Dukes Are Forever

by Bec McMaster

  "And now they're exploding," Ingrid said, her eyes growing distant. "They're destroying the tower from the inside."

  Lark put her hand to her earpiece. "I'll tell Ava."

  "And then we need to go," Ingrid warned. "Who knows how many bloody automatons are strewn throughout this section of the tower."

  Lark relayed the message, and Ingrid pushed Adele in the back. "Move."

  But Adele skidded to a halt on the next curve of stairs.

  A tall, slim figure stalked through the smoke, a pair of swords held at her side. She wore tight trousers that showed the muscles in her thighs, a leather overcorset, and a long bloodred coat that flared around her calves as she slowly made her way down the stairs toward them.

  "You're not the queen," Dido said, her silvery brows drawing together. Then she suddenly smiled as she drew both swords. "Malloryn's little wife. This is even better."

  "Do you think the women got clear?" Malloryn demanded as he, Charlie, and Byrnes staggered to a halt on the staircase.

  It had taken the three of them to defeat a second set of metaljackets who'd turned on them the second they left the throne room. Blood dripped down Charlie's shirt, though the lad had been singlehandedly responsible for taking both automatons off their feet and giving them a chance.

  "Can't hear them," Byrnes said, his head turning to-and-fro. "Ingrid will know the way."

  "What is Balfour thinking?" Charlie demanded, leaning on the edge of the bannister and peering down the hollow core of the tower. "How are we going to get out of here?"

  Malloryn joined him, squinting through the smoke. The entire ground floor of the tower must be on fire.

  "Gemma?" he demanded, pressing the tuning button on his auditory device.

  A long, staticky silence dwelled.

  "Little... busy... right now," she finally gasped. "Rising Sons overrunning... Thorne Tower. Obsidian's helping me... take out the cannons, just in case they get... hands on another one. Kincaid and Herbert with us."

  "Right." He depressed the button, turning to the other two men. "Gemma's team is handling the crisis at Thorne Tower. Ava said something about explosives being packed inside every household automaton in the entire building." Of which, there were hundreds, always sweeping unobtrusively or removing household waste. You barely even noticed the damned things anymore. "We've got to find Balfour and get out of here before this entire bloody place goes up."

  The queen was going to kill him.

  She'd deliberately stressed that he not get her tower destroyed.

  "Come and find me, Malloryn."

  The words ghosted down the stairs, almost on the edge of hearing.

  He paused. "Did you hear that?"

  Byrnes looked up grimly. "Sounds like a dead man to me."

  There was one more level to the tower: the atrium, where blue blood duels were fought and won, and rogue blue bloods had been executed in the past.

  "Malloryn?" Charlie asked.

  His body moved as if some invisible puppet master tugged on his strings. "He's here," he whispered, looking up. "Balfour's here."

  Ingrid shoved Adele through a pair of double doors into what looked like a sitting room as a knife buried itself in the frame.

  Behind them, Lark was ducking and weaving, using every inch of her speed to avoid Dido's deadly swords.

  "Keep out of this," Ingrid snarled, her eyes lighting with fierce bronze as she turned toward Dido and drew her own knife.

  The dhampir woman was a whirlwind of steel as she kicked Lark firmly in the chest. Lark staggered back into Ingrid, and then Dido was turning on Adele, her eyes alight with maniacal glee.

  "I'd like to extend an invitation, Your Grace," the assassin purred. "Lord Balfour would very much like to meet the woman who's captured Malloryn's heart."

  It wasn't the sort of encounter she'd survive.

  Adele turned, yanked a vase off a pedestal, and threw it at the woman as she advanced. Dido deflected it with an arm, but it didn't slow her.

  "As for me," Dido murmured, fingers caressing the hilt of both swords. "You killed my sister-at-arms. So I thought I'd just bring Balfour your head. We can put it in a pretty box for your husband and tie a bow on it."

  Adele scrambled over the daybed, the sword slashing through her skirts.

  "Adele!" Lark screamed.

  And then Ingrid threw herself at Dido, driving both of them to the ground. The tall Amazonian woman drove a pair of staggering punches into Dido's ribs, and the pair rolled as they wrestled for supremacy.

