The two uniformed soldier zombies knelt Camilla, roughly. They squeezed her wrists until, with an agonised hiss of breath, she dropped her daggers. They clattered softly on the carpet. Another zombie jerked her head back.
There was movement by the chairs. Ianthe Naberius jerked her head toward Pyrrha—some of the zombies were lurching toward her—but Pyrrha had reacted too late. Crown had Pyrrha’s gun, and although one of the zombies was bear-hugging her around the middle, she had made the gun make that soft ker-KLUNK noise and pressed the barrel up into the soft part of her throat. Prince Ianthe Naberius cried out, “For the love of God, Corona—！”
“Let her go,” said Crown.
“The Captain or Camilla. Make up your mind, and take one. You know I can’t let them both go. Put the gun down, darling, I don’t want to hurt you getting it off you.”
“I wouldn’t get hurt. I’d just die,” said Crown, her bronzed throat working against the barrel. “You’re not all-powerful here. All you have are wards and puppets. I shoot, the bullet goes through my palate and into the brain, and then you’re the Crown Princess of Ida … like you never wanted.”
“Stop being so fucking dramatic—”
“Staaahp being so fucking dramahhhtic,” Crown mimicked, in a high-pitched voice.
“This isn’t the time, you dumb, hilarious bitch!”
“You don’t even know how to fix Naberius’s hair! He needs it done pompadour! He looks awful!”
“That’s your opposition? Seriously?”
“I’m going to shoot myself and you’re going to watch,” said Crown, with deep satisfaction. “Like when we were teens, but this time I’m going to really tie the rope … really drink the poison…”
“You didn’t then and you wouldn’t now—Corona. Coronabeth!” Crown had closed her eyes. Nona found that she had started to leak tears from sheer fright, and her eyes felt gritty and awful. The Prince said even more urgently, “I can’t let Hect live. You know I can’t. I can fast-talk for Deuteros … your life is safe…”
“Then duel her!” Crown cried, in obvious agony. “Duel her and give her what she wants! None of us ever could!”
“It’s not fair. You’re going to be mad at me when I kill her. It’s going to be a massacre.”
“I won’t. I swear I won’t. Just fight fair.”
“I’m a Lyctor, for fuck’s sake. You can’t get a fair fight between a flea and a flak cannon.”
“You watched her annihilate Lieutenant Dyas—”
“Little girls playing with sticks. If my league exploded, you wouldn’t hear the boom in their league for half a myriad. I’ve become three times the swordsman Babs ever was.”
Crown was pleading, “One fight … one last duel. You challenged her with Babs, you know, back on Canaan House. I didn’t do it. So follow through, for me. You always do things for me, don’t you? My heart’s own … my necromancer.”
Prince Ianthe Naberius shuddered.
“Drop the gun and I’ll do it.”
Crown hesitated. The Prince stepped back from Camilla, one step, then another; Crown fumbled with the gun. It made a backward KLUNK-ker, and then she dropped it loudly to the tiles, where thankfully it did not go off.
Prince Ianthe Naberius’s shoulders sagged forward. So did the shoulders of every zombie still standing, including the ones holding Nona. This loosened their grip a little bit, and she was able to breathe out. Her nose and eyes were leaking. The zombies clutching Corona dragged her back to her seat and sat her down, not gently at all, and they held her wrists flat to the arms of her chair. Another zombie took their booted foot and punted the gun to the other side of the room, where it skidded over the tiles and disappeared into a pile of rubbish. Nona watched Pyrrha’s eyes follow it.
“Fine,” the Prince said petulantly, “fine,” and she turned around, and she stalked to the centre of the carpet.
“The time and place were named,” she said, “now, and here. Corona. You arbitrate.”
Nona watched Crown’s throat work. There was a bright, dark red mark there, from how hard she had pushed the gun into her neck. She hesitated and said forlornly, “Parietal to calcaneus, I suppose. Full range, full right. Weapon restrictions limited, but blades only, no necromancy…”
“I’m made of necromancy. Necromancy literally moves my limbs,” said the Prince.