Текст книги "Ice Country"

Автор книги: David Estes

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter Thirty-One

An axe arcs over my ducking head.

I raise a heavy boot and kick the guard in the midsection, launching him back into a mess of other guards who are attempting to hold off a pair of riders.

Something slices at me from the other side and I turn too late, only seeing the rider’s sword in time to watch it cut me into Dazz-steaks.

But then he slumps over before he can finish his swing, dropping his sword at my feet. His horse keeps running and I see the arrow sticking from the rider’s back as he passes. Siena stands back a ways, wearing my coat, bow strung with a new arrow, as if saving my life was just a small act, and she’s already pushed it from her mind. Her arrow flies and pierces the shoulder of a guard who’s fighting Circ. The guard staggers back and Circ slashes him down, flashing a smile in Siena’s direction.

I search frantically for an opening in the mess of bodies, but it’s all just violence and falling snow and armor and swords and—

There.

A rider cuts down three guards in quick succession, splitting the wall of men in half. He charges through, riding right into the palace. He’s going for the king!

Jolie! I scream in my head as I charge through the gap, ignoring the killing that continues on either side. I’m two steps from the door, two steps from getting inside, but then I see him.

A rider, hot exhalation steaming from both his and his horse’s mouths, galloping toward me, sword raised. It’s the same rider who cut down Buff’s father, who let my mother and Buff’s brothers and sisters live. The merciful murderer.

Heat flares up in my chest as I charge him.

~~~

When we’re so close that I can see the individual spots of blood on his sword, I dive to the side, narrowly avoiding getting trampled by his horse, which pulls up sharply, lifting its hoofs in the air, bucking at something that’s spooked it.

With a cry, the rider falls back, tumbling off and landing awkwardly. The horse returns to all fours and gallops away, leaving a clear view beyond. Skye stands stalwart, her blade raised, her brown skin steaming in the cold as her sweat vaporizes the moment it leaves her skin.

I stride toward the fallen rider, but Skye says, “Go. Save your sister.”

I glance at the rider, who’s struggling to his feet, looking dazed, then back at Skye. She walks toward him.

I run through the doorway.

Tapestries flash past me as I run, full of blood and dark men and violence—all of it having come to life just outside the doors. One of them, the one depicting the battle between the people living on the water and the riders, is shredded in half, each side hanging limply from its frame. Sliced by the rider who already came through.

Fear rises up, dwarfed only by the red hot anger that continues to pulse through my veins. As I pass the throne room I can’t hold back the images. Wes in chains, being led into the dungeons; Wes holding his bloody gut; Goff on the wall holding my sister. Goff. Icin’ freezin’ Goff.

The fear disappears and I’m all anger and it’s okay—it’s okay this time. Necessary. Right, even.

The steps to the dungeon go by on my left and I keep running. A ceramic vase lies broken in jagged shards on the floor. Knocked over by a horse that’s not used to running inside?

I turn a corner to find a staircase and a horse. The horse chews on something, ignoring me, as if I’m just another person and today’s just another day. The stairs wind up and up. A tower staircase. The central palace tower, the one that splits the clouds and allows the king to see the sun even in the worst storms, like the one today.

Rushing by the horse, I take the steps two at a time, tripping once, banging my knee, but scrambling with my hands to stay on my feet. Two steps, two steps, curving, climbing, around and around and around. Higher and higher, my lungs burning, my mouth dry, my hands fisted, higher and higher.

There are windows every twenny or so steps, but I can’t see anything except gray and white.

Higher and higher, around and around.

My legs are aching, not in one place, but in every place—but that’s nothing. Nothing.

I realize I’m speaking out loud between ragged, heaving breaths. “Jolie. I’m coming. I’m coming, Jolie. Don’t hurt her. Don’t. I’m coming.”

I don’t stop running or mumbling. Both things are all I have and they give me hope.

I reach a landing and there’s a door, a vacant room beyond. I keep going.

My legs aren’t working the way they should and I have to switch to one step at a time. With each stride they protest, but I tell them Only one more step, and then I take it. Repeating my empty promise, I take another. And another. And another.

Just when I think the tower goes even higher than they say, stretching all the way to the stars, I step onto a landing. My head’s down, between my knees, but I manage to tilt my chin enough to look up. And there aren’t any more stairs. Just a stone ceiling.

The top of the tower.

A door stands open. I walk toward it just as the screams fly out.

