by RJ Metcalf
Brandon blinked away tears of frustration and grief. Keep her safe, Slate. Zak, Clara, please get the girls to the Hawk quickly.
He shook himself as he staggered upright. The stench of blood and bodily fluids burned Brandon’s sinuses. Faltering steps brought him to his parents’ bodies. He recognized part of his father’s hand and signet ring. The hem of his mother’s dress.
His stomach churned and he turned away to retch.
There was nothing for him to do, no battlefield rites. Not when there was so little left of them.
Brandon left the chamber of death and stepped carefully around the bodies blocking the door. Numbly, he placed Richard’s sword on his brother’s chest and lifted Richard’s head. A jangling sound caught his attention, and he hiccupped a sob as he picked up Rose’s bloody locket. Brandon set Richard’s head back where it belonged and closed Richard’s fingers around the locket. Then he closed his brother’s eyes.
“Goodbye, brother. Rest easy with Rose and your child.” Brandon turned away, blinking tears back again, not allowing himself to fall into the trap of emotions when a battle was still to be fought.
Turning to the corpse that his sword was still stuck in, Brandon braced his foot against the man’s chest and heaved until his weapon broke free. He wiped the blood and broken bits of bone against the man’s shirt, sheathing it a moment later.
Brandon faced his parents’ bedchamber doors and bowed. “I will be back,” he vowed. “I will protect our people, and I will find who did this.” He lifted his head to look at the bodies of the men who had killed Richard. “And then I will avenge us all.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Slate
“This is a diversion.” Sapphire’s words haunted Slate as he ran alongside her. He had been duped. Used. And by his childhood best friend.
Why on all of Terrene did Cole want the barrier down?
If it came down, their lives were as good as forfeit.
If the barrier fell, it would ultimately be Slate’s fault.
The room spun as nausea roiled in his gut. How had it come to this? That he wanted Richard dead at any cost? He’d helped plot this! He’d let unvetted strangers into the palace.
And now his entire family, his entire world, was in danger.
Finn, I am so sorry. I should have kept my vow to you and worked to counter Richard’s folly in a way that wasn’t this … treasonous.
Despair gripped Slate as he followed the green blur that was Sapphire’s dress. If Cole hadn’t shared the whole truth of his ulterior motives in regards to the barrier, would he have also lied about the safety of Slate’s family? Cole once loved Sapphire—had that soured into hate, willing for her death?
He glanced back and made eye contact with one of the two men still chasing after them. The man sneered and lifted his blade in a mocking gesture.
Whales.
A distant boom shook the floor, and he staggered alongside Sapphire. They kept running. His baby sister moved with ease, one hand on her sword as the back of her skirt billowed behind her, red curls bouncing with her steps. Her eyes narrowed in a look of determination that stirred a dim memory of their father before he’d left for his final battle.
Despite all his years of training, all his experience, all his prowess, their father had died. No matter how well-trained one is with the sword, one can still die by it.
Would he die today? Slate’s mind balked and his steps stuttered awkwardly. Would his family die today? He ignored the concerned look Sapphire shot him, and he focused on pushing one leg out ahead of the other.
As long as his family made it out, he’d take whatever came his way. Author knew he deserved it.
And maybe it wasn’t Cole’s plan, to take down the barrier. Earlier tonight, after Slate had run ahead to investigate the screaming, he’d doubled back to try to talk Cole out of the hit. And what he’d seen in the room hadn’t made sense. Hadn’t sat right, but nothing had sat right tonight. Still, Roney and the two other men that Slate had recognized had been left dead in the otherwise empty room, blood pooled under them. Had those three men spoken up against the mission and gotten killed for it? Something else bothered him. Cole and Roney were battle brothers, and it was hard to imagine Cole just leaving his friend’s body like that.
What had changed?
And Sapphire! Fleeing by her side, when she shouldn’t have been anywhere near a battle. ‘Sploding whales, he cursed mentally as he gasped for breath. There never should’ve been anything like this.
