His fighting wasn’t like a dance—dances had too many pretty flourishes.
Here, every movement served a purpose.
He dropped to one knee, dodging a spear point, then pivoted on that knee inside the wielder’s guard. As he rose, he drove his dagger up beneath their ribs. The whole thing flowed with such precision, it seemed like just one movement.
But as the spear wielder fell, another fake Ascendant took their place.
So many. I fired and fired, taking out my fair share, but there was always another. Thankfully, his shadows kept skittering across the floor, bringing arrows back to me.
Steel flashing, Bastian blocked another strike as I nocked my next arrow. Behind him an Ascendant grabbed the fallen spear and readied it while another approached with daggers.
Fuck.
I pulled the bowstring taut, heart in my throat with the knowledge that if both parts of him were killed, he would die—really die.
Not while I still drew breath.
Jaw ratcheting tight, I squeezed my bow, which tingled in my grip.
Exhale. Release.
I was already nocking my next arrow before this one burst through the spear-woman’s hand. Her agonised cry rose over the battle clamour as the spear clattered to the floor.
I got the dagger wielder in the eye, and as the spear-woman turned and saw me, I readied my next arrow and aimed for her heart.
Shot after shot. It was like I couldn’t miss.
The air around me hummed, and I had to check poison wasn’t seeping from my pores.
No poison. Just my will to keep Bastian alive.
Breathless and buzzing, I fired and fired.
And then there were no more targets.
My shoulders slumped as the full burn of all that work hit my muscles. Despite Bastian’s shadows, only one arrow remained in my quiver.
I hurried over and clutched his arm to reassure myself he was alive.
He stroked my back like he needed that same reassurance. “Impressive shooting.”
“Very impressive.” The head of the Kingsguard, a fae with deep bronze hair and skin, surveyed me. “Do you need a job, by any chance? I’m sure the Serpent won’t mind you switching courts, and my numbers are suddenly diminished.” They pursed their lips at the bodies littering the floor.
“What happened?”
Their lips pressed together even tighter, and for a second I thought they wouldn’t reply. “Ascendants managed to separate us. His Majesty made it inside with the other half of the Kingsguard, followed by Prince Cyrus. Someone else slipped in before they closed the door—someone with red hair. I didn’t recognise them.”
“Fae or human?” I asked, a thin edge of dread cutting into me.
“Fae.”
Cut deepening, I gave a brief description of the fox-haired fae.
“That’s the one. Do you know them?”
I exchanged a look with Bastian. “Not exactly.”
One of the Kingsguard approached. “We’re ready, ser.”
“Right. Thanks for the help. We’re going to—”
“We’ll go.” Bastian circled them, guiding me to the throne room’s double doors.
“You and…” They glanced up the corridor. “Just you two?”
I gave a reassuring smile. “His shadows can kill big groups more easily if they’re not worried about friendly fire.”
Bastian nodded, hand slipping to the small of my back. “We’ll come back for you once it’s clear.”
“Very well.” Their eyes narrowed. “Wouldn’t want to lose more of my people—especially not to friendly fire. We’ll await your signal.”
We approached the huge doors. No sound came from the other side, but lodestones were like that—no sight or sound escaped them.
“Ready?”
Shoulders squared, magic humming on my skin, contained for now, I nodded.
95
Kat
I entered with bow drawn, poison ready to spread across the room, and found a scene of carnage. Near the royal doors behind the dais came a flicker of movement, but when I lifted my head, I found only more of the same.
Blood and bodies.
Kingsguard with their beautiful armour. The prince’s guards with their cerulean blue cloaks. Fake Ascendants in grey leather. Servants in nothing but cloth—no armour, no weapons. The nearest lay in crimson pools, their throats slit.
Eighty, maybe a hundred people in total, all still and silent.
My eyes burned at the sheer scale of the massacre. Because that’s what this was—the servants. They’d stood no chance. “What happened here?”
Bastian’s brow set low, shadowing his eyes. “We need to check them. If anyone’s alive, they can tell us.”
I glanced back. “Should we call the others in?”
Jaw twitching as he surveyed the room, he shook his head. “Not until we know we don’t need to use your magic. False Ascendants could be hiding among the dead.”
I swallowed and nodded, then started picking my way through the bodies. The chairs from the ceremony had been cleared ready for more folk to file in for their chance to see the king and queen together for the eclipse. That couldn’t be far off now.
As for the people—their glassy stares told me enough.
It looked like the fighting had been thickest by the main door that led to Dusk—the one most people entered through, whereas the queen and her officials used the one behind the dais. Bodies piled upon bodies, almost blocking the door. Blood completely hid the marble floor, making it slick and treacherous.
“Anything?” I called to Bastian as he worked on the other side of the room.
“No.”
The word echoed off the high ceiling, making the hairs rise on the back of my neck.
Hours ago, I’d walked through here worried about nothing more than the fire in Bastian’s eyes as he saw me in a pretty dress.
And now…
I locked eyes with a man I recognised. He’d held the door open for me as I’d arrived and given me an encouraging smile before whispering, “You look beautiful, Lady of Dusk. A star in your court.”
Now, gold green hair sat in his eyes and the fact he didn’t blink it away twisted in my gut.
“Are you all right?”
I bent and closed the kind man’s eyes. “Yes.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I do.” Whoever was behind this, these people had been murdered as part of the game of courts, and they deserved to be witnessed.
Tears blurred my vision by the time we reached the wide dais. Bright blond hair glimmered on the next body. A dagger’s hilt gleamed bronze, still buried in his stomach.
Eyes shut, face slack, he almost looked peaceful, and it took me a moment to recognise Prince Cyrus.
“Shit,” I whispered, bending over.
“Kat,” Bastian called from behind the dais. “The king. He’s alive.”
Stomach lurching, I ran over.
Bastian had him on his back, cradling his head. Alive. Just.
Blood oozed from his throat like someone had done a bad job of cutting it. His lashes fluttered, but his eyes were glassy—almost as glazed as those of the bodies I’d checked.
A wheezing, bubbling sound came from his lips as they moved.
“What is it?” I squeezed his hand, hoping that might bring him back to himself enough to make him speak louder.