~~~

I’m in no shape to fight, too exhausted from my harried flight up the stairs, which is exactly why the king is probably hiding out here.

But I enter anyway, taking it all in with a single glance.

The horseless rider is surrounded by guards, slashing and blocking and hacking at their spears and axes and swords, killing one with a slice to the throat, stabbing another through the gut, fighting like someone who can’t be defeated.

Small windows are cut at intervals along the walls, barely letting in any light at all, and certainly no sun—nay, not one speck of sunlight; at the other end of a room that seems too big to be held up this high, Goff stands in front of a huge, stone throne on a raised platform like a god, eyes blazing, his arms around…his arms holding…

I choke when I try to speak, gasping for air and words, because he’s got her, he’s got...

“Jolie,” I say.

It’s not loud enough to reach anyone’s ears beyond my own, not against the battle cries in front of me.

Another guard dies with a scream, the rider vanquishing his enemies one by one.

“Jolie,” I say again, this time louder.

Both Goff and Jolie look across the room at me. “Dazz!” Jolie screams.

And King Goff smiles. He actually smiles. His whole world is crashing down around him and he doesn’t seem to care one bit, as if he’s entertained by it. Jolie strains against his arms, but he’s got her tight, so tight, and I start to run toward her, but then Goff reaches back and when his hand returns it’s gleaming and it’s holding a knife, jabbing it under Jolie’s throat, and he’s still smiling and his eyes are too, warning me to Stay away, stay away, back off, or, or…

…she dies.

There’s nothing I can do but stop. Rage is throbbing in my head and in my blood and in my heart, but I have to stop, because he’s got her and he’ll kill her—that much I can see in his eyes.

But Jolie’s pleading, pleading with her own eyes, giving me that hopeful look that she always has, like having a knife at her neck isn’t anything if I’m there. Her protector.

A body crashes to the floor behind me and I jerk my head to the side and down. Another guard, not yet dead, but on his way, blood gurgling from his lips as he tries to breathe through thick, red liquid.

I raise my head to see the rider standing alone amidst a circle of bodies. He’s killed them all—every last guard. A warrior, his strength far beyond my pathetic and useless bar-fighting talent that I once held such pride for.

He steps forward, his dark skin dripping with sweat, his black robe dragging at his feet, his sword held with both hands in front of him, the tip almost touching his chin.

I won’t let him get Jolie without going through me first.

“You’re here for the girl?” he asks, his voice a deep rumble. I step back, as if his words are far worse than his sword. He says it like it’s a normal question, the start of a normal conversation, as if he hasn’t just killed ten men on his own.

“She’s my sister,” I say. “He took her from me.”

He nods. “He’s a bad man,” he says. “I can’t let him live.” But what about Jolie?

“I’ll kill her if you come any closer,” the king says, and in his tone is a promise. I see him drawing his thumb across his neck, high atop the wall.

The rider steps toward him.

“I swear to the Mountain Heart, I’ll do it!” Goff screams, pushing his blade into Jolie’s flesh, drawing a trickle of blood.

“Ow! You’re hurting me!” Jolie cries.

“Don’t!” I shout, both to the rider and to the king.

The rider looks back, but there’s no uncertainty on his face. I see him slip a knife from his belt, using the width of his body to hide the motion from Goff.

I signal No! with my eyes, but he ignores it, turns, throws the knife toward the king and my sister.