They rounded the last bend together, desperation lending extra strength as they sprinted faster toward the library door just visible at the end of the hall. Three men stepped out of the doorway just then, their faces and clothing dirty and stained with blood, swords in hand.
Slate and Sapphire skidded to a halt. Two more raced up behind Slate and Sapphire. One man openly appraised Sapphire with a lecherous gleam. Slate bristled and grabbed her arm, pulling her into the room closest to them.
The men shouted and pursued. A sword jammed into the wood of the doorframe from the other side to prevent Slate from closing it fully. Slate shoved a chair that Sapphire slid to him against the door and backed up, sword in hand. A quick glance showed that they had jumped into the delegates’ meeting room, with plush furniture in one corner, a wet bar in another, and the third corner housed a nook for a bard. Not much for them to hide behind.
“Sap! Any secret passages in here that I don’t know of?” he shouted over his shoulder, backing further into the room as the men kicked the blocked door. Wood shards flew into the room, and they’d created an opening large enough to get in. The enemy slunk in around the chair like wolves on the prowl.
“Not that I know of!” she called back, the sound of her sword being drawn ringing behind him.
Slate leapt to the offense, slashing at the first man to come within reach. That one went down heavily. The man behind him jabbed forward, cutting Slate above the forehead as he jerked away from the blade. Blood poured, blanketing his eyes and blinding him. He stumbled back with a yell, sensing rather than seeing his sister dart forward to cover him.
He swiped at the blood, frantically trying to clear his vision, alarmed to know Sapphire was fighting to defend him when the role should be reversed. He could hear the grunts and clanging of swords and could smell his own bitter sweat of desperation. Rubbing with his sleeve a second time helped to clear his vision just in time to watch Sapphire stumble. His eyes snagged on a bloody gash on her thigh.
She hissed and swung her sword, catching a pudgy man in front of her by both his knees. He staggered and crashed into an end table. His tirade of curses cut short when she mercilessly stabbed him in the heart. She slipped back to Slate’s side.
Slate surged forward, waving her back. She ignored him and stood at an angle, their backs close together. The three remaining men ebbed forward at once. Bloated wh— Slate didn’t have time to finish his curse as he was forced to lunge forward to block. Something crashed behind him, and a deep voice yelped, then gurgled.
Slate swiped again at the blood that dribbled steadily into his left eye as he stared at the two men. The largest grinned as he hefted his blood-covered sword, a scar stretching grotesquely across his face. His counterpart was scrawny, holding back more, openly calculating before moving in.
The larger of the two moved toward Sapphire while the thin one watched Slate. Slate sidestepped slightly, his opponent mirroring the movement. He did it again, this time able just barely to see his sister in his peripheral vision.
Though dwarfed by her opponent’s height, Sapphire’s speed and agility worked in her favor as she darted in and out, blocking blows and dodging powerful strikes.
Just as the size difference in Sapphire’s battle worked in her favor, the short man’s size worked in his favor against Slate. Their bulk was not greatly different, but it was sufficient that Slate felt himself at a disadvantage as the man darted out of Slate’s range. The man constantly moved, forcing Slate to do
the same, and his arms shook in terror as he realized the man was strategically moving him into a crowded spot of furniture. His left eye was glued shut, blood making it impossible to see through.
Out of the corner of his good eye, he saw Sapphire leap behind her opponent, taking advantage of a lapse in his attention. She struck his knees, then his neck. Good. Run while you can, Slate thought desperately as his sword wrenched to the side from a blow that surprised him with strength. He swung back, catching the man’s wrist.
His opponent dropped his sword and backed up, out of Slate’s reach. Slate wiped at the blood on his face again, trying to see where the man went. His eye widened as a chair whooshed through the air, clobbering his head. Slate dropped, his sword sliding across the floor. He curled into a ball, groaning and trying to hastily blink away the spots dancing in his vision. He couldn’t hear over the rushing in his ears.
