Summer’s stained wagon sits in the center of fifteen soldiers, chatting merrily, only half aware of the fact that they’re supposed to be on watch. A jug of wine passes between a few of them as laughter flies upward. More laughter radiates from the wagon along with other noises that make my stomach churn with disgust.
One of the wagon doors opens. Simon swaggers out a step, unmistakable in the soft scarlet glow that radiates from the conduit on his wrist. My eyes lock on to it, the disgust in my stomach flickering into dread. Maybe Ceridwen was wrong. Maybe hediddrug the non-Summerians, like Lekan thought.
Or maybe Angra allied with Summer, has been allied with them, all along. Or maybe the Decay did kill Angra and sought out a new host, and I’m too late to stop any of it.
Simon snaps something to one of his guards before diving back into the wagon.
A gurgled moan emanates from across the square. Myeyes snap up in time to see a Summerian soldier collapse, motionless, as a red blur sweeps out of the shadows. She doesn’t hesitate before she moves in on the next one, and by now other soldiers have noticed her, shouting that they’re under attack. No one sees Conall on the road below me, hidden in shadows, or me on the roof.
I shift onto my knees and yank the chakram out of its holster, no thoughts beyond calculating which soldier will make the best target, which man gives me the clearest shot. The chakram flies from my hand, an effortless and familiar burst of movement, and in that moment it doesn’t feel like months since I threw it. It feels as if I’ve done it every day of my life, and it licks across a Summerian soldier’s leg before smacking back into my palm.
“Sister!” Simon’s voice catches against the buildings around him, his cocky tone echoing. I crouch down, eyes flicking over the scene as Simon steps out of his wagon, his men pulling back. They aren’t attacking?
Ceridwen and Lekan realize the oddness too. They stand back to back just across from me, weapons glinting and bloodied, both of them panting yet ready for an attack. But Simon doesn’t tell his men to charge again, doesn’t let his soldiers attack the two intruders.
He steps toward Ceridwen, his voice carrying around the square with intention. “What brings you to the shadier parts of Rintiero? It can’t be that you’re the one behind all the attacks on my wagons. I know my sister would neverturn on me in such a way.”
Simon’s words barely reach my ears when Ceridwen screams.
She crumples to her knees, weapons clanking on the stone as they tumble from her hands. Lekan surges toward her but soldiers pin him back and she screams again, writhing on the ground. No one is anywhere near her, touching her at all, not even . . .
It’s Simon. He’s using his conduit to hurt her.
And any magic used for the sake of harm feeds the Decay.
I lean backward until I spot Conall below me. He sees what’s happening from his hidden view between the buildings, and when I move he jerks his eyes up to me.
I point at him, then back toward the palace.
Warn them,I plead.Angra’s dark magic.
Were it any other threat, I wouldn’t consider using my magic—but I can’t be afraid of anything that might help me now.
Conall’s face pales with shock when my order hits him, driving action into his body in the same way other conduit-wielders use their magic to direct soldiers on a battlefield. He shakes his head sharply, but the resignation on his face cancels out his protest.
Go,I force into him.
Conall scowls and takes off, running into the streets, away from the Summerians.
Once he vanishes from sight, I pull myself back up theroof, fingers digging into the tiles. Ceridwen has stopped screaming, her eyes on Simon, who walks through his soldiers, taking slow, taunting steps toward her. He tips his head at her on the ground, pauses, and glances over his shoulder.
In that moment, I catch sight of the confusion on his face. He peers at his conduit, twisting the cuff on his wrist, and looks across from him, to my right.
My eyes snap to follow his and my heart sinks.
“Princess Ceridwen,” Raelyn coos. Ventrallan soldiers swarm the square, filing around as she takes slow, controlled steps forward. “So glad you could join us.”
Simon moves toward her. “This isn’t the plan. She’s my prisoner to deal with.”
Raelyn’s hair curls wildly around a silk mask that matches her gown, a swirling tempest of emerald and obsidian that ripples as she draws closer to Simon. Her soldiers take up positions around the square, barricading anyone from leaving. Even the people in the carriage, some Summerian, some Yakimian, all branded, are dragged out and corralled into a cowering group by the square’s edge.
But Raelyn has eyes only for Ceridwen, joy mixed with fury mixed with satisfaction, and I don’t realize why she’s so enthralled until she tips her head and Ceridwen screams.
Simon isn’t the only one using the Decay. Every time Raelyn twitches, Ceridwen screams, her body bending in unnatural angles. My hand tightens on the chakram, butI’m frozen on the roof.
Anon–conduit-wielderis using the Decay.
So is someone else the host for it? Based on the confusion on Simon’s face, it isn’t him.
