At least a dozen figures pour inside.The Order, my mind screams, until the dark glaze of their eyes comes into focus. The rogues spill into the tomb, forming a line of swords between us and the exit.
I breathe unevenly, remembering the words of the enemy I faced in the tower. They want me dead. Taliesin, too. And with the passage fully blocked, there’s only one way out.Throughthem.
Taliesin seems to understand the same moment I do. He lifts his hand and murmurs a word, like he’s calling upon his magic. That’s all we need. He can turn them all to shattered ice. But only a heartbeat later, he mutters a curse.
Unease rolls down my spine. “What is it?”
“The fucking iron,” he snarls.
The rogues move. Taliesin grabs my arm, dragging me behind the sarcophagus. I press my back against the stone, sucking in air through my nose. When the first enemy rounds the right side, Taliesin drives his sword into her chest without a moment’s hesitation. A horriblecrunchfills the air, Viscous black blood seeps from her wound, carrying the stench of sulphur and rot.
I recoil. I’ve never seen—or smelled—anything like it. The other rogues didn’t bleed like this. But I don’t have time to wonder at it. A rogue comes up on my left, just as another appears on Taliesin’s right.
I don’t think. I justmove.
I brandish my dagger, hissing like a feral cat.
The rogue slashes a blade at me. I jerk back, trying to avoid its path, but I’m too slow. The dagger nicks my lower cheek and heat flares across my face. Hot blood hits my lips. Grimacing, I reach up to brush it away, but the rogue’s already on me again.
A second blade swings toward my ribs. I twist away and lash out with my boot in sheer desperation, landing a blow hard enough to conjure a grunt of pain. He stumbles, but regains his footing almost instantly, already pressing forward again. I try to meet him with my blade, but the timing’s off. He knocks it aside and closes the distance. My arm feels heavy, my heartbeat far too fast. This is nothing like training, and I can feel the fight slipping out of my control.
Until a growl of rage sounds behind me, steel ringing against steel, and my opponent’s eyes flick toward the fight beyond my shoulder.
He doesn’t see me coming as I lunge with my dagger. The steel sinks into his eyeball, splitting his skull and killing him almost instantly. Another wave of sulphur rushes into my face. I try to yank out my weapon, but it won’t budge.
Horrified, my hand unclenches the dagger, and I watch the rogue crumple to the stone. His vacant eyes stare back at me, one embedded with my blade. Black blood spills down his face like tears.
But I feel no sense of victory. The pain in my face is almost blinding. Black dots crowd my vision, and the world around me starts to spin. Maybe he cut me deeper than I thought.
Wincing, I bend over at the middle, grip my knees to steady myself, and try to catch my breath.
I must gasp too loud because Taliesin looks over his shoulder, a fleeting glance to make sure I’m all right. When his eyes land on my face, he shudders, and his sword drops to his side. Several more bodies lie at his feet, but there must be half a dozen more still alive.
My mind screams, even as my voice gets trapped in my throat. He should keep fighting. Another rogue will round the sarcophagus any second now.
What are you doing? Focus!I want to say.
But then his lip curls. “They cut you.”
“Yes, but that’s not what’s important right now. You need to—”
He lifts his hand toward my face and drags his thumb across my lip, cold and burning all at once. I find myself responding to his touch, unfolding, straightening, allowing him to lead me to a stronger stance. His thumb makes its way to the corner of my mouth, pressing harder now. Fury—and something I can’t name—churns in his eyes. He looks like he might tear the world apart.
My lungs tighten—for an entirely different reason now.
Then he pulls his hand away. My blood paints his skin.
“There,” he murmurs, his eyes still locked on mine. “I think I got it all.”
A rogue rises behind him, and a sword whistles toward his throat.
23
“Watch out!”
Taliesin is already in motion. He ducks low, then spins, catching the attacker’s gut with his blade. A horrifying spray of black blood fills the air. Droplets land on my cloak. The stench of it clogs my nose, choking me.
He dispatches another—and then another—before seizing my shoulder and steering me around the other side. More rogues flood the chamber, swords raised, their roars thick with bloodlust. We stop short, Taliesin’s fingers digging into me.