He clung to the carpet as he sat on his knees, searching the room for his sister. She jumped over a toppled endtable, fear blowing her eyes impossibly wide. He followed her gaze to their final opponent and the blade stabbing through the air toward Slate’s chest.
He’d pay for his crimes here and now then. He braced for inevitable end, sorry that Sapphire would have to see his death. Who would protect her when he was gone?
Sapphire slipped between him and the executioner’s blade. She faced away from him, but he saw the moment the bloodied sword point pierced through her back. She crumpled.
A scream ripped from Slate, and he grabbed the nearest weapon he could find—a shard of the broken chair, and a spilled decanter. He flung the glass jug, and the man raised a hand to deflect the improvised weapon. It crashed into him and he staggered back. Slate scrambled to his feet and lunged forward, both hands gripping the stake as he drove it into the man’s chest, uncaring if he risked getting killed too.
This man stabbed his sister. This man would die. Right here. Right now.
Foul breath washed over Slate’s face as the man gasped out, his eyes widening in pain. He dropped his sword, and only then did Slate realize that in the chaos, this whale scum had used Slate’s own sword to stab Sapphire. As if it wasn’t painful enough to know that it was Slate’s actions that had led to her death, it had to be his own weapon, too. Slate heaved against the stake, driving it deeper into the man’s chest, then he let go, letting the body drop.
The room spun and nausea roiled in his stomach, but Slate careened, looking for Sapphire. She’d fallen on her back, her eyes half-mast as she watched. Her lips twitched as he drew near. He fell to his knees by her side.
“Why? Sap, why?” he sobbed, brushing away the sweaty curls plastered to her forehead. He recoiled when he saw the bloody streak his shaking fingers left on her ashen face.
Her eyes, her beautiful blue eyes, stared up at him, love shining for him despite the blood pouring out of her. Her hand fluttered at her side in silent pain. Slate grasped at her hand. She gasped, eyes rolling back in agony, then focusing on him.
She smiled weakly. “You’re my brother,” she said simply. She took in a shallow breath, and a horrible sucking sound came from her chest. “Protect … the citadel.” Her words grew fainter, and Slate leaned forward, his ear at her lips. “Adeline … for me.”
Sapphire slumped, her body suddenly heavier. Her head lolled back over his arm, empty eyes staring into the forever-tarnished room.
Numb shock rolled over Slate as he clung to his baby sister’s body, refusing to believe that she was gone.
No.
He shook his head in denial, words falling out of his mouth in a babble of anguish. “No, no, no, Sapphire. No, don’t leave me. No! Sapphire!”
He wailed, tears flooding down his face as he bent over her. His lungs squeezed, burning. Hot droplets of sorrow splashed on her cheek, mixing in with her blood and running down her neck.
Time had no meaning for Slate as he knelt, mourning his sister.
My fault. All my fault. I should never have let them in. My fault. My sister is dead and it’s my fault. The words repeated themselves in an incriminating mantra.
Gritting his teeth, Slate smoothed the fabric of her blood-soaked bodice to try to hide the damage. He straightened her legs and arranged her skirt, wiped her face clean of blood and sweat and teased her hair to fall around her face. Heart hammering in his chest, beating a rhythm of bitter truths, he closed her distant blue eyes, saying goodbye to the baby sister he should have protected.
He bowed his head over her and rested his hand over hers. His voice cracked. “I’m sorry I failed to protect you. Go, rest in peace in Areilia.”
Fingers shaking, he untied her azure sword sheath and affixed it to his belt. Not yet ready to test his legs, Slate crawled on his knees to reach her blue sword, wiping it clean on the last man she had killed. He’d never be able to touch his own sword again. Not after it killed the person it was meant to protect. He slid her blade into its home at his hip.
Slate knelt there, taking deep breaths before he lumbered slowly to his feet, feeling years older than he had when he woke up that morning. He stood there, staring at his sister’s body before realizing he’d never replied—never answered her. He fell back to his knees, bowing his head as he saluted, hand over his chest. “I will protect the citadel. With my life. And if I live past that, I will protect Adeline, also with my life.” His voice died to whisper as he vowed. “Forgive me, as I need to leave you here.”