The sound of the knife embedding in flesh and bone is sickening.

Blood flies.

The king slumps over, still clutching his knife.

Footsteps thump onto the landing outside the door.

With a whirl of his cape, the rider leaps past me, his sword raised. I spin around as he deflects an axe, a metal club, and a sword, each of which come flying through the entrance in short succession.

Past him, hordes of guards clamber up the stairs, pushing forward. The rider swings wildly, forcing them back, throwing them back, looking over his shoulder, looking right into my eyes. “Save her,” he says.

With a sharp yank, he ducks through the door, pulling it shut behind him.

I rush to it, slide the thick, metal latch across, locking us inside.

Before I can spin back to Jolie, I hear the most awful sound.

It’s a laugh. The king’s not dead.

~~~

I turn to face Goff, my heart skipping a beat when I see the truth.

Goff is dead—at least the man I believed to be the king, the tall, strong, throne-sitting man—lying in a red pool, a knife embedded in his heart.

But another man has replaced him, shorter, older, more grizzled, with a wispy beard and unkempt hair that stinks of crazy, jutting out from his golden crown at odd angles. He looks anything but kingly, and if not for his red, satin robe and glinting crown he might be no more than a castle soothsayer. He must’ve been hiding behind the heavy stone seat, the throne.

“You can’t save her,” the real king says.

“Dazz?” Jolie says, like she wants to know if what the king says is true.

“Everything’s okay, Joles,” I say.

The king laughs. “Okay for whom?” he asks.

To the king I say, “Who was that man?” The dead man.

Goff laughs, his eyes blue and filled with a wild glee. “Captain of the guard,” he says. “You really think I’d stoop so low as to cavort with commoners? While my men obey, the king can play.”

So stupid. I’ve been so stupid. I knew it wasn’t right that the king would speak to Wes and I, that he would venture into the dungeons to stop our original escape attempt. But I didn’t listen to the warnings in my head. But now I know. A second chance to make things right.

I know I can’t go right at him. He won’t hesitate to kill her and then take his chances with me. There’s only one thing to do: try to distract him until I can make a move.

“Where are the other children?” I ask, taking a step forward.

“That’s far enough,” Goff says. The trickle of blood reaches Jolie’s neckline. I stop, take a deep breath, fighting my urge to rush at him.

“You want to know about the other children?” he says. “That surprises me, Dazz. Why do you care so much about them when your sister’s right in front of you?”

I grit my teeth and try to stay focused. “I don’t care about them,” I lie. “I just need to know why. Why do you take them? What do you do to them?” I can’t keep the rage out of my voice, bubbling up like a spring. I swallow it down.

“Oh-ho! You’re worried about whether I’ve done anything to your pretty little sister here. Why she’s still here even after all the other children are gone. Is that it?”

The other children are gone? Does he mean—I swallow again—dead?

Goff laughs again. “Kid, you look like you’ve swallowed a frog. If you’re thinking I killed the rest of them, you’re mistaken. I might be a monster, but even a monster has a heart. I sold them, like I have for years. What do I need a bunch of snot-nosed Heater kids running around here for? My servants wait on me hand and foot. My guards protect me…well, try to protect me, although they’re not doing the best job of it lately, are they?”

I’m dumbfounded, speechless. He sold the Heater children? To who? And for what?

“Mountain lion got your tongue?” Goff says.

“I’m just surprised,” I say, trying to keep the conversation going.

There’s a heavy thud on the door behind me, which doesn’t bode well for the rider. He lasted a while, but never had a chance against so many foes—not really. I don’t look back.

Goff smiles, looks past me to the door. “Seems we’re finally winning,” he muses. “Should we let them in and end this quickly?”

“Nay,” I say. “Not until I understand.” And freezin’ kill you, I add in my mind.

There’s a heavy thud on the door and the metal bar rattles in its fixture.

Goff smiles, but I’m not sure if it’s at the door or at what I’ve said. “As you wish,” he says. “It’s simple, really. The Stormers want children.”

“The Stormers? But they’re…”

