From Blood and Ash (Blood And Ash Series Book 1)

The Duke of Masadonia was dead.

Murdered.

I couldn’t pull my gaze from him, not even when I became aware of Vikter coming to stand beside me. He said something, but I couldn’t hear him over the pounding of my own heart.

The Duke had been staked through the chest in the same manner the cursed or a Craven would be killed—with wood fashioned from a tree that had grown in the Blood Forest.

With the same cane he’d often stroked lovingly right before it whistled through the air, bruising my back and sometimes even splitting the skin.

Dumbly, I wondered how someone could get the cane through the Duke’s chest. The ends were not sharp but smooth and rounded. The effort and strength that would’ve required… Not to mention, the Duke would’ve fought back unless he’d been incapacitated beforehand.

Only an Atlantian could’ve accomplished that.

Vikter touched my arm, and slowly, I tore my gaze from the Duke’s remains. “He’s dead,” I said. “He’s really dead.” A very inappropriate giggle welled up, and I clamped my mouth shut as I turned back to where the Duke was impaled.

I didn’t think it was funny. Not at all. I didn’t like the man—frankly, I hated him with every fiber of my being—but an Atlantian had gotten into Castle Teerman yet again, and that was frightening. Because of that, this wasn’t funny.

It also wasn’t sad.

Gods, I truly was unworthy, and probably a terrible person, but I sighed softly, a sound of…relief passing my lips. No more lessons. No more lingering stares and touches. No more pain at his hands. No more heavy, sticky shame. My gaze shifted to where a tall, dark-haired Ascended joined the Duchess. No more Lord Mazeen.

Without the Duke, he had little sway over me, and I almost smiled again.

Movement to my left snagged my attention, and I turned, seeing Tawny pushing through a group of Ascended and the Lords and Ladies in Wait. She hurried across the room, her eyes wide behind her mask.

Curls bounced off her cheeks as she shook her head. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing.” She clasped my hands, glancing toward the dais. Shuddering, she quickly looked back at me. “This can’t be real.”

“It’s real.” I turned to the dais once more. Guards were trying to get the Duke down, but he was too far up on the wall. “They need a ladder.”

“What?” Tawny whispered.

“A ladder. They’re not going to be able to reach him,” I pointed out. I could feel Tawny’s gaze on me. “Do you think he was up there for the whole Rite? The entire time?”

“I don’t even know what to think.” She turned so her back was to the dais. “At all.”

“At least we know why he didn’t show,” I said.

“Poppy,” she exclaimed in a low voice.

“Sorry.” I watched the Duchess turn to the Lord, her lips moving fast. “The Duchess doesn’t seem all that torn up, does she?”

Vikter stepped in then. “I think it’s time that I get you back to your chambers.”

It probably was, so I nodded and started to turn—

Glass shattered. I spun toward the sound as pieces flew through the air. It was one of the windows facing the garden. Tawny’s grip tightened on my arm. Another window broke, this time to our left, and we both whirled to see shards piercing, cutting into the group standing there—the gathering Tawny had been a part of. Screams of shock gave way to ones of pain as jagged chunks of glass sliced into skin. A girl stumbled out from the scattering group, her hands trembling as she lifted them to her bloodied face. Numerous tiny cuts marked her cheeks and brow. It was Loren. She doubled over, screaming as the blond girl in front of her slowly turned around.

Glass jutted from her eye, and red streamed down her face. She crumpled like a paper sack.

“Dafina!” cried Tawny, letting go of my arm and starting toward her.

I snapped out of the shock and lurched forward, grabbing Tawny’s arm as a Lord in Wait dropped to his knees and fell forward. Had he been hit by glass, too? I wasn’t sure. She cranked her head around. “What? I have to go to her. She needs help—”

“No.” I pulled her back while Loren went to her friend, trying to get her to stand—to move. Another window exploded. “You can’t go near the windows. I’m sorry. You can’t.”

Tawny’s eyes glistened. “But—”

Something whizzed through the air, striking a Lord. The impact spun him around, and Tawny screamed. An arrow had struck him through the eye. He was an Ascended, but he went down, dead before he hit the floor. Blood pooled under him.

The Ascended could die.

