Authors: Sevastian
village. Edging his way close enough to see into the room, Tris caught his breath in horror.
It was magelight, not torchlight that lit the room. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. Blue magelight glowed from Arontala’s hands, pinning the king against the rough stone wall.
Although Tris could hear none of what was said, the expression on King Bricen’s face needed no explanation, nor did the leer that distorted Jared’s features as the heir closed the distance between himself and his father, his dagger raised. Commonsense and terror finally won out over shock. Soterius began to jerk at his rope with all the fright of a first climber, signaling for Carroway to begin winching them up. Tris’s heart thudded in his throat as Jared sank the dagger deep into Bricen’s chest. Just as Tris readied himself to kick through the panes, Soterius swung against him, slamming him into the wall hard enough for him to lose his breath.
“Are you crazy?” Soterius hissed. “You don’t have a chance. We’ve got to get the guards,” he argued, fighting against Tris’s struggles with all his might. Just then, Carroway heeded his signal and began to hoist them skyward. Fighting shock, Tris found the presence of mind to begin to climb on his own the last few lengths and dove more than crawled into the window, gasping in fright.
“You look like you’ve seen the Avenger herself!” said Carroway, helping Soterius to his feet.
“The king!” Soterius stammered, numb with fear and cold. “They’ve killed the king!”
“That’s not funny,” Carroway said, glancing out the window once more to make sure they had avoided the guards’ attention. His voice trailed off as he looked at Tris, and he paled.
“It’s true,” Tris gasped, leaning forward and steadying himself on his knees. His heart was 37
thudding so hard he could hardly speak. “I saw Jared—”
“You couldn’t have seen anything very well,” Carroway said, shooting an uncertain look at Soterius. “You weren’t down there very long.”
Soterius started freeing himself from the climbing gear as fast as his cold fingers would go. “It was the king and it was Jared,” he repeated as if he were speaking with a slow child. “And Arontala. There was blue light pinning the king to the wall. Then Jared came closer and, dear Goddess, stabbed King Bricen, over and over.” he said, shutting his eyes to escape the memory.
Tris started past him for the door toward the servants’ steps. “I’ve got to warn Mother and Kait.”
“Tris!” Soterius cried, catching Tris by the arm. “If Jared’s killed the king, he’s going to want you, too. We’ve got to get you out of here,” Soterius grated with military calm. “With Bricen dead, the crown is at stake. Jared’s goings to want to eliminate loose ends. We’ve got to get you to safety.”
“Not without Kait and Mother,” Tris snapped as shock gave way to anger. He shook free and wrenched the back stairs door open.
“All right, then we’re coming too,” Soterius said, and tossed the rope to Carroway. “Here. Carry this. I’ve got a sword and you don’t.” He barred the door to their chamber and drew his sword.
“At least if they come looking for us, it will hold them for a while.”
He turned toward Carroway, but the bard had already drawn a small dagger from the folds of his tunic. “You thought it was just for the stories?” Carroway asked. “Some of your army friends like to rough up bards now and again.”
Soterius slipped past Tris and led the way down the stairs. He tried the handle on the door at the 38
bottom, and eased the unlocked door open. The bedchamber was in a shambles. Queen Serae lay in a heap near the door, her party gown stained crimson with blood.
“Mother!” Tris called, feeling the panic rise in his voice as he shouldered past Soterius and scrambled across the room.
“Dear Goddess Bright,” Carroway breathed. “Jared’s raised a coup!” Soterius was already at the door to the corridor, which hung broken and useless on its hinges.
Please, please no, Tris begged the Goddess as he reached Serae. Her body was still warm to the touch, still loose‐limbed as he stifled a cry and rolled her to face him. The dagger that had ended her life protruded from her chest as her head lolled on Tris’s arm. His throat tightened and his eyes swam as he listened in vain for a heartbeat. She’s gone.
A sob tore from his throat as he cradled Serae, squeezing his eyes shut as unbidden tears streamed down his face. Gasping for breath, Tris dragged a sleeve across his eyes and scanned the room once more. He laid Serae’s body gently on the floor, passed a hand across her staring eyes to close them, and whispered a prayer to the Lady. A groan startled Tris and Soterius wheeled, his sword drawn. Almost hidden among the shambles
of an overturned bed lay Kait. Tris and Carroway ran to her, shoving aside debris and the body of a fallen guardsman, and freed her from the tangle of blankets. Kait lay pale and still, her bloodstained tunic warning Tris not to expect too much.
