“Put your hands behind your back,” the king ordered.
Jase’s eyes locked on Montegue. With Jalaine out of the king’s grip, the game had changed. The brokenness and love that had filled Jase’s face just seconds ago when he held Jalaine had vanished. It was replaced with something burning and dangerous, like a beast had come alive inside of him.
“Now,” Montegue repeated. His chest puffed out. He was breathing in this moment like the air was made of honey and gold. Jase challenging him only made it better. This was what Montegue had always wanted, as much as control over any continent. This was the consummate moment he had waited for—the Patrei answering to him.
The rage in Jase only fueled him. I watched him savor it like sweet nectar served up in a goblet. I imagined it was all part of the story he had constructed. His bitter battle and shining victory delivered by the gods. Or maybe Montegue was one of those gods by now.
“We’re going to kill that bastard,” Priya whispered. Her chest still shuddered from sobbing over Jalaine as Mason rushed her to the back lines, where she would be safer. Now Priya stood on the front line next to me, fingering one of Imara’s throwing knives tucked behind her back, vengeance blazing in her eyes.
Synové noticed. “Twenty yards. Out of range,” she whispered. “Besides, the Patrei is in the way.” We each had two of Imara’s small knives tucked in our belts. One rule of a throwing knife was you only threw it if you were certain it would hit its target. Otherwise you were giving the enemy another weapon to use against you.
“The archers,” I said, because right now their eyes were on Jase and they were closer to us.
Wren sighed. “Fifteen yards. Still a stretch.”
Synové sucked on her teeth, thinking. “But not impossible.”
“There is always a way to make the impossible, possible,” Priya whispered, reciting a piece of Ballenger history. “We will find that way.”
In unison, we all edged imperceptibly closer.
The guard grabbed one of Jase’s wrists and secured a shackle onto it. Jase turned his head slightly, looking sideways at me. He tucked his chin close to his chest. Our gazes burned into each other’s like a lit fuse connected us. Did he get my message?
“Wait,” I whispered to the others.
The guard reached for Jase’s other wrist, but in that same moment Jase twisted away and a sword was flying through the air.
JASE
Blink last. Her chin tucked. Watch. Be ready. I got Kazi’s message. I was so focused on Montegue I wouldn’t have looked at Truko at all. But his eyes were locked on mine and then he blinked and I knew. The bastard blinked for the first time in memory.
There was a moment of confusion when the sword he threw flew through the air and landed firmly in my hand. I whirled, swiping it behind me, making the guard stumble back, as Truko vaulted out of their reach, over to my side.
The archers stood, stepping forward, poised to shoot, but Montegue waved them back. His eyes were wild, like a dog who had caught the scent of a rabbit. “You fancy yourself a swordsman, Ballenger? You’re only a two-bit trader at best, with no training as a soldier. You really want to take this on? Let everyone watch the Patrei get cut into little pieces in the middle of the street by a true swordsman and soldier? Would that put an end to this?”
“Yeah, that’s what I want, Montegue,” I answered. “Let’s not shed everyone’s blood. Just mine and—” I surveyed the soldiers behind him. “Who’s going to do this cutting?” I cast a mocking eye at his polished breastplate and pauldrons and smiled. “You?”
He bristled, like I had thrown a gauntlet across his face—which I had. His hand flew to his sword and he pulled it free, his chest swelling and his
nostrils flaring as if the battle had already begun.
Banques stepped forward, forbidding it. “Absolutely not! You’re the king. You will not parry in the street with a common criminal—”
“I am the king and the best swordsman on this continent. I say who I parry with! Step back!” Montegue ordered.
KAZI
I remembered Montegue boasting about Banques’s tutelage. I think it’s fair to say that the student has surpassed the master.
Was this what he had trained for? That moment when he would extinguish the last Patrei himself and take his place in history?
Montegue and Jase circled, their swords bobbing with threat, their gazes fixed on each other like wolves waiting to pounce.
Jase struck first. A test. Feeling for his enemy’s strength. Montegue was strong. But his deflection was clumsy and his push-off slow, his return loud but ungraceful, unmindful of his stance.
Jase backed off. He knew what he needed to know. They circled again. Banques looked on, terrified—the master caught in a lie.
Montegue came at Jase first this time, his blows unrelenting, hammering Jase backward. His face and neck were blotched with red, his mad desire driving him and flushing through every part of his body.
And then Jase whirled, ducking low, and Montegue’s strike was unmet. He stumbled forward, and Jase swung again, his sword hitting the heavy pauldron on Montegue’s shoulder, shoving it upward, and the tip of Jase’s sword struck Montegue’s forehead—the first blood of the battle.
Montegue was stunned for a moment, staggering back, wiping the trickle of blood from his brow, appearing shocked that it was even there. He looked back at Jase, no longer a king but a fierce wounded animal.
