The Highblades shouted as Galius darted across the room. He leapt the giant bed and skidded to a stop on the balcony, arresting his momentum before jumping onto the rail and balancing. With a salute, he spun, sheathed his black sword and dropped straight down. A blade whistled over his head, sparking on the stone rail.
He had planned this. Sort of. When he was young, he had been enamored of the stories of Zed Hack. Who wasn’t? Highblade Hack was the hero of all boys who aspired to be Highblades.
The work of a Highblade, Galius had soon come to discover, was mostly mind numbing. It was protecting a duchess’s heirloom masquerade mask deep inside her keep, a place no thief would dare go for a treasure no one would want to steal. It was standing guard duty at the palace through unending nights. It was following a fat noble as he visited a brothel.
Zed Hack, on the other hand, represented all of the excitement a ten-year-old boy wanted. Hack could best ten foes at once with his swordplay. He leapt onto horses. He swung from ropes. He jumped from balconies.
So this was something the legendary Hack would do, and while Galius had long since learned that the most effective route to success was usually the most practical, he had always longed to jump onto his horse, to swing from a rope, or to leap from one balcony to the next.
Every level on this side of the palace had one. In one Highblade Hack story, Zed had escaped six swordsmen this way.
Galius timed it as well as he could. He took that extra precious second to drop from the balcony rather than jump and risk sending himself wide of the next landing. But the balcony that rushed up at him still seemed frightfully far away. He reached for it, stretching as hard as he could.
His forearms smacked into the rail. His hands slipped in that flashing second, and he careened past it.
“No!” he shouted, trying to spin as his body whirled headfirst toward the ground. He reached in vain to catch the next rail.
A huge hand shot out, grabbing his wrist. Galius shouted as he jerked to a stop. He slammed hard against the rail. His arm felt like it had been pulled out of its socket, and white-hot pain shot through him. For a second, Galius’ vision went dark. He fought for consciousness and won.
The giant hand hauled him onto the balcony. Through watering eyes, Galius looked up. Blevins towered over him, his belly covered with blood.
“By the Faia!” Galius gasped.
Blevins grabbed the front of Galius’ harness, lifted him, and shoved him against the wall with one hand. Galius gasped at the pain. Each wound on the man’s belly should have killed him.
“Where is my sword?” Blevins growled, his blood-shot eyes flicking a glance at the leather-wrapped hilt at Galius’ back, then at Galius. He didn’t recognize it. He didn’t know that the blade he sought was within his grasp. Galius clenched his teeth through the pain, trying to think of what to do next. This man should be dead!
“What happened to Pazzek? Captain Delenne?” Galius demanded. But one look into Blevins’ black eyes, and he knew the truth.
“My sword,” Blevins growled in a deadly tone that assured Galius that he was next.
“I will tell you where it is,” Galius huffed. Blevin’s meaty fist pushed so hard Galius could barely breathe. “But you will give me your story first.”
Blevins pulled him close, putting their faces an inch apart. “Give me my sword, and I will give you your life.”
“In a pig’s eye!” Galius growled.
Fury lit Blevins’ face. He lifted Galius away from the wall and carried him toward the balcony as though he would hurl him over.
“Kill me,” Galius said tightly. “I’m living on borrowed time anyway. Or tell me your story and I’ll tell you where the sword is.”
Galius waited for the huge man to fling him over. Instead, Blevins nodded. He dropped Galius to his feet. “Very well, Highblade,” he rumbled.
Galius took a breath. He worked his arm in a slow, painful circle. It wasn’t dislocated. Good.
“You tried to jump from one balcony to the next?” Blevins asked suddenly.
Galius nodded, watching his eyes.
A small smile flickered across Blevins’ flushed face. “Like Zed Hack,” he said.
“Like Zed Hack,” Galius said.
A dark noise came from Blevins’ throat, a bubbling sound, and Galius realized that it was laughter.
