There was a reason why the nobles of Druvaria likened Grimefell citizens to rats.

Attuned to the dirty backstreets and murky shadows of the slums, most knew how to use their wits to survive, and if not, they were more than capable of fighting their way out of trouble. Back them into a corner and it would be tooth and claw, not guile and charm or wealth, that earnt them another tide living on the black rock.

Yet, it was not their vicious streak that made them a dangerous pest in the eyes of King Ban-Keren—it was their sheer numbers.

The population of Grimefell was growing at an alarming rate. They all knew it. All felt the burden of it as it swelled at the seams of the citadel, picking at the stitches until they were fit to burst.

And it was none so evident than this morntide, when the streets were strangled by the crowds as they streamed out of their houses, to watch the great fleet of monolithic cargo ships rolling into the harbour, their ebony sails ballooning with the Setalah breeze.

Riggs had done well. Not that Elara had ever doubted him. A ruthless, savage bastard, he might have been, but he never failed to get the job done—whether in or out of the bedchamber—and Elara couldn't help but be impressed, despite the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The people marched the streets, fury crammed into the narrowest of alleys, rage and fear coating the slick cobblestones and tainting the air with their shouts and protest. The news had spread fast, as it always did in the slums, the closeness of the high-rise dwellings meaning word of mouth had passed from window to window, from balconette to attic room. The slum rats ran the length of the interlinking bridges, whispering Riggs' message into every shadow, every darkened corner. The gangs themselves had put aside their usual grievances to rouse all those in their quarters of Grimefell, urging all, young and old, to take to the streets and head to the port.

The thrum of the crowd joined with the beat in Elara's chest as she raced through the backstreets, forcing her way through the tidal waves of people, desperate to reach home and find her friends. She was no more than two streets away, when Anton's familiar bird-like whistle trilled over the heads of the throng, and she looked sharply for its source, spying the tall courtesan beckoning her from a tunnel across the way.

Dodging the mob, Elara darted into the passageway, allowing Anton to pull her into a small nook where he had to bow his head to avoid hitting the overhang. Underneath, an iron trellis caked in rust and fifth was the only barrier between them and the Setalah, which gurgled sluggishly in the waterway below.

"By the dead gods, Elara, what have you done?" Anton hissed, his eyes wide and bright with fear in the gloom of the enclave. "Sanus Vise came before dawn break, the fucking Order by his side. The Order, Elara! At our door!" He gripped her upper arms. "They wouldn't say why, just that they were there to take you in for questioning."

Elara hated seeing Anton's face so full of panic. Azure glitter from the previous moontide's work still ghosted his eyelids, smudged at the corners, his long, dark lashes dusted with gold. She'd always thought Anton too beautiful to ever have to bear a single pained expression, a single worry line marring his perfectly smooth brow. He deserved nothing but to stand in front of the canvas, his strong, yet delicate fingers dancing paint and splendour across the tightly-woven linen.

"What did Sanus say?" Elara said, trying to control her breathing. "Anton, what did he say?"

"He demanded to know where you were, said that he'd brought the Order to find you." Anton made a strangled noise in his throat. "He brought them to our home, Elara. Two Highguards looking for you."

Elara pressed her hands to his broad chest and inched closer. His heart pulsed against her palms. "I know and I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay? I will fix this, I will..."

"You cannot mean to let them take you!" Anton said, shrill. "You will not return, you know that! It'll be the dead fields for you, even if you get that far. What did you do? And what's it got to do with Sanus? He kept saying it was bad business. Why would he betray you like this? Why hand you to them?"

"He probably meant it was bad for business. You know Sanus. Profit before people. It's always been his way."

Anton was trembling now, his pretty eyes pricked with tears and she took his face in her hands and pulled him down, so she could rest her forehead against his cheek. She detected a faint whisper of sweet musk and wild violet on his skin and pushed the nausea down deep. He'd been working in the mid echelon last moontide, trying to earn his way into the Academy as she'd forced Koh-Miralus' face under the water, the bubbles whooshing violently from his open mouth and panic-flared nostrils.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I wish I could explain. I wish I could tell you it's all a mistake, that the Highguards have the wrong person, but I did something, Anton. I did it, and I couldn't stop myself. I wish I could tell you that I'm not the person that I am, but I cannot. I am this person, this thing..."

