by Melissa Grey
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Tanith did not bleed.
Echo waited to see blood pooling around the wound, but none came.
Helios stared at the dagger as if it had betrayed him. He let go of it and stumbled back a step. Tanith wrapped her hand around the hilt and yanked the blade free, her breath gusting out in a relieved sigh, as if being stabbed were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
The wound gaped. Something thick and viscous oozed from it, but it was not blood. Rivulets of black sludge pulsed from the tear in her skin, behaving nothing like blood from a fresh wound.
“What the fuck?” Echo whispered softly but with great feeling.
Caius shifted beside her, gripping his knives even tighter, for all the good they would do him. “My thoughts exactly.”
Tanith flung the offending weapon away with a look of disdain etched upon her fine features. “Little fox,” she drawled, her blackened eyes seeking out Helios. “Has being my fox in the henhouse made you brave?”
Thick plumes of black smoke punched up from the ground around Helios, winding around his ankles and up his calves, holding him in place while Tanith advanced with measured steps. She flicked her hand, and the dark tendrils yanked him to his knees with a thud. Red-tipped fingers tapped his chin, angling his face up to meet Tanith’s piercing gaze. Her hand ghosted gently over Helios’s cheek before tangling in his hair and yanking his head back, baring the pale, vulnerable column of his throat.
“Betrayal. Betrayal everywhere I look.” Tanith’s eyes slid from Helios to Caius. “And this, too, will be washed away in blood and shadow. An end for a new beginning.”
With that, she pulled Helios to his feet. “Enough of you.” Her free hand balled into a fist and slammed into his breastplate, sending him flying into the far wall with a jangle of metal and the thick thud of flesh and bone against stone. He crumpled to the ground, limbs limp. Lifeless. Another broken doll in Tanith’s collection.
Wiping her hands on her soiled cloak, Tanith turned back to face the others. Her brow pinched in thought and her head tilted to the side, as if she were listening to a song only she could hear.
“Caius,” Echo whispered. “This isn’t good.”
He pushed her behind him, jaw clenched. “Stay back.”
Echo tried to protest, but Dorian obeyed his prince and maneuvered Echo and Ivy behind him, keeping his own body between them and the watching Drakharin. An Avicen and a human running amok was perhaps too much additional excitement for them. “No.” Dorian shook his head. “Not yet. Not unless he needs us.”
“Are you insane?” Echo said. Tanith was stronger than they’d anticipated. Stronger than Echo, even with the power of the firebird flowing in her veins. They couldn’t let Caius face her alone.
“He has to do this on his own,” Dorian hissed.
Tanith shook her head. “And his story must reach its end, but I will not—cannot—be the one to end it. Better things to do. Bigger castles to crumble.” She looked to her Firedrakes, still arrayed in an arc around the throne, as still as statues.
“Show my brother the mercy he deserves,” said Tanith, her voice sounding more like her own than it had just minutes ago. The taint had receded from it, infinitesimally.
She turned her eyes—redder now, but no less vicious—to Caius.
“Kill him.”
—
The words were a cruel taunt. An echo of something Caius had said months earlier, when faced with two Avicen prisoners at his mercy while his sister watched. The bloodlust had been strong in her even then, before the kuçedra had brought out the worst in her, watering her venom like a diligent gardener so that it could grow stronger than ever before.
In a swirl of scarlet wool and black smoke acrid with the stench of the in-between, Tanith was gone, whisked away to gods only knew where, while her hounds obeyed her command.
Show my brother the mercy he deserves.
Caius had half a second to appreciate the irony of being on the receiving end of those words before the Firedrakes rushed him, a solid wall of gold and crimson closing in, swords brandished.
His body moved before his mind had time to formulate a strategy, instinctively dropping into a defensive stance to steel himself against the first battering blows. There were a dozen of them, but they couldn’t all come at him at once, blocked by each other’s bodies as they were.