“Attacking us?” the king says, smiling. “I guess I’m not delivering enough of them, or the children aren’t strong enough, who knows? Although this one”—he squeezes Jolie harder—“is a real firecracker, always trying to escape, fighting the guards—I wonder where she gets it from?” He kisses the top of her head.

“Let go of her!” I scream, my rage rising up quicker than I can bite it down.

“Oh-ho, are you forgetting who has the knife to whose neck? Another outburst like that will get her killed,” Goff says, his green eyes gleaming maliciously, as if he’s hoping he gets just such a chance.

Thud, thud! The hammering on the door is getting louder, more persistent. If Goff’s guards get in, it’s over.

“You wouldn’t,” I say.

He laughs and that answers my question. He would. He has. Killed children. Enjoyed it. “Don’t be so naïve, Dazz,” he says.

I grit my teeth. I shake my head, trying to take it all in. “Why children?” I ask, pushing the conversation forward. The second it ends Jolie dies.

“How should I know? I don’t even give them our children, just natives from fire country, but I’m sure you already know that.”

THUD, THUD!

I ignore the pounding, keep things moving. “And you give the Heaters the Cure.”

“Gave the Heaters the Cure,” Goff corrects. “Since Roan was killed, the situation has changed, become more complex. But I never gave him much, just enough to get the children. I keep the rest for me and my men.”

“What do the Stormers give you for the children?” Food, goods, what? Nothing seems to fit.

“Are you slow, Dazz?” the king says. “The same thing I gave Roan, except in much larger quantities.”

The air goes out of my lungs. The reason the bags of dried plants looked so unfamiliar, unlike any plant I’d ever seen growing in ice country, was because they weren’t from ice country.

“The Cure comes from…” I don’t finish the statement.

“Of course. It comes from storm country. Those plants only grow on the shores of the sea.”

The pieces click, snap, lock, and then weave together, into a sickening and screwed up tapestry that somehow, somewhere came to include my little sister, Jolie, ending with a knife to her throat.

THUD! The slam on the door is the loudest and heaviest yet, but I barely notice it, barely notice the metal bar bending under the pressure.

“Why her?” I say, spitting out the words, feeling a fresh wave of anger boil to the surface. “You said you only traded Heater children, but then you—you—” Memories of the night I went to visit Jolie at Clint and Looza’s hits me like a punch to the gut. Finding them tied up, silence and darkness surrounding the house like a suffocating blanket. Seeing them drag Jolie out the back. Running, running, a knock to the back of my head, falling, falling, failing the only one I ever wanted to protect…

I can’t speak another word or I’ll lose it.

“I took your sister,” Goff says. “Well, not me personally, but some vile men I dredged up from the Red District. They’ll do anything for silver there.”

“Why?” I growl, pushing him to get to the point.

THUD! I’m vaguely aware of voices shouting behind me, where a crack’s opened up in the door.

“Let’s just say she caught my eye,” he says, licking his lips.

“Liar!” I roar. “That’s not what your captain of the guard told me.”

“What exactly did he tell you?”

“That she’s a special trade item. That I’m the insurance to keep her in line,” I say.

The king raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t authorize him to say that. I’d have needed to punish him if he weren’t already dead,” he muses. “No matter. What you know now is of no consequence to me. In a short while you’ll be dragged across the border with your sister. And she will obey her new masters, because if she doesn’t it’ll be you that pays for it with pain.”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you, Dazz,” Jolie says.

“I know, Joles,” I say. “So you can’t hurt her, Goff. If she’s so special, surely you can’t just kill her here and now.”

“Tsk tsk, Dazz,” the king clucks. “I thought I warned you about being foolish. If she dies, I’ll find another little girl to replace her in an instant. And another brother or sister or friend to force her obedience.”

Something doesn’t make sense. The Heater children were both boys and girls. “Why a girl?” I ask

The king smirks. “Now you’re asking the right things. Because she’ll be betrothed to a young man, of course,” he says.

