By the time I reach the highest level, I’m dizzy with fatigue, panting, twisting, lifting the crossbow and aiming it at the guards circling the emperor. Two of them are barely on their feet. Calena has been keeping them occupied.
If I live through this, perhaps one day I’ll thank her.
“Come on …”
I see the moment the guard in the front decides to move.
My finger caresses the trigger, and I wait, holding my breath.
The first guards make it to the halfway point. Two more join him, their swords out, eyes wild.
The emperor steps farther into the arena, giving me a clear shot.
My finger tightens on the trigger. Pure, unadulterated triumph fills my veins.
Neris reaches the emperor’s side, sword in her hand. Her black curls have escaped her braid, and they explode around her face as she marches next to him, her eyes narrowed, intent.
Neris, who makes Maeva blush. Makes her eyes shine. Neris, who came with me to save Leon. Neris, who silently cried next to me when Lucius died, but still took the time to makemefeel better.
The urge to fire becomes all-encompassing.
But I know this need. This impulse. I’ve been fighting it since I first made my deal with Bran.
My hand shakes, and my finger twitches. I pant, sweat, shudder … and slowly place the crossbow on the ground.
No. No, I would never kill Neris. Not even if it meant killing Vallius Corvus. This place hasn’t twisted me that much. Not yet.
The emperor disappears into the smoke, and I lose my chance to kill him.
“How is it that you stilldefy me?”
Bran’s voice slices through my ears, burrowing into my brain. My neck burns like fire, and I clasp my hand against it, dropping to my knees with a choked groan.
Of course he’s behind this. I should have been watching for him the moment I realized the attackers were the vampire rebels.
Fighting the agony, I manage to raise my head. Slowly, Bran skulks toward me, his eyes slitted. He does something totwistthe pain, making it burn even deeper, and I gasp through it, falling to my back.
“Wh-what are you doing, Bran? You said you wanted to give your people the sun. You think anyone will feel sympathy for the rebels after you’ve killed so many? Why risk this?”
His expression turns sly. “Because as soon as the emperor is dead, his son will take the throne.”
I writhe, skin scraping against the stone beneath me. Gods, it hurts. “How does that help?” I gasp. “Rorrik is unhinged.”
A smug smile. “Notthatson.”
“Tiernon doesn’t want to rule.”
“Not him either.” The words are dripping with satisfaction.
The worst of the pain eases, but my mind is slow, sluggish, as if a fog has descended, smothering my thoughts before they form.
“Y-you?”
Bran lifts his head, chest puffing out. “A bastard son Vallius never acknowledged, forced to take my place through desperate schemes, instead of receiving what I’m owed. An heir who is sacrificingeverythingto fight for his people.”
I stare at his face, but for the life of me, I can’t see any hint of resemblance to Tiernon and Rorrik.
“In what world wouldyoube the one who became emperor?”