Their head and heart were as vulnerable as a mortal’s, and whoever had released that arrow knew just that.

Short sword unsheathed, Vikter shoved Tawny and I behind him as the Duchess, surrounded by Royal Guards, screamed, “Get her out of here! Now! Get—”

An arrow pierced the Royal Guard standing in front of her. Blood spurted from his neck as he reached for the arrow, his mouth open and closing soundlessly.

Gods…

I staggered into Tawny as Vikter turned us around and herded us toward the opening. We started forward as I reached for the dagger on my thigh—

The shrieks that came from outside the Great Hall stopped all of this for just a handful of seconds. The sounds…

Pain.

Terror.

Death.

Then a wave of people rushed the Great Hall, Ascended and mortal, commoner and Royal alike, all running toward us. The gowns and tunics of some were a deeper red now, faces either leached of color or splattered with crimson. Some fell before they made it to the steps, arrows and…knives embedded deep into their backs. Others toppled down the stairs in their panicked run.

We were about to be overrun.

I didn’t even reach for my dagger. I couldn’t fight them. They weren’t the enemy.

“Shit,” Vikter growled, spinning toward me as Tawny stood frozen. My eyes met his, and I knew what was about to happen. My heart dropped. “Protect the Maiden!” he shouted.

Grabbing hold of Tawny by both her arms, I tugged her against me and wrapped my arms around her, holding her as tightly as I could. Vikter’s arms went around me. Guards pressed in, and because of how close I held Tawny to my body, they were forced to form a barricade around both of us.

“I’m scared,” Tawny whispered against my cheek.

“It’s okay,” I lied as I forced my eyes open, even though I wanted to close them. My heart slammed against my ribs. For a brief second, I prayed to the gods. I sent up a prayer that Hawke was nowhere near here. That he’d left to blow off some steam and had gone into the city. “Brace your—”

It was like being hit by falling rocks.

Bodies slammed into the guards from seemingly every direction, pushing them into Tawny and me. Hilts of swords cracked into ribs and other bones. Elbows knocked against flesh. Vases shattered. People broke. The crush of the crowd, of the hundreds who had fled the Great Hall and now returned was too much—

It was as if a massive wave rolled across the floor, tearing free one guard and then another and another until I felt Vikter’s grip loosen. And then he was gone, and something—someone—hard hit me, crashed into Tawny and me. She was ripped away, carried off with the wave of screaming, shrieking people as they ran from whatever it was that had scared them.

That was my last thought as the room seemed to turn upside down. My feet left the floor, and I experienced a boneless, airy moment. I saw the painted gods on the ceiling, then terror-stricken faces and blood and foam. I came back down, slipping and cracking my knees on the hard floor.

I tried to push up, knowing I couldn’t stay down. “Tawny!” I screamed, looking for her, but all I saw was red…everywhere.

A knee connected with my ribs, knocking the air out of my lungs. A booted foot landed on my back, slamming me to the floor. Pain shot down my spine. I scrambled blindly over spilled food, crushed roses, and gods…oh, gods, over wet and warm bodies as I tried to stand. Something caught my skirt, causing me to fall forward.

I came face-to-face with Dafina, and it seemed like time stopped as I stared down at her one beautiful blue eye open and glazed over. That mask of hers, just as gaudy as Loren’s, more red than any other color now that it was drenched in blood. I reached forward, wanting to wipe the blood from the crystals—

I saw Loren then, curled into herself behind Dafina, her arms over her head. I scrambled forward, grabbing her arm. Her head jerked up. Alive. She was alive.

“Get up,” I said, pulling on her as I struggled to stand, but something held me down. I looked over my shoulder and wished I hadn’t. It was a body. I grabbed my skirt, ripping it. I turned back to Loren as the faintest scent of something sulfuric, something acrid reached me. My stomach dropped. “Get up. Get up. Get up!”

“I can’t,” she cried. “I can’t. I can’t—”

Screaming as someone fell over me, I grabbed Loren by her dress, her arm, her hair—anything I could grab onto and pulled her over Dafina. My senses had cracked wide-open, and terror and pain came from her, came from everywhere. I gained my footing, hauling Loren to her feet. I saw a pillar and headed for that.

“See the pillar?” I asked Loren. “We can stay there. We can hold onto it.”

