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He swallowed. “Okay,” he said. “Well. I didn’t know she was going to do that.”

Sancia screamed as she let the rope slide through her hands, speeding down the side of the Mountain as the giant structure fell apart above her. She noticed that her descent was slowing, bit by bit, which was deeply upsetting to her.

I’m not out of range of the rig, she thought. It’s going to suck me in and collapse us into an ugly little brick just like what it’s doing to the dome!

She slowed further, and further, and she felt herself slipping back up — up toward the crumbling dome above.

“Scrum this!” she bellowed. She let go of the rope, gripped the side of the dome, and began springing and sprinting away from the maelstrom of gravity above, running sideways along the building’s face. It was, perhaps, the most absurd moment of the night so far, if not her life — but she had no mind to reflect upon it, since rocks and other debris were hurtling up past her to join the crackling dome.

But at some point, she finally went past the range of the gravity rig — and then she stopped running, and instead started falling down the side of the building.

She screamed, terrified, and watched as quoins and other architectural features flew by her.

She saw a stone balcony hurtling up at her, and flicked her hands out…

Her shoulders and back lit up with pain as her fingers made contact with the railing and gripped it tight. Then she swung down and her torso crashed into the bottom of the balcony, knocking the wind from her.

Breathing hard, she looked up and saw the destruction she had wrought above her. “Oh crap,” she said.

A significant portion of the top of the giant dome was now gone, imploding toward the gravity plates, forming what appeared to be a ball of pure blackness, as if folding in all these materials — stone, wood, and probably people — robbed them of their colors. It was hard to see how much of the dome was gone by now, as the gravity plates had created a giant spinning sphere of dust and debris, all circling that ball of blackness.

The ball grew and grew, a perfect sphere of impossible density…

There was a soft boom from somewhere out in the campo.

Sounds like Orso’s magic empty box just gave up, thought Sancia.

Then, abruptly, the air went still.

The dome stopped collapsing.

The huge ball of black hung in the air, and then…

The ball plummeted down, and struck the ground with a dense, bone-shaking thump — and it just kept falling, penetrating down, down, down into the earth.

Finally the crumbling and cracking ended — either the black ball had stopped falling, or it had fallen so far that it was now beyond earshot.

Sancia let out a gasp and hauled herself up over the balcony. She breathed there for a moment, then looked up at the ruins of the Mountain.

She froze. “No,” she whispered.

A decent chunk of the dome was simply gone, like someone had taken a vast spoon and carved out a bite from the top, much like one might a bowl of pudding — but not all of it.

Hanging in the air, suspended by a handful of pillars and supports in the exact place that damned well should have gotten collapsed into the gravity well first, and thus been totally annihilated, was a tiny island of tile and stone…

And standing in its middle, holding aloft something that looked like a complicated golden pocket watch, was Estelle Candiano.

“Shit!” screamed Sancia. She started to climb.

Every part of Estelle Candiano trembled. She had never been to war, never seen someone die, never witnessed any kind of genuine catastrophe or disaster in all of her life — so she had been somewhat unprepared for the maelstrom of cracking and crashing and dust that had unfolded mere feet above her head.

But not totally unprepared. Estelle had always been a quick thinker.

She hadn’t been sure it would work. She’d done her research, and had known that the hierophants’ imperiat could single out a specific scrived effect and control or kill it within any given space — and while she’d managed to kill the scrivings in that assassin’s lorica, acting as a breaker against a full-scale gravity-rig collapse was something else entirely.

And yet, as she cracked an eye and saw the wall beyond her had been totally obliterated, and saw that she and her gasping father and all these brutalized corpses were now situated upon a tiny blot of building floating in almost nothing, she realized her gambit had been phenomenally successful.

She stared around in disbelief. Dusty winds battered her face, and she could see straight across into one of the Candiano towers beyond — there were even people standing on the balconies, staring at her openmouthed.

She took a breath. “I–I knew I could do it,” she said coolly. She looked at her father. “I always told you — I could do anything. Anything. If you only gave me the chance.”

She could see the pink face of the Michiel clock tower. Four minutes left.

She stooped, picked up the golden dagger from the bloody office floor, and surveyed Tevanne before her.

“Broken,” she pronounced. “Smoking. Unintended. Corrupt!” she said to the city. “I will not forgive what you’ve done to me. I shall wash you all away with a dash of my hand. And though you’ll drown in pain and agony, on the whole, really, the world will thank m—”

There was a sharp tap sound. Estelle jumped as if someone had bustled into her. Then she staggered slightly to the side, and looked down.

The side of her stomach was a ragged hole, just above her left hip. Blood poured out of her belly and down her leg.

Bewildered, she tottered around, and saw the armored man lying on the floor, aiming his bolt caster at her.

Her face twisted in outrage. “You…you stupid son of a bitch!” She fell to her knees, grimacing in pain, and fruitlessly pressed a hand to the wound. “You…you stupid, stupid man!”

<I am really not sure I should be helping you,> said the Mountain dolefully.

<What, because I almost blew you up?> said Sancia as she ran through the Mountain’s halls.

<Well. Yes,> said the Mountain. <You peeled away nearly a fifth of my skin. But also — you are still not logged.>

She leapt into a lift. <Don’t you have some directive to save Tribuno Candiano’s life?>

<Yes?>

<Well, that’s what I’m trying to do. His daughter’s trying to kill him with a golden dagger. Get me up to his office—now.>

The lift lurched to life, and suddenly she was speeding up, up, up. Then the doors sprang open, and the Mountain said, <If this is true — then hurry.>

She ran down the hallway — which, she noted, was covered with ravaged corpses — and sprinted into Tribuno’s office, completely unsure what she’d find.

She skidded to a halt, and saw.

Gregor Dandolo lay on the ground, bleeding from one arm and trying to sit up, but his armor seemed too heavy for him. Estelle knelt a few feet beyond him, next to her father, a golden dagger in her hand. She had an enormous wound on her side, and blood was pouring out of her stomach to pool on the floor.

Sancia walked in slowly. Neither Gregor nor Estelle moved, and she stared at Gregor in disbelief. “God,” she said. “Gregor…How the hell are you alive? I heard you wer—”