Chapter 43
Adora
“Vecenne?” Adora whispered, needing to hear her sister’s voice. The room where the Highblades had shackled them was somewhere below the palace, cool and damp. She shivered in her thin clothing, praying to the Faia that Vecenne would answer her.
Her sister had not spoken, not since the Archon had...
Adora thrashed against her manacles. How could it be happening right here, right in the palace? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to think of a way out, but there was no plan that could right the wrongs that had happened in this room.
“Vecenne?” Adora whispered again. “You have to talk to me. Let me know you’re okay.” Adora had brought that monster into Vecenne’s room, had spilled this horror into her sister’s life.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” Adora said. Vecenne’s screams still echoed in her head. When Vecenne had awoken, she had fought the Archon as he methodically cut her clothes away. Those screams of rage became two gasps of pain as the Archon stole her innocence, then silence as he had his way. Of course, the Archon hadn’t touched Adora this time.
“Please, Vecenne,” she said to the dark. “You have to talk to me. Tell me you’re okay.”
Adora strained for the slightest sound, the smallest movement, but there was nothing.
Then a stifled cry, a body hitting the outside of the door. One of the Highblades raised his voice and was cut off mid-word. His cry became a gurgling sigh. Another thump hit the door, slid slowly down.
Keys jangled, fit the lock, then the door swung open. Torchlight leapt into the little room, and Galius Ash stepped through. Behind him, Blevins’ huge silhouette filled the doorway, his body covered with blood and wounds.
“By the Faia!” Adora exclaimed.
Galius gave her a tight smile. “Yes. It’s all madness, isn’t it?” he said. “Your highness.”
Adora couldn’t speak. “You know?”
Galius flashed a look at Blevins. There was awe and fear in that gaze. “It’s all madness,” he murmured. He worked quickly at the spools behind the table. Adora’s chains went slack.
“My sister,” she said. “Vecenne first.”
“Adora—”
“Please,” she begged.
Galius nodded and moved to Vecenne. He took in what had been done to her and set grimly to his work. He had her unlocked in moments. Vecenne slid down the “X” and stood on wobbly knees. Her gaze was distant, unfocused.
“I didn’t bring clothes,” Galius said.
Blevins, who had remained facing the hallway, removed his huge cloak and handed it to Galius. He wrapped it around Vecenne, who stared unblinking at the bodies of the dead Highblades.
Galius turned to Adora and freed her. Her bleeding, raw wrists filled with pain when the manacles came away. She clenched her teeth against the stinging.
Impulsively, she threw her arms around Galius’ neck. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you. For coming for me. For being...for being Galius Ash. I didn’t dare to hope.”
“Men are crazy for love,” he said.
“You’re a true Highblade.”
“A dead one if we don’t hurry. Come on, your highness.” He urged her to the door.
“Don’t call me that,” she said. “You don’t need to—”
“Make your chatter later,” Blevins growled.
Galius led Vecenne gently by the elbow. She stared at him, then listlessly followed him out the door. Galius shot a warning look at Adora. “Battle shock,” he said, shaking his head. “Her mind is—”
“She’s my sister,” Adora interrupted.
Galius nodded.
>
“Now or never,” Blevins growled.
The four of them started down the long, dark hallway. Torches flickered in sconces on the wall.
They turned sharply to the right, rounded the corner, and ascended the worn stairs quickly. Blevins led them through another twisting corridor that opened up into a wider, longer room with a stairway along the wall.
“We must go up,” Blevins said suddenly. “It opens to the western edge of the palace proper. This will be the most dangerous, so stay close, and stay quiet.” Then Blevins stopped, staring into the darkness beyond the stairway. He held up a hand for silence.
Adora heard it. The slightest scrape of metal against stone.
“We are found,” Blevins growled. His black sword sprang from its sheath like a wand of darkness, and he roared, charging forward.
Adora didn’t know what was happening at first. A flurry of whispers flew past her head, and she thought they had released bats or birds. Then Galius grunted, and Adora saw the feathered shaft sticking out of his thigh. He dropped Vecenne’s hand and leapt in front of Adora.