“My arm,” she gasped. “I think it’s broken.”

“I’m sorry.” I shifted my grip so it was around her waist.

“I need to get Dafina,” she said. “I need to get her. She shouldn’t be left like that. I need to get her.”

A knot lodged in my throat as I kept pulling Loren toward the pillar. I couldn’t think of Dafina and that mask and that one beautiful remaining eye. I couldn’t think about the bodies I crawled over. I couldn’t. “We’re almost there.”

Someone fell into us, but I held on—Loren held on, and we were almost there. Just a few more steps, and we’d be out of the crush. We’d be—

Loren jerked, and something wet and warm sprayed the right side of my face and my neck. Loren’s arms loosened, and I caught her, her sudden weight pulling at the tender skin around my ribs. “Hold on,” I told her. “We’re almost there—” I looked down, peered at her because she was falling, and I couldn’t hold her.

She fell, and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I refused to reconcile what I saw as I was jostled to the left and then to the right. There couldn’t be an arrow through the back of her head, the fletching vibrating.

“We were almost there,” I whispered.

A piercing whistle sounded from outside, followed by another and another. Slowly, I lifted my chin and stared out into the shadows of the garden, some deeper and darker than others. They drew closer.

I’d just been out there with Hawke. Had he gotten out in time? Or had he been felled by—

I couldn’t think like that. He must have left. He had to.

Someone grabbed my arm, spinning me around.

“The side entrance.” Commander Jansen’s face appeared in front of me. “We must get to the side entrance now, Maiden.”

I blinked slowly, numbly. “Vikter, Tawny. I must find them—”

“They don’t matter right now. I need to get you out. Dammit,” he cursed as I turned away, desperately scanning the mass of people for those I cared about. He grabbed for me, but my arm was too slippery. He lost his grip as I raced into the churning mass of people.

“Tawny!” I screamed, shoving past an older man. “Vikter! Tawny—”

“Poppy!” Hands grabbed my back, and I spun. Tawny clutched me, her mask gone, and her hairdo half fallen. “Oh gods, Poppy!”

Holding onto her, I looked over her shoulder and met Lord Mazeen’s icy stare. “Good to see you’re still alive,” he said.

Before I could respond, Vikter shoved through, pulling me away from Tawny. “Are you hurt?” he shouted, wiping at the blood on my face. “Are you injured?”

My lips parted. I saw the Duchess behind us, surrounded by guards. Beyond them, I saw the Duke.

Flames crawled and licked up his legs, climbing over his torso and spreading across his arms.

“My gods,” Tawny said. I thought she saw what I did, but then I realized that she was facing the entrance. I turned.

They stood in the entryway and at the broken windows, dozens dressed in the ceremonial garb of the Rite, their faces shielded by silver masks. Wolven. Their facial coverings had been designed with the characteristics of the wolven—ears, snouts, elongated fangs. Those at the entryway were armed with daggers and battleaxes. Those at the windows had been the ones to fire the arrows. There were Descenters, possibly even Atlantians among the masked.

It struck me then.

They had been among us the entire night. I thought of Agnes, of what she had said and how nervous she’d looked, and how Vikter had felt as if there’d been more she hadn’t told us. Had she known and tried to warn me? Not the guards and the commoners who lay injured and dead on the floor. Not the Ascended who’d fallen. Not Loren and Dafina, who’d never harmed a single person.

My hands curled into fists.

“From blood and ash,” one of them shouted.

Another yelled. “We will rise!”

“From blood and ash!” several yelled as they started down the steps. “We will rise!”

 Vikter grabbed me as I took hold of Tawny’s hand. “We need to move fast,” he said, nodding at the Commander, who was now beside the Lord.

The Royal Guards surrounded the Duchess and us, pushing back through the masses. Every part of me was sickened as they guided us through the crowd toward the open door, where people were being thrown back. We were escaping, and they were being held in.

“This isn’t right,” I said, and then I yelled it over the screams as I was pulled through the door. “They’re going to be massacred.”

Ahead of me, the Duchess’s head whipped around, and her black eyes met mine. “The Royals will take care of them.”

Normally, I would’ve laughed at that. The Royals? The Ascended, who never seemed to raise a hand, would take care of them? But there was something in her eyes, almost where her pupils would be if I could see them. It was like burning coal.

