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The king was in the process of snapping his fingers when I struck him in the face, sending him backward into the wall.

The good thing about the king was he only ever used one method to summon his magic, so I was just able to dampen his magic before it did damage. It’d gotten through a bit—my head throbbed as if a sudden pressure headache had come on. But I was used to far worse than that.

So instead of taking any chances, I held my magic against his. It would fatigue me faster, but it was a risk worth taking.

He looked as angry as he was impressed. “You wish to duke it out as men, do you? Fine, then. No magic.” He raised a brow, his tone dripping with chastisement. “You will learn.”

With weapons or magic, it would be over quickly. Most sword fights were once a fighter suffered injury, even if I didn’t have my special sword. Magic fights were worse, as brutal as they were unsatisfying, depending on the skill of the magic user. But with fists, there was no hiding behind the sharpness of a blade or the severity of magic. Either you were stronger, or you weren’t. You knew how to overcome your opponent, or you didn’t.

I had been fighting all my life, but the king was two centuries old. Even if he hadn’t fought during my lifetime, in his first hundred and fifty years he had been active, hands-on with his training, and I was certain he hadn’t forgotten it all. My stamina was a bit better than his, but he had far more experience than I could ever obtain. This was a death wish.

I didn’t care.

My lungs burned from the effort of breathing through the fight and dampening his magic simultaneously. I didn’t trust him not to use it, whatever he said. I would be dead if he did. And I’d lose my opportunity.

But it was to my detriment. I couldn’t move as fast as I wanted to, hit as hard as I knew I could. It was prolonging things, but I refused to do anything stupid that would get me killed before I could end him. Still the longer I fought, the longer I held the king back with strikes and magic, the weaker I became.

The king dodged around my weak arm, pinning my back to him with his arm around my neck. I made the mistake at gasping too much air out, unable to get it back.

“Good fight, lad,” he said, even as he crushed the air from me, slowed the blood to my brain. “We do applaud your steadfast determination to complete a task, despite the odds. Your execution is a bit wanting, but if you surrender now, we’d be more than willing to coach you.”

I couldn’t tell if it was praise or a taunt. It angered me, either way.

I let go of my magic, granting myself the extra energy to shove backward, slamming him against the wall until his grip broke.

The king dropped to one knee, blinking, then squeezing his eyes shut—he’d hit his head, and it had jarred him. I could either take that moment to catch my breath or finish him, and I refused to let my adrenaline die down. So, panting and as fatigued as I was, I kicked him in the stomach before he could recover. My arm that’d been shot with the arrow wasn’t as strong as it should’ve been, so while he was doubled over, I used both hands to shove his face into the floor.

The satisfying crunch of his nose breaking sounded, blood streaming out onto the stones.

It wasn’t over until one or both of us were dead, but I’d exceeded my left arm’s good graces and was swiftly running out of strength, so I stumbled to my feet and kicked him again.

I heard the snap then, while attempting to resummon my magic—it wasn’t nearly enough. Explosive pain slammed into my head, and I couldn’t even hear myself scream as I felt my eardrums smashing into nothing. I collapsed to my knees, clawing at my ear as if that would help. I could do nothing else as my magic, erratic and unwieldly, the notes only a feeling in my chest, finally swallowed the king’s, holding back death.

I saw him from the corner of my eye. He was lying there, panting, no better off than me. And if he spoke to me, I never heard it, the pulsing pain in my head drowning everything out. The bolt in my shoulder had torn up enough muscle and ligament with my movement to render my arm useless. There was no way I could attack him physically now and survive, even if we gave the illusion of being on equal terms.

His pale skin exposed the bruising I’d delivered. Blood smeared his mouth and chin. And I was certain he had a head injury—he blinked hard as if warding off the darkness from taking him, disorientation evident in his gaze. I braced myself, waiting to see if he would get up. His expression shifted from pained and determined to exhausted and resigned. And then he flicked his hand, as if waving away even the concept of continuing, and fell to his back in defeat.

Only then did I release the hold my magic had on his, nearly collapsing myself. I forced myself to stumble to my feet, dragging my sword with me out of the king’s room. Pushing through the fatigue and pain, I realized I could at least make my way down the halls, that my legs would still carry me. I stopped around a corner, leaning against the wall to catch my breath, taking in ragged gulps of air.

But the sound of my breath didn’t meet me.

There was nothing. Not even the muted sounds my earplugs always allowed through. It was quiet as death. Blissfully so. The silence calmed me, and finally I could think clearly.

I looked down at my shoulder, closing my eyes with a wince at the simple movement. That fight had exacerbated my wound, the bolt tearing through my arm, but that pain was blocked out by the deep, stabbing agony in my head. Still, if Vi had taught me one thing, it was how to function through pain.

Tears pricked at my eyes. I wiped them away quickly. This was no time to give in to emotions, no time to rest. I had to find Eliza—Anise couldn’t have been stupid enough to kill the princess. If Cali was right, and The Dark would die with the king, well then, the king would have to die. And if Eliza was still reluctant, Albert was still alive, God willing. He’d never killed anyone in his position, but I knew now I couldn’t do this alone. I was already weak, making it so much easier for the king’s magic to overcome mine.

But what did any of it matter without Cali?

I felt the distinct crunching vibration of rock sliding against rock before I felt a hand grab my wrist. I drew my sword, but my elbow slammed into a stone wall that hadn’t been there, locking my sword in its sheath. I looked around at the small stone rectangle I was standing in, already annoyed at Eliza before I looked down at her in front of me, holding a small lantern.

“What are you doing?” I snapped.

She said something, but I didn’t want to explain myself, so I simply took her hand and raised the lantern to better see her mouth movements. I had never been fully deaf before, but it still felt normal to me, lipreading—though it disturbed me that this was probably the most routine thing I had done all day. I’d missed the beginning of what she said, but her next words were enough.

“It’s not safe for you in the halls. That self-important bitch is queen now.”

I sighed. “I know.”