They say hate is a funny thing. Or at least that it can be if you don’t allow it to consume you. Diya was no expert on captivity—though she was beginning to become far more familiar with it than she’d like—still, she was cognizant that there was a certain something about confinement that made it quite an easy place to wallow in self-pity and provided any number of other unpleasant feelings to chew on until one’s jaw was sore.

  Diya didn’t feel like laughing. Her jaw was in fact a bit sore.

  The cell was cold, and her cot was about as comfy as sleeping on a bed of rocks. She wasn’t entirely convinced that the uneven mattress wasn’t stuffed with stones. A diamond-shaped window holding five rusted bars invited a biting breeze into the cell. At first, she sat shivering on the floor, but hours of imagining the countless colorful ways she might murder Kromac had warmed her soul.

  Dropping him from high above the clouds was her current favorite, but learning that nasty curse so that she could turn him into a half-spider, half-human monstrosity was sounding better by the minute. Then, of course, there was locking him up for the rest of his days in the ribcage foundry back home. Hell, even a good old-fashioned disfigurement might not be a bad way to go.

  She didn’t know him all too well, but he did seem just the type to enjoy admiring his reflection.

  I bet he’d enjoy it less if he found himself suddenly without a nose. I had a run-in once with a nose-less pirate, and that’s a look not even a mother could love—granted, that wouldn’t be an option for him, considering his mother is dead, but expressions don’t always need to be entirely accurate to land. Maybe Shikra could peck all of his teeth out, that way, his diet would need to shift dramatically. That wouldn’t be fun for him…imagine drinking a steak. Ick. Perhaps I could press his face against a steaming airship engine. I figure that should leave that pretty face a bit droopy and melted.

  A wicked smile creased her lips, and she stared out into the night. With only a handful of lonely stars glowing in the black sky congested with clouds, her eyes strained to make out the streets surrounding the tower.

  Shouting voices filled the courtyard below, and her attention was drawn towards a mob of fuming forms. Lines of armed guards pointed flintlock carbines at the mob, clearly intent on keeping them out of the prison tower. In the flickering torchlight, she saw Tamsin at the head of the mob and her heart fluttered. Despite the danger of the situation, there was something sincerely endearing about having a partner who would rouse a mob for you if necessary.

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  Standing up on her tip toes in order to get the clearest view possible of the ruckus below, Diya nearly fell over backwards when something unexpected startled her.

  A giant avian eye appeared—fiery like magma with a black sphere like an eclipse at the center—watching her through the window. Magnificent feathers surrounded it.

  “Shikra!” Diya mouthed, careful not to cry out for fear of alerting the guards.

  Her old friend cooed, as if to say I couldn’t just let you rot in here, girl. Then Shikra shifted, and through the window Diya saw a most welcome sight—hanging from the roc’s saddle was her explosives satchel.

  Diya stretched her arm through the bars and pet Shikra softly, then took the satchel. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you, my sweet girl. If we ever get back home, I am going to shower you with those grilled lizard skewers you love. Now go before someone sees you. Stay nearby, I will call for you when I need you most.”

  Shikra bobbed her head and, flapping her mighty wings twice, disappeared into the darkness of night.

  The explosives satchel felt light. Diya hadn’t had a good opportunity or reason to top it off in recent weeks, but she hoped it would still have something that might help her out of her predicament.

  Thin fingers dug into the bag, and she felt a wave of relief to find three ceramic spheres: two violet bombs and one classic gunpowder bomb. The latter might be perfect for blowing a hole in the already crumbling stone wall. With an opening large enough, she could climb out and ride off into the night on Shikra’s back.

  Glancing around the cell for other options, only to find none, had her mind made up.

  Diya set the gunpowder bomb near the wall with the diamond-shaped window. Next, she turned over the heavy wooden bed frame and leaned the stiff, rocklike mattress against it. The cell was small, therefore when the bomb went off, it would be in her best interest to have something between her and the explosion. The bed frame and stiff mattress seemed like her best options.

  Right as she had everything in position and was getting set to place the explosive, she heard a bewildered voice from the cell door.

  Her stomach dropped.

  “What in the seven curses is this?” The perplexed guard shook his head at her from the cell door.

  Diya didn’t know what else to do, so she reached into the satchel and pulled out one of the violet bombs and cocked it back like she was going to throw it at him. She knew that specific bomb wouldn’t harm him—unless he was secretly part Skarlith—but he didn’t need to know that.

  He flinched back and his hands shot up defensively. “Oi! No need for all that, you basket case! You’re being released! No need to blow me up, I’m just doing my job…”

  Her eyes looked around at the insane scene she had orchestrated in the cell, then back at the cowering guard, and she placed the violet bomb back in the satchel. “Well, probably easier this way. But don’t play with me, I still wouldn’t mind blowing some shit up.”