We went through the doorway, and…and others went out into the Great Hall. They weren’t guards. They were Ascended, male and female, their eyes carrying that same unholy light.

Racing along, I looked over my shoulder as the last of the Ascended swept through the door, her crimson gown like a cape. A Royal Guard closed the door behind her and then stood with his back pressed against it, his short swords crossed.

Guards streamed past us then as we ran through the foyer, around the statues, and I looked at every one of them, hoping and fearing that I’d see Hawke. Each face that passed me was unfamiliar.

And then the screams from the Great Hall ceased.

My steps faltered. Tawny looked back, too. The screams had simply…stopped.

“Come, Poppy,” Vikter urged.

We spilled into the banquet hall. A guard came running over, his face and arm spotted with blood. “They’re at the back entrance, surrounding the whole damn castle. The only way out is through them.”

“No,” The Duchess argued. “We wait them out. Here. This room will do.” She stalked forward. “They won’t make it to us.”

“Your Grace—” Vikter started.

“No.” The Duchess turned to him, that same odd fire I’d seen earlier in her eyes. “They will not make it to us.” Her gaze snapped to me. “Bring Penellaphe.”

The skin around Vikter’s mouth tightened, and we exchanged looks. He shook his head. I held onto Tawny’s hand as we crossed the room and moved into one of the greeting rooms. In the back of my mind, I was at least grateful that it hadn’t been the room Malessa had been murdered in.

Because there was a good chance that we were all going to die in here.

The Commander remained outside, sword drawn, and I knew he was going back to the Hall. My dagger practically burned against my thigh.

As the door closed behind us, I let go of Tawny’s hand and looked around. There was only one window, but it was far too small for anyone but a child to climb through.

The Duchess dropped into a settee, her lips pressed into a firm line. Lord Mazeen went to her, and I saw that several Royal Guards remained inside.

“Dear girl, you look like you’re about to pass out from fright,” the Duchess said to Tawny. “We will be just fine in here. I assure you. Come.” She patted the seat. “Sit with me.”

Tawny glanced at me, and I gave her a discreet nod. She drew in a shallow breath and then joined the Duchess, who turned to the Lord. “Bran, why don’t you pour us some of the whiskey.”

As the Lord rose to obey the Duchess, I looked at Vikter and whispered, “This is incredibly stupid.”

His jaw flexed.

“If they make it in here, we are sitting ducks.” I kept my voice low. “That is if we don’t burn alive from the flaming Duke.”

He turned from the Duchess as he nodded. “Are you armed?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” His gaze fixed on the door. “If anyone makes it in here, do not hesitate to use what you’ve been taught.”

My gaze lifted to his in question.

“I don’t care who sees you,” he whispered. “Defend yourself.”

Exhaling slowly, I nodded, and then there was only the sound of glass clinking against glass and then nothing more. The guards remained focused on the door, and I stayed near Vikter, checking on Tawny every so often. She was staring straight ahead, the drink virtually forgotten in her hand. Each time I looked, the Lord was staring back at me.

How unfair that he still breathed when so many others did not.

I didn’t care how unworthy that thought was. I meant it. I didn’t know how much time passed, but my thoughts wandered to Hawke. Fear trickled through my blood like ice.

Lightly touching Vikter’s back, I waited until he faced me. “Do you think Hawke is okay?” I whispered.

“He’s good at killing,” he answered, refocusing on the door. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

A lot of the guards who’d fallen had been good at killing. All the talent in the kingdom meant nothing when an arrow came out of nowhere.

I forced myself to take a deep, slow breath. The Duke was dead. Masadonia had become the next Goldcrest Manor, but Tawny was okay. So was Vikter. And Hawke had to be. This…this wasn’t going to turn out like the night the Craven had come, when my mother—

Something hit the door, causing Tawny to gasp. She clasped her hand over her mouth.

Vikter lifted his finger to his lips. I held my breath. It could’ve been anything. No need to panic. Yes, we were fish in a barrel, but we were—

The door rattled with the next impact, shaking the hinges. Tawny rose, as did the Duchess. The guards moved to block the entryway, drawing their swords.

