battlefield, halfway between Somitan and Kanachskiy territory. It swayed and began to topple. Jane leapt free. She rolled across the glass-strewn ground, coughing.

The wyvern lay on the ground, eyes shut, wheezing. It was obviously more sensitive to the poison cloud than she was. Jane stumbled forward. Phillip had landed a short distance away. He was a pale, deathly white. An arrow protruded from his forearm, and blood trickled sluggishly from the wound.

"Phillip?" she whispered.

Don't be dead – please, please don't be dead –

Jane put a hand to his chest.

His breathing was labored, but he was still breathing.

Still alive.

Jane spared a last, apologetic glance at the wyvern. Then she levitated her brother.

And began to walk.

It was the hardest thing she'd ever done, keeping Phillip aloft while slicing through brambles. She lost count of the number of times she wanted to give up. To lay down. To cry.

Her muscles burned – her lungs ached – her mind was numb with the strain of keeping Phillip aloft. She thought about calling out to the gods, about begging them to end her Godstest. She hadn't signed up for this – she'd never wanted this – she could die here – Phillip could die –

She had to press on.

Thus far, Jane had managed to avoid stepping into the acrid tar pools that littered the battlefield. They smelled malicious and glinted with an oily sheen. In a few pools, she saw the remains of soldiers: a hint of hair, a bone-white hand, a coat.

As she drew closer to the Somitan side, the density of tar pools increased, until they were impossible to avoid. Jane had to hopscotch around them in ever-more-creative ways.

She was almost through one of the densest patches, just congratulating herself on not getting caught, when her foot slipped. She lost her balance, stumbled forward –

Her right boot sank into one of the tar pools.

Jane tried to yank the boot free. It didn't budge. The tar was molasses-thick, and it held her in a vise-like grip. To her horror, her other foot began to slip. She overbalanced –

– and her left boot landed in tar.

Jane froze.

For several minutes, she stared at her feet – hopeless, exhausted, despairing. The pre-dawn air washed over her, chilling her to the bone.

She had to keep going. If she didn't move, she would die – Phillip would die – alone and forgotten, in the middle of this battlefield –

Should she beg the gods to end it all, to bring her and Phillip to Somita's border? The words rose to her lips (Please, I forfeit, please, I'll do anything, just let us live, let us get to safety). Tears rose to her eyes. If she begged the gods for help now, would they help her?

Or would they just laugh?

She swallowed a sob.