Protect the Prince (A Crown of Shards Novel)

by Jennifer Estep

  More disgust rolled through me, drowning that sympathy. Still, their blind, foolish pride sparked an idea. I might die here, but I was still going to do as much as possible to further my own long game with Maeven, the one she didn’t even realize we were playing yet. So I slowly stood up and turned to the side, hiding the fact that my hand was still curled around the dagger in my pocket.

  “There’s one big difference between soldiers and the lot of you.”

  Maeven arched an eyebrow. “And what would that be?”

  I looked her in the eyes. “Soldiers get to come home after the battle is won and the war is over. And when they do, they are celebrated for their bravery, for their sacrifices, for protecting their own people despite the terrible cost to themselves. Tell me, Maeven, has your brother ever celebrated you? Or your accomplishments? Has he ever warmly welcomed you home after a job well done?”

  For the first time, a bit of hurt sparked in her eyes, and I could tell that the answer to my questions was a resounding no. So I kept going, trying to plant as many seeds of doubt as I could.

  “He’s never done any of those things, has he? Your brother, the king, has never once thanked you for serving him. I bet that when you go home to Morta that you barely have time to sleep in your own bed before he sends you on another mission in some far-flung kingdom.”

  Agreement flashed across her face before she could hide it.

  I gestured at Dahlia. “She’s the perfect example. Taken from her home when she was a child and forced to come here. Forced to slink around and spy. And when she caught the king’s eye, forced to fuck him so that she could rise even higher. Tell me, Maeven. Has your king ever ordered you to fuck someone?”

  More agreement flashed across her face, along with a good bit of anger, and her fingers tightened around the vial in her hand as though she wanted to smash the glass into my face. Not to poison and kill me, but just to make me stop talking and revealing all these ugly truths.

  “You and your precious Bastard Brigade careen from battle to battle until you make a mistake, and someone kills you,” I said, my voice as cold as ice. “Face it, Maeven. You’re not a soldier. You’re expendable, just like Libby, Lola, and all your other cousins.”

  Maeven stiffened, as though I’d just slapped her across the face, and the scent of her jalapeño rage exploded in the air, making my nose burn with its sudden, sharp intensity. Her jaw clenched, and her fingers fluttered, as though she was an instant away from blasting me with her lightning. Murderous hate darkened her eyes, making them seem more black than purple, but something else glittered in the depths of her gaze—begrudging agreement.

  Oh, yes, I might die here, and Maeven might keep serving her king, but I’d told her what she really was to her brother, what she’d known she truly was all along, and she couldn’t ignore it anymore. I wondered what she would do with that information, and all the rage and hurt that came with it. Too bad I wouldn’t be alive to see it.

  “Enough talk,” Dahlia said, a sharp note creeping into her voice. “The ball is almost over, and her friends will start looking for her soon.”

  And there went my faint, desperate hope that I could stall the Mortans long enough for someone to realize they were here and sound the alarm.

  Maeven snapped her fingers. Two of the other Mortans stepped up beside her, and the three of them slowly approached me. I was still trapped against the bench, but I tightened my hand around the dagger still hidden in my pocket. I had killed a Mortan magier with a dagger before, and I was taking some of these bastards with me before they finished me off.

  Maeven stopped about five feet away and held up the vial where I could see it. Sparks of silver shimmered inside the dark purple liquid.

  “Amethyst-eye poison, mixed with wormroot and a few others,” Maeven purred. “Just to make doubly sure you die. Not even those pretty tearstone bracelets on your wrists will deflect enough magic to save you from this.”

  For a moment, I didn’t understand what she was talking about, but then I realized that she still didn’t know about my own natural immunity. She still didn’t realize that I could destroy magic. I didn’t know if I had enough power to counteract her foul poison, and I couldn’t let her force me to drink it. No, I had to make a stand and attack her now, before the other magiers surged forward and pried my mouth open and Maeven poured that poison down my throat.

