The Five of Swords is a silver spark that takes the form of a dagger in my palm, perfect for being nimble in these claustrophobic passages. The first Stellis shifts, hearing my hasty steps. His armor catches faint glints of distant light. The Stellis’s plate is impressive, but there’s asmall opening between the high collar and their chin—a gap you must get dangerously close to in order to exploit.
I go for the Arcanist first, moving like a shadow, breath controlled. One strike is all it takes to end him with nothing more than a wet gurgle. Hot blood spills over my hand, splattering before his body clangs against the ground.
His partner stumbles, finally freeing his blade. But I’m faster than he is. The dagger finds flesh again, and he crumples before he can make a sound.
I feel nothing. There is no joy in these kills. Only duty. Kill or be killed.
I’m down the passage, toward the next flicker of lamplight. This Stellis is alone, warily peering down a pathway in a way that makes me wonder if he caught a glimpse of Jura or Gregor. I dispatch him before he even knows I’m there. As he falls, shouts echo to me from the location of the first two.
“Someone’s definitely here! We have two down.”
I move, hearing footsteps grow near. My heart pounds harder—not with fear, but with the thrill of the hunt. With finally feeling like I’ve thrown off the shackles that have been on me my whole life. No more hiding my power. No more holding back.
“One over here!” My third victim has been discovered by the man who quickly becomes my fourth.
He drops hard, plate armor clanging against the ground, and I move again, not staying in one location for too long. The tunnel floor is slick beneath my feet—blood or water? I can’t tell. Probably both.
Their panic becomes my companion, hanging close in these tight passages. Their footsteps quicken, making it easier to tell where they are based on the sounds of their plate. In tandem, the echoes of others darting about reverberate, glints of light strike me. Jura and Gregor are doing a good job of sowing confusion, and I move in tandem.
More magic flares in the darkness—Wands like fire, Swords like jagged bursts of lightning.
“Barricade entrances. Keep her in here with us; do not let her get away!” Emilia shouts.
They try to get an edge on me, but they can’t. I know these passages better than any of them. Every twist, every turn, every alcove where the darkness is thicker than blood.
“You think we won’t find you?” Emilia’s voice cuts through the growing chaos: part threat to me and part command to her soldiers. “Wherever you hide, I will hunt you down. I have been tasked with bringing you to justice, and I do not fail.”
I ignore her, veering down a passage where my next unfortunate victim waits. His breathing is what gives him away—rapid, shallow gasps of fear. I slip behind him, close enough to smell the sweat on his skin before my blade finds its mark.
Moving with precision, I take out another that sees me with enough time to get a lunge in. Another hears the scuffle, shouting for more to come, “Over here!” I end her before anyone else can arrive.
“Another!” someone bellows from behind, voice thick with dread. “How many does that make?”
“Sound off!”
Very few voices call out in response.
“To me! To me! Regroup!” Emilia’s demand is a little more shrill than I think she’d like. That’s a real twinge of fear she’s working so hard to ignore.
Perfect.
I don’t hesitate and press the advantage while I have it. Emilia is too skilled to give me another opening or make another mistake. My feet fly over the stone, more cards flaring to life as I sprint through the near-complete darkness with a reckless speed that threatens to break my body.
Then there she is.
Alone.
Chapter 12
Emilia stands in a chamber where three tunnels converge. Two lanterns flank a ladder descending from the entrance above. The light casts her face in a harsh relief, emphasizing the deep lines of worry on her brow. Her hand rests on the pommel of a sword at her hip.
“I know you’re there, Clara.” Her voice is steady now. “I can feel you. I can fuckingsmellthe blood on you.”
The Five of Cups is chill against my fingertips. The cold must be sweeping over her because she begins to frantically look around. The card calls upon the subject’s greatest doubts. Her brow furrows, and I suspect she’s trying to rationalize her sudden and overwhelming need to second-guess her abilities.
“You know you’re no match for me.” There’s a murderous edge to my voice. I step into the light, wearing nothing but rags and blood and a crazed expression. “Hello, Emilia.”
“Traitor,” she snarls, nearly spits. “To think, I once considered you an ally.”
