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“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.