Prince Kellmere whirled. He had been cornered at an outcropping of rock but had still managed to kill all who had come for him. Obviously, he was trained, probably since birth. She needed to do this quickly before he killed her.
“You,” he snarled. “I’ve heard of you. A Misean slave girl turned weapon for King Johannas.”
She took a shaky breath. “I want to help you, Kellmere.”
He smiled, and there was blood on his teeth. “You want to kill me. I’ve seen what you can do. Do you think it a mercy?”
“Do you not?”
He pushed off the rock and circled her, heavy sword in hand. “It would be a dishonor. I will die by a blade today, fighting to the end, not put to sleep like a dog by a monster.”
She backed up a step, then another, until she could retreat any further. She had to do itnow. But even looking at the prince with murder in his hazel eyes, she could not make herselfpull the magic out. Even weapons had their breaking points, it seemed, and perhaps it was a good thing that her morals finally won out, even if it meant her death.
“Goodbye, traitor,” he said in a low voice, raising his blade.
But before Kellmere could make the final blow, he whirled moving aside, just before the masked rider shoved his blade in his back. Soren sucked in deep breaths as they dueled. Her leg was on fire and her head felt light.
She knew she was about to watch the prince die. Even if he was a strong fighter,Mòr Maslachmoved like the wind. He caught the prince’s belly, Kellmere rearing back just before the blow could become fatal.
“Coward!” he bellowed. “Reveal yourself!”
The rider only tilted his head at the prince, as if to say,make me.
Prince Kellmere lowered his chin. His gaze flicked to Soren, and then he reared back his hand. Silver flew through the air, and she swerved just before the dagger struck her in the chest. When she looked back, Kellmere was holding the rider’s mask, and the rider?—
Her lips parted, her chest squeezing so tight, she could barely take another breath as she saw Vane standing in the rain. His eyes were black with rage as he swung at Kellmere again.
The prince laughed, unhinged in the face of death. “I thought so,” he shouted, glancing at Soren. “The beast has a weakness. They always do.”
She wanted to die, wanted to kill Vane and scream at the sky. He was the leashed pet to King Johannas, the one he had spoken of with such bitterness. Now, she knew why. But he had lied to her, was responsible for the death of so many of her people.Herpeople, because Mise was where she, Soren, had been born to a mortal mother.
He had touched her with a killer’s hands.
Still, as he fought Kellmere, she flinched when the prince caught his leg with his sword. Vane hardly slowed, ignoring the wound as if it were a mere nuisance. When it became obvious Kellmere was going to lose, the prince reared back, breathing heavily. Vane paused—his only mistake, because the prince was bluffing.
It all happened so fast.
Prince Kellmere bolted towards Soren, and she gripped her dagger tightly, freezing in panic. Vane sprinted towards them, his eyes wild as Kellmere lifted his sword. He reached them, wedging his blade between her and Kellmere’s sword.
“Soren,” he said, eyes wide. “Do it. If not for me, then for yourself.”
“I will not be what they made me,” she snarled, “even if you will.”
Vane’s breath shuddered, clouding in the air. His blade slipped under the pressure of Kellmere’s, and in a blur, the two men turned. Vane’s sword fell to the muddy earth as Kellmere sliced into his palm, and then the prince angled it for Soren’s heart. She closed her eyes, waiting, anticipating the final blow.
But death never came.
Instead, Vane’s arms caged her, his forehead pressing to hers. “You,” he rasped. “You are my every…reason.”
He grunted, and she looked down to see Kellmere’s blade inches from her chest. Her eyes widened in shock, and as Kellmere pulled his sword from Vane’s body, she no longer hesitated to reach inside herself and deny the prince any semblance of honor in death. Seeing Vane injured like this unlocked an innate instinct to protect him, despite his betrayal.
The prince collapsed just as Vane fell to his knees before her. Above, two dragons screeched in the air, letting loose streams of fire aimed at the retreating Misean troops. Soren stared, wide-eyed, as Vane coughed, specks of blood staining his lips.
“Go,” he choked out. “Run, Soren.”
This was… He was…
He was Vane Evva, the demi-god she had fallen in love with over a century ago, the trainer she had fallen for again in a matter of weeks, andMòr Maslach, a killer she hated.