Slate braced a hand against the floor to help himself stand. I need to get to the citadel. He turned to the open door before glancing back at Sapphire, his jaw trembling. His vision blurred again, but this time when he swiped at his eyes, it was tears, not blood, that streamed down his face.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Clara
Clara exhaled slowly as she watched the four men peruse the room. She glanced at her own little group. Zak, Garnet, and Adeline huddled with her behind a couch in the drawing room they’d just entered, moments before the Reformers walked in. It was fortuitous that they’d been forewarned by the rough laughter of the group, and it had given them half of a panicked second to dive behind the overstuffed furniture. Had the passageway still been open, they would’ve gone back, but fortune hadn’t smiled upon them that much. Not today.
And now they were trapped, waiting for the men to leave. The group hadn’t seemed too interested in exploring the room or breaking anything. Instead, they were gathered around the lavish guest bar of spirits and liquors, each man guzzling a glass before refilling it. This had gone on for several minutes already, each minute increasing the tension and fear in Garnet’s and Zak’s eyes.
Clara kept her hand loose on her dagger, biting her lip. Void take them all. If only we had been able to take the passage directly.
When they’d arrived to the room they’d originally planned to exit through, they could all hear the sounds of battle echoing through the other side of the wall. Clara and Garnet simultaneously agreed that to get to the library through the delegates’ room would be suicide upon hearing the sounds of fighting in there. So they’d backtracked through the narrow, dark walkway and come to the drawing room. There they’d agreed to try for the front doors to escape. Enough time had passed that the rioters were likely further into the palace, making the library difficult to access, and possibly leaving the front doors open.
It seemed like their best chance at the time. Now, not so much.
Zak flinched by her side when they heard a faint scream from somewhere in the hallway. A boom rumbled the floor a moment later. The men paused when they heard it, all of them raising a glass with a cheer a moment later. Adeline moaned, and Garnet used the baby blanket to try to stifle the sound. Clara gripped her sword. So far, they’d remained undetected. But there was no way to get to the door without being noticed.
Garnet sneezed.
Adeline wailed at the sudden sinus explosion so close to her. The men turned to the sound, three staggering, already drunk. Clara popped up, sword in hand as she pushed Za
k and Garnet, yelling at them to move.
Bloated whales!
A quick surge of satisfaction washed through Clara as Zak and Garnet didn’t hesitate to obey, both of them running straight to the door. One man grabbed for Garnet, and Zak stepped in his way. Clara narrowed her eyes at the three men closest to her. Hopefully they were as drunk as they appeared.
Waiting for them to reach her on their terms would be a grievous mistake.
She reached out with her left hand, grabbed a decanter off a sidetable, and threw it at the closest man. It thunked and shattered in his face. He dropped. The other two raised their weapons and yelled incoherently.
Clara glided forward to meet the strike of the first man. The clang of their swords meeting sent reverberations up her arm. She pushed against his blade, momentum driving him back a half step. She disengaged their blades and dragged her sword through his soft torso as she whipped by, eyes searching for the second opponent.
Piercing hot agony flared in her side. Clara whirled even as she stumbled. The second man had hung back and waited for the opportune moment. He hadn’t retracted his sword though, opting to sneer at her in victory first. She snarled and swung her blade at his neck. His body fell, head partially severed.
Son of the—
Clara pressed her hand against her stomach, in a desperate attempt to staunch the flow of blood. She lifted her fingers and tentatively probed the injury. The slice reached from navel to at least two fingers around her side. Nausea rose when she realized she could feel the rough webbing that held organs in.
I have to get them out of here. Before it’s too late.
Keeping her hand against her side, she turned to witness Zak strike the man blocking his path, landing his fist squarely in the man’s groin. The man let out a strangled gasp and fell to his knees. Garnet smashed a luminary lamp over his head. Clara switched her sword to her other hand and walked as fast as she could to the doorway, letting go of her side to grab Zak’s arm and pull him along.