The trio looked at one another. In a new rage, Yemi tried to move beside him to take on anyone who dared make it this far, but Nova stopped her.
“Not the time,” she said seriously, flicking her iron fans to their offensive position.
While the cannons were reloaded, Cutter and Nova attacked, battle cries of the mob ringing in the hall while Yemi stood helplessly by and watched. All was a blur of clashing shields and swords, sweeping spears, and gutted bodies. Nova’s fans flung stripes of blood at the blasted walls and Cutter’s spear lopped off limbs to the wails of their former owners. Yemi felt sick. What was the point of finding them if she couldn’t save them? How was she anyone’s Shield, anyone’s Light, if she was relegated to some useless burden?
“Where the fuck is the military?” Yemi yelled as they beat back the mob.
“They blew the bridge,” Nova replied.
Shit,Yemi thought. With the bridge to the barracks gone, her army would have to descend the mountain through the city and come up the main road. There wasn’t time.
Her only guardians occupied, she caught sight of the women with the hand cannons just as they caught sight of her and dove for theantechamber as the miniature cannonballs blasted chunks out of the pillar beside her.
Nownownow. Go now,her heart pounded. She took in a single angry breath and stepped back out into the hall. The women were closer now but reloading, the other rebels keeping Nova and Cutter from reaching them.
“Yemaya, run!” Nova cried.
Instead, Yemi roared and speared one of the gunners in the gut with short jabs until she dropped her weapon and took a seat against the wall. The other had backed away, fingers fumbling to load a shot that would surely take Yemi’s head off at this distance. Yemi lunged, bringing her spear low and sweeping high fast enough to stir the dust on the floor, carving a single, fatal slash from the woman’s sternum up through her nose.
Nova caught her eye for a fraction of a second and gave her an impressed smirk. Yemi stalked toward what remained of the rabble as Cutter and Nova had them backed up into the main entryway between the outer gardens and the grand hall. She’d planned to help make quick work of the stragglers when movement beyond the grand hall caught her eye.
The throne room doors were open. Dahlia Drake stood in the center of it, apparently unaccompanied, her back to the doorway and the cacophony of battle as she took in the empty chairs on their platform.
Wistful, covetous little snake.
The world fell away, and Yemi thought of nothing but the physics of launching a spear. She’d never hit a target from so far off, but then again, she’d never wanted to this badly. Dahlia was armed, from what she could tell. Two pistols in shoulder holsters and a rapier at her waist. Yemi wondered how good she was at wielding them.
She kept her breath steady, her strides long, as she ran toward her and picked up speed. Nova called her name. Back tall as she brought the spear up, balanced, angled, and then released with a grunt of effort. She kept running as the spear flew, as it crested its arc andbegan its descent, as it missed by mere inches and stuck its landing in the torn carpet of the throne stairs and Dahlia turned around.
Yemi was there to greet her with a flying knee launched too early to catch her in the nose and landed instead in her chest, sending them both crashing to the polished hall floor.
“Did I interrupt something?” Yemi seethed, yoking Dahlia by her collar from her position on top and headbutting her in the face. Dahlia cursed and kept her hands up to keep it from happening again before wrapping her hands around Yemi’s throat. Something was off, Yemi noticed. Dahlia was surprisingly strong. Her eyes had gone shark black, and she was grinning as she fought back.
The headbutt had jostled the mask, leaving it skewed and no longer secured to her head. Dahlia seized the opportunity to remove it and hit her in the face with it until she could be pushed off.
Yemi tasted blood, but her eyes still worked, and she could see Dahlia scrambling to draw her hand cannon from its shoulder holster. Yemi was able to reach it and squeeze its trigger so that it blasted its one shot into a pillar behind them, then yanked it free and tossed it across the room. The second gun had come loose in the first scuffle and lay nearby. Yemi collected it and turned back in time to see Dahlia’s rapier drawn but at a distance that could do her no harm. Rage and panic flickered across Dahlia’s face as Yemi got victoriously to her feet, hand cannon ready for the second Dahlia opened her mouth to say anything. She looked worried now, almost terrified, her breath ragged and eyes again their glittering green.
“Enough!” Dorian bellowed. He appeared over Dahlia’s shoulder from the back room with a dozen or so rebels flanking him. He held a bloodied Orie against him with a gun to her head.
“Drop your weapon,” he commanded. Yemi, never having once received a command, was disinclined to oblige.
“Truly, aBlackgatewith apistol?” Dahlia chuckled grimly, dabbing at her lip. “It really must be the end-times.”
The itch to pull the trigger was suddenly more pronounced, but Yemi took note of Cerro emerging calmly behind Dorian, an imperious,tutting sneer poorly masked on his long face. Of course he had something to do with this.
“Cerro. This is quite a tantrum,” she remarked, though her pride faltered as Orie was forced to her knees.
“An unfortunate last resort,” said Cerro. “Put the gun down. Preserve this woman’s life and what remains of your dignity.”
“Dignity? Your partner here groveled loudly at my mother’s feet to beg forgiveness for his daughter’s treachery just the other day,” Yemi said.
“A means to an end. If you think that was my first little performance, you’re as foolish as you are failed,” Dorian spat.
“And so they’ve chosen to follow con men over a queen.” Yemi laughed bitterly. “My mother gave you people so much credit.”
“Con men?” Dorian bristled. “I am a patriot. I am followed because these men know I will do whatever it takes—”
“Father,” Dahlia snapped.