“Betrothed?” I say, the word sounding foreign because it was so unexpected. “The Stormers want my sister to marry one of their boys?”

“Yes.” One word. The king may have lied about a lot of things, but this one word rings true. “But not just any boy. I suspect it’s a boy of some importance to them. A son of a king or the equivalent.”

“Why? Why an Icer?”

“Like I said, they want to ensure her cooperation and subservience to her master, her husband. Perhaps the young women of their lands are not as…easy to control. And the brown-skinned Heater children are their servants, so it wouldn’t be appropriate to use one of them.” I remember the unchained wildness of the dark riders, many of whom were women.

There’s a series of sharp cracks against the door. Goff glances at the door, then back at me, smiling wider than ever. “Don’t make me out to be such a bad guy,” Goff says. “She’s only one girl, no one will even notice she’s gone.”

“You stupid, stupid man!” I shout, taking a step forward even as there’s a massive THUD! behind me.

“Not another step or I’ll—”

But I’m not listening, not to the pathetic icin’ King who’s got my sister, nor to the incessant pounding at my back. Not anymore. “She’s a child,” I say. “Someone’s daughter, someone’s sister. My sister. You didn’t think anyone would notice? You’re insane.”

I step forward, spurred on by another massive THUD!

“Not one more step, kid,” Goff warns.

I hesitate, not because I’m scared of the king, but because it’s still my sister he’s got, still Jolie, biting at her lip and trying not to cry.

“Dazz?” she says, her question full of a thousand other questions, none of which I can answer without lying.

Men’s voices pummel the door, even as a series of vicious pounds erupt behind me.

THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD!

I glance back at the door. The bar is fully bent now, the crack in the door widening with each hammer of the battering ram. “It’s okay, Joles, everything’s okay,” I say, wondering how it will be, how I can speak something I don’t believe myself.

Now is the moment. My moment. My one chance to make up for everything, for all the mistakes, for all the pain and hurt and anguish of the last few days, weeks, months, years.

I step forward and Goff lifts the knife from Jolie’s throat, pulling it back in a slashing motion, as if he wants to shove it all the way through her neck, not content to simply slit her throat.

I have no choice but to act.

Chapter Thirty-Two

This is it. This is it. My final failure, the ultimate mistake that will leave my family broken into a million pieces, so many that my drugged-out mother and me will never be able to pick them all up, fit them back together again.

I charge forward, shouting something at the top of my lungs, something familiar, something powerful—a name—

Jolieeeeee!

–feeling time and distance and life slowing down, stopping, freezing more solidly than the ice-coated peaks of the mountain—

Jolieeeee!

–urging my muscles to go, go, go, faster, faster—

Jolieeeee!

–watching with dread as the knife starts its downward arc, gleaming brighter than the eyes of the wicked, wicked man wielding it—

THUD!!!!

–hearing the loudest pound on the door yet, but knowing it doesn’t matter, not now, not ever, prepared to face death if I don’t save her.

No time, no time, no freezin’ time, the knife right there, right there, and she’ll be, she’ll be…

Two small hands flash up, grab at the king’s arm, hold it off, barely, barely, but it’s still moving as Goff’s look of surprise changes back to determination, but I’m still running, getting closer, even as the knife gets closer, but he’s winning the battle—the king is winning the battle—pushing the knife to within inches of my sister’s fragile skin, and then, and then—

–Jolie bites him, sinks her little teeth into the flesh of his arm and he cries out, yowls so loudly it momentarily drowns out the pounding on the door.

But he doesn’t.

He doesn’t drop the knife.

I’m close now, close enough to

(stop him.)

Close enough to

(save her.)

The thoughts are there but I can’t think them with the full extent of my mind, just let them slip around the edges, not letting myself believe that we could, that we could

(win.)

I swing hard, putting everything I have left into the punch, aimed well over Jolie’s head, at his face, at the malicious eyes of the demon who holds her, even now still trying to stab her, and—

