"You—" She tries to speak, but I drive my elbow into her solar plexus, cutting off her words with a satisfying wheeze.
We roll across the chamber floor, grappling like wild animals. Her nails rake across my cheek, drawing blood, but I barely feel it. Nothing exists except the need to put distance between her and Seris.
"Get away from her!" I roar, hauling Zharra upright and hurling her against the wall.
Zharra scrambles to her feet, blood trickling from her split lip. Her hand finds the ceremonial dagger where it fell, fingers closing around the hilt with desperate fury.
"You chose wrong," she hisses, lunging forward with the blade aimed at my throat.
I sidestep, grabbing her wrist and twisting until bone grinds against bone. She screams but doesn't drop the weapon, driving her knee toward my ribs instead. The blow connects, stealing my breath, but I hold on.
"All those years," she snarls through gritted teeth, "all that training, and you throw it away for a human whore."
"Better than a bitter shrew who thinks birthright makes her worthy."
We crash into the wall again, the impact jarring the dagger loose. It skitters across the stone as we grapple, trading vicious blows in the cramped space. Her elbow catches my jaw, snapping my head back. I return the favor with a knee to her stomach that doubles her over.
She recovers faster than expected, tackling me around the waist. We hit the ground hard, rolling across ancient burialstones as we fight for position. Her nails rake across my throat, seeking the major arteries beneath the skin.
I grab her wrists, forcing her arms wide. "Enough."
"Never." Spittle flies from her lips as she struggles beneath me. "I won't let you disgrace our bloodline with that?—"
My axe appears in my hand before she can finish the insult. The weight of it settles against her throat, edge kissing skin just hard enough to draw a thin line of blood.
Zharra goes perfectly still. Her eyes burn with hatred and something else—fear, finally breaking through her rage.
"I should end you," I growl, pressing the blade deeper. "For Maedra. For what you've done here."
She meets my gaze without flinching. "Then do it, coward. Or live knowing you let me walk away."
Instead, I shift the axe to her right wrist, pinning it against the stone. "You want to touch what's mine?"
Understanding dawns in her eyes a heartbeat before the blade falls. The wet sound of metal through bone echoes off the chamber walls, followed by her shriek of agony as her hand separates cleanly at the wrist.
Blood pools beneath the severed limb as Zharra clutches the stump to her chest, face white with shock and pain.
"Remember this," I tell her, wiping the axe clean on her robes. "Every time you look at that stump, remember what happens when you threaten my family."
I leave her there, sobbing and bleeding, and rush to Seris's side. Her eyes flutter open as I kneel beside her, hands shaking as I gather her into my arms. Blood—too much blood—soaks into my armor from wounds I can't yet see. The crimson stain spreads across the ceremonial leathers I've worn into a hundred battles, yet none have terrified me like this one.
"You found me," she whispers, voice barely audible, the sound threading weakly through the heavy stone chamber.
I shake my head, throat tight with words I can't speak. "I've failed you, Seris. Both of you." My voice breaks over the admission. I run my trembling fingers over her face, brushing away matted strands of dark hair stuck to her forehead with dried blood and sweat. The pallor beneath her soft brown skin fills me with dread—too pale, too cold against my calloused hands that suddenly feel too rough to touch something so precious.
Behind me, Zharra's agonized moans fade into the background as I focus entirely on the woman in my arms. I scan Seris's body frantically, trying to assess how deep Zharra's ritual knife has cut, how much damage has been done to her and our child. My child. The heir I was meant to create with a proper match, now the most important life in all of Azhgar.
28
SERIS
The world fractures into fragments—stone ceiling spinning overhead, the rumble of Vargath's voice against my ear, the steady rhythm of his steps echoing through endless tunnels. Pain radiates through my abdomen in waves, each one stealing more of my strength until I can barely keep my eyes open.
"Stay with me." His words float down to me like echoes from another world. "Just a little further."
I try to respond, but my tongue feels thick and useless. The torch flames blur into streaks of gold as we move through the passages, their light dancing across carved gods who watch our passage with ancient, knowing eyes.
"The baby..." I manage to whisper, the words scraping against my dry throat.