Anton drew back to stare into her eyes. "Stop this. Stop it. Just tell me, please. What's happened? What can I do? What can we do?"

Elara's chest tightened, her love for him then tethering her in a way she wished it wouldn't. She didn't deserve his loyalty; she didn't deserve any of them.

She gulped in air, thick and stale on her tongue. "I need to find Kelena."

"Kelena?" Anton's brow creased; his eyes dazed with confusion. "She's gone to the port with Bazel. The Highguards saw the people teeming from their homes and left. Elara, they say the King is going to deny us the water!"

"I know, I know, and Riggs and the other gangs will deal with it, but we need to find her, Anton. She's in danger! Which way did she go?"

Anton recoiled as if she'd reached out and slapped him sharp across the face. "It's him, isn't it? That fucking barbarian has found her. By the dead gods, Elara, what will we do?"

Elara palmed his cheek. "We find her first. Now, which way?"

***

They'd taken off together, Elara with her hood pulled up around her face, but her eyes scanning the bristling crowd as people continued to surge towards the docks, but somewhere along the way, she found herself separated from Anton. He called to her over the heads of the mob, his tall form easy to spot, but with the crowds an ever-growing, ever-shifting mass, Elara had no chance to break through to where he was.

Instead, she moved with the throng, letting it carry her along the route Anton had told her Bazel and Kelena had taken to reach the port.

All around her, the people jeered and cursed, their fury and indignation at the rumour she had help spread, spilling out into something in the air that felt feral and in danger of spiralling out of control.

The streets opened up ahead, revealing the cargo ships docked along the harbour's edge. The gargantuan vessels always reminded Elara of hulking black spider dragons, their jagged sails like an array of great wings furling, as the Dreynian rigging crew set to work securing the head sails and main sail in turn. They moved quickly, their worried gazes flitting to the baying mob that inched closer, their shouts churning the air and spiking the tension that had transformed the edge of Grimefell into a maelstrom of rage.

The Dreynian ships never stayed in port for long, spending just enough time to deliver the cargo and load up with ale, wine and other supplies, before they'd set sail again, keen to be free of the cursed waters of Druvaria. But, this tide, Elara could see the desperation and alarm in their faces, the way they gritted their teeth and tightened their jaws, their shoulders and backs glistening with sweat as they worked harder than ever to do what needed to be done and leave before the slums erupted.

And all along the water's edge, far enough that a step awry wouldn't see them tumbling into the Setalah, stood the King's Highguards—the merciless and brutal Serpent Order—a terrifying line of defence between the people and that which would be denied to them.

Elara could sense a change in the air, something that prickled her skin with a thrill she barely dared to feel—it tasted of strength and of resistance, of a sudden tipping of the scales, the weights in their favour, as opposed to always, eternally, against them.

The sight of the Order stirred disquiet in her gut nevertheless, and she found herself wishing she could shrink out of existence, while also knowing that she was searching him out even then. Juda. She couldn't help herself.

Would he do as she'd asked if he saw her there? Would he look through her, as they all did, seeing not flesh and blood and warmth, but vermin instead? An infestation that needed wiping out?

She hoped he would, but even as she did find him, somehow able to spot him among the faceless beasts, their Batak oil masks and leather tunics a grotesque duplication of the same monster over and over, Elara's resolve faltered. She wanted him to recognise her, she wanted to feel his eyes upon her, even when she should be avoiding the attention of the Order and focusing on picking Kelena out of the crowd.

Her heart juddered when his gaze shifted. A slight fracture in his cold composure. Heat exploding inside her ribcage.

Their eyes met, fleeting, yet with enough recognition that Elara felt the undeniable pull of it, but then the crowd surged forward, their fury overspilling as the first of the water barrels was rolled down the gangplanks of the nearest ship.

It didn't take long for the first missile to be thrown. It arced high overhead, from the middle of the mob, its source unidentified, but it's aim clear. The clump of obsidian Druvarian rock struck the scimitar blade of one of the Highguards, who'd seen it coming and had raised his hand to stop the small fist-sized boulder from striking him in the face.

