Something was happening to the skin underneath. Darkness spread across Sorsha’s veins, like fissures across a surface. She shuddered, her mouth parted in ecstasy as she held up her hand and began to laugh and laugh and laugh. “Oh, this feelsgood,this feels sogood!” she shrieked.
No.A part of Ramson was numb with disbelief that the worst they had imagined had happened.
Kerlan was on his feet now, the smug triumph wiped clean from his face. “What have you done?” he hissed.
In response, Sorsha only smiled at him and raised her bloodied blade to her face. Lovingly, she ran her tongue down the length of it.
Kerlan’s expression was tight in a way that Ramson had learned to recognize meant the utmost displeasure for his old master. He looked around him, aware of all the courtiers watching them, and reined in his anger. He held out a hand. “Come here, Sorsha.”
Sorsha sneered at him. “I don’t think I will.”
Kerlan’s face darkened. “If you don’t—”
“You’re going to what? Kill off the only successful siphon bearer in the world? The one your empress needs? I’d like to see youtry.” Sorsha cackled as she began to pace to the center of the hall, casually swinging her blade. Her iron spikes had shifted into flat discs, the edges sharp enough to slice. They orbited her like small gray stars. “You see, this is the problem with men. They’re shortsighted and vain and will let their egos get in the way of strategy.” She stopped and faced Kerlan, her expression turning ugly. “This is why I don’t work foryou.I work for your empress.”
Ramson’s mind was hurtling forward. Sorsha had complicated the situation with her series of betrayals, but in the chaos she’d sown, perhaps there was an opening for him. Across Godhallem, with the absence of Nita, courtiers had shifted to huddle behind the seats at the very edges of the court, clearing a space in the middle.
“Enough.”Kerlan’s features were twisted in a way that made Ramson think of the worst bouts of fury his old master had ever thrown. He watched Kerlan signal at the rest of his men, who had remained behind the dais all this time. “Bring the bearer to me,” he snarled. “I want heralive.And I want the siphon!”
“I think not,” came a new voice, and the entire hall turned to the double doors at the entryway.
Kaïs stepped inside, cutting a massive shape against the night as he drew his swords. Rain slicked his hair, running rivers down his skin. By his side, like a shadow to his flame, stood Linn, daggers drawn. And, behind them, a slew of figures emerged from the rain. They held a much more diverse array of looks than Bregonians, skin tones ranging from pale to fawn and hair from white-gold to ochre. Several held up their hands, and various elements swirled over their upturned palms: water, fire, stone, marble, steel.
Were these the Cyrilian Affinites whom Kerlan had trafficked into Bregon? Hope flickered in Ramson’s chest, and for the first time that night, he thought he could feel the tides of the battleturning.
At the dais, a shadow of doubt crossed Alaric Kerlan’s face. It vanished quickly, contorting into fury. He motioned to his forces, then pointed at the new arrivals. “Attack!” he shouted.
Commotion exploded in the hall as a swirl of wind, water, sand, and fire met in the middle of Godhallem, shaking the very foundation of the hall. Overhead, the bells hummed with urgency; sections of searock debris rained down from the ceiling.
Ramson hauled himself to his feet. On either side of him, courtiers had begun fleeing, clearing a path along the walls.
He found his gaze drawn, inevitably, to the spot beneath the brass lever of the War Bells.
Ana’s lifeless form lay crumpled on the floor. From here, beneath the roaring sigil of the Earth Court, she looked so small, so helpless. There was nothing Ramson wanted more at that moment than to go to her, to pick her up in his arms and get her out of here.
And yet…
He cast his gaze about the hall, searching. It was only when he heard a sharp scream of laughter that he found her.
Sorsha had leapt into the fray of battle, iron and fire whirring in rings around her. She cackled as she shot fire at the sand Affinite, wheeling through her different Affinities to try on him. His half sister wasn’t even fighting for any one side; she was merely enjoying being able to wield her powers in her newfound freedom.
Perhaps, then, she would enjoy a game.
Ramson picked up a discarded sword on the floor. “Sorsha,” he called.
Sorsha paused in the midst of torturing the sand Affinite and looked at Ramson. Her gaze widened. She dropped her quarry and began to stalk toward him.
“BrotherDearest,” she crooned, spreading her hands.
“I’ll play a game with you,” Ramson said, and tossed the sword across the floor. It skidded toward her and stopped at her feet. “You injured one of my arms. See if you can get the other one.” It sickened him to say those words, to think of what might happen if she won. But he had nothing more to lose. “And,” he added as a smile began to bloom across his half sister’s face, “no Affinities. We settle this the old-fashioned way.”
Sorsha’s lips parted with glee. “I never say no to a good game,” she said, bending down to pick up the spare sword. “I’m going to savor this, Brother Dearest. I’m going to chop you into so many little pieces that there won’t be anything left of you!”
With that, she launched herself at him.
Ramson palmed his own weapon with his good hand, tucking his injured arm to his side. He clung to the folds of his shirt, rooted himself in his center of gravity, and watched his half sister charge toward him, counting her rapid-fire steps.Fourteen-twelve-ten-eight…
When she lifted her sword to strike, he dropped his, and sprang at her.