“Kait, can you hear me?” Tris whispered, gathering her into his arms against his tunic stained with Serae’s blood. Dark Lady, please, he begged silently. Not both of them. Please, spare her.
“What happened?” he asked quietly, as a spasm of pain crossed Kait’s face. Her lips were tinged with blue, and her breathing was rapid and shallow. Her blood stained his hand, seeping between his fingers as he tried to compress the deep gash on her belly. There was too much 39
damage for any but the most experienced battle healer, and no such healers at hand.
Kait’s eyes opened. She focused, and managed a weak smile. “I knew you’d come, Tris. Are you dead,too?”
Tris stifled a sob, unashamed of the tears that streaked down his face. He struggled to find his voice as he shook his head. “No, Kaity,” he managed to rasp. “At least, not yet. Neither are you.”
“Soon. I’ve seen the Goddess. She’s waiting.”
“Who did this?” Tris urged as gently as he could, grasping her hand as if to bind her spirit closer.
Kait coughed, and blood flecked her lips. “Jared’s men,” she whispered. “They were waiting for us. I tried to protect Mother. You’d have been proud.”
“I am proud,” Tris whispered, blinking back tears.
“Should have seen me, big brother. I think I got one of them.”
Tris glanced back at the guardsman’s body. “You did, Kaity. You did.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Kaity, stay with me!”
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Her eyes opened wider. “Tris—you’re here, too. Like grandma.” She coughed harder, and Tris thought she was gone. “If you will it, I can stay,” she murmured as her eyes fluttered shut. “I’ll just take your hand on this side.”
The image burned bright in Tris’s mind as he clutched her to him, of Kait taking his hand and holding on. “With everything in his being, he willed it be so. Yet even as he struggled to hold on to the fleeting spirit, something else, something strong, struggled to pull her away.
Kait shuddered in his arms and went limp. Tris buried his head on her shoulder and wept, rocking on his heels, cradling her lifeless form.
Tris, you’ve got to go, the voice said in his mind, Kait’s voice, far away. Tris looked up and frowned. Kait stood in front of him, real but insubstantial, with the same faint luminescence of the palace ghosts. “Kaity?” Tris rasped in a raw voice. The ghost shimmered. “You did it, Tris. You kept me here. You’ve got grandma’s power,” Kait said. The image wavered once more, nearly blinking out, and a look of distress, then fear crossed her face as her ghost appeared to be pulled away, like smoke caught in a draft. “There’s a spell on the palace ghosts. Arontala… Help me, Tris,” she begged as her apparition disappeared.
It was Carroway’s gasp that told Tris the apparition was visible to the others. Soterius looked shaken, never having seen Tris work any kind of magic. Carroway stared at the empty space where Kait’s ghost had been, his ashen face witness that he had just seen far more powerful magecraft than he had ever expected of Tris. Gently, Tris laid Kait’s body down among the blankets and covered her with a sheet.
“Before we join her, let’s get out of here,” the minstrel said gently.
Tris felt grief and shock throb through his body, filling him with rage. “Damn Jared!” he cried, lurching to his feet. His sword was already in hand as he started toward the hallway door at a 41
dead run. Soterius blocked him.
“Let me go!” Tris grated. “Damn it, let me pass!” The blood pounded in his ears as he tried to fight his way past Soterius, who parried and drove him back from the doorway. Carroway tackled him from behind, taking him to the ground and struggling to wrest away his sword while Tris swung wildly with his free hand, blinded with tears and gasping for air. Soterius joined the fray, helping Carroway as he fought to keep Tris back from the door.
With a sharp flick of his blade, Soterius sent Tris’s sword skittering out of reach, and lunged, pinning him against the floor. “You won’t get within sight of Jared before his mage gigs you like a frog,” Soterius snapped, struggling to keep his hold on Tris. “You can’t help your mother or Kait.
But you can still save Margolan by getting clear of here and coming back with an army of your own.”
“And can we do it soon?” hissed Carroway, who had taken Soterius’s watch at the door.
Breathing hard, Tris closed his eyes and conceded defeat.
“Down the back stairs,” Soterius returned, letting up on his grip and tossing Tris his fallen sword.
“They come down in the servants’ area. We’ll run for the stables. Go.”
