“And why did you want me distracted, Generali?”
“Because if Fallon carries your child, odds are you won’t kill her.”
What the Cauldron?I balk at Justus. He better be ingesting that Nebban chemical, otherwise . . . otherwise he and I will have a whole lot of words after I find that damn dagger and detach Dante’s head.
Just as I slide my fingers across the headboard, Dante asks, “Looking for this, Fal?”
My gaze whizzes back to where he stands, twirling a dagger between his fingers.
My complexion must go as white as the uniform he wears because hetsks.
“Seems like we have a traitor in our midst. Now, who”—before my next breath, Dante tosses the salt into Justus’s stunned face and spears the dagger through his neck—“could it be?”
Twenty-Two
Iscream while Justus . . . he doesn’t emit a single sound. How can he with a dagger wedged through his airway?
“Could it beyou, Generali Rossi?” Dante twists the dagger.
“Stop, Dante! Stop! Justus didn’t do anything.” I launch myself toward them and clap my hand around Dante’s bicep, managing to hurl his arm down.
Justus’s eyes are so wide they’re white. And his neck . . . his neck is corded and gushing crimson rivulets.
Please be taking the iron-supplement, or whatever Dante was taking.
Please, please, please don’t die on me.
I need you.
“Don’t take me for a fool, Fallon. The fact that you suddenly care about Justus is all the proof I need. What other secrets are you keeping from me, moya?”
I lunge toward Justus and latch onto the dagger’s hilt just as Dante grabs me around the waist. I twirl in his arms and swing, aiming for his throat, but my slippers catch on the salt and I skid, and the iron blade embeds itself inside his eye.
He roars and backhands me.
I lose my balance and fall. For a second, the world goes dark, but then it comes back into perfect focus and I crawl toward Justus. “Get us out of here, Justus. Paint a sigil and get us out.”
He shakes his head from side to side very slowly.
Oh my Gods, he’s still alive. He’s still alive! “Paint a sigil and—”
He sputters, sending more blood spilling from his wound. I try to rip off a piece of my dress to staunch the wound, but that doesn’t work.Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Keeping my palm on his neck, I scrabble to find the dagger to shear off the fabric, but Dante sent it skidding beneath his bed. Maybe if I poured some of Meriam’s blood inside the wound, it would heal him.
I palm his shirt collar, attempting to hook the leather necklace, but cannot find it. Out of all the days not to wear it!
The chamber door flies open and smacks into Justus, rolling his body and pitching my fingers off his neck. I’m about to push the wooden door closed, but freeze when I catch sight of the man trying to squeeze himself through the narrow opening.
I blink like a startled serpent, before whipping my gaze toward the man sprawled on the floor before me.
“Maezza!” Justus gasps as he tries to shoulder the door open, smacking his bleeding doppelganger. “Fallon, move!”
But I cannot move.
I can barely breathe.
Justus—the one not oozing blood—crouches beside me, circles his writhing twin’s wound with the tips of his index and middle fingers, then rips open the male’s shirt and draws a cross over his heart. Below it, on his abdomen, he paints a strange ‘M’ that resembles two interlocked peaks.
