Ana turned and made for the exit of the Livren Skolaren, the grand paintings of the gods of Bregon blurring into a whirl as they silently urged her onward.
Roran Farrald blinked. For a moment, he looked stunned to see the hilt protruding from his chest.
Sorsha stepped back and their father slumped over her, head on her shoulders like a newborn. “See, Daddy Dearest,” she crooned into his ear, “your greatest invention. You raised me with only the capability to destroy. To ruin. And you never thought that one day, the little girl you made into a monster would come back to destroyyou.”
Ramson would never forget the look on his father’s face. His expression opened, the hard planes softening to pure, raw emotion as he beheld his daughter. Regret. Sadness. And something else that Ramson didn’t dare name, a glimmer so brief it might have been sunlight in a storm, a shooting star, an illusion of the greatest kind.
Love makes us weak.
But then the Admiral spoke, and Ramson understood. “I’m sorry,” Roran Farrald whispered, and Ramson could have sworn he was speaking to him.
Sorsha tilted her head back and laughed. “I won’t fall for that again,” she said. “Good-bye, Daddy Dearest.”
And with that, she yanked the blade from his chest.
Blood darkened Admiral Farrald’s uniform, staining the gold of his badges, the bronze of his buttons. Ramson stumbled back.
Sorsha cast him a sharp glance. “In a minute, Brother Dearest,” she snapped, catching their father’s body. She fumbled for a moment, then held something up. It was the large gold ring that their father had worn on his left hand. Sorsha lifted the ring to the light, beholding it as though it were a sacred relic. Their father’s corpse fell to the floor with a thud.
Blood pooled onto Admiral Farrald’s smooth searock floor.
Sorsha pointed the ring at her neck, hesitating only briefly before jamming it against the black collar resting at her throat. She twisted, and with a neat click, the blackstone collar opened, leaving behind a pale band of flesh. The collar clanged against the floor.
Ramson felt it: a tremor rippling through the air, as though the earth itself shook. Sorsha’s head was tilted back, her auburn hair and clothes rippling as though in a gale of strong, unrelenting wind. Only, instead of wind, it was an invisible energy, a force, that swept through the chambers, knocking over books and shattering glass.
Sorsha leaned against the wall. For several moments, she was motionless, and Ramson wondered whether whatever she had done had actually killed her—gods, hehopedit had killedher—
—and then she drew a single, shuddering breath.
When Ramson’s sister sat up, everything and nothing about her had changed. Her features were the same, yet everything about them seemed clearer, sharper, as though before he had been looking at her from behind fogged glass. She stood and crossed the room, and the air around her trembled as it would around a flame, and Ramson himselffeltit as she swept pasthim.
She looked to the gold ring in her hand. A laugh bubbled from her as she tossed it to the floor.
Then fire erupted from Sorsha, a wreath of flames so hot they were blue, engulfing the ring. Her eyes were wide with glee; her mouth parted as she watched the ring melt into a puddle of gold at her feet.
She lifted her gaze to Ramson.
He ran for his life.
Her screaming laughter followed him as he sprinted out of his father’s chambers. The hallway outside was empty but for the bodies of the four guards Sorsha had slain. It all made sense now—painfully obvious sense—how everything pieced together. Who else would be able to clear the guards across the entire Blue Fort but the Lieutenant of the Royal Guard? Who else possessed the motives for revenge and ruin?
Ramson grabbed a sword from the body of the nearest Royal Guard as Sorsha’s steps sounded behind him.
“Your turn, Brother Dearest!” she called in a singsong voice.
Ramson chanced a look back and wished he hadn’t. As Sorsha swept her hand, sections of stone tore from the walls. They hovered behind her in midair.
Anticipation filled Sorsha’s face. With a laugh, she flung her hand, and the first boulder shot at him.
Ramson dodged. He heard the rock smash against the wall behind him. He’d barely scrambled to his feet when the second piece came at his head. The third one caught him in his stomach, knocking the wind out of him as he fell onto the searock floor. His sword clattered against the ground.
Ramson spat blood. He pushed himself to his knees, snatched the hilt of his sword, and glanced back.
“Do you know what the scholars called me, Brother Dearest?” Sorsha held out a hand, and the swords of the dead guards began to rise into the air. They soared to her, splintering as they did into smaller fragments of metal, like needles. “The Iron Maiden.”
Shit. Shit, shit,shit.
The pain in Ramson’s stomach throbbed as he pushed himself to his feet. Clenching his teeth, he threw himself forward and turned around the bend of the next hallway. He glanced back to see splinters of sword pelting the wall behind him.
