A low growl resounds in the darkness, and the assassin curses—I hear him kick and thrash. “Get off me, beast!”
The wyrfox. I mentally praise it for giving away the assassin’s location. Thanking the laws of decorum for dictating that I should present myself to the queen armed, I unsheathe the sword at the end of my baldric, and launch, blind though I am. My sword crashes against metal—the iron cuffs at his wrists. I punch at eye level, my right fist hitting the target.
With a grunt, my target retreats. It’s too late. Silent as he is, and despite the darkness, I’m too practiced in the art of violence to let him fool me. I swing. My blade slams against his with enough force to hurt. I shift my weight and kick low, where I imagine his arm is. Bingo. The assassin loses his footing, tumbling either backward or forward—with enough fracas to give away his location again.
I see a light from the corner of my eye. Someone's opened the door, holding a torch. The uproar finally alerted the useless guards. It's not much light, but it's enough to see what's going on.
For me, and for the assassin.
We both assess the situation in one glance. He’s far too close. Vlari’s bed is right next to him. I’m standing on the other side of the fireplace, several paces away. The four guards rushing in have barely left the door. They might as well be miles away.
In a split second, the assassin comes to the same conclusion as I did. He’s not getting out of this room alive—but he can still carry out his mission.
As I pounce, Myst in one hand, my sword in the other, the assassin lifts a dagger in his fist, and plunges it down toward Vlari. Her heart, her throat. I can't tell. I can only stare. I can only despair.
In the instant it takes for his swift, agile fae hand to slash the air on its way down, I see her, the very first time we met. She was already turned toward the door when I entered the classroom. She scrutinized me, having recognized me as a threat right then.
That’s when I knew her for what she was, not what she pretended to be. No one else knew that I was dangerous on my first day—they soon learned, after I proved it, but Vlari? She didn’t need any demonstration of power.
The others smirked and whispered, mistaking me for prey.
Vlari? She smiled. Not at me. Not with me. She smiled, because she thought they were fools to cross me.
She turned back right away, so she never knew, but I smiled back.
That’s all it took. Right then, I knew I’d be here one day. Protecting her, no matter the cost.
And I failed. I failed. I failed in the worst possible way. She was mine to protect, and I didn’t do it. Not for ten years. Not in the last weeks, when I could have dragged a cot into this room and remained every hour, ensuring no one dared threaten her. And worst of all, not today.
I hadn’t even believed that a threat could come to her.
There isn't enough time to move. My Myst is going to wrap around the assassin’s mind and crack it like an egg when it reaches him. I will make him suffer fire, ice, and madness. My blade will sink in his guts and twist, so he bleeds out slowly. But it’ll be too late. I don’t have any other power in my possession. I am weak. I am worthless. I am nothing at all. I scream her name, my voice saturated with so much anguish I can't even recognize it.
She can't die. She can't. I don't think of Whitecroft. I don't think of the folk. I don't think about the fact that she's the only thing keeping us safe. I think the entire world would be pointless without her in it. I think that if she takes her last breath, it will be mine, too. My Myst keeps crawling to the assassin. I'm ready to obliterate each and every one of his cells.
But nothing I can do will prevent his blade from taking the one thing I've ever desired from me.
I see a lance and an arrow fly through the room. The guards were quick to attack the murderer, but their weapons will also hit too late.
I didn't think a second could last an eternity, yet here we are. My entire life could have passed in the endless instant it takes for the dagger to descend on Vlari.
Just as it aligns with her breast, Vlari blinks. Blinks. The sky-blue eyes that remained shut so long, eyes I never thought I'd see again at one point, open. The air around us crackles, suddenly charged with an energy strong enough to make mountains quake. The assassin’s arm stills for endless, precious seconds, and Vlari shifts on top of her bed covers. The blade falls, slashing a handful of silver hair, before piercing right through layers of silk and linen. It plunges inside her soft mattress.
The assassin curses, stepping back to dodge the lance. He snatches the wooden hilt midair and twists it in his hand, ready to attack again. By then, I'm on him. My Myst and my sword are both at my disposal now, but he’s mine. He’s not going anywhere. I don’t want it to end fast. This poor excuse for a fae needs tosuffer, in the worst of ways. Body, first. Then, I’ll get to his soul. My fist collides with his jaw, and withdraws to hit again, and again, and again. When my hands start to hurt, I keep punching. When his nose and my knuckles bleed, I strike, and strike again. Letting go of the weapon, he blocks the fiftieth punch, hiding his face behind his arms like the coward he is. Fine. That’s just fine. I start kicking instead, screaming, yelling.
He almost killed Vlari. He almost killedme. I saw her die in my mind. I felt my very soul shatter. I kick everything, blind by a lust for blood no unseelie has ever tasted. I need more. More suffering. I’ll take everything he can give me. All his screams.
“Drusk?”
The only thing that could have possibly pulled me out of the haze of violence in my veins is her voice. It’s weak, and cracks on that one single word, but it’s hers all the same. I look up. She’s standing right next to me. Her hand rests on my sleeve, and I’m done.
I’m just done. With everything.
I freeze.
She’s here. She’s here, in person, touching me.
The assassin looks between us, and glances at the door.