They ran down the narrow back stairs and burst into the kitchen, swords drawn, terrifying the scullery maids who shrieked and ran from the room. Outside in the corridor, Tris heard the pounding of boot steps and, hard after it, the clang of steel. The doors from the feast hall banged open as three soldiers wearing the king’s livery charged after two men who were fighting for their lives. Tris and the others flattened themselves against the side of the fireplace, cut off by the battle from their only escape. Tris had only the barest glimpse of the fighters, but he recognized one of the men on the defense as Harrtuck, a sergeant‐at‐arms, a stocky, barrel-chested man with a full dark beard and olive skin who often guarded Bricen.
“I’ll not give up this palace without a fight!” Harrtuck swore as he dodged and parried. His companion, another of the king’s guard, thrust
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and scored. Tris and the others exchanged glances and raised their weapons. With a cry, both Tris and Soterius launched themselves into the fray beside Harrtuck, driving the attackers back by surprise.
“Nice to see you,” Harrtuck panted, pressing their sudden advantage.
“Watch out!” Carroway shouted, and Tris whirled, blade ready, in time to see one of the guardsmen clasp his hands to his chest in surprise and slowly topple to the floor. A growing red stain surrounded Carroway’s dagger, hilt deep between the man’s ribs.
With a cry, Tris engaged the dead man’s partner. “You’ll soon be as dead as the king,” the soldier taunted, driving Tris back a step. Engulfed by grief and rage, Tris struck back with all his might, wielding his sword with a two‐handed grip. Startled by the ferocity of Tris’s attack, the traitor fell back, then pressed forward again, a murderous gleam in his eyes as three more guards raced in to join him. Out of the corner of his eye, Tris saw Carroway grab a torch stand as a staff to hold off one of their attackers. Soterius and Harrtuck focused on the other two newcomers, leaving Tris to circle the grinning guard in a deadly dance of swordplay.
A burst of red light exploded in the fireplace, and Tris lunged forward, recognizing one of Carroway’s parlor tricks. It was just enough of a distraction for him to slip inside the soldier’s guard and drive his blade home. The guard sagged forward, and Tris staggered as the dying man’s weight nearly wrenched his sword from his grip. A glint of steel in the firelight was the only warning Tris had as a new opponent dove forward, scything a dagger in one hand as Tris parried the guardsman’s sword. Tris staggered as the guard sank his dagger into Tris’s side. The guard arched and stiffened, dropping to his knees as his hands clawed at his back, revealing a shiv in his back and Carroway standing with grim satisfaction over the dying traitor.
Tris pressed his hands against his side as both Carroway and Soterius sprinted toward him.
Harrtuck made short work of the remaining attackers. His ally lay dead on the floor. Carroway rolled Tris’s assailant over with his boot, bending over to withdraw his dagger and wiping it clean in two quick movements on the dead man’s tunic as he dropped to his knees beside Tris.
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“There’ll be more soldiers,” Soterius warned.
“They’ve killed the king, Prince Martris,” panted Harrtuck. “None of us could save him. You have to flee!”
Tris gasped as Carroway struggled to lift him to a sitting position. Soterius knelt beside Tris and Carroway moved back to let the experienced swordsman examine Tris’s wound. Without a word, Tris knew from the look on Soterius’s face how nasty a gash he had taken.
“We’ve got to get you to a healer,” Soterius said tersely as he nodded for Carroway to move to Tris’s other side and together they lifted Tris to his feet.
“Aye, but first, we’ve got to get out of Shekerishet,” Harrtuck agreed.
As if on cue, boot steps sounded on the back stairs. With a motion, Harrtuck signaled Carroway to cover Tris while he and Soterius took the newcomers. A burly guardsman in the bloodstained livery of the king stepped into view. Two more guardsmen flanked him. Harrtuck waited in silence until all three were within range.
“Now!” the armsmaster cried, springing forth, sword lowered, to run through the guardsman.
There was a whistle of air and then a dull thwack, and the lead guard tumbled forward, his hands grasping at Carroway’s dagger as Soterius’s sword sliced down from the shadows, neatly cleaving the third man from shoulder to hip.
“Come on!” Soterius cried. He returned to where Tris and Carroway waited, pausing just long enough to regain the bard’s dagger, and helped Tris to his feet once more. The blood pounded in Tris’s ears and his knees threatened to buckle under him.
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