Chapter 31

Had Thysandra been trying to kill Nicanor, breaking the walkway would have been a ridiculous first strike.

Which was exactly the point.

The bastard had not seen it coming. His wings broke his fall before she could blink, of course; he did not plummet to his death, he barely lost his footing. But it was that moment of surprise – that single moment in which conscious thought had to move over for reflexes – that she needed more than his imminent demise, more than a brilliant first attack to gain the upper hand.

The upper hand was meaningless, with an army mere steps away.

What she needed was time, not blood. What she needed was to keep them busy – all of them – for just as long as she could. And a direct battle would see her dead within minutes … so instead, as all heads on the field snapped towards her at once, she used that ephemeral moment of shock to do the one thing a clear-headed Nicanor would never have allowed.

Flee.

Like a coward – but a coward with a plan .

She soared back into the castle just in time. The doorpost flew apart in marble smithereens two feet behind her wings; Nicanor was already hollering commands, with that unflustered efficiency she’d once believed her ally. Now it only meant they were after her more swiftly, more orderly. Already the first winged shapes came shooting past the windows, and glass shattered around her as she flew …

Their fucking problem.

This was her battlefield.

Her home. Her gods-damned court, and she’d spent four hundred years learning every nook and cranny of the place … so let them follow. Let them try to lock her in. They would win in the end – but she could give them a hell of a chase, first.

More glass shattered. Fae came barging in from the side.

Thysandra dove through the doorway of the soldier’s library.

It was a waste of space, this room. Not one warrior ever came here to study the tomes on battle strategy and military history. Except she had, of course, in her neverending eagerness to please the Mother with her knowledge and devotion – and so she knew exactly what to aim for, zigzagging through the maze of shelves and parchment as behind her voices yelled about splitting up and searching.

The little door wasn’t on any official maps. She wasn’t sure if even the Mother had known about it. Since it led straight to the castle’s wine cellars, she suspected the tunnel had been created by a bunch of soldiers less committed to their studies – boozing idiots, but she muttered a word of thanks all the same as she swept aside the velvet curtains, unlocked the hatch, and squeezed herself into the unlit dark.

It would win her perhaps a minute.

For now, that was enough.

Even here, slipping between the castle’s walls and floors, she could hear the shouts of the army surrounding her, the magic slamming into stone. She’d just reached the end of the tunnel as light flooded in from the other end and triumphant cries grew abruptly louder – an advantage of just about half a minute, then, but at least Nicanor wouldn’t have surrounded the cellars.

Yet .

She gave herself no time to think as she darted through the pantries and larders, avoiding the kitchens and the fae working in them. The voices behind her sounded less confident now, unsure of their direction in the labyrinthine cellar system. Clearly, she grimly concluded, they’d never snuck in here in the dark of night to steal their evening meal, after having spent long enough on the training field to miss dinner.

She didn’t dare take the exit near the harbour, the exit through which provisions were brought in – because if Naxi was leaving the island, she’d have to find a ship sooner or later, and it would be less than helpful to put the army in her path. Instead, Thysandra picked the corridor that led up into the heart of the castle – the one through which food and drink were served at the Mother’s feasts.

Time to draw some attention again.

She didn’t even need to make an effort. Two armed females raised the alarm behind her before she’d crossed the first hallway.

To her left were the archives – rooms she didn’t know too well. To her right, however, lay the salons, the council chambers, the places where she’d spent hundreds upon hundreds of hours dealing with everything from looming rebellion to petty fae disputes. She made her decision in a split second, sprinting right and down the black-and-gold marble corridor as the roars of her pursuers swelled louder behind her – this was not the time for surprises.

At the far end of the corridor, winged shapes were sweeping in through the open arches.

Fuck. Faster than she’d thought.

Change of plan, then. She burst through the nearest door to her left, into an intimate little parlour exceptionally suited for threatening troublesome fae nobles – then out of the window, where five floors overlooked what was little more than a glorified air vent. She flew two stories up, scattering red at every window she passed. Her pursuers didn’t need to know through which one she’d entered the castle again.

By the time she dashed into a fourth-floor office, the sky above her was already darkening with wings.

She was beyond panic, now. There was nothing but breathless, lightheaded exhilaration left in her veins, driving her back into the maze of corridors. Around this corner and the next. Into the spiralling stairwell with its twisted, thorn-like railings. Outside, behind the open arches, she could see the throngs of circling fae, and—

And another target they were after?