Banques drew his sword.
“Now!” I yelled. Our throwing knives whistled in a straight furious line toward the archers and then we drew our swords.
JASE
For a few seconds, I was battling both Montegue and Banques. Montegue was as incensed with Banques as he was with me, yelling for him to back off. He wanted no help.
And then the street exploded with a roar. The archers were down, and I heard the thunder of footsteps behind me.
Wren, Synové, Kazi, and Priya were at my side, fighting back Banques and the soldiers who had rushed forward to help the king. Truko, Gunner, and Paxton were on my other side, fighting back Garvin and more soldiers. Citizens flooded past us, taking on mercenaries and traitors alike.
Montegue came at me again and again, wielding his sword like it was an ax, rage more than skill driving him. Juddering blows burned in my shoulder, every sinew on fire as I met strike after strike, but he was easy to predict. Left, right, left, right. Whatever training he’d had, it was obliterated by his anger. Before he could pull back with his next strike, I slid my blade along his, unbalancing him, then swept low. My blow across his chest barely cut through his breastplate, but it knocked the air from him. He stumbled back, weaving from side to side, stunned, then tripped over his feet and fell.
I stepped toward him. I wanted to kill him, almost more than I had ever wanted anything. Preferably with my bare hands, so I could watch his life seep away as he looked at me, choking it from him breath by breath as he had done to so many I loved. I wanted to watch him suffer. But I remembered the papers I had signed. If circumstances allow, you must offer the enemy the chance to surrender.
“Submit to arrest, Montegue, and maybe I won’t kill you. That is the law of the Alliance, and Tor’s Watch is poised to be one of its kingdoms. And in case you haven’t heard, I am the named head of that kingdom, as I have always been.”
He gulped in a hoarse breath and struggled to his feet. “I am the king,” he answered. “The only king. The gods have ordained it.” His eyes were molten, like everything inside of him was consumed with fire.
The cords in his neck stood out like sharp, hot blades and his chest shook with rage, but then a loud scream bellowed from his lungs, his eyes shining with triumph, and he charged toward me.
KAZI
Priya’s back was to my back, Wren’s to Synové’s, all of us shoulder to shoulder. No Neck’s blows were bone-crunching as Synové and I took him on together. He was like a tree, his stumpish body planted in the earth, unfazed by our strikes against him. I thought his steel blade would fail before he did. Synové and I were only getting worn down—and he wasn’t. This was the kind of unstoppable army Montegue intended to create with more of his magical stardust. No Neck had no armor though, and even a raging bull has a soft underside—if I could just get to it. He was backing us up against the wall. I had to move soon. “Breaking,” I said to Synové, warning her she would have to take his next strikes alone, and I rolled. He was not prepared for this and my sword sliced his exposed underarm while my dagger stabbed his kneecap. He staggered, screaming in pain as he turned and aimed a blow at me, but I rolled again and his sword rang against the cobble. He limped toward me, raising his sword again, but now Synové was in position to finish him. Her sword plunged into his back and out through his sternum. He swayed, looking down at the river of blood seeping from his chest, and I moved out of the way as he fell forward, like a massive fallen tree.
But there was no time to relish victory. A scream behind us made us both
turn. It was Priya. Blood gushed from her upper arm, and Black Teeth was about to strike again. Wren was already spinning, closer to Priya than us, and she planted her razor-sharp ziethe deep in Black Teeth’s gut, but now Divot Head was advancing on Wren from behind. Syn and I leapt to stop him, her sword stabbing low and mine high, his spine crunching beneath our blades. He teetered for a moment, as if unaffected, but then tipped backward. He was dead before his enormous body thundered to the ground. The street was a swirling mass of bodies, swords, and axes, the chaos loud and frenzied. The ping of every kind of metal clashed around us. The smell of sweat, blood, and terror permeated the air. Nowhere in the bedlam did I see Zane. I was separated from the others, and suddenly I was facing Banques again, the true swordsman and master. Blood spattered his face like a macabre lacy mask, and the victories he’d already claimed glowed in
his eyes. Anticipation of another win glimmered in them when he looked at me. He swung, his thrusts fast and calculated, and unlike the tree stump soldiers, his feet were swift. I met his attacks, but I only had one good shoulder. The other was on fire with strain. I tried to undercut him, feint, set him off balance, but he was relentless and anticipated my moves, pushing me back again and again.
“Still think Montegue is going to make all your dreams come true?” I asked, trying to distract him.
“We’ll rebuild our arsenal. We will come back stronger than before. It’s not over.”
“He killed his own father. You deserve each other.”
“He’s a man who knows what he wants. So do I.” He smiled as he landed three heavy strikes against me, my sword quivering beneath his blows, my blade being forced closer to my face each time. “You’re getting winded, soldier,” he chided. “I think I should just end this—”
And then a loud, savage scream curdled the air. Montegue’s scream. It was the sound of dreams shattering.
