Another man charges at me, and this time I let the fire surge. Heat blooms in my palms, a controlled fireball, and I sweep my hand forward, sending a wave of fire across the ground. The flames lick at the man’s feet, forcing him to stumble back without burning him. His eyes widen in fear, and I use the moment to disarm him with a strike of my forearm.
The air is thick with the scent of sweat, fear, and smoke. Everywhere I turn, the attackers are pushing harder, desperate to break through the line. But we’re faster, better trained. The guards are holding, their blades flashing as they fight to maintain control.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see oneof our own—Rorik, a younger guard—raise his sword high, about to bring it down on a man who’s already on the ground, defenceless.
“Stop!” I shout, grabbing his arm before the blade can fall. “He’s already down.”
Before he can respond, a rough voice cuts through the chaos: “Death to the royal family! Death to the king! Death to the Celestaris and the Keepers! You’re nothing but a brood of greedy tyrants! And the time is coming for each and every one of you!”
I whirl around in time to see the man who’s yelling lunge toward me, but before he can get far, one of the King’s Guard cuts him down, slashing his side. Blood spatters the cobblestones, and the man falls to his knees, clutching his wound.
Even through the pain, he shouts again, “Look at them! Look at how brutal they are!”
I catch sight of the tattoo on his arm—a familiar dagger, but crude and jagged on his scarred skin. My heart races, but I keep calm. I stride forward, pulling the guard back before he can strike again.
“Let him be,” I say, my voice hard.
I crouch down, grabbing the man by his collar, yanking him up until his eyes meet mine.
“Who are you speaking for?” I demand, my voice low.
“Kyros Valen! And Nir’ath Darin!” he spits. “The rebellion will spill all the blood we need to, to make everyone see that we need true rulers back on the throne!”
My grip tightens, my fury rising. “Look around; we’re not the ones hurting the people.”
He rears back and spits in my face, yanking out of my hold and slipping out into the watching crowd before I can stop him.
“Grellor,” I growl low to my own trusted guard, “follow him. I want to know where he’s going.”
“Sir.”
“Rorik!” I shout for the younger guard. “Make sure no one else gets hurt. If there are injuries, get them taken care of.”
He nods, squaring his shoulders at the responsibility, already moving to rally the guards and calm the crowd. Once I’m satisfied he has it under control, I cock my head; Mathis knows what I mean.
We slip into the shadows of a nearby alley, away from the noise. I turn to Mathis, my voice tense. “Did you see the tattoo?”
Mathis nods, his expression grim. “I saw it.”
“Not one of Nir’ath Darin.”
His face is grim when he shakes his head.
I exhale slowly, the weight of it all settling in. “You know what this means.”
He sighs as he says, his voice tight, “We have even more enemies than we thought.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Eirabella
I wake up groggy,my tongue firmly attached to the roof of my mouth. How much wine did I drink yesterday? I remember nothing much of my conversation with Rylan, and somehow I managed to make it back to my room, having missed all of my afternoon training sessions and dinner.
A knock on the door joins in with the incessant banging in my head. I groan, rolling over. “Please, for Morath’s sake, stop knocking and just come in,” I mutter, voice muffled by the pillow.
The door creaks open, and I hear a familiar voice, full of mock disapproval.
“Oh, Eirabella, don’t tell me that without me, you’ve turned into a lazy troll.”