  I tightened my grip on my hidden dagger, getting ready to yank it out of my pocket, whip it up, and drive it into Maeven’s chest. I drew in a breath to steady myself, when a new scent filled my nose—magic mixed with crushed gravel.

  New hope sprang to life in my heart, and I scanned the shadows behind Maeven. In the distance, I spotted a faint burn of blue, like two matches had just flared to life in the darkness. A smile spread across my face.

  “Why are you smiling?” Maeven hissed. “I’m about to kill you, you idiot.”

  My smile widened, and I pointed my finger to the right. Maeven’s eyes narrowed. She thought it was some kind of trick, but she couldn’t help but look in that direction, as did Dahlia and the other Mortans.

  “What are you pointing at?” Maeven muttered. “I don’t see anything—”

  With a loud, grumbling roar, a gargoyle erupted out of the hedge maze.

  * * *

  Grimley bounded out of the shadows, loped across the grass, and slammed into the Mortans standing at the front of the gazebo, knocking them down.

  With another loud, grumbling roar, the gargoyle reared back on his hind legs like a stallion, then slammed his stone paws on top of the assassins, driving them into the gazebo floor and crushing their bones. Then he bounded from side to side, swiping out with his talons and raking them across the assassins.

  The Mortans never had a chance, and their pain-filled shrieks and screams soon died down to choked, bloody gurgles as the gargoyle stomped and slashed them to death.

  Grimley’s appearance distracted the two assassins in front of me, and I whipped my dagger out of my pocket, surged forward, and sliced the blade across the first man’s throat. He too died with a bloody gurgle.

  The second man lifted his hand to blast me with his magic, but I lunged forward and buried my dagger in his chest. I twisted the blade in deeper, then ripped it out.

  That man screamed and clutched at his chest, and I shoved him away. He stumbled backward straight into Dahlia, and she shrieked in surprise as he knocked her down.

  Maeven turned toward Grimley and reared her hand back to throw her lightning, but the gargoyle lowered his head and charged. She tried to dart out of the way, but his wing clipped her side, making her yelp and stumble to the ground. She lost her concentration, and her lightning fizzled out in a burst of hot sparks.

  “Evie!” a voice yelled. “Evie!”

  I whirled around to find Gemma running toward me from the other side of the gazebo, with a dagger clutched in her hand. Perhaps it was the soft light, but her dagger gleamed the same dull silver as mine, as if it was also made of tearstone.

  “Gemma!” I yelled, rushing over to her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I got bored, so I snuck out of the ball and went up on the roof with Grimley,” she said in a high, breathless voice. “I saw Maeven and the Mortans creeping through the gardens, so I followed them. I couldn’t let them hurt you or anyone else. You saved me at Seven Spire, and now, I saved you.”

  My heart swelled with pride, and I reached out and hugged her tight with one arm. “Yes, you did,” I said in a fierce voice. “Yes, you did.”

  More yells and screams rang out as Grimley continued to smash and slash his way through the Mortans.

  Some of the magiers tried to summon up their lightning, fire, and ice, but the gargoyle kept bounding from one side of the gazebo to the other and back again, knocking the magiers to the ground. A few of them managed to stay upright long enough to hit him with their magic, but his stone skin was a thick, natural barrier against their power, and the lightning, fire, and ice didn�
�t so much as scorch his body.

  “Here,” Gemma said, holding out the dagger in her hand. “I brought you this. Alvis made it for me, but I don’t know how to use it yet. Not like you do.”

  I took the dagger from her. It was made of tearstone, and the hilt featured the same gargoyle crest as the pendant around Gemma’s neck.

  “Thank you for this. Now you and Grimley need to get out of here.”

  “What? No!” Gemma said. “I want to stay. I want to help you fight the Mortans.”

  I shook my head. “No, you need to get to safety. You and Grimley need to go to the throne room and tell everyone what’s happening. I’ll watch your back, and I’ll be right behind you. Okay?”

  Gemma didn’t like the thought of leaving me, but she nodded. “Okay.”