The gaze of the court beat down on him, brimming more with anticipation than fear now that Tanith was gone, an undeniable and unavoidable audience. But he didn’t want to avoid them. He wanted them to watch. He wanted them to see what he was made of, to measure his mettle against those who would strike him down.
His knives found flesh, slipping between plates of armor, seeking out the weaknesses he knew he would find. An unprotected armpit. The bend at the back of a knee. The sliver of neck between breastplate and helm.
One fell. Then another. And another.
Three down, nine to go.
Caius’s muscles sang with the effort of the dance. Despite the spider’s web of old scars and new bruises traced across his body, he felt more alive than he had in weeks. Wondrously, marvelously alive. Sweat trickled down his spine and gathered at his temples, but it was nothing compared with how he made the Firedrakes work, transitioning them seamlessly from offense to defense as he hurled himself through the air, sliding beneath swinging swords and leaping over kicking legs. With his back to the wall, it was hard for them to surround him, and they bottlenecked in their approach, putting themselves at a disadvantage as Caius turned himself into a whirlwind of sharpened steel. He didn’t need to think. Didn’t need to plan. He simply needed to do what he had done so well for so many years.
Two centuries’ worth of combat had honed him into something more than a man, more like a weapon. He spun the hilt of his dagger in his palm, bringing the pommel down on the head of the nearest Firedrake, who folded beneath the blow in a clatter of golden armor.
Four down.
The Firedrake collapsed against the legs of one of his compatriots, startling the man—he was too tall and broad of shoulder to be any of the women Caius knew to take up Tanith’s banner—and that moment’s break in focus was all Caius needed. He kicked the man’s knee and was rewarded with a scream, which he silenced with a whisper of steel against the man’s throat. Blood poured over the gilded breastplate, a richer red than the crimson of the Firedrake’s cloak.
Five down.
Two of the Firedrakes broke away from the pack, trying to find a way to circle Caius. He dove as one of the remaining five found courage enough to attempt a head-on attack. Wood splintered behind him as the Firedrake’s sword buried itself in one of the long tables that had been pushed to the side, no doubt to make room for Tanith’s spectacle of depravity as she’d drained the magic from her own courtiers one by one. A Firedrake tripped over a corpse, cursing as he lost his footing and landed in the path of Caius’s dagger.
Six down.
Halfway there.
Dorian was right. This was one battle Caius had to fight alone. Only he could prove to the people he had failed that he was worthy of their choice. That he was strong enough to keep them safe. They had known that once, but they had forgotten. And Caius had let them forget. Now was his chance to remind them.
Caius came up behind the Firedrake struggling to free his sword. His armor gaped beneath his arms and Caius buried his dagger there, slipping it free as the guard fell.
Seven down.
There was a place beyond pain, beyond sweat and blood, and that was where Caius pushed himself, deaf to the scream of his own muscles, of his body begging him to slow, to rest, to lay down his arms. His focus sharpened to a razor’s edge as the crowd fell away, leaving only himself and his foes.
Lunge, parry, strike.
Dodge, dive, pivot.
Slash, stab, repeat.
Caius knew the steps of this dance by heart. Had fought against worse odds and triumphed. Certainty was a balm to his w
ounds, his sore limbs, his fevered skin, his aching lungs.
Another down. And another.
A pause as the remaining three Firedrakes withdrew, searching for a momentary respite and hoping Caius wouldn’t follow. He saw their gazes rake across their fallen comrades, over the blood pooling around burnished armor. Red and gold, just like Tanith’s colors. He wondered if they resented her for what she’d done. For leaving them here to die. He wondered if he cared.
There was no space left in him for mercy. He let them catch their breath while he caught his, but defeat was written in every inch of their bodies. Their stances were sloppy. Their swords were clean. He hadn’t let them close enough to make even the tiniest nick, and he hadn’t even worn proper plate. His armor was soft, made of leather supple enough to allow for unrestricted movement at the cost of protection. But Caius had not needed anything more than his wits and his skill. The asymmetry, he had no doubt, was not lost on their captive audience.
