Only in nature’s power. Only in my own.
My hands clenched, sudden and tight. The sky opened and rain fell on the Kingdom of the Plains like no rain had ever fallen or would ever fall.
The first drops hit the cobblestone with a hiss. All around the stones hissed, and so did the iron binding my wrists.
Iron, even sunlit iron, could not stand up to acid.
The screams began. My eye opened, and above me I glimpsed endless roil. The clouds seemed to fight, to press against one another as they released their endless bounty.
The rain hit my face, and my lips curled. It stung, but it didn’t yet bite. Sylvanwild skin had always been less fragile.
My face lowered. With one jerk of my wrists, I separated the hissing, eroding chain binding my manacles.
Around me, chaos had overtaken the square. People ran. My eye sought out the dais. The king was surrounded by guard, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was?—
The dagger. It lay on the stones, toppled off its pillow, abandoned. It shone brighter now than it had under the sunlight. A faint blue mist rose from it.
I stood. The guard who’d been at my back had long agodisappeared into the crowd. The acid poured around me, a deluge, but I kept my eyes on the king.
Five guard had lifted their shields above them in a makeshift metal covering and were hustling him out of the square with quick, short steps.
I ran, boots skidding over the stones, and I slid to the ground where the dagger lay. I snatched it up, fingers tightening over its grip. I thrust myself up, boots seeking purchase until I was upright and running.
The screams around me had become pure agony: a man stumbling past, shielding his head with hands flaying to the inner layers of skin; another crouched under a stone awning, the rain kicking up from the stones beneath him and shredding his clothing.
I avoided the platform; if I looked at Dorian, I might lose my will. I might see his eyes, burned and blind. I might crumple to his side and not rise again. But I, Eury, would never again crumple.
I trust only in you.
Now that the dagger was in my hand, it had only one true home. Ice and spite pooled in my palm, and I fixed my eye on King Rhodric.
The entourage did not move fast; keeping up the shield wall to the sky was not easy when the king himself had devolved into screaming. They passed beneath the square’s arch just as I closed the distance.
I slid my dagger into the gap between the first guard’s armor and helmet. Blade met sinew and artery. He wavered, then dropped. The second guard went down the same way. The third and the fourth I hamstrung, the dagger sliding through the backs of their knees. They fell, as did their shields. The fifth turned toward me in time for me to shove the dagger’s point up under his chin.
He fell, and I turned.
The king had grabbed up one of the shields and lifted it over his head. Already the acid had created grooves in his shining sunlit armor. He unsheathed his sword with his free hand and held it pointed at me. “Away, fucking witch!”
I stood under the rain, dagger in hand. Finally, he’d called me a fitting name.
I came forward, knocking the sword aside. I leapt on him, and we hit the ground together. He lost his hold on the sword, and I thrust his shield arm aside. I straddled him, breathing hard.
His eyes were wide, the sclera bright white.
I gripped his horned helm and pulled it off his head. The rain hissed against his bald scalp, eager to do its work.
I leaned close as he screamed, struggled, movement that meant nothing. I leveled the dagger, watching the panic on his face.
“Your kingdom will remember this day until the end of its days.”
With one stroke, I slit his throat.
CHAPTER FIFTY
The rain was a song.The rain wasmysong.
I had never loved the acid rain, never appreciated its skill. But straddling the dead king of the Kingdom of the Plains, face lifted to the sky, the dagger in my grip, I relished its hiss. The pain of it washed over me like a promise.
