55

And now I know why Jadon was so concerned about the fire I set outside of Caerno Woods: he was terrified that I’d burned his brother alive.

His brother, the prince.

The sitting room bursts into commotion as Jadon lunges at Gileon. The fresh-faced soldier closest to us draws his sword, ready to sever Jadon’s hand from Gileon’s neck with one fierce swoop. That same soldier fails to see me as a threat…not until I jab his windpipe, kick the sword out of his hand, and lock the tyke’s elbow with both my hands.

“Settle down, young knight,” I caution him. “A warning: I’m anxious to complete this move. Joint locks are my favorite.”

He whispers, “Please don’t, Lady.” Tears shine bright in the soldier’s brown eyes but fear shines brighter. “I praise your name.”

“It’s Lady now?” I whisper. “Now that you’re moments away from death, you, all of a sudden, recognize me? Now you, all of a sudden, want to believe in me?”

By now, the other soldiers around the room have drawn their swords and are bustling forward to remove Jadon’s hands from Prince Gileon’s neck. One soldier, a man with a dimpled chin, grabs Jadon’s shoulder and lifts his dagger.

“Don’t, Athard,” the prince gasps with strain on his face. “Don’t touch him.”

Athard either doesn’t hear Gileon’s command or hears and ignores it. He grabs Jadon’s hair, yanks back his head, lifts his dagger, and prepares to slide its blade across Jadon’s neck.

I shout, “Stop!” and use my free hand to send a small ball of wind, knocking the knife out of Athard’s hand.

The soldier gapes at his empty hand and growls at me. He marches in my direction, preparing to show me a thing or two.

But there’s nothing he can show me that I haven’t already seen.

I whip my free hand and hurl a ball of wind at an empty table near the entrance. The four chairs fall back as the table lifts and hits the wall. The crack of splintering wood against stone makes Athard shudder and the other soldiers yelp, including the young soldier still in my hold. “Try me, Athard, and it will be you next time,” I shout. “Release Jadon right now.”

The hall stumbles into silence until someone whispers, “Her eyes.” Someone prays to Supreme and whispers, “Don’t let her do to me what she did…”

Athard hesitates, and his expression changes. Finally, he releases his fistful of Jadon’s hair and steps back.

My outburst has cost me strength. A bone around my right knee cracks, and the piercing that stabs up and down my leg makes me wince. Now that we know Gileon escaped my fire, we need to use him as leverage to find my amulet—if he’s dead, we have nothing but a dead prince, no pendant, no Olivia.

But Jadon still hasn’t loosened the grip around Gileon’s neck.

“Jadon,” I say, no give in my tone. “We need answers, not more blood—not yours, not his, not Olivia’s. Stop or I’ll make you stop.”

He jerks his head to find me on his right side. “Didn’t you want him dead? Wasn’t that your hope as we watched that field of flames and dead soldiers? Don’t you want me to make your dreams come true?”

“Which means there must be a reason I need you to stay your hand.” I pause, then add, “Once I get what I need, do as you must. That’s your family’s business. Not mine. Until then, release him. Please .”

Jadon sees that one of my hands is ready to break the soldier’s arm and the other hand is ready to shoot wind. His eyes are a new shade of blue—storm, fire, earth, and endless anger. After a moment, his scowl fades, but he still doesn’t release Gileon.

Athard creeps forward. Though I’m unable to read his mind, I can still see him calculating in his shiny brown eyes. Slice his neck for the emperor slice his neck for the glory slice his neck and —

“Touch him, Athard,” I growl, “raise your knife, think about killing him one more time, and I will end you right now . Test me.” Once the soldier pauses, I snap, “Get. Back.”

Athard obeys, his dimpled chin quivering, his eyes skipping between the destroyed table and my hands.

Jadon wastes no time in pulling Gileon over the tabletop, wresting the smaller man to his feet and wrapping his arm around the prince’s neck. Gileon is no danger to Jadon, who holds him now by his collar like a child holding his doll. The prince is nowhere near Jadon’s height and stature, the same height of tracker dog Daisy if she were to stand on her hind legs. With those weak arms and scrawny chest, he can’t possibly be training with the great sword that shines from the nearby chair.

The soldiers lift their swords but are reluctant to surge ahead. Some take a small step forward, then take a step back, forward, then back, like they’re dancing.

“Tell me where Olivia is,” Jadon demands, tightening his chokehold around his brother.

“Jadon,” I whisper, “if he’s dead he can’t—”

One soldier standing near the hearth taps into his stores of bravery and rushes up behind Jadon, his battle-ax held high over his head.

I thrust my hand and hurl another table in the soldier’s direction. The hardwood knocks the soldier to the ground and smashes him. I lift the table once more and slam it down on the soldier’s head, his glow blue, then amber, and finally black. There’s Number Forty-One. My gaze burns across the room, from one man to the next. “Do you all think I’m fucking around here?”

“Where is she?” Jadon asks Gileon.

Gileon’s face is the color of dawn: purple, orange, and reds—if he doesn’t answer Jadon’s question, he may never see another. “Don’t know,” he chokes. “But she’s not in any danger.”