The Firedrakes never stood a chance.
Not against Caius.
Not against the rightful Dragon Prince.
Two of them darted forward, but the third dropped his weapon and fell to his knees in surrender. Caius would deal with him later.
Dispatching them was far less difficult than it should have been. Tanith—the true Tanith, not the poisoned monstrosity she had become—would have been so disappointed. They were tired and it showed. Evading them was easy. Caius barely had to sidestep their blows. Their swords glanced off his daggers, sparks rising off the clashing steel. His own blades found their weaknesses and exploited them with ease.
Within minutes, it was done. Their bodies lay at Caius’s feet, as still as their fellows’.
The last Firedrake had remained on his knees as Caius had cut down his brothers. His head was bowed low, accepting of his fate.
Caius approached the kneeling Firedrake, stepping over bodies, both freshly fallen ones and desiccated husks.
He stood before the man, chest heaving. Now that his body wasn’t in constant motion, the fight was beginning to take its toll. But he had to stay on his feet just a little longer.
“Remove your helmet,” he ordered, his voice ringing across the hall’s stones.
The Firedrake did as he was told, his hands steady. Admirable, in the face of death. He set the golden helmet on the ground beside him and waited.
“Give me your sword.” Caius sheathed his own daggers despite the blood on their blades.
Again, the Firedrake obeyed Caius’s command.
The sword was far heavier than Caius’s own long knives, but it was much better suited to the task at hand.
There was only one way to deal with surrender among the Drakharin.
Caius hefted the broadsword, the muscles in his back burning with the effort. Gravity did half the work as Caius swung the blade down, severing the Firedrake’s neck in a single clean swipe.
It was a quick death. A merciful death.
The sword clattered to the ground as it slipped from Caius’s numb fingers. Exhaustion was catching up to him, and fast.
Just a little longer.
He turned to the assembled nobles. No longer were they huddled against the walls in fear of their prince. One by one, they dropped to their knees as his gaze raked over them. His eyes landed on Echo. Neither she nor Ivy knelt, which was fine. He wasn’t their prince. Ivy’s fair skin had a sallow tint to it, as if she was about to be sick. Echo’s expression was inscrutable. If she disapproved of what she had just witnessed, she didn’t show it.
Caius turned from them and let his feet carry him toward the throne. When he reached the dais steps, a movement off to the side caught his eye.
Helios.
He was alive, then. Not for much longer.
Caius withdrew one of the daggers from its sheath and approached Helios’s prone form. He had moved, perhaps reflexively, but he was still now, his yellow eyes open and resting on Caius. Blood trickled from a laceration on his head, probably where his temple had struck the stone wall.
“Ivy!” Dorian called, but he was too late to stop her. She ran toward Caius, falling to her knees beside Helios.
The tip of Caius’s knife tilted Helios’s chin up, despite the pained whimper the motion caused. There was a commotion somewhere behind them.
Ivy swore and moved as if to grab the blade with her bare hand, but she thought better of it before touching the sharp edge of the knife. She settled for leveling a glare at Caius, which he ignored. Mercy was wasted on traitors. They had allowed this one into their lives, had trusted him. Helios had earned his pain.
“You know what has to happen.” Caius modulated his tone carefully. He sounded dispassionate. Impartial. He felt anything but. It was, however, not a prince’s place to show weakness in the face of treason. That would only invite more of it.
The blood was bright against Helios’s fair skin, even in the dim light of the fire in the hall’s sconces. Golden eyes stared up at Caius, tight with pain. Helios coughed, his spittle crimson. “I know what I did,” he said once his voice returned to him. “And I know what you have to do.”
It took Ivy a few seconds to put the pieces of their exchange together, but Caius saw the moment realization dawned. Her face fell and she shook her head, too rapidly. “No,” she said. “You can’t.”
Oh, he could. And he would. “He betrayed me. He betrayed us. The punishment for such betrayal is death.” He should have done it then, drawing the blade against the vulnerable triangle of skin that showed over Helios’s armor at his neck. It would have been so easy. But there was something Caius needed to know first. “Why did you do it? Why spy for her?”