  "Adele!" Lark tossed something toward her.

  Adele snatched it out of the air.

  A Doeppler Orb.

  "I can't use it," Lark cried, "but Malloryn made sure we all had one."

  Hope flared.

  "Cover your mouth!" Adele yelled, cupping both hands around the Doeppler Orb.

  Lark fell back as Ingrid took a blow to the ribs, jerking the filtration mask up over her mouth and nose. Every blue blood in the Company of Rogues had one tucked about their person somewhere, what with the dangers of Black Vein.

  Adele twisted both halves of the orb as Ava had shown her, and then threw it toward where Ingrid and Dido were grappling. Diffused steam hissed out from it as the orb clicked apart, tendrils of fine mist curling around Ingrid and Dido, where they fought.

  It wouldn't affect Ingrid, but Dido was another matter.

  Ingrid lashed out with both knives and Dido leapt up on the daybed to avoid them. She'd lost one of her swords somewhere.

  Adele kicked the daybed.

  Hard.

  The dhampir shot her a murderous look as it jerked beneath her feet, and Ingrid managed to bury one of her knives in the woman's side. Dido hissed through her teeth and slammed an elbow into Ingrid's head, sending her staggering.

  The mist from the Doeppler Orb started to stutter. Black capillaries bled through Dido's face, but perhaps the room was too large? It didn't seem to be having the same effect as it had on Jelena.

  "Get her out of here!" Ingrid yelled, her eyes flashing a fierce bronze.

  Lark hauled her toward the door.

  "Not without Ingrid!" she insisted.

  "Malloryn's orders," Lark replied grimly.

  "Bugger Malloryn and his orders," she insisted. "No Rogue left behind. Isn't that the COR creed?"

  Lark hesitated, and Adele cursed herself for being so spectacularly useless in the face of violence.

  As if to taunt them, Dido drove her knife between Ingrid's ribs.

  "Ingrid!" Lark cried, moving forward and then hesitating.

  "Go!" Adele told her. "I'll manage."

  Arms locked around Dido, Ingrid staggered back as Dido knifed her again.

  It was all happening so fast. Adele didn't know what to do.

  Lark reentered the fray as Ingrid staggered back a step, one hand slapped to the bleeding wound at her side.

  Adele could see what was going to happen.

  With Ingrid injured, Lark was no match for the vicious assassin.

  Turning around, she grabbed an enormous Chinese urn off a nearby pedestal and lifted it over her head.

  She slammed the urn down on the back of Dido's shoulders. A hand lashed out, knuckles filling the center of Adele's vision, and then she was staggering backward, dropping the urn on the marble tiles. Heat spread across her face, her eyes watering. Good God, was her nose broken?

  Ingrid's eyes flashed bronze as she shot both Lark and Adele an anguished look. "Tell Byrnes I love him."

  And then she muscled Dido to the side, throwing her back against the window. Glass shattered, and Dido's eyes went wide as she clawed at Ingrid's shoulders.

  Locked together as they were, Ingrid had no chance of saving herself.

  Lark and Adele screamed in horror as the pair of them vanished through the window.

  "Ingrid!" Adele yelled, sprinting to the window and peering through its broken remains with Lark wedged against her.

  Ingrid lay flat on her back on the marbl
e colonnade that circled the ballroom three floors below them, groaning as she tried to roll onto her side—and failed.

  Dido pushed to her hands and knees, swaying badly.

  "Will this bitch not die?" Lark snarled. "Get up, Ingrid. Come on, get up."

  But Ingrid couldn't move, and Dido was the one with the weapon in hand.

  "We have to do something," Adele gasped.

  "Come and find me, Malloryn," whispered that ghostly voice.

  Malloryn tracked it up the stairs, a pistol held low against his thigh and a knife in his left hand. He reached a corner and heard Balfour chuckle. Pressing his back to the wall, he put one finger to his lips to still Charlie and Byrnes, and then eased out his breath.

  Rolling out into the hallway he aimed the pistol and—

  There was no one there.

  "All these years," Balfour murmured, somewhere to the left of him. "I've been waiting for this moment."

  A pair of open doors awaited him.