Wood cracked and splintered as the deadly edge of a battleax breached the portal.

“What did you say, Your Grace?” the Lord said, sighing. “That they wouldn’t make it to us?”

“Shut up,” she hissed. “We’re fine.”

A chunk of wood fell. We were not fine.

Vikter looked over his shoulder at me. Our eyes met, and I let go of the breath I had been holding. I turned, planting my foot on the seat of an empty chair. I gathered up my skirt—

“Now, this is getting interesting,” the Lord remarked.

My gaze met his as I unsheathed the dagger, wishing I could shove it through his heart. He must’ve seen that in my stare because his nostrils flared.

“Penellaphe,” gasped the Duchess. “What are you doing with a dagger? And under your skirt no less? This whole time?”

A high, panicked giggle snuck out from around Tawny’s hand where it covered her mouth, and her eyes widened. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Duchess Teerman shook her head. “What are you doing with a dagger, Penellaphe?”

“Doing my best not to die,” I told her. Her mouth dropped open.

Knowing I would hear about this later—if there was a later— I turned back to the door. The hall had quieted. Nothing moved beyond the gash in the wood. One of the Royal Guards crept forward and bent down to peer out.

His head tilted to the side. “Shit,” he exclaimed, turning. “Get back!”

I jumped, as did Vikter, but two of the guards weren’t fast enough. The door blew off its hinges and smacked into them, taking one of them down while the other was caught in the chest by the battering ram. I heard a sickening crunch.

Vikter swung his sword, cutting through bone and tissue. The battering ram hit the ground, along with an arm. A man screamed, stumbling back as blood pumped from the severed limb. He fell to the side, and then they swarmed, swallowing Vikter and the guards. There was no time to give in to panic or fear as one of the Descenters stalked forward, flipping the battleax in his hand. I had no idea if they were here for me or to just shed blood, but with the mask and how I was dressed, they had no idea that I was the Maiden.

The man behind the wolf mask chuckled. “Pretty dagger.”

They had no idea I knew how to use it.

He raised the battleax, and I thought the Duchess screamed. Maybe it was Tawny. I wasn’t sure, but the sounds they made faded into the background as I let instinct take over.

Waiting until the axe blade whistled through the air, I then shot forward, darting under his arm. I spun behind him just as he turned, slamming the dagger into the back of his neck, right in the area I used to end the cursed.

He was dead before he even realized that I’d killed him.

As he fell forward, I saw the Duchess staring back at me, her mouth hanging open.

“Behind you,” Tawny shouted.

Whirling around, I hit the ground as another axe swept through the air. I kicked out, sweeping the man’s leg out from under him. He went down just as Vikter turned, his sword arcing through the air as he brought it down. I popped to my feet as a Descenter moved to shove a dagger into Vikter’s back.

I shouted a warning, and Vikter threw out his elbow, catching the man under his chin, snapping his neck back.

A Descenter rushed me, axe swinging. I darted to the left just as something—a glass—smacked into the Descenter’s metal mask. I glanced over my shoulder to see Tawny sans glass, but she wasn’t emptyhanded for long. She grabbed the decanter, holding it like a sword.

I shot forward, thrusting the dagger deep into the Descenter’s chest. He went down, taking me with him. I landed on him with a grunt and started to rise. A booted foot kicked out, catching my hand. Fiery pain erupted as the dagger was knocked from my grasp.

It hurt and punched the air from my lungs. Gods, it stung. I reared, falling on my butt. I looked up, scrambling backward. My aching hand rubbed over the handle of an axe.

Above me, the Descenter lifted a sword with two hands, prepared to bring it down. My heart lurched in my chest.

“She’s the Maiden!” the Duchess shrieked. “She’s the Chosen!”

What the…?

The Descenter hesitated.

Hand tightening around the handle of the axe, I shot forward, dragging the heavy weapon through the air. He tried to move back, but I caught him in the stomach. Blood sprayed as he shouted, dropping the sword to cradle his midsection, his—

Bile hit the back of my throat as I brought the axe down on his neck, ending what would’ve surely been a painful death from disembowelment.

