And I was up here, hiding behind a shield.
My gaze met Quentyn’s. “You’re really good with a bow?”
He nodded. “I think so.”
“Good. Cover me.”
“What?” His golden eyes widened.
“When you see me down there, cover me.” I dropped the bow.
“You can’t go out there! Casteel—I mean, the Prince will—”
“Expect little else from me,” I told him. “Cover me.”
Without waiting, I darted toward the stairs, unsheathing my dagger as I raced past the gruesome gifts. I sped down the winding staircase, my steps slowing as I heard the clang of stone against stone.
They’d made it inside the Rise.
I inched down the rest of the steps, keeping close to the wall.
A body stumbled across the mouth of the stairs, falling to the ground. A Royal Guard appeared. All I saw was a young face splattered with blood. A face too young. Blue eyes. Did he know what he fought for? He had to. He had been out there when the Duchess spoke. It didn’t matter either way.
Sword dripping with blood, he halted for a fraction of a second. That was all I needed. I sprang forward, shoving the dagger under his chin. His breath gurgled as he pinwheeled backward, the sword clanging off the ground.
Stepping out of the stairwell, I switched the dagger to my left hand and picked up the fallen sword. Testing its weight, I scanned the torch-lit yard, the bodies standing and the ones falling. And then I did what Vikter had taught me through our hours of training.
I closed it down.
Shut it all down.
The horror. What my eyes wanted my brain and heart to recognize. The fear, especially the fear—of being injured, of stumbling, of missing my mark, of dying—of losing those I cared about. Vikter had once told me that when you fought, you had to do so as if each breath may be your last.
I stalked forward, the cloak billowing out from behind me, catching in the blood-rich wind. And all I saw when a soldier turned to me were the faces of their gifts.
The soldier raised his sword, his face a mask of violence. There were different kinds of bloodlust. What vampry and Ascended felt, and what mortals experienced when violence spilled into the air. I dipped under his arm, spinning back as I thrust the sword into his back. Yanking the blade free, I turned, shoving the dagger deep into the chest of another soldier. The bloodstone pierced leather and bone.
Whirling, I sliced through the neck of a soldier who went to drive their sword down on one who’d fallen. Wet warmth hit my cheeks as I turned, shoving my elbow into the throat of another. Bones crunched and air wheezed behind me as the pain of those around me scraped even harder at my senses.
Reaching up, I tore free the buttons at my neck. The hood slipped down, and I shrugged off the cloak. It fell to the ground behind me as I broke into a run, racing out of the Rise and into the battle we were sure to lose.
It was…madness.
Swords crashing against swords. Screams of pain and shouts of fury. Glimpses of fur and thick claws and flaming swords as the Guardians cut through mortal and vampry alike.
A man moaned as he clutched his bloodied stomach. He was a Descenter, and I started to stop, to either ease his pain or heal him—
An arrow whizzed past my head, striking a guard rushing toward me. Quentyn was very good with a bow.
I stepped back from the fallen man, knowing that now was not the time for that particular set of skills. As much as it hurt, as wrong as it felt, I turned away.
And then…I fell into the madness as I thrust my sword into the stomach of a soldier who couldn’t have been much older than I was. I let my thirst for vengeance seize me as my blade sliced through the neck of another. I didn’t hesitate or pull back when I saw recognition flare in the eyes the moment they saw the scars on my face. It took only moments out on the field to know that they’d been given orders not to harm me. It was clear they didn’t expect me to be down here, to be fighting, and it was an advantage for me, one I used. Because orders from an Ascended hadn’t sent me out here. I chose to be here. I kicked out, catching a knight at the knees before he could lift the spiked ball he wielded. He fell to his back, and I drove the sword down.
Bright, twin flames passed mere feet from my face as a Guardian kicked off the back of a falling soldier. The dark-haired Guardian spun in mid-air, catching two in the chest. The fiery blades sliced through leather and bone. Landing in a crouch, she rose with the fluid grace of a goddess, her eyes briefly meeting mine. She nodded before disappearing into the crush of soldiers.
A sudden yelp from a wolven spun me around. A fawn-colored one that reminded me of Kieran but smaller, limped backward away from a knight, blood coursing down the hind leg. Vonetta? I wasn’t sure as I shifted the sword to my left hand and withdrew the wolven dagger. The knight lifted the sword as the wolven bared her teeth, crouching on the wounded leg. Flipping the dagger so I held it by the blade, I cocked back my arm and threw it. The bloodstone struck the knight in the forehead, taking him down before he even knew what’d hit him as I shoved the sword into the gut of another soldier who reached for me. The wolven whipped toward me and suddenly launched into the air. My breath caught as she crashed into a soldier behind me. They went down, her jaws locked on his neck. She shook her head, flinging the soldier like he was nothing more than a rag doll. Bone cracked as I turned, scanning the mass of bodies standing and on the ground. There were wolven among the fallen. Faces I recognized. I retrieved my dagger from the dusty ground as a wolven the color of snow darted past me. Delano. I turned, catching sight of Casteel behind the catapults.