She stumbled mid-step.

What in the world? More and more of the soldiers on her trail were looking away from the tower through which she was fleeing. Instead, their gazes were turning towards two lone figures circling just above the gardens, shouting insults at the force above them, flinging up red magic at anyone coming too close.

Wait. She knew those faces.

Archivists ?

Why in Korok’s flaming hell were two of Gadyon’s assistants hovering there, taunting an entire bloodthirsty army on their own?

The soldiers began to dive before she could figure out the answer to that question, shouts of annoyance rising from their ranks – and for a moment, they seemed to have forgotten about their chase entirely. Not all of them, of course. Enough others were already swarming over the roofs. But at least a few dozen of them were going after the intruders – far, far more than a couple of clerks could ever hope to survive.

Which wasn’t her problem.

She really had enough trouble to deal with already.

She dove after them.

It almost made sense, on some foolish, stupidly honourable level – because she would be dying anyway, and what was the use in dragging along the misguided idiots who seemed to be trying to save her? Even if they ought to know better, it was easy to draw the attention away from them again. The moment she swept into the army’s view, they seemed to remember their hunt; new howls of triumph went up behind her as she soared through the nearest open gate and back into the castle’s tapestry-covered hallways.

Too close behind her. Pinpricks of red magic bit the backs of her knees. A ruby chandelier flew apart above her head.

She was a fucking fool .

No time to slow down enough to open a door. No time to figure out an escape. All she could do was fly, fly, fly, faster than she ever had in her life, and pray for some miracle to save her for a few minutes more—

A wet splat sounded behind her.

Someone roared in fury.

She dared to throw a single glance over her shoulder and found her pursuers suddenly farther behind her, glancing wildly around as—

Splat!

—muck smeared a blond fae male’s face.

Only then did she notice the handful of humans standing in the gallery high above her head, their faces pale, their jaws tight as they flung down a volley of eggs at the fae force hunting her. Rotten eggs, it turned out – the stench exploded with the cracking of eggshells against the floor.

What in hell?

A splatter hit another soldier’s face … and it was that hit that broke the baffled paralysis. With a series of furious profanities, the two sullied fae shot upwards, followed by at least half of the group behind them – after the humans, who were at the very least wise enough to make a run for it then .

Too late, if no one stepped in to save them.

Biting back a curse, Thysandra launched herself after the fools.

She reached the gallery simultaneously with the fae who had, moments ago, been following her; red flickered as she took the first three, four, five of them down, managing to sweep through the gallery arches first as they dropped screaming to the ground. Close-by, a door slammed. The humans, wisely making use of the distraction to get the fuck out of there.

She did not pause to see where they had gone.

Down the passageway before her, deeper and deeper into the heart of the castle. Behind her, fae soared into the gallery. Before her … fuck, before her they came pouring from side passages as well, corralling her like cattle for slaughter. She slowed down – she had no choice but to slow down, trying to figure out which doors she had left to flee through …

Something sharp hit her left wing.

Fuck .

She staggered, needing a moment too long to regain her balance. Laughter went up behind her. The first escape she could find, then – could she even still fly?

Problem for later.

She yanked open the door to her right, lunged into the room beyond. Before the windows, the sky was dark with fae.

Fuck.

Red magic filled the doorway.

No choice left but to attack – so she planted her left hand on the ebony table at the centre of the room, unleashed its every spark of red at the fae spilling in through the open door, and leapt back into the corridor in the moment of chaos. A fae male staggered against her. She drove a dagger into his guts, twisting him around to shield herself behind his wing.

A matter of minutes, now.

She gritted her teeth and struggled forward, dragging the dying male along.

Red tore through her boots, hitting her still vulnerable ankle. Red sliced across the back of her neck. With a gasp, she staggered back against the wall, drawing the colour from her own blood to strike, strike, strike … It was no use. They were crowding in on all sides, triumph glinting in their eyes already – the traitor queen of the Crimson Court, about to breathe her final treasonous breath.

Pain slashed her arms. Her chest. She managed to drag enough blue from her paling dress to heal a ragged wound just below her heart but lost a valuable fraction of a second in the process; the rhythm of her charges broken, she was too late, too slow, to respond to the onslaught of magic hurled at her from all sides. A dagger was flung at her, and she jerked her head aside just in time. A fae female stormed towards her on the left in a storm of red, and it took two attempts too many to hit her throat and take her down.