Hand aching, I gripped the axe as a Descenter took down one of the guards and then moved toward Tawny, his sword dripping blood. Lifting the axe over my head, I did just as Vikter had taught me. I made sure the blade was perfectly straight as I brought it back over my head and then heaved it forward, releasing it. It winged through the air, striking the Descenter in the back. He toppled forward, his sword falling to the floor.

“Gods,” Lord Mazeen uttered, staring at me with wide eyes.

“Remember that,” I warned, sweeping down to pick up the fallen short sword. “And this,” I spat. Light and double-edged, I sliced open the throat of the next Descenter.

 Breathing heavily, I turned back to the door just as Vikter thrust his sword through the last Descenter. Only one other guard remained standing. I lowered the sword, my chest rising and falling as I stepped over the body…parts. “Is that all?”

Vikter glanced out to the hall. “I think so, but we shouldn’t stay here.”

There was no way in the world I would stay in this room. The Duchess and the Lord could do whatever they wanted. I turned to Tawny.

“How?” the Duchess demanded, her hands and clothing free of blood and gore while I had to be swimming in it. “How is this possible?” she demanded, staring down at the mess. “How?”

“I trained her,” Vikter answered, shocking me. “I’ve never been more glad that I did than I am right now.”

“I do not believe she is in need of any Royal Guards,” the Lord commented dryly, his nose wrinkling as he flicked something off his tunic. “But so very unbecoming of a Maiden.”

I was two seconds away from showing him just how unbecoming I could be.

Vikter touched my arm, drawing my attention to him. Later, he mouthed. “Come.” He glanced at Tawny. “This isn’t safe.”

“Really?” whispered Tawny, still holding the decanter as she came forward. “I would’ve never noticed that.”

Vikter’s gaze shifted back to me, and even though his cheeks were more red than golden, he smiled. “You make me proud.”

I’d wanted to throw something at him while we’d been in the garden, but now I wanted to hug him. I stepped toward him just as Tawny shouted.

Time slowed to a crawl, and yet there wasn’t enough time to stop any of what was happening.

Vikter twisted at the waist, facing the door, looking to where a wounded Descenter had risen to his feet, his sword lifted. It hummed through the air, the blade shiny with blood.

“No!” I shouted, but it was too late.

The sword found its target.

Vikter’s body jerked, his back bowing as the sword punched through his chest, just above his heart. Shock crawled across his face as he looked down. I stared too, unable to process what I was seeing.

The Descenter tore the sword free, and my own weapon slipped from my hand as I tried to catch Vikter. He couldn’t fall. He couldn’t go down. He staggered as I wrapped my arms around him, his mouth opening and then closing.

His legs went out from under him, and he toppled. He fell. I didn’t remember joining him as I pressed both hands against the wound. I looked up, tried to call for help.

Without warning, the Descenter’s head flew in the opposite direction of his body, and I saw Hawke standing there, his eyes a fiery amber, his cheeks speckled with blood and…and soot. Behind him were more guards. As Hawke’s gaze swept the room, it landed on us and then stopped. I saw the look on his face, in his golden eyes as he lowered his bloodied sword.

“No,” I told him.

Hawke’s eyes closed.

“No. No. No.” My throat hurt as I pressed my hand to Vikter’s wound, and blood gushed against my palm, streaming down my arm. “No. Gods, no. Please. You’re okay. Please—”

“I’m sorry,” Vikter rasped out, placing his hand over mine.

“What?” I gasped. “You can’t be sorry. You’re going to be okay. Hawke.” I snapped my head up. “You have to help him.”

Hawke knelt at Vikter’s side, placing a hand on Vikter’s shoulder. “Poppy,” he said quietly.

“Help him,” I demanded. Hawke said nothing, did nothing. “Please! Go get someone. Do something!”

Vikter’s grip tightened on my hand, and when I looked down, I saw the pain settling into his features. I felt his pain through the gift. I was so shocked, so thrown, I hadn’t even thought to use it. I tried taking his pain, but I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t find those happy, warm memories. I couldn’t do anything.

“No. No,” I said, closing my eyes. I had this gift for a reason. I could help him. I could take his pain, and that would help calm him until help came—

“Poppy,” he wheezed. “Look at me.”

Opening my eyes, I shuddered at what I saw. Blood darkened the corners of his too pale lips.

“I’m sorry, for…not…protecting you.”

