I stepped backward, smiling in satisfaction even as I mentally slid my attention down the front of my dress—toward where the real Relic rested snug against my ribs. It sent an answering surge of energy toward my heart, a syncopation to my own heartbeat. I stepped toward the edge of the platform, nervousness stitching my spine as I prepared my maneuver.
I wasn’t going to have more than one shot at this.
Arsenault reached for one of the ambric shards. His fingers slid through it, and wisps of color swirled away. He shuddered in relief, then looked up at me, livid. But I was ready.
I lifted my hand and showed him the Soul Relic. A moon-shaped diamond, as big as my palm, pale and sparking andperfect.
I held my breath. I’d never seen the lost Relic. But he had.
I prayed it would be good enough.
Wonder transformed Arsenault’s face into something incandescent—a portrait of hunger, a wasteland of wanting. Beyond the circle of light, the crowd rumbled. I used every last shred of my legacy to dampen the sound, so the only thing that existed was me, Arsenault, and the Moon Relic.
“Give it to me.” He staggered upright, reached for its impossible light.
I stepped away from my decoy and her false Relic. Invisible, I kicked the joined sword and crown Relics out of Arsenault’s hand. Surprise jerked his head to the side. I lowered my shoulder and rammed into him. The impact jolted me to my bones. But it was enough. Arsenault stumbled. Time stuttered forward. I slammed into him again. This time he fell. He reached for my decoy as he toppled, then tumbled through her illusory form. His mouth opened. His hands grabbed at nothing.
The steps of the platform rose up to meet him. He slammed face-first into gilded boards. Bounced once. Then fell still at the feet of the crowd.
Time rushed forward in a river of color and sound.
Scraps of light and shadow scattered away like fireworks.
The Husterri lieutenant put his hand on his sword and shouted at something that had long since happened.
The crowd screamed in confusion.
And I ran.
Iflung myself off the podium and shoved through the crowd.
“Now!” I screamed, the sound like raw metal in my throat. Scion, was anybody listening? And would they be able to hear me over the roar of the crowd? “Now, now,now!”
One of the Husterri standing close to the podium bent down as though to tie his boot. When he stood back up, he no longer wore the red-and-cream uniform of the enemy—he wore a shining breastplate studded with glittering diamonds, and a sweeping pale cloak that shone like the moon. He caught my eye and grinned, flashing dimples.Calvet.And then he laid into the soldats around him, striking one across the temple with the hilt of his sword before he could so much as raise an eyebrow, then grabbing him around the throat and using him as a shield against his compatriots.
I turned away, quickening my footsteps. Dotted through the crowd, more of Belsyre’s wolves transformed their replica Husterri uniforms into regalia of Oleander’s design. I’d known if things didn’t go to plan, we’d need reinforcements. But my heart rose in my throat when I glanced over my shoulder. The Husterri lieutenant was helping Arsenault to his limping feet. Scion, but what if he still had the strength to use his legacy? He could hunt me down in the crowd simply by freezing me along with everyone else. I’d never know until a knife pierced my throat.
Panic shoved me faster. Lullaby appeared through the crowd, frantic, gesturing at something behind her as she pushed toward me. I focused on her mouth, but couldn’t hear her words.Dead?Deadsomething?I gritted my teeth in frustration and shoved a gawking youth out of my path.
“Stop her!”
The voice thundered down from the podium. Arsenault had climbed the steps. I sensed time slip—I saw Arsenault stutter a half step forward, then fall to his knees in exhaustion. Relief pounded through me, even as stranger’s hands reached out and grabbed at my arms, my dress. If he needed others to stop me, he couldn’t do it himself. His legacy was spent.
“Murderess!” he howled. “She killed the Sun Heir, just like she did her sister, the empress!”
A spiderweb of Ambers caught me and held me tight. Sharp fingernails bit into my arms. Vicious eyes turned on me. Sparks of diamond shoved through the crowd toward me—bared teeth and flashing blades—but scraps of red and cream rose up to meet them. Pockets of violence raged around me. I looked to Arsenault, shuddering on the stage. Blood streamed down his broken nose and turned his teeth red. His arm looked broken—he cradled it against his chest.
“He’s Sainte Sauvage!” I yelled, but my voice was barely audible above the roaring crowd.
“Gavin is dead!” Arsenault cried. “My godson is dead!”
Behind him, the lieutenant rose from where he was examining the body. Gingerly, he picked up the joined sword Relic, still sticky with Gavin’s blood. My chest twisted to see it so close to Arsenault, but I’d known I couldn’t carry it with me. I’d known Arsenault was going to turn this on me. And Scion help me, running away with the murder weapon wasn’t going to do me any favors.
“My lord.” The soldat didn’t speak loudly, but the crowd quieted as he spoke, straining to hear his words. “Why did we not see this tragedy unfold?”
“She is a fantast,” Arsenault spat. “She is a master of illusions.”
“Barely a moment passed—” the lieutenant murmured, half to himself. His eyes sharpened on Arsenault, then traveled onward to me. “My lord, you’re covered in his blood. And is this not your blade?”