A sword rose to her right.

Thysandra already knew she’d be too slow .

Strange, how time slowed when she needed it to be over quickly – how the details of the world around her sharpened to almost unbearable clarity when she least wanted to see them. The sunlight glinting on the edge of the blade. The metallic tang of blood. Her heart, beating loud enough to drown out the howls and insults around her – as if even her pulse was counting down the seconds …

This was it, then.

She closed her eyes and saw Naxi beaming back at her.

How long had she been running – thirty minutes? Please let it be enough, please let it be—

Steel scraped the wall beside her head.

Beside her head. Not through her head – and before she’d regained the presence of mind to process that unexpected development, before she fully realised she was still breathing, still thinking, still moving …

Hell broke loose.

Her eyes flew open.

For a moment, she couldn’t make out anything on the far side of the hall but the tangle of moving bodies and red crackling like lightning around them. Fae attacking fae. More idiots coming to her undeserved rescue? But these newcomers fought too well, too easily, to be clerks who hadn’t seen battles in decades, and only then did she recognise that striking sweep of auburn hair …

Orthea ?

No, that did not make sense. Orthea wouldn’t come to her aid unless her own life depended on it, and even then, it might be a close call. Yet it was the Master of Ceremony leading that charge, and next to her— Hell, was that Rhias?

The fucking harbour master? Who’d smirked at her so hatefully when she found him having breakfast with—

Oh.

Silas ?

Gods have mercy. What was going on ? This was supposed to be a lone battle, Thysandra Demonbane against the rest of the world – her own mistakes, her own damn penance. Why would any of her allies be mad enough to fight the inevitable when they should be running for their own dear lives?

And yet …

First the archivists. Then the humans.

And now the barrage of red had all but dried up as more and more fae turned towards the uproar instead, where Silas’s bargain-bound puppets were breaching the lines of Nicanor’s army with too much success to ignore. Thysandra’s head spun. Her wings ached. She barely had the presence of mind to draw the last blue from her dress and heal the worst of her injuries, and it did not even matter.

Others were fighting on her behalf.

The world suddenly seemed so … light .

Someone lunged for her in a half-hearted attack, and she countered equally half-heartedly, stumbling along with the horde as it began to move. Already Orthea and the others were withdrawing. Thysandra tried to fight her way out of the crowd of wings and bodies but didn’t manage – dragged along as if by the currents of the ocean, down the corridor, around the corner, fielding off blades and magic as Nicanor’s force turned its focus towards the greater danger. Faster and faster did the attackers retreat. Into the east wing and—

Oh no.

Towards the bone hall?

‘No,’ she gasped, breathlessly, mindlessly, trying once again to elbow her way out of the throng. Hands pulled her back, tried to drag her down. Stumbling forward was all she could do to avoid crashing to the ground. ‘No, wait! You can’t— You—’

They did not listen.

What had she thought? This was the last group of people in the world to ever listen to her.

‘No!’ she tried all the same as they dragged her forward and the antechamber opened up before them. ‘No!’ as the damaged copper gate came into view. ‘No!’ as she caught her first glimpse of the eerily lit hall beyond, fae crowding through the doorway, pulling the lopsided doors farther askew …

And then she was through them, too .

The bone hall was still its broken, damaged self, most of the floor gone. Dozens and dozens of fae had taken off into the air. Others had jumped into the cave below, where the fight was still raging – and there, at the farthest end of the hollow of the Labyrinth …

Thysandra stiffened.

Fae continued to push into the hall behind her, shoving her farther and farther towards the edge of the crater.

‘No!’ she gasped one last time, knowing it was hopeless, knowing it would be too late even if she managed to start fleeing now. ‘Stop! You need to stop ! You—’

Because the earth had started rumbling.

The coloured gemstones were dimming one by one.

And that was Naxi at the far end of the cave – bloodied, dishevelled Naxi, who should have left, who should be miles away from the castle, emerging from the shadows with hands twisted into claws and murder shining in her bright blue eyes.

Thysandra’s heart had a single stupefied, horrified, mesmerised moment to stop dead in its tracks.

Then those sweet pink lips moved, and the world erupted in a blaze of excruciating white.