“Get down! Get behind!” he shouted. Another flurry of whispers. Galius fell to one knee. He leaned back into her, and she saw the arrow sticking out of his chest.
“Galius!” she screamed. His hand rose shakily in front of them, lifting his sword as though the thin blade could protect them from the next volley.
There was a steel crash as Blevins reached their assailants. Screams filled the corridor, and the arrows stopped. Blevins roared, and a body smashed into a wall somewhere in the darkness. Another man howled like his tongue had been cut out.
“I’m okay,” Galius coughed, pushing to his feet. He touched the side of his ribs where the arrow was buried deep. “Come on. He is giving us time. We must...use it.”
A Highblade’s battle cry was cut off. More steel clashed.
“Get behind him!” another man yelled.
“I have—” Another death scream ripped the darkness.
Vecenne did not hesitate this time. Her eyes were haunted, tight with pain, but there was life once again. There was determination. Galius grunted, grabbing Vecenne’s arm and hauling her forward. They ran up the narrow stairway.
“Got him!” a Highblade cried from below. “I—” His voice cut off in a sickly gurgle. Blevins roared again. It was no sound Adora had ever heard a human make.
“Galius!” Adora said as two of the Archon’s Highblades raced out of the darkness to the base of the stairs behind them. One cocked a crossbow, peering up at them as he fitted a bolt.
Galius reached the top landing and threw the door open, pushing his way through. The light of morning was blinding, and Adora rushed behind him, suddenly unable to see. He stopped abruptly, and she bumped into him. Something sharp scraped her shoulder.
She drew away as Galius slumped forward with a sigh.
A tall man stood silhouetted against the light, his curved Venishan sword thrust through Galius’ body. Galius sagged to his knees.
“No!” Adora screamed.
The man yanked the sword out, and Galius collapsed on the stones of the open hallway. Two gold-clad Highblades dragged him out of the way and through a doorway. The stranger with the bloody sword grabbed Adora and pulled her through too. He did the same with Vecenne, then slammed the door and twisted the key.
“No! He’s my friend. That’s my friend!” she said, throwing herself toward Galius, but the Highblades held her arms tightly. She looked up desperately at the man with the bloody sword.
“And who are you?” Her father stared down at her, his dark eyes flashing.
Chapter 44
Adora
Adora lunged for Galius, but she couldn’t reach him. He locked gazes with her, eyes wide with shock. Then the pain in his face eased, and he smiled as if he was dreaming.
“Die for love...” he breathed, and it stretched into a long huff. The light in his eyes faded, and he stared at nothing.
“Galius!” she screamed. She twisted and the Highblades finally let her go. She crashed to her knees next to him. “No!”
He had only wanted to help her. She had seduced him with no intention of loving him, and he had clung to his honor when the honor of his profession had failed him.
“Galius,” she whispered into his curly black hair. “Please, no.”
She was supposed to sacrifice herself for the prophecy. Not Galius. Not her sister’s body. When was the moment Adora paid for her own choices?
A rough hand grabbed her shoulder and hauled her upright, and she looked into her father’s black eyes.
“A fine harvest,” she spat. “Another innocent for your tally!”
He was just as she remembered. He still wore his beard tied into three points. The black and gold hair he shared with Adora was cut short just above his ears. His nose was long and pointed. The wrinkles at the edges of his mouth and eyes did not seem any deeper for the years that had passed. He was the father she had loved, the father who had betrayed her.
His gaze flicked over Adora’s courtesan dress, her bald head.
“You’re the bartender from Fairmist,” he said. “You came with Highblade Ash.” His lip curled and his grip on his sword tightened.
“No!” Vecenne lunged forward, grabbing her father’s arm. The emperor hesitated. Blevins’ cloak fell away from Vecenne, revealing her bare chest, the tatters of her pants at her belt. The emperor’s eyes went wide with rage.
“What has been done?” he roared.
“The Archon,” Vecenne said. “Not her. Not him.”
