As I pluck the obsidian sword out of the bleeding Faerie’s limp fingers, my touch renders him momentarily transparent.Merda.
“She’s got a weapon!” Dante yells.
I raise my arms to strike the unconscious man in the throat when flames hit my sleeve, chewing right through the wool. I yelp and drop the weapon. The stone blade chips, becoming shorter and scragglier, but still sharp enough to cause harm.
“She’s there!” Dante points at where smoke still coils off the yarn of my sweater. “Again! And for the love of the Cauldron, can someone fucking grab her!”
Eighty-Three
Iclap my arm to snuff out the flames, then scoop up my stunted weapon, and race straight for the guard coming at me, betting that everyone will assume I’m running away from my attacker.
And I’m right.
Tavo’s stream of fire collides into an icicle and melts it. “Fuck.”
Just before crashing into the soldier, I drop into a crouch and hold out my leg. The soldier trips. As he eats ice, Tavo wheels around and streams flames that glance harmlessly against my armor.
The other soldier running toward me teeters, skidding on the ice. Before he can whirl around and rush away, I swing my little weapon. The blade sinks into his neck, creating a deep gash that rids him of consciousness but not of life.
As the other fallen begin to groan and stir, I lurch toward each of them and plant my stubby blade into their palms so they cannot assail me with their magic. I wait for revulsion and guilt to swamp me, but neither comes. My head and heart have become as cold as the belly of this mountain.
Four soldiers bleed.
Seventeen . . . no, eighteen, to go.
Eyes widen as everyone searches for the ghost I’ve become.
“Maezza, what do we—”
Before the soldier can finish his sentence, I gut him with my broken sword, then lacerate his hands. And then I sneak up on two more men and give them a similar fate.
Tavo rushes toward Meriam, seizes the back of her throne, and skates her over toward Lore. What the underworld is he—
“Meriam!” I screech because I suddenly know. He’s going to tip her onto Lore’s beak. “Meriam, wake up!” I don’t even care if my voice betrays my location. All I care about is reaching that throne and striking every soldier on the way.
Six more bodies fall; twelve more hands redden.
Not real-Dante’s though.
For now, he commands the others to do his dirty work, keeping himself tucked at a safe distance from me. But he isn’t safe.
“Her footsteps! You can see her footsteps,” I hear him yell. “Follow the blood trail!”
One guard does as he’s told. I whirl, and he skewers himself right onto my blade. He gasps, then gurgles. As my blade slurps out of him, one of the many Dantes throws himself into Tavo’s path.
“I cannot let you—sacrifice her.” The man’s forehead is lacquered with sweat and his chest is pumping as wildly as everyone else’s.
Everyoneexcept for Meriam.
“Meriam!” I screech, sprinting now. I almost faceplant twice, but Fate must be on my side because I don’t fall.
Two soldiers rush after me. I dip my finger in my bleeding thigh, then sketch an arrow on the broken black stone. Though I don’t see it lengthen, I feel its weight grow. I twirl around and sweep it. When it bangs into the soldier’s body, carving into his waist, I slash my finger where I hope the arrow lies.
The male running next to him stops and swings his sword, assuming I must be standing close.
With a soft grunt, I wrench the heavy length out of one body and chop into the other. The gashes I inflicted are so deep that these two won’t be rising for hours.
I turn back around just as Tavo rams Meriam’s throne into the soldier standing in his way, sending him flailing backward. “If you don’t get out of my fucking way, Enrico, I will fucking murder you.”
