Drustan’s stare burned hot. “Never.”
He lunged for Cole’s waist. Cole whipped his sword in a brutal arc. The blade hit, jerking to a halt as it cleaved into Drustan’s middle.
Drustan dropped to the floor. Blood quickly soaked the front of his tunic. He gasped for breath, eyes wide as blood pooled on the floor beneath him.
Cole looked down on him, hands trembling. “I should cut you to pieces,” he said, “like you did to Peat.”
Drustan’s focus dimmed, and Cole waited, wanting to witness this man’s final breath, wanting to see justice done, wanting to?—
“Cole?”
Mistel’s soft voice jerked him back from the abyss. He turned and met her gaze.
“Can we go?” she asked.
Cole glanced back at Drustan, whose lifeless eyes now stared at nothing. Cole wiped his sword clean on Drustan’s pant leg, then threaded his sword through the loop on his belt.
He took a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s get you back to Fat Vandy’s.”
“No,” she said. “We’re going to get your father. Kurtz and Zanna might need help.”
He hoped they were already out and safe, but it would be good to make sure. Yet he didn’t want to lead Mistel right back into danger.
“Hey.” Mistel threaded her fingers with his and squeezed. “We’ll be okay. I just saw you fight. You’re amazing.”
Cole felt a flicker of something that came so rarely, he almost didn’t recognize it.
Worthiness.
Before he could dwell on it, Mistel slid her arms around his neck and kissed him.
The warmth of her lips seared through every layer of doubt he’d ever worn like armor. For a heartbeat, the world stilled. Not because they were safe—they weren’t. Not because the mission was over—it wasn’t. But because, in that moment, Cole realized he was strong enough to protect what mattered. He was someone Mistel believed in.
She released him. “Let’s go find your father.”
Yes. They’d go help Kurtz and Zanna to make sure they succeeded. “First, we need to get outside,” he said. “The king is waiting.”
He led her to the door, and they stepped out into a cold blizzard, snow up to their shins and swirling around them in the dark night.
Cole made sure his shields were lowered and his mind open. “Your Highness?” he called.
A distant voice answered. “Haven’t seen him.”
Cole’s gaze snapped down the street to a man on horseback, holding a lantern. Lovell Dunn. Behind him, more riders approached, their dark silhouettes cutting through the snowy haze.
As the group gathered around them, Cole recognized Jol Quimby and five others: Torin Oxbow, Gunnar Gedmund, Lysander Thane, Thakkar Oruk and Alden Wroxton.
“Good to see you both on your feet and breathing,” Quimby said.
“Renshaw Thusk is selling Ice Island prisoners as slaves,” Cole said. “He and his men are around here somewhere.”
“Aye,” Dunn said. “We happened upon a few of them. No sign of Thusk, though.”
You found her! Achan’s voice burst between Cole’s ears. What took you so long? I was starting to worry.
I ran into a few snags, Cole thought. Any word from Kurtz?
Not in some time, Achan voiced. And you’ve been gone almost two hours.