A sharp, aborted laugh spilled from Helios’s blood-flecked lips. “Does it matter?”
“I suppose not,” Caius replied. One swift flick of his wrist was all it would take. He tightened his grip on the hilt and prepared to strike.
A hand shot out, wrapping around the wrist of Caius’s knife arm. “No,” she said again. Her eyes, wide and watery, met his, and his resolve faltered. “Please. Not like this.”
Ivy’s phrasing was deliberate. She wanted Caius to feel like she was giving him an out. But there was nothing to be done. The boy had to die. His life in exchange for his honor. It was the Drakharin way. It always had been.
Ivy shook her head, tears falling freely now. A shaky hand reached up to wipe them from her cheek, but all Helios managed to do was smear his blood on her face. It looked like a gash on her cheek.
“Please, Caius.” Her fingers trembled against his wrist, but her grip stayed firm. “Please don’t make me watch you kill him.”
Caius looked between her pleading gaze and Helios’s wilting one.
“Do it,” Helios choked out in Drakhar. So Ivy wouldn’t understand, Caius realized. “Don’t drag this out any longer.”
“He betrayed you most of all,” Caius said to Ivy. “Why do you want me to spare him?”
She shook her head, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she fought to find her answer. “I don’t want him to die” was all she said.
Helios coughed again, blood bubbling up from his ruined lungs, choking him. Tanith’s strike must have broken a rib or three. One of them had probably pierced a lung. He was dying already. A knife across the throat would be a mercy. More than he deserved. But Caius relaxed his hold on his blade as he watched Helios’s gaze slide from him to Ivy. The boy was no coward; he would face his death, knowing it was just, but he wanted one last look at Ivy before he went.
And it was the Drakharin way. But perhaps, Caius thought as he looked at Ivy, on her knees, begging for the life of someone who had brought her such pain, it didn’t have to be. Perhaps there was another path, and he could be the one to forge it. He withdrew his knife, and Ivy sagged as her hand fell from his wrist.
“Thank you,” she gasped.
Caius wanted to tell her it was more than a stay of execution, but the words stuck in his throat. It was too close to a lie. He was u
ncertain—not a feeling he relished. Showing mercy would compromise the position he had only just regained. He was within his rights to claim Helios’s life here and now, but Drakharin law allowed for a trial to determine the matter of his guilt, as indubitable as it was. There would be voices among his own people to see the traitor delivered to a swift and final end. Helios’s death might still loom in the not-too-distant future. But it would not come today.
Today, he was safe.
Caius hoped the boy knew Ivy had just saved his worthless life.
He left her to tend to Helios’s wounds as he ascended the dais and stood before the throne he had lost.
And now he had reclaimed it.
He turned to face his people. They had voted against him once, either out of genuine belief in his sister or out of fear. None of that mattered now.
Now they knelt before him. The Dragon Prince once more.
He sank down onto the throne, hoping his fatigue didn’t look as glaringly obvious as it felt.
The hall was a disaster. Blood and bodies everywhere. He couldn’t undo the damage Tanith had done, but he could right the path she had put his people on.
Dorian stepped forward and spoke the words that would make Caius’s ascension official.
“Does any among you object?”
Silence.
Dorian met Caius’s gaze and nodded. It was done.
Caius leaned forward, elbows on his knees. He needed to rest. Soon. But he had one order of business that could not wait.
“By royal decree,” he said, his voice resounding but still rough as gravel in his throat, “I hereby call an end to the war against the Avicen.” A titter rose among the gathered nobles. Already they were complaining. Some things never changed. And some things had to, if any of them were to move forward. “The Avicen are not our enemies. Not any longer. It is a far greater threat we face.” He met Echo’s gaze across the room. Her features were indistinct from such a distance, but he didn’t think he was imagining her small, proud smile. “And the only way we can defeat it is if we face it together.”