“Let him kill me, Vecenne,” Adora said, her voice low and trembling. “Let him do it twice.” She lifted her chin, exposing her throat to him. “Death is his answer. Innocent children. Valiant Highblades. Even the Faia, isn’t that right, Father?”
The emperor looked down at her, and his brow furrowed.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Just kill me and be done with it,” she said. “Let us come full circle.” Her father released her arm and took a step back as though she had struck him.
“I don’t know you,” he whispered even as his eyes lighted with recognition.
“Father, not here,” Vecenne said, pulling on his arm. “There is much to say, but not here. Please.”
The emperor flicked a glance at Vecenne as though she was a buzzing fly, then stared at Adora.
“I don’t know you,” he insisted, but his words were frail.
“A killer should remember his victims,” she said. “Or have there simply been too many?”
His curved sword drooped until the point clinked against the stones.
“By the Faia...” he gasped. “Mia.”
“You don’t have the right to pray to them. You don’t have the right to say my name!”
“Father, please!” Vecenne begged. The Highblades were watching everything.
“Take them—” the emperor stammered, his gaze never leaving Adora’s face. “To my chambers. Both of them.” His voice dropped, as though he barely had the wind to speak. “Do not hurt her.” He looked at the leader of the gold-clad Highblades. “The man who hurts her dies.”
He glanced at the closed door through which Adora, Vecenne and Galius had escaped. “Recover the rest of this group, alive if possible. And bring Lord Felesh to me. There is truth to be had here, and I will have it.”
He stared down at Galius Ash, started to look up at Adora, then stopped himself.
“Take her. Now,” he commanded.
The Highblades took Adora’s arms and gently escorted her away.
Chapter 45
The Archon
The Archon slammed the door. He was Gexxek, his soul snatched from flaming Velakka. At the same time, he was Dayn Felesh, Imperial Archon, and the desires of this stolen body had colored his actions more than he would have thought possible.
For Dayn Felesh, the taking of the youngest daughter of the emperor was his ultimate revenge, the culmination of years of waiting and sch
eming. Gexxek felt Dayn Felesh’s elation. The idea of planting his seed in both daughters of the royal line made his heart swell with victory.
Gexxek put his hand to his head, wanting to scratch hard with flaming claws he no longer possessed. Instead, fleshy fingers pressed against sweaty skin. He took his hand away in disgust. Sweat. Human water.
“I am not human,” Gexxek whispered. He scratched at the desk with his pitifully thin nails. One bent backward, and he gritted his teeth. He was molded in weakness, and until today he had thought it was only physical. But Dayn Felesh had a hold on his mind. Gexxek was not riding in a foreign body. He had become one with it.
The realization rattled him. He must remember to think like a Velakkan. He would send Aylenna to Kuruk immediately, inform him of the tangle Gexxek had made of things. Gexxek would run and live for the hope that Kuruk could use him elsewhere in this water-soaked world. Gexxek looked around, thinking about what he must take with him: the beloved silk hangings, the many books and scrolls scattered on the table. He would have to pack a trunk—
With a low growl, he realized that Felesh was overtaking him again. There was nothing of importance here—!
The door slammed, and Gexxek spun around. He squinted at the dark slash of shadow that covered most of the eastern wall. A Velakkan’s vision could pierce those shadows, but humans were half-blind in the dark. He couldn’t see the intruder.
Imperial Highblades would have charged through, surrounded him with swords.
“Who are you?” Gexxek said, finally catching the silhouette of a human to the left of the door. Gexxek slipped his fingers over the hilt of a dagger lying on his desk.
“I like that question,” the man said from the dark. “Let’s try it again: who are you?”
“I am the Imperial Archon, Duke of Felesh,” Gexxek said, using the authoritative voice so easily, as though it was his real voice. “And you will suffer in my dungeons for your trespass.”
“You’re a liar,” the man said, stepping forward. “Your real name is Gexxek.”
Gexxek felt hope catch in his throat. Only a Velakkan would know his real name. Was this man sent by Kuruk? Could he have anticipated Gexxek’s need and sent someone to lead him out of Thiara?
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