  I hugged her close again for a moment. “You and Grimley run back to the throne room as fast as you can. One . . . two . . . three . . . go!”

  “Grimley!” Gemma yelled. “Let’s go!”

  She waved her hand at the gargoyle, then turned and sprinted out of the gazebo, heading away from me and the Mortans. Grimley let out another loud, grumbling roar and charged through the middle of the structure. He plowed through the Mortans again, making them scream and tumble to the ground. I grinned. I was really starting to like that gargoyle.

  Gemma vanished into the hedge maze, and Grimley loped along behind her, also disappearing from sight.

  Two assassins staggered to their feet and headed after Gemma and Grimley. I sprinted forward and slashed out with my daggers, slicing the blades across the assassins’ backs. The two women screamed and tumbled back down to the ground.

  I started to run out of the gazebo and follow my friends into the hedge maze when the hot, caustic stench of magic filled the air. On instinct, I ducked down and spun to my right. A ball of purple lightning exploded against the stone column where my head had been. I whirled around.

  Maeven was standing in front of me, another ball of purple lightning already sparking to life on her fingertips. The magier had gotten back up onto her feet, along with Dahlia. About a dozen assassins were also still alive. Some of them were clutching swords in their hands, while others were cradling balls of lightning, fire, and ice in their palms.

  “Seems your little scheme has gone sideways,” I sneered at Maeven and Dahlia. “As soon as Gemma reaches the throne room, it’s all over for you two.”

  “And I can still kill you right here and now,” Maeven hissed back. “Die, Winter queen!”

  She drew back her hand and tossed her lightning at me, but once again, I ducked out of the way. The magic hit another column and exploded, sending sparks and smoke boiling up into the air.

  Maeven screamed in frustration and tossed more lightning at me, but I dodged it as well. Then, before she could summon up any more magic, I tightened my grip on the daggers in my hands and ran toward her, just as determined to kill her as she was to murder me.

  She waved her hand at the other magiers. “Get her, you idiots!”

  Three assassins with swords charged at me. I let out a loud yell and stepped up to meet them.

  I dodged the first assassin, then the second one, but the third one came at me head-on, and I snapped up one of my daggers to block his attack. Our weapons clanged together, and that one loud, harsh note unlocked that phantom music in my head. Suddenly, Serilda’s voice was whispering in my mind, and Xenia’s cane was beating out the rhythm of the deadly dance.

  The assassin pressed his advantage, trying to shove his sword into my chest, but I snapped up my other hand and stabbed him in the throat with my second dagger. I ripped the blade free, cutting off his choking scream, then sliced my dagger across his stomach, spilling his blood and guts all over the gazebo floor.

  Then I whirled around to do the same thing to the second man, then the third.

  Their screams tore through the air, punctuating the music in my mind, and blood spattered everywhere, as though I were dancing in the rain. Only this rain was death, and I was the one pouring it down on everyone.

  I finished with those three assassins, but there were still several more left, and they reached for even more of their magic. Lightning, fire, and ice sizzled, crackled, and frosted their hands, even as the same magic burned in their eyes.

  I was standing in the middle of the gazebo, surrounded by the magiers. Their magic surrounded me as well, and I wasn’t strong enough to overcome all of it at once. Maeven had been right before. Not even the tearstone daggers in my hands and the bracelets on my wrists would save me from this much magic.

  Despite knowing how badly this was going to end, I gripped my daggers even tighter, and I reached for my immunity, pulling it up, up, up and pretending that it was a strong, malleable shield coating my skin.

  I was going to die fighting, just like a true gladiator would.

  “And now, Winter queen,” Maeven snarled, moving to stand in front of me, “you will finally feel the full might of Morta.”

  She lifted her hand, and another ball of purple lightning popped to life in her palm, stronger than all the other magiers’ power combined, and far stronger than any other magic I had ever felt before, much less tried to extinguish with my own immunity. I ground my teeth, bracing myself for what was coming next—and just how much it was going to hurt.

  Maeven reared back her hand. Magic streaked through the air, but it didn’t hit me.