His face blurred as I stared at him. The blood wasn’t pouring from the wound as freely now. “You have protected me. You still will.”

“I…didn’t.” His gaze trekked over my shoulder to where Lord Mazeen stood. “I…failed you…as a man. Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive you for,” I cried. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

His dulling eyes fixed on me. “Please.”

“I forgive you.” I rocked forward, dropping my forehead to his. “I forgive you. I do. I forgive you.”

Vikter shuddered.

“Please don’t,” I whispered. “Please don’t leave me. Please. I can’t…I can’t do this without you. Please.”

His hand slipped from mine.

I drew in air, but it went nowhere as I lifted my head, looking down at him. I frantically searched his face. His eyes were open, his lips parted, but he didn’t see me. He didn’t see anything anymore.

“Vikter?” I pressed down on his chest, feeling for his heart, for just a beat. That’s all I wanted to feel. Just a heartbeat. Please. “Vikter?”

My name was whispered softly. It was Hawke. He placed his hand over mine. I looked at him and shook my head.

“No.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, gently lifting my hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“No,” I repeated, my breath now coming in short, rapid pants. “No.”

“I do believe our Maiden has also crossed a certain line with her Royal Guards. I don’t think her lessons were at all effective.”

A wave of ice swept from the top of my skull and moved down my spine as Hawke looked up at the Lord. His mouth moved, and I thought he said something, but the world simply fell away. I couldn’t hear Hawke over the buzzing in my ears, over the absolute burning rage pounding through my veins.

Forgive me.

I failed you.

Forgive me.

I failed you. 

I was moving, my hand finding metal. I rose from the blood, turned around. I saw Lord Mazeen standing there, barely a speck of blood on him, hardly a strand of hair out of place.

He looked at me.

Forgive me.

He smirked.

I failed you. 

“I won’t be forgetting that anytime soon,” he said, nodding at Vikter.

Forgive me.

The sound that tore from me was a volcano of fury and pain that cut so deep, it irrevocably fissured something inside of me.

I was quick, just like Vikter had taught me to be. I swung the sword around. Lord Mazeen was unprepared for the attack, but he moved as fast as any Ascended could, his hand snapping out as if he planned to catch my arm, and I bet he thought he could. The smirk was still there, but rage was faster, stronger, deadlier.

Fury was pure power, and not even the gods could escape it, let alone an Ascended.

I cut through his arm, through tissue, muscle, and then bone. The appendage fell to the floor, useless like the rest of him. The surge of satisfaction was bliss as he howled like a pitiful, wounded animal. He stared at the blood geysering from the stump just above his elbow. His dark eyes went wide. There was shouting and screaming, so much yelling, but I didn’t stop there. I brought the sword down over his left wrist, severing the hand that had held mine down on the Duke’s desk, ripping away the last shred of modesty I had as the Duke brought the cane down on my back.

I failed you.

The Lord stumbled back against the chair, his lips peeling back as a different sound came from them, one that sounded like the wind when the mist came in. Spinning the sword, I swept it in a wide arc. This sword—Vikter’s sword—found its target.

Forgive me.

I sliced Lord Brandole Mazeen’s head from his shoulders.

His body slid to the floor as I raised the sword and brought it down, hacking into his shoulder, his chest. I didn’t stop. I wouldn’t until he was nothing but pieces. Not even when the screams and shouts became all I knew.

An arm came around me from behind, hauling me back as the sword was wrestled from my hands. I caught the scent of pine and woods, and I knew who held me, knew who pulled me back from what was left of the Lord. But I fought—clawing, swinging to be free. The hold was unbreakable.

“Stop,” Hawke said, pressing his cheek to mine. “Gods, stop. Stop.”

Kicking back, I caught him in the shin and then the thigh. I reared, causing him to stumble.

Forgive me.

Hawke crossed his arms around me, lifting me up and then bringing me down so that my legs were trapped under me.

“Stop. Please,” he said. “Poppy—”

I failed you.

The screaming was so loud it hurt my ears, my head, my skin. In a distant, still-functioning part of my brain, I knew I was the one screaming like that, but I couldn’t make myself stop.

A flash of light exploded behind my eyes, and oblivion reached for me.

I fell into nothingness.