I grab my dagger from my ankle sheath and press it against the throat of the soldier still in my hold. “You know in your heart that I have no problem sliding this dagger across this fucker’s throat—”

“Jadon, please,” Gileon chokes out, his knees sagging. “The Dashmala… They found Livvy for me… Demanded ransom. She offered it to me…to make a deal.”

“Offered what to you?” Jadon asks.

“You know,” Gileon wheezes. “You know what she has.”

Jadon pales and pushes Gileon back against the table.

Gileon heaves a breath and drops into a chair. He massages his neck and glares up at his brother. “The Grand Defender can’t have it—you know that. She’ll be too strong. You know that, too. If she does, it will be impossible—”

“Who are you talking about?” I say, my gaze bouncing between the brothers. “Who is this ‘she’ you’re talking about?”

“And what was the deal Olivia made?” Jadon asks, eyes narrowed.

“She wants freedom,” Gileon croaks.

“Please, Lady,” the soldier in my hold whispers. “I’m a no one, just a simple—”

“Quiet!” I press the blade harder against his throat.

“And this was never the plan, anyway,” Gileon says, teeth clenched, his veins popping across his sweaty forehead.

“What plan ?” I ask.

“Do you hear me?” Gileon says to Jadon. “I get it. No one thought she’d be so… tantalizing. Tall, yes. Strong. Certainly. Unlike any woman either of us have seen or met—and between us, we’ve known many. I mean, the hair alone … I understand your reluctance, but… Four years . That’s how long you’ve been away. Four years we’ve been searching for the Grand Defender. Sent parties out every time word got back to us that they saw her in this village or that. We’ve been a step behind all this time…until now. Can’t you taste success? Can’t you see the end? How glorious this will be for both of us?”

Sybel is the Grand Steward .

Who is the Grand Defender ?

Tall. Strong. The hair alone…

“Who are you referring to?” I say. “Tell me.”

“Brother,” Gileon continues, ignoring me, “we’ve worked too long and hard to end up with nothing. She’ll destroy you, and if you take a moment and think, you’ll see that I’m right.”

He sighs, then says, “You and I don’t have time to fight, nor do we have time to change course. You have no choices here.” His head drops between his knees, his lungs and heart still struggling from Jadon’s hold, his chest toggling between blue glow and amber glow. Exhausted, he manages to look up at his brother. “Do you hear me? Do you understand what I’m saying? We have no choice.”

The muscles in Jadon’s face relax. Why? What is he hearing? What is Gileon trying to make him understand? No choice? No choice about what ?

I try to hear Gileon’s thoughts, but I can’t, hearing nothing but continuous thrumming. It’s the same as that man we passed on the road to Caburh. What magic is keeping me from hearing his thoughts and Jadon’s? Who cast this spell? Which mage in Wake’s army is strong enough to block my ability?

Elyn. And she’s more than a mage. Much more.

Wait.

She’s the Grand Defender?

“I’m sorry about this,” Gileon whispers, standing from the chair now. His eyes are soft as he looks upon his brother. “Greedy Dashmala dropped Olivia in my lap—and she readily gave me what I asked. What you and I needed. You know Livvy’s interested only in saving herself, but this time, her selfishness and her greed finally benefit a larger cause. We have the amulet.”

“ What? No!” My mind races, and I try to slow my breathing and concentrate, but my mind keeps skipping, because I don’t care about Olivia or her greed or the Dashmala and deals they’ve made. The heat in my hands swirls and pushes against my fingertips, begging for release. If I don’t get answers, I’ll unleash their restraints.

“I’m here for my pendant,” I say, my grip tightening around the soldier’s neck. “Nothing more. Whatever deal Olivia’s made with you doesn’t matter—my amulet is not hers to trade. I don’t know what the fuck you two are talking about right now, but it doesn’t concern me. I give not a single fuck about palace intrigue. Give me what’s mine, and I’ll leave Vallendor. I want only what was stolen from me. I want my amulet. Right now.”

“Kai,” Jadon says, “listen. I can explain—”

“Don’t,” I snap, lifting my hand to stop him from talking. “I’m done listening to you.”

And I’m done caring about Olivia and the empire, these people, and this province and…

Save this realm for these bitches? Oh, no, no, no. I won’t be doing that. Liars and schemers and murderers and betrayers, all of them. Jadon, a liar, means nothing to me, not anymore, and Olivia, a thief, means even less. I’ll take possession of my amulet, race to Mount Devour, explain to Sybel or who-the-fuck-ever that I shouldn’t be forced to save these people, that I won’t be forced to save these people, and if that means I’m jailed in some prison in the farthest realm in all the realms, I’ll take that over saving Vallendor. That will be my plea.

Sorry, Jamart. Sorry, Milo. I can’t.

I press the dagger harder against the soldier’s neck. “Give me what’s mine,” I say again, glaring at the two princes before me, “or I will keep using force to get it. And know that I will get it back.” Unblinking, I slash the neck of the soldier in my hold.

