Page 267 of Of Masks and Fury

He truly couldn’t let himself believe that the woman he’d loved might’ve possessed the very thing he’d spent decades trying to eradicate.

“How could you betray your people like this?” he asked. “How could you betrayme?”

“I betrayed nothing. I stopped pretending the Day of Mercy was anything but murder. I chose to save people instead of watching them die.”

“You chose treason.” He gestured to the army behind him. “These soldiers know their duty. They know what must be donewhen corruption takes root, even in royal blood. You’re not my daughter any longer.”

The words would’ve dropped me to my knees once. But I’d found family in Syllavar, in Trew and our friends and the people who’d chosen to stand with me instead of over me. This man’s rejection felt like I was shedding a skin that no longer fit.

“Father.” Addie stepped forward, striding over to stand beside me. Her hand found mine, our fingers linking together. Her drake companion stretched its wings on the ground beside her, shooting tiny bursts of flames that made our father’s horse back up a few strides.

He stared at Addie, his mouth ajar. “You…live?”

“Indeed,” she said, giving him a bright smile. “Syllavar rescued me. They didn’t hurt me, though your friend, Lord Alfred, did.”

“But… But…”

“He tortured me, and you let him.”

“I…I didn’t know! You can’t say this about me.” His gaze fell on her drake, and realization took hold.

In his mind, both of his daughters had been corrupted by the thing he’d dedicated his life to destroying.

“No,” he hissed. Then louder. “No!”

He dismounted, his hand snapping to the sword at his hip. He wrenched it from the sheath and rushed toward us. “Both of you must die.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY

ISI

King Cyril charged with his sword raised, his face twisted with rage, grief, and a hatred so pure it had consumed everything else he might’ve been.

I drew my blades and met him.

Steel rang against steel. His first strike came with the weight of every execution he’d ordered, every child he’d condemned, and every lie he’d told himself to justify the blood on his hands.

I parried and spun away, using footwork Thorne had drilled into me until it became instinct. He pursued me, his blade seeking my throat. My heart. Any opening that would let him end what I’d become.

“You were supposed to be my perfect daughter,” he snarled, his next strike nearly breaking through my guard.

“Perfect daughters don’t survive in your world. They just die quietly.” I deflected his blade and countered, forcing him back a step. “You refused to see who I truly was.”

I could tell Trew was desperate to intervene but holding himself back. This wasn’t his fight. We both knew it.

The king pressed forward with a series of strikes that would’ve overwhelmed me years ago. But I’d continued to train with Trew, had survived the Rite, and I’d faced down Skathes, assassins, and my fear of what I might become.

And I had magic. My own. Pherin’s. And a taste of Trew’s.

I met every strike and turned his momentum against him, using his anger to make him careless.

Pherin flew at him with a shriek.

He struck out at her, but she darted to the side.

Gavelle smacked into the side of my father’s head, protecting his mate. King Cyril bellowed and hit the cinderhawk with a fist. The bird spiraled toward a cluster of boulders. Gavelle hit with a sickening crack and slumped to the ground, unmoving.

Pherin snarled in my mind.Bite head. Now!