  It hit her.

  Blue lightning slammed into Maeven, throwing her out of the gazebo and onto the grass beyond. My heart lifted.

  Sullivan was here.

  More blue lightning streaked through the air, narrowly missing the magier closest to me, and I saw Sullivan running toward the gazebo, more magic crackling on his hands.

  “Evie!” he yelled.

  “Over here!” I screamed.

  The Mortan magiers froze, not sure which one of us to attack. Then half of the magiers turned toward me, and the others turned toward Sullivan. Dahlia might have told the Mortans not to hurt her son when Sullivan had stormed away from the gazebo earlier, but that wasn’t an option anymore.

  Fighting—killing—was the only choice any of us had now.

  I snapped up my daggers and charged at the assassins closest to me, plunging into the pack of them. The magiers yelled and screamed and unleashed their lightning, fire, and ice, slamming their power into my body, but I held on to my immunity and used my own cold, hard power to extinguish every spark of magic that touched my skin.

  I didn’t care what happened to me. No, the only thought in my mind was getting to Sullivan, and I would cut down every single person—every single fucking thing—who got in my way. That sharp, painful need to reach him blotted out everything else.

  “Evie!” he yelled again.

  I would have yelled back, but I didn’t want to waste precious energy doing anything that wasn’t bringing me closer to him. The stench of magic filled my nose, so much of it that I couldn’t tell where it ended and I began. But I reached for even more of my immunity, and I ruthlessly snuffed out every single bit of lightning, fire, and ice that stopped me from getting closer to Sullivan.

  Something strange happened. The longer and harder I used my immunity, the more I could sense all the magic around me. And not only could I sense the magic, but it almost felt like I could touch it, as though the magiers’ lightning, fire, and ice were tangible, physical things that I could hold in my hands the same way I was holding my daggers.

  Then another ball of lightning blasted against my body. I shook off the odd thoughts, used my immunity to extinguish the magic, and kept going.

  Sullivan sent bolt after bolt of lightning zinging out at the magiers he was battling, as well as ducking their blasts of power in return. But one of the Mortan magiers managed to clip Sullivan’s shoulder with his fire, making Sullivan stumble to the ground. The magier reared back his hand, getting ready to unleash more of his fire. I opened my mouth to scream a warning at Sullivan, but I didn’t have to save him.<
br />
  Dahlia did it for me.

  She darted forward, sank her fingers into the magier’s hair, pulled back his head, and cut his throat. Then she shoved him away, and the dying man thumped to the ground in between her and Sullivan.

  His head snapped up, and he stared at her in confusion. “Mother? What are you doing here?”

  Dahlia stared at him, that bloody dagger still clutched in her hand. I ran in that direction, yelling at Sullivan to get away from her, although he didn’t hear me over the shrieks and screams. But I didn’t have to save Sullivan from his mother either.

  Once again, she did it for me.

  Dahlia looked at me, and I could smell her dusty resignation even above the stench of all the blood and magic in the air. She lifted her hand, showing me the vial of amethyst-eye poison. She must have picked it up from wherever Maeven had dropped it. Dahlia used her thumb to pop the stopper off the top of the glass.

  She gave me a hard, grim smile, then tilted up the vial and drained the contents.

  Sullivan scrambled back to his feet. “Mother! What are you doing?”

  Dahlia shook her head and staggered away from him. She hit one of the cushioned benches and slid off, crumpling to the ground. Sullivan hurried over to her.

  “Mother?” he yelled. “Mother!”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another ball of purple lightning flare to life, and I whirled around in that direction.

  Maeven had finally gotten back up onto her feet, but she wasn’t targeting me anymore. No, this time, she was going after Sullivan. She gave me an evil smile, then reached for even more of her lightning, far more lightning than what she had been going to use on me.

  She was going to kill Sullivan.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Sully!” I screamed.

  I raced toward him, cutting down any assassin stupid enough to get in my way. Even though I was moving as fast as possible, I wasn’t going to reach him in time.