My fist connects, crushing Goff’s temple, just on the edge of his eye, snapping his head to the side and back.

He releases Jolie, falls away, his arm stabbing wildly at the air behind her as he crumples to the stone floor.

Jolie’s left standing there, tears in her eyes, a stream of blood running down her neck.

“Dazz?” she says.

There’s something in her eyes—

“Dazz?” she says again.

Something’s not right—

“Dazz?” she says, once more, and I step toward her, ready to take her in my arms, to tell her everything really is okay, that I’m here, that the king won’t hurt her anymore, that—

She falls to her knees, her head slumping forward, right into my arms as I dive down to catch her, to stop her from hitting the floor.

That’s when I see it.

That’s when I see it.

Jolie? Nay, Jolie. Nay.

The blood down her back. The knife embedded in her skin, gleaming, always gleaming, laughing at me with the voice of the broken king beyond it.

“Jolie!” I scream, grabbing her, clutching her to me.

“Dazz, I’m cold,” she says into my chest, which should be a funny statement, because we’re in ice country so we’re always cold, but people don’t say stuff like that here, because it’s a given, like trees have leaves or winter has avalanches.

Jolie doesn’t speak like that.

“Dazz?” Her voice again, so innocent and sweet, sounding weaker than before, less vibrant, my sister’s voice but not, changed somehow.

I kiss her cheeks, wetting them with the tears that are streaming down my own face, over my lips, salty and fresh.

She’s not dying. She’s not. Not on my watch.

A surge of strength and determination and anger, red hot and fiery, courses through me, but I ignore the anger. Revenge will come later. Now I have to stop the bleeding.

I lay Jolie down gently, resting her head in my lap. There’s so much blood—so much I can’t think, can’t speak—but I know I have to stop it, have to stop the life from draining out of her.

I’ve got nothing to use but myself. I clamp my hands around the handle of the knife—the king’s knife—and put pressure around it, try to keep the red liquid from spilling out past the wound, being careful not to push the blade in farther. Jolie cries out but I have to ignore it, although I’m sobbing and shaking and wanting nothing more than to hold her and kiss her.

“Help!” I scream, but I know no one will answer. The pounding on the door has stopped, but the men outside are still yelling, still shouting meaningless words, full of rage and murder. But the murder’s already happened and Heart of the Mountain save them if they make it through that door.

“Help, please,” I sob, my tears falling on the backs of my hands, which are white with effort and strain. The blood’s not coming out as fast anymore, but Jolie’s stopped speaking, her back barely rising and falling with each exhalation. No matter how much pressure I put on her wound, without help she’s

(dead.)

“Help…” The word dies on my lips, but I won’t give up, won’t stop sealing the wound with my own flesh.

The king groans nearby.

Rolls over.

Starts to get up.

“You shouldn’t have done that, kid,” he says, rising up, bigger and taller this close, when I’m slumped to the floor like an animal. There’s a nasty gash on his forehead where I hit him, spilling blood down his cheek, some of it getting onto his lips, into his mouth, coating his teeth with a red sheen. His eye is puffy and turning purple. His other eye is full of crazy.

I don’t stop the pressure on Jolie’s back, try to ignore Goff, pretend he’s not there. If I take my hands away from her back, she dies.

Goff raises a boot in the air, hovers it over Jolie as if he might step on her, but then levels it out so it’s even with my head. I close my eyes and brace myself for a kick to the face, determined not to let go of Jolie.

No matter what.

The blow never comes.

I open my eyes.

Goff’s boot is lowered and he’s fumbling at his belt, searching for something, for…

Another knife.

He holds it up, lets its sharp edges catch the light, shows it to me.

“I’ll kill you,” I say.

“If you let go of her, you’ll kill her,” he says.

“And then I’ll kill you.”

He shrugs. “Maybe so, but I’m the one holding the knife.”

An impossible decision. If I let go of Jolie, she might die, but if I don’t, Goff will kill us both anyway. I have to fight.

It has to be a quick one, or I might be too late to save her.

“I love you,” I whisper to Jolie, but I don’t know if she hears me.

Then, weaponless, I stand.