Chaos erupted, even as the barrels continued to roll, and more missiles—rocks, batons of wood, rotten fruit—flew towards the guards. Elara watched as Juda dodged a particularly vicious-looking piece of rock, skilfully batting it aside with his double-bladed scimitar, while forcing his fist into the face of someone who came at him, a blacksmith's hammer raised above his head.

As one, the Order advanced on the crowd, attempting to push them back, away from the ships.

"Elara!" A voice reached her through the commotion.

"Bazel!" Elara cried, spying the wiry boy's face, as he pushed his way through the jostling bodies.

Bazel's eyes were alive and full of fire as he reached her, fisting her cloak in his hands. "Elara, can you fucking believe this? Look at those Highguard drouzkas!" His laughter bubbled up, high-pitched and bordering on hysterical. "This is utter madness and I fucking love it!"

"Bazel, where is Kelena?"

As soon as she said it, Kelena appeared, shoving her elbow into the chest of someone who tried to bar her way and spilling forth a stream of curses at him, but her desperate gaze found Elara's instantly. She grasped Elara, gripping the back of her head to pull her close, her eyes narrowing when she saw Elara wince.

"What the fuck is going on?" she demanded. "Elara, what did you do? The Order were looking for you, at least they were until all this fuckery happened!"

Elara stared at her friend, her panic and desperation caging her voice in her throat.

Did she even ask you to kill him?

Juda's words rippled in her ears, shredding her nerves. Over Kelena's shoulder, Elara could still see him, slicing at all those who dared to attack him, deftly tossing one assailant off the edge of the dock, their screams muted as they hit the water below.

"I...I can explain..." she began, but her gaze was drawn elsewhere, a strange discomfort turning her flesh cold when she spotted the men, each one in turn, the terrifying realisation curdling her blood.

They weren't that difficult to spot. With the bloodied bedlam of the fight between the Order and the crowd taking centre stage, it was easy to pick out those whose attention was fixed elsewhere, and the three men that were cautiously weaving their way through the throng, their hardened stares focused upon Kelena and Elara, might as well have carried banners and flaming torches to identify themselves.

"Bazel," Elara said, tugging on the boy's arm. "Go find Anton, he was headed towards the north end of the dock the last I saw him. Get him out of here. Go back to the house and bar the door. Do not open it to anyone, do you understand? We'll meet you there when it's safe."

The boy's face crunched with bewilderment. "Safe? What the fuck are you even talking about?"

"Just do as I say. I'll explain later, I swear it."

With a perfunctory kiss on Bazel's head, about which the boy looked more alarmed than he was of her instructions, Elara grabbed Kelena's hand, pulling her through the mob.

As they began to run, Kelena gushed words into Elara's ears. "What is it? What's happened? Elara!" She tugged on her hand, slowing their pace.

Elara urged her on. "He's found you, Kelena. He's fucking found you." She gestured behind, and Kelena turned to look, her eyes already wide and stricken, her face paling as she took in the sight of the men doggedly following them.

The fact they knew their prey was aware of their presence only seemed to spur them on, and with shouts of rage, they increased their pace, shoving their way through the people pushing in the opposite direction, back towards the melee at the dockside.

"By the dead gods," whimpered Kelena, almost falling into Elara as she backed away, unable to tear her gaze from those who hunted her.

"Come on," Elara cried. "Run for fuck's sake."

And, so they did, their flight through the throng maddingly slow, like wading through a sea of Carraterrean salt treacle. Those still streaming towards the harbour spat curses at them as they fled, tried to grab them and force them to turn around, but Elara batted away all attempts with a balled fist and a viciousness that had even the most determined reel back.

Behind them, the men still followed, although Elara was relieved to see the smallest of them get knocked to the ground, disappearing in a jumble of limbs and screams as the crowd ate him up and swallowed him underfoot. That still left two.

"Quick," she said, pulling Kelena off the main road into a side street.

She knew where she was heading, even as the chaos continued to kick the spirit of Grimefell into action. These streets had lain dormant for too long. The people, numb too long. And now, it had awakened, revived from some moons-long hibernation, a beast that hungered for sustenance and thirsted for water.

And by the dead gods, did Grimefell thirst.