Some warriors cry out as others rush toward me as the dead man—now known as Number Forty-Two—drops to the floor.

I throw my hand and shoot wind to knock over another table.

The room shudders again, and the soldiers regroup.

I smile without humor. “It won’t be wind but fire next time.”

Some soldiers drop to pull their dead comrade back. Others keep their focus trained on me. Their eyes now burn with hate.

I spin the bloody dagger in my hand, ready for Number Forty-Three. “Who’s next?” I ask, my focus back on the soldier with the dimpled chin. “You? Agard, is it? Eggar? Worm food?”

“Stand down!” Gileon shouts to be heard and not because he’s scared. He wipes a bead of sweat from his jawline and grins at Jadon. “She like this in bed?”

“Let me climb on top of you and see for yourself.” I twirl the dagger between my fingers.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” Jadon snarls at his brother, the tendons stark against his neck. “Disrespect her again and I’ll break your neck.”

Gileon’s smirk drops, and he rolls his eyes. “Relax, Jay. It was a compliment.” He nods to me and snorts. “I apologize, Lady of the Verdant Realm. Did I get your title right? Or is it Lady of the Barren Realm? Lady Who Claims to be Supreme but is Only a False God?” To Jadon: “Better?”

“I’ve never claimed to be Supreme,” I say, fingers tight around the dagger handle. “That’s your father’s lie. Insult me again, though, and I won’t need Jadon to break your neck.”

Gileon pivots back to me, his eyes narrowed. “You do know that you don’t have to kill everything and everyone you meet, right? That you don’t always have to choose violence.”

“She doesn’t seek out fights,” Jadon says. “They somehow come knocking on her door.” He pauses, then adds, “Where is her pendant, Gileon? If you make me ask for it again, I’ll be the one choosing violence.”

My stomach yaws with anger—at Olivia’s scheming, at Jadon’s betrayal, at my willingness to believe him and believe Sybel, at my willingness to sacrifice my life to save every person in this room. But my stomach also yaws because that colorful string from the amulet is tugging at me, more insistent than ever. Now my eyes skip around the room in search of moths.

“Your pendant is closer than you think,” Gileon says to me. “But I need my brother to answer one last question before we wrap all this up.” He reaches to hold Jadon’s chin. “Are you happy, brother?” His words come soft.

Jadon’s brow crinkles. He’s caught off guard by the gentleness of that question, caught off guard by Gileon’s sincerity.

Rigid, I await Jadon’s response.

Jadon remains silent but then he glares at Gileon and knocks away his brother’s hand.

“That’s what I thought.” Gileon looks over to me. “Are you happy?” he asks smugly.

I bristle— who does he think he is?

“Well, are you?” He awaits my answer, his blue eyes calm and glimmering.

One word fires from my mouth. “Amulet.”

Gileon offers me a shrug and a tight smile, then looks to the soldiers guarding the inn’s entrance. “Open the doors.”

The soldiers obey.

Gileon turns to his brother. “I love you, Jay. No matter what happens. Always, always remember that. Olivia’s outside with the pendant. I won’t stop either of you from retrieving it.” Smiling, he steps away from Jadon and extends his arm toward the inn’s open doors.

“Just like that?” I say, eyes narrowed.

Gileon folds his arms. “Just like that.”

What’s the trick? Leave and what ? Nothing is ever easy. Vipers are vipers—never turn your back to them even if they’re sleeping, even if they’re dead.

Gileon is a viper. And so is his brother.

Over at the bar, Philia gasps, “Kai, he’s not lying! I see Livvy outside on a horse!” She’s looking past the inn’s door with surprised eyes. “There are soldiers with her!”

My pulse quickens, and I swipe the blood on Little Lava’s blade across the dead man’s tunic, then stow the dagger in its sheath.

Face flushed, Jadon grabs his satchel and sword from the chair. “Kai, we should—”

I glare at him. “Where the hell are you going, Your Highness ?”

A flicker of anger in Jadon’s eyes quickly slips into shame. Voice lowered, he says, “I’ll explain everything, but let’s take care of these soldiers first and get your pendant. I promised that I would help you, and if it’s the last thing I do for you, I’ll retrieve your pendant.” Over his shoulder, he shouts, “Phily, come on.”

His words feel like small slaps and busy gnats—annoying and painful and shocking. If it’s the last thing I do for you… If I had the time, I’d throw my hands up at him, and we’d shout at each other, and I’d spin on my heel after declaring my hate for him, and I’d swear that I’d strike him down if he ever looked at me again. Later. Right now, there’s no time.

Yes, the amulet is near, and its tugging is stronger. I need to follow its pull before it wanes again. I back away from Gileon and his guards. The pulsing in my gut quickens the closer I come to the doors. The chill of fresh air as I back all the way to the porch tickles my neck.

Philia, smiling, hurries away from Separi at the bar, excited at the prospect of reuniting with her love. But that look of relief quickly shifts as she pales and stops in her step and looks past me with glazed eyes.

What now?

I spin around.

Jadon has stopped in his tracks, and the three of us stand frozen on the porch of the Broken Hammer.

Oh shit .