  Tension crept through him as he put one foot in front of the other, crossing the carpets. He slipped through the doors, pistol tracking the room. A sitting room, by the look of it. One of the guest chambers.

  "Revenge shall be so very sweet."

  Left again.

  Near the windows.

  But surely no one could fit behind the curtains?

  Malloryn yanked the curtain aside, his stomach falling as he saw a small ECHO recording device he'd seen the Nighthawks use on occasion. It's clockwork mechanism wound through the prerecorded reel of Balfour's voice.

  As if to mock him, the words repeated, "Come and find me, Malloryn.... All these years...."

  He jammed his heel down on the brass device, cogs spewing from its body as the recording cut off. "Son of a bitch."

  "It's a trap," Charlie said, spinning around.

  "Yes." Malloryn sheathed his rage. "But who is it designed for?"

  "Can anyone hear something ticking?" Byrnes asked. "Or is that just my ears ringing?"

  They all froze.

  Tick. Tick. Tick.

  There was no clock on the mantle.

  "Under the sofa," Byrnes breathed, and as one, they all looked at it.

  The ticking sped up.

  "Move!" Malloryn yelled, yanking Charlie toward the door.

  They were barely through it when a blast wave went up, slamming him in the back and sending him sprawling across the marble floors. Charlie hit the railing of the staircase, his eyes widening as he started going over it.

  Somehow Byrnes managed to grab him and haul him back to safe ground.

  "Thanks," Charlie mouthed.

  Malloryn shoved to his feet, his ears ringing. Little bits of shrapnel had shredded his arms, and he could feel the craving rushing through him as it sought to heal him.

  Bit by bit, the whining in his ears stopped. Behind him, the doors were gone. Half the wall had vanished. Smoke billowed from the remains of the sitting room and flames licked at what was left of the furnishings.

  And there was still no sign of Balfour.

  Byrnes frowned behind him. "Malloryn?" He had his fingers on his communicator, his face paling.

  "What?" he barked.

  "It's Ingrid," Byrnes said, and took off sprinting before either he or Charlie could stop him.

  "Damn it! Byrnes!" Malloryn went after him, but as he rounded a corner, he slowed to a halt.

  Half a dozen blue blood lords were sprinting up the stairs toward them, heavily armed, as Byrnes burst right through the center of them.

  Every single one of them wore a golden sash over their court attire, with a pin jabbed into their breasts: a rising sun in stylized gold.

  Devoncourt was in the lead.

  "Tell Byrnes I love him…."

  The words echoed through Byrnes's head as he sprinted through the tower, trying to find his wife.

  The second he'd heard them through the communicator, he'd known.

  Ingrid was verwulfen to her core, and Malloryn had given her an order to protect his wife. It didn't matter what Ingrid had to do, she would give her life for that command.

  He had to find her.

  Before it was too late.

  "Here's my pistol." Lark gave it to Adele. "Don't go anywhere. Shoot anybody you don't recognize."

  Here goes nothing.

  Putting her knife between her teeth, Lark caught hold of the velvet drapery and ran at the gaping window.

  Leaping through it, Lark sailed through the air, trying not to look down. They were nearly at the top of the tower, and for a second she could almost hear Charlie telling her there were at least a thousand stairs from the base to the top, which was not what she needed to be thinking about right now. The second she started swinging back toward the tower, she gauged the drop and let go.

  Air whistled past her ears.

  Her heels slammed right between Dido's shoulder blades, and Lark turned her fall into a roll, coming up with her knife in her hand. She crouched over Ingrid protectively.

  "Get up," she said, never taking her eyes off the assassin. The woman was backlit by the flames burning in the ballroom.

  "I can't," Ingrid growled. "I can't move my legs. I landed on my back—"

  There was no time to examine her.

  Lark drove to the side as Dido lunged for her, steel flashing in the night. A hot line of fire rose along her arm as she lashed back with her own knife, feeling it bite into flesh.

  She was no match for the dhampir by herself. All she could do was lure her away and hope Ingrid could get to her feet.

  Dido slowly stood, blood streaming down her leg from where Lark had cut her. "Irina Grigoriev. We meet again."

