Page 202 of Of Iron and Moonlight

Merrick swore under his breath but moved back to the corner, near enough not to abandon him, far enough to remain hidden. Kora crouched beside him, heart racing as she peeked around the corner again, worried that whatever Isander meant to do, he had not fully thought it through.

The Moonwarden’s eyes lifted slowly from the child and settled on Isander with unsettling calm. His lips curved into a smile that mimicked kindness and failed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Let the boy go,” Isander replied through clenched teeth as he reached for his sword.

Understanding dawned in Firrigan’s expression, followed by faint satisfaction. He bent toward the child. “Run along, Caelyth. I’ll bring you that treat later.”

The boy’s blue eyes flicked nervously between Isander and the Moonwarden before he tore free and fled, vanishing around a bend. The sight struck an inexplicable chord.

Firrigan straightened and regarded Isander’s sword with polite curiosity. At the same time, two palace guards appeared at the far end of the passage where the boy had run, drawing their own blades as they approached.

Kora’s pulse surged. Merrick drew a dagger, poised to lunge if needed.

Firrigan lifted a hand. The guards halted. “And what do you intend to do?” he asked lightly. “Strike down a moonpriest within palace walls and stroll away as though you have not just spilled sanctified blood?”

Isander advanced several steps toward the Moonwarden, armed with fury and, in truth, very little else.

Firrigan’s smile thinned. “I have witnesses,” he reminded, gesturing languidly to the guards.

Something in Isander broke at that. “You twisted wretch,” he spat. The last word shook. “You preyed on me. You cloaked it in sanctity. You called it faith.”

Kora’s eyes widened. Merrick’s breath caught.

“I have not the slightest idea what you mean,” Firrigan replied smoothly.

“You defiled me,” Isander went on, raising his voice. “I have carried that rot my entire life.” He lifted the blade, point aligned with Firrigan’s chest. “You will not lay a hand on another child.”

“That is quite the accusation,” Firrigan said coolly. “I have doubts anyone would believe you.” He glanced to the guards. “Do you believe this intruder?”

The guards shook their heads eagerly, exchanging bewildered looks at Isander’s supposed audacity. Plainly exaggerated to placate Firrigan.

A muscle ticked in Isander’s jaw. “I was a child…”

“What I remember,” Firrigan mused, “is that you were a poor devotee of the Sanctum.” He paused, offering a look of theatrical disappointment. “But that is not why I cannot allow you to live today.” His hand slipped into his robes. “I know who you are. Bastard.”

The dagger appeared in his hand and struck the base of Isander’s throat before Kora registered the flick of his wrist—before she could draw breath to shout a warning. She covered her mouth to stop the cry from breaking free.

Isander’s sword slipped from his grasp and struck the floor. His hand rose to the hilt buried above his collarbone. Blood forced its way between his fingers and spread across his tunic with alarming speed as he staggered, then sank—first to one knee, then the other.

Then he fell forward.

Merrick went utterly still, his eyes locked on where Isander had stood, as though he had lost all sense of the world beyond that point. Only a faint tremor in his fingers betrayed life, the dagger in his hand held in stunned suspension.

Then he lunged.

Kora caught his arm before he reached the corridor and dragged him back into the shadows, deeper into the passage. He fought her hold, turning on her with a look so raw it barely resembled him.

“The guards,” she whispered, gripping his arms. “They haven’t seen us.”

Merrick’s face twisted, but he stopped resisting.

“Remove the body,” they heard Firrigan call coolly. His robes whispered as his footsteps receded in the opposite direction, a melody to the tune of mockery.

Merrick’s eyes unfocused into a vacant stare. Kora bit her lip to keep from crying as they listened to movement in the corridor until the sounds faded.

Only a single heartbeat of silence passed before Merrick stumbled into the empty hallway. He dropped to his knees beside the dark stain left behind. His hands hovered above it. Then he pressed them frantically to the stone, searching for what was no longer there, hands darkening with blood.

“Andy.”