Together, Elara and Kelena fled the upper east quarter, their footsteps becoming louder against the cobbled streets as the crowds thinned out, most still heading towards the source of the disorder.

It wasn't long before they broke out of the narrow backstreets, the jutting black rock of the Druvarian coastline ahead of them, and beyond that, the Setalah, strangely calm this tide, as if it watched the riots consume the lower echelon of the Kingdom with vengeful, but patient eyes.

Why in the name of her foremothers had she thought to lead Kelena here, of all places, where there was nowhere for her friend to go, no way for her to escape?

But she knew the answer and it shamed her.

She'd come here because this was her safe place. Her sanctuary. Here, she could leave the citadel behind and fall into the Setalah's embrace. Savour the scent of the ocean. Feel the touch of her mother's hand, guiding her to their sacred temple, where no one could follow.

Her. Her. Her. Everything she did. Everything she had planned. It had all been done in a meticulously selfish way. Her needs, her rage, her desire for revenge.

Juda had been right. She'd ploughed headlong into this mad mission of vengeance, determined to make Koh-Miralus pay for his crimes, while never stopping once to consider if Kelena would have wanted it. By her foremothers, she'd never once considered that she would plunge her friend into an even greater danger, one that she had fought and struggled and strived so hard to avoid.

They came to a juddering halt, Elara closer to the cliff edge than Kelena, who tugged on her hand, attempting to pull her back.

"Fuck, Elara, what do we do? What the fuck do we do? There's nowhere to go."

Elara spun round, her mouth dropping open wordlessly when she saw the man come to halt not far from where they stood. There was only one of them now, the other somehow lost along the way, but one was still too many. In his hand, he held a small, jagged blade. His face twisted into a cruel smile and she saw too much of him then—Mica Koh-Miralus—and she recognised this one for what he was.

"So, you thought you could hide forever, did you, Tala?" His voice was hoarse from running, and he panted out the words, using the time to try and steady his breathing.

Kelena's eyes locked with Elara's, the panic and terror dripping tears down her cheekbones. She turned, slowly.

How Elara hated to watch her then. To see her shoulders drop. Her spine crumple. It was the Kelena she had first met. The beaten and broken one. The one wo dared look no one in the eye. The one who carried her broken heart outside of her chest.

"M-Mirha..." she stuttered.

The man who bore a striking resemblance to Koh-Miralus spat on the ground. "Narrag. Thought you could run from him, and then have the boldness to creep back into his home and kill him? I'm going to fucking gut you. You and your bitch friend."

Kelena rocked back on her heels. "Kill him...? He's...dead?"

'Don't play me for a fool, Tala!" he growled. "We know this was your doing. Who else could it be?" His cold gaze flitted to Elara. "Was it you? Did you trick your way into my brother's house and let her in? We found the window unlatched. We know how you got her in. You sly bitch, Tala, creeping back into your room like a thief, stealing his life from him, like you hadn't already stolen enough already."

Kelena was whimpering now, shaking her head vehemently.

Enraged, Elara stepped forward, putting herself between her friend and Mirha. "She stole nothing," she said. "But he stole everything from her. Your bastard drouzka of a brother. Such wealth he'd accumulated. Such treasures adorned his walls and his chambers. But I stole the most precious thing he had left: his life."

She laughed, ignoring the shocked gasp that came from behind her, instead remembering the power that had surged through her as she'd pushed him down and held him there, watching as the light faded from his eyes.

"She had nothing to do with it. I killed your brother, dearest Mirha, and let me tell you, it was the most satisfying thing I have ever done in my entire fucking life."

Mirha ran at her then, his scream full of rage and pain, and she shoved Kelena out of the way, backing up towards the cliff edge.

He was coming at her too fast, his momentum rash and unsteady. He crashed into her, the dagger raised, and she grabbed hold of him, letting the force of their bodies colliding propel them backwards.

Elara saw flashes of Kelena's terror-filled expression, her mouth stretching into a scream that was swallowed by the sound of his, as they tumbled from the jagged outcrop.

They fell then, Elara and Mirha Koh-Miralus, locked in a death embrace, with nothing but the rushing air around them and the hungry maw of the Setalah waiting to catch their fall.