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The declaration dropped like a weight in the room. Every guard tensed, as though assessing the truth of the claim for themselves.

But Arun only gave a sneering, poisonous smile. “Is that right? Well . . .” His shoulders rose with a deep breath, and my blood chilled at the look in his eyes. “Then I’ll have to make do with the lady.”

I’d barely registered the words before his specter whipped against my spine, forcing my back to arch.

Then there was screaming, screaming—tearing up my throat, setting my body on fire. Nothing existed but Arun’s power, digging into old wounds and forming new ones.

Then the power abruptly released me.

I knew I was on my back, forcing air into my lungs. I knew that around me, there was a new clamor of clashing steel. But I existed in a muddle of pain as the ceiling’s sunburst framework wavered in my vision, creating another, similar image in my mind’s eye, too indistinct to grasp.

And there, within the fading rainbow color of the dayglass, was a flicker of dark blue. A tiny discoloration.

Goren’s roar sharpened my awareness. I turned my neck in search of Keil, and found him free of his bonds, fighting sword-to-sword with one of the guards. There were others fighting alongside my friends, too—fighting themselves.

Because the last of Keil’s speech had divided the guards against Arun.

The minister stood like an island in the center of chaos, letting his most loyal guards fall around him . . . because his attention was trained solely on me.

Slowly, he approached.

My heart beat wildly, my specter fighting to re-form from its shreds. He stopped so close that I could see the underside of his chin, tipped up imperiously against the light.

Then he smiled in a way that made me want to scream again.

But behind him, a blur—Keil’s sword, arcing in a deadly swoop. Silver flashed under Arun’s sleeve. I sucked in a breath—

Too late.

Because Arun had already turned.

And his knife was already buried deep in Keil.

50

I thought I knew the taste of fear.

But as time stretched taut, each second spilling out with the bloom of blood against Keil’s white shirt, I knew: I had never tasted terror like this.

Keil’s eyes widened as he looked down, dread settling in his features because he’d been too focused on me to properly guard himself. His sword clattered to the tiles.

And he fell.

His head slammed beside mine, and the impact ruptured something inside me. Amid the clanging battle and Goren’s bellow of anger, my world narrowed—hot and wet and smelling of copper—as Keil’s shuttering gaze met mine.

I didn’t realize I was sobbing until pain shot down my tender ribs.

“Perhaps I’ll send his body to your king.” Arun’s voice slithered from above. “It will keep you company on the ship back to Daradon.” His polished shoes drew closer. “But I’ll save a piece for Princess Valeria to bury beside her parents.”

“Please.” The word choked out of me, but I wasn’t begging Arun. I was begging Keil.

Please, please, please—

Warm fingers brushed my hip, and I looked down to see his hand bunching in the hem of my shirt, holding on to me one final time.

Another sob racked my chest. Even if my specter wasn’t frayed inside me, I couldn’t have roused it; grief had rendered it as fluid as the blood now pooling between us.

More swords clanged to the tiles. I saw Osana fall in my periphery, heard Goren bellow in pain. Yet nothing seemed to matter more than the golden light in Keil’s eyes, fading as he slipped away.