  "This time, you don't have any vampires on a leash."

  "Yes." Dido smiled. "But there's only one of you."

  A boot drove into her sternum, and Lark flew backwards, crashing to the marble and sliding several feet. The air was driven from her lungs, but she'd been hit before. Many a time.

  Muscle memory forced her to roll back over her shoulder, and Dido's sword spit sparks off the marble as it cut down exactly where Lark had been mere seconds ago. She ducked the next swing. And the next. Every inch of her was focused on Dido's movements, but she was simply too damned slow.

  Lark's knife flew to the tiles as Dido smashed it from her hand. And then she was throwing herself back beneath the sweep of the blade and fetching up against the broken windows of the ballroom.

  Nowhere to go.

  No weapon to protect herself with.

  For the first time in her life, Lark froze, wondering where Charlie was and hoping against hope that he got out of this mess safely.

  "You put up a good fight," Dido said. "I respect that. A shame it had to end this way. I could have made something of you."

  She took a step forward, lifting her sword.

  Lark threw her arms up in front of her face.

  BANG.

  Lark froze, lowering her arms as Dido looked down in shock at the enormous gaping wound in her chest.

  BANG. BANG. BANG.

  Dido staggered back against the balcony. Blood sprayed across the floor as Byrnes came out of nowhere, drilling holes in the dhampir assassin. Or tearing chunks of flesh from her torso, to be more precise.

  He had to be packing firebolt bullets.

  "You hurt my wife," he snarled, his eyes pure black with the craving.

  And then he pulled the trigger one last time.

  Dido catapulted back over the railing, and Lark slammed her hand over her mouth to swallow her gorge, the after-image of Dido's ruined face remaining with her. Too close. That had been far too close.

  Byrnes looked over the edge, then put up his pistol and slid to his knees beside Ingrid. "Are you all right?"

  "You came," Ingrid whispered.

  "Always." His hand shook a little as he cupped her head. "I swear my heart stopped in its chest when I heard you through the communicator. What the hell happened? What did you do?"

  "Had to stop h
er. Somehow." Ingrid winced as she tried to drag herself into a sitting position.

  "She threw the pair of them through a window," Lark said.

  "Good thing you knew the balcony was below," Byrnes growled, and then paused. "You did know the balcony was below?"

  "Absolutely."

  Lark hauled herself to her feet and glanced over the edge of the balcony. No sign of Dido in the dark of the night, but considering Byrnes had put that last bullet right between her eyes, Lark didn't think she need be concerned. All the king's horses and all the king's men wouldn't be putting the assassin back together again.

  "Where's Charlie and Malloryn?" she demanded.

  "Fighting on the stairs last I saw them. It seems the Rising Sons finally found their balls and are pressing for the top. There's a contingent of Coldrush Guards there with them," he said. "Where's the duchess?"

  Lark looked up at the broken window above them. There was no sign of Adele.

  "Adele?" she called.

  No answer.

  She'd lost Byrnes's attention. He was cursing under his breath, fussing over Ingrid.

  "Adele?"

  Silence.

  The duchess wouldn't have vanished. She was barely armed and wouldn't have left the pair of them behind without assuring herself of their safety.

  Grabbing Byrnes's shoulder, she knelt to see the damage to Ingrid. "We have a problem."

  "Can't be any worse than it already is," he snarled, hoisting Ingrid up into his arms. "Ingrid can't feel her bloody legs."

  "Adele's not answering me," Lark said. "She was in that room above us when Ingrid went through the window. I told her to stay put."

  Byrnes's face paled as he looked up.

  "Then where the hell is she?"

  "I don't know," Lark replied grimly.

  Chapter 35

  Swords clashed as Malloryn drove Lord Greenwich down several steps. Greenwich had always been a mediocre duelist at best, but the Rising Sons had the numbers here. It was only he, Charlie, and three Nighthawks who'd burst out of nowhere holding the stairs.

  Lifting his pistol, he shot Baron Carstoke in the face, giving Charlie some room to move, and then he disengaged Greenwich's next thrust and slammed the butt of the pistol into his lordship's nose. Blood splashed as he drove the rapier in his hand through Greenwich's chest to the hilt.