~~~

King Goff slashes at my throat, leaping over Jolie’s small body.

I jump back, surprised at the suddenness and intensity of his attack.

But I’m not on my heels for long, not with the rage that’s been roiling beneath the surface of my skin since this day began, since Wes died. Finally—finally!—I can let it out, all of it, the fear for Jolie’s life, the anger over Wes’s death, the burning need to take revenge on the wicked man who threatens my whole world, who’s done unspeakable things.

He feints left, feints right, and then comes up the center, flicking his blade across my abdomen. I’m fast and full of energy, but he’s faster, a man possessed, and he slices my skin, sending a fierce burn into my gut.

The blood pours out but it’s nothing, a flesh wound, nothing compared to the knife embedded in my sister’s back. The knife that’s killing her while I continue to waste time with the king.

I leap back, hardening my jaw at the smile on Goff’s face. He moves in, still smiling, gaining confidence.

But when he slashes again, I’m ready, letting the knife slide past me even as I grab his arm, twist it, wrench it in an unnatural way that leaves the king screaming out as his bones snap.

Following through, I crush a forearm into his skull, aiming for the same spot I hit him before, feeling him rock back under the force of the blow. I land on top of him, punching with all my might, swinging and swinging, blood misting in my face as his nose explodes, his lips crack open, still swinging, fists hitting the face of pure evil, not ready to stop, not wanting to stop, but remembering, remembering…

Jolie.

It can’t wait any longer. I have to get back to her, but first Goff has to die.

His knife lies discarded on the floor. I reach for it, grab it.

I’ve never killed before, but this is a good place to start.

I raise the knife just as there’s a final, stone-crushing THUD! and the door crashes open.

~~~

I whirl around, knife still raised, ready, so ready, to fight them all. A hundred men couldn’t stop me when I’m this close to saving her.

My arm drops when I see her.

Skye.

Blood-spattered and fierce-eyed and here. The bodies of dozens of guards are scattered and broken on the floor behind her. She came. She came for me—for us. For Jolie and me.

She looks at me, at the king, at Jolie’s body, taking it all in.

The king groans and I turn back. One of his eyes is slitted open and he’s staring at me. His hand lifts, slides toward me as if beckoning for help. Instead I raise the knife once more.

“No,” Skye says, suddenly by my side, taking my hand, taking the knife. My fingers don’t protest as she uncurls them. I am powerless against her. “Go to your sister.”

My whole body numb, I manage to stand, unsteady on my feet, shaking, stumbling my way over to Jolie, seeing moving bodies around me, barely able to recognize them as the others. Siena, Circ, Wilde, Feve. They’re all here, all fought through the hordes of guards to get to me.

But they’re too late. We’re all too late.

Right where I left her, Jolie sleeps.

That’s how I want to see her—asleep—just resting, a child in her bed, dreaming a child’s dream.

My eyes play the trick, and play it well, but when Feve rushes to her side, coated in a thin layer of sweat, his markings glistening in the light, the truth returns.

Jolie, broken. Jolie, lying in a pool of her own blood. Jolie, covered in red and black, a knife sticking from her…from her beautiful…from her beautiful little body, and I can’t speak, can’t think, can’t remember another word about her, because it hurts too much, and I’m by her side, like I floated there, because I can’t remember walking, and I’m cradling her head in my arms and I’m crying into her hair, and there’s nothing left in this world.

Nothing.

And then Feve opens a leather pouch at his side, removes little glass jars and skins of herbs.