With no warning, Ky is moving, nearly as silent as I am—which is impressive. I’m quick to follow, because he’s already got a weapon in hand, but he’s still chained to me. I don’t want to hinder his efforts. His other hand lifts, beginning to sketch a sigil, and I don’t know if I should be grateful or terrified at the prospect of fire blazing to life in this room.
But it never forms. Another attacker drops from overhead, slamming into his shoulders, knocking the king to his knees. It’s a common move—and I should have expected it. Whoever the Guild sent already has a garrote around the king’s neck, and it chokes off any sound he was about to make.
So far, the attack has been so silent that the women are still sleeping.
The first assailant pays me no mind whatsoever, and I don’t know if he can’t see me in the dark—doubtful—or if he simply thinks I won’t interfere.
He’s wrong. I’ve already got one of the king’s blades in hand, and I bury it between the assassin’s ribs. His body jerks, but I’m not done. I yank the dagger free just as the king summons two handfuls of fire. The flames are smaller than I expect, but I don’t have time to wonder. The king grabs hold of his attacker’s wrists, and the man inhales sharply to scream.
I cut his throat first. The blade is sharp, and blood flows, pouringover my hand. I give him a shove, and the king’s breathing is suddenly loud and ragged.
“Where’s the other one?” he says.
The smell of burned flesh is sickly sweet in the room, but the fire has gone out. My eyes search the shadows just as fabric rustles to my left. The princess and her lady are beginning to shift, mumbling about the noise, but I’ve lost the other man in the darkness.
No, I haven’t. He’s there, about to leap onto Jory.
I don’t think. The chain rattles and jerks tight as I leap over the king, skidding into bed beside the princess. Jory cries out, disoriented, but the man lands on top ofmeinstead of her. My branded shoulder scrapes across the mattress, and every bruise on my skin flares to life. I grunt through the pain and jerk the chain high, bracing it between the fist of one hand and the dagger in my other. His blade comes slashing down, but I deflect with the chain. Steel rings against steel in the silence of the room.
The man growls and lifts his blade for another strike. “Asher, you—”
The king slams a dagger right into the side of his rib cage. The words choke off. The body jerks twice, and it doesn’t feel voluntary. It feels like the king is twisting the blade, going for the heart.
Yes, he’s definitely more brutal than I am.
“Guards!” he’s shouting.
I’m still straining under the weight of this attacker. From his voice, I think it’s Gunnar—and I know he won’t stop until he’s well and truly dead. He’s still bearing down on the first blade, but I can see his other arm scrabbling for something else he must have in his jacket.
The door swings open, but the king’s men aren’t going to be fast enough. The king is fighting one-handed, since this chain is all that’s keeping Gunnar from driving that dagger right through my throat. I grunt under the pressure, especially when I feel him slip a smaller blade free.
Shadows move in from the side, and for an instant, I think maybe that’s it. The king and I are both a bit pinned, so if there’s a third assassin, we might be lost. But then I see the fluttering fabric of a sleepingshift just as the princess throws herself at the pallet. A sound of rage pours from her throat, and then her fist connects with the man’s head so hard that he snaps to the side. The chain goes slack as he slides free.
But he still has a weapon in his hand, and he’s as swift as I am. As he slides away, he swings his arm in an arc, aiming for her throat instead.
“No!” I shout. I’m tangled under the chain, under his weight.
Lady Charlotte is right behind her, and she grabs hold of Jory—but the princess has already jerked back. The man’s blade slices through the air, harmless, and the sudden slack in the chain gives the king enough leverage to yank the dagger free. This time he makes sure it’s done. He cuts Gunnar’s throat.
The Hunter collapses onto me. Blood immediately pours over my skin, and I want to shove him away. My shoulder is aching, and everything smells like copper and burned flesh.
Ugh. This is why I hate to use a blade.
“Asher.” Jory’s voice. “Are you all right?”
“Yes,” I grunt, though I’m not entirely sure.
Shadows have moved into the room through the door. I can’t see faces, but I recognize the captain’s voice. “Ro. Fetch a lantern. Ky—areyouall right?”
“Yes.” But the king doesn’t wait for a lantern. He sketches another sigil, pulling flame from somewhere else in the inn to make another ball of light appear on his palm. I finally manage to shove Gunnar off of me, and the body slumps to the ground.
The scene is grim. The first attacker—Logan—is dead on the floor as well. Blood has already spread to coat the floorboards. A good bit of it poured down the king’s back too, turning half his tunic black in the shadows.
Gunnar’s blood slicks the front of my chest and most of my arm, along with half the length of chain. A lot more has already soaked into the straw mattress covering the pallet. In the glow from the light, I can see that blood speckles the king’s face, and I’m sure it’s on mine as well.
The princess is staring at both of us, her chest heaving. I doubtshe’s seen violence like this since the day her mother died. She’s clearly unsettled—as is her lady. They’re gripping each other’s hands, their eyes wide.
I remember she was terrified of the king’s brutality.