Banques glanced away, only for a split second, but it was enough for me to knock his sword off-center before I plunged mine into his chest.
His eyes were on me again, disbelieving.
“I warned you,” I said, as I pulled my sword free, “that one day he would kill you.”
JASE
Montegue’s scream as he charged toward me seemed to give him flight. His sword was slashing the air before he reached me, as if he were fighting winged demons in his path. His movements were frenetic. I didn’t feel like I was fighting a man anymore, but a creature driven by crazed, feverish instinct.
“Ballenger!” he yelled, his sword slicing straight down where my head had been. He turned, confused, looking to see where I had gone, snarling when he saw me behind him. He charged again, and this time I lunged, swinging my sword with both hands, low to high, crashing against his, sending it flying from his grasp over his shoulder.
Before I could regain my balance he dove at me, knocking me hard on my back, and my sword slipped from my grip. We rolled on the ground, his fingers tearing at my flesh. My fist smashed into his jaw, and his fist into my chin. My head snapped backward, and for a moment light blinked around me. I pulled back my arm to punch him again, but he flipped me and we were rolling again. When I was on top, I pressed down, one hand on his throat, and I almost had him pinned when he began fumbling for the dagger at his side. I reached down, squeezing my hand around his as we fought for its control. He struggled to pull the dagger from its scabbard and I struggled to keep it there, our hands shaking against each other.
“Give it up, Ballenger.” His voice shook with the strain. “The gods have ordained—”
“You?” I rasped. “Prepare to meet them, Montegue. That’s all they’ve ordained. You’re through terrorizing my wife, my family, my town. You’re done.”
But his strength was not that of a country farmer or even a soldier. It was made of iron, obsession, and rage. And maybe stardust too. I wasn’t sure if I could stop him, except that I was also full of rage. My arm burned as his hand pressed upward against mine, trying to pull his dagger free. Our hands were hot and sweaty, my grip slipping, but then I shifted my weight, maneuvering myself higher, and I let his hand fly upward, the dagger free at last. Triumph shone in his eyes, but before he could rebound, I pushed forward again, his hand still clutched beneath mine, using all of my weight to swiftly force the dagger down. It crunched past bone, through his chest, and into his heart.
He gasped, surprised, his eyes wide.
I pulled my hand away but his fingers remained grasped around the hilt. Blood pulsed from the wound in rapid bursts. He looked at me, the fire in his eyes receding. I sat back on my heels, staring at him. A grimace creased his mouth. Kazi came and stood at my side, her hand on my shoulder, the battle over.
His eyes moved between us as if he was uncertain where to look.
“They love me,” he whispered. “You loved me. They will remember. I was a great—”
His last word lay frozen on his tongue.
Man? Leader? King? Whatever it was, he died believing it.
KAZI
Jase and I held each other, checking each other for wounds. None of the blood on us was our own, as least as far as we knew. Jase’s lips pressed against my forehead, breathing relief.
We looked at our battleground. It was over. Some of the mercenaries had run. As Jase said, their hearts were not in this, especially with the promise of reward gone. Others lay dead.
Our wounded were being treated. Paxton ripped rags to wrap Priya’s arm. He stumbled over his words as he told her to hold still, and I was sure he was consciously trying not to spit on her. Mason had been stabbed in the side by a halberd, a flesh wound, he claimed. Synové went to him to see if she could help, but he waved her off brusquely. “Gunner is taking care of it.” Her lips pulled tight as she turned away.
Titus knelt, holding Aleski in his arms. Aleski was the most severely injured, and Titus talked him through it, whispering soothing words, telling him to hold on while Imara stuffed his bleeding side with cloth and someone ran to the apothecary for medicine and someone else searched for a healer.
Truko had received a blow to the head. Aram was wrapping it. Jase walked over to him. “Never thought I’d see the day.” “Me either,” Truko answered.
Jase extended his hand, and Truko shook it. “Your head?” Jase asked.
“Just a scratch. I’m still a hardheaded bastard. Don’t go thinking this means I’ll be cutting you any deals. But I choose the sides I play on, and no one tells me how high to jump—at least not for long.”
“We’ll make sure you get back home,” Jase promised.
Truko nodded, blinking, his mouth twisting. The new dynamic between him and Jase was unfurling as awkwardly as a newborn lamb rising on shaky legs.
A fallen mercenary started to revive, reaching for a sword, and Judith hit his ribs with a hoe. He collapsed back to the ground. “Get up again, and I’ll make it permanent,” she warned.
I looked around at the carnage. Someone was missing. I knew how cowards could escape, running in the heat of combat so their absence wouldn’t be noticed. This one wouldn’t escape. Not this time. While Jase went to check on the rest of the injured, I went to check on someone else.
