A boot drove into her sternum, and Lark flew backwards, crashing to the marble and sliding several feet. The air was driven from her lungs, but she'd been hit before. Many a time.
Muscle memory forced her to roll back over her shoulder, and Dido's sword spit sparks off the marble as it cut down exactly where Lark had been mere seconds ago. She ducked the next swing. And the next. Every inch of her was focused on Dido's movements, but she was simply too damned slow.
Lark's knife flew to the tiles as Dido smashed it from her hand. And then she was throwing herself back beneath the sweep of the blade and fetching up against the broken windows of the ballroom.
Nowhere to go.
No weapon to protect herself with.
For the first time in her life, Lark froze, wondering where Charlie was and hoping against hope that he got out of this mess safely.
"You put up a good fight," Dido said. "I respect that. A shame it had to end this way. I could have made something of you."
She took a step forward, lifting her sword.
Lark threw her arms up in front of her face.
BANG.
Lark froze, lowering her arms as Dido looked down in shock at the enormous gaping wound in her chest.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Dido staggered back against the balcony. Blood sprayed across the floor as Byrnes came out of nowhere, drilling holes in the dhampir assassin. Or tearing chunks of flesh from her torso, to be more precise.
He had to be packing firebolt bullets.
"You hurt my wife," he snarled, his eyes pure black with the craving.
And then he pulled the trigger one last time.
Dido catapulted back over the railing, and Lark slammed her hand over her mouth to swallow her gorge, the after-image of Dido's ruined face remaining with her. Too close. That had been far too close.
Byrnes looked over the edge, then put up his pistol and slid to his knees beside Ingrid. "Are you all right?"
"You came," Ingrid whispered.
"Always." His hand shook a little as he cupped her head. "I swear my heart stopped in its chest when I heard you through the communicator. What the hell happened? What did you do?"
"Had to stop her. Somehow." Ingrid winced as she tried to drag herself into a sitting position.
"She threw the pair of them through a window," Lark said.
"Good thing you knew the balcony was below," Byrnes growled, and then paused. "You did know the balcony was below?"
"Absolutely."
Lark hauled herself to her feet and glanced over the edge of the balcony. No sign of Dido in the dark of the night, but considering Byrnes had put that last bullet right between her eyes, Lark didn't think she need be concerned. All the king's horses and all the king's men wouldn't be putting the assassin back together again.
"Where's Charlie and Malloryn?" she demanded.
"Fighting on the stairs last I saw them. It seems the Rising Sons finally found their balls and are pressing for the top. There's a contingent of Coldrush Guards there with them," he said. "Where's the duchess?"
Lark looked up at the broken window above them. There was no sign of Adele.
"Adele?" she called.
No answer.
She'd lost Byrnes's attention. He was cursing under his breath, fussing over Ingrid.
"Adele?"
Silence.
The duchess wouldn't have vanished. She was barely armed and wouldn't have left the pair of them behind without assuring herself of their safety.
Grabbing Byrnes's shoulder, she knelt to see the damage to Ingrid. "We have a problem."
"Can't be any worse than it already is," he snarled, hoisting Ingrid up into his arms. "Ingrid can't feel her bloody legs."
"Adele's not answering me," Lark said. "She was in that room above us when Ingrid went through the window. I told her to stay put."
Byrnes's face paled as he looked up.
"Then where the hell is she?"
"I don't know," Lark replied grimly.
Chapter 35
Swords clashed as Malloryn drove Lord Greenwich down several steps. Greenwich had always been a mediocre duelist at best, but the Rising Sons had the numbers here. It was only he, Charlie, and three Nighthawks who'd burst out of nowhere holding the stairs.
Lifting his pistol, he shot Baron Carstoke in the face, giving Charlie some room to move, and then he disengaged Greenwich's next thrust and slammed the butt of the pistol into his lordship's nose. Blood splashed as he drove the rapier in his hand through Greenwich's chest to the hilt.
Greenwich slid off his sword, dead before he hit the ground.
No mean feat, but Malloryn was a trifle vexed at the moment.
The Rising Sons had swarmed out of nowhere.
And somehow three of them stood between he and Devoncourt.
"You and me," Devoncourt mouthed, and then winked.
A sword came at him. Malloryn dodged and grabbed the newcomer's wrist, throwing him aside. He shoved forward, but there were too many other people between them. Damn it.
He caught a glimpse of Devoncourt's blond hair as the Falcon vanished through a side door. Not today. He owed Devoncourt a bloody death. Malloryn kicked the Earl of Hargreaves in the face, and the blue blood slammed into three of his fellows, sending them toppling down the stairs.
"After me," he said grimly, trying to catch his breath. It was getting harder and harder to breathe with all the smoke funneling up through the center of the tower.
Charlie hauled him up short. "Look!"
There were more Rising Sons on the stairs below them, clashing with a group of Coldrush Guards and Nighthawks, that appeared to be led by Barrons.
Malloryn stripped the blood off his blade with his fingers and nodded his thanks to Barrons. As grateful as he was to have someone at his back, he couldn't help wondering if any of them were going to get out of here. The explosions had stopped—thank you, Gemma—but hot orange flames licked up the center of the tower. Barrons had a wife and a daughter and— Don't.
Don't think about the what-if's.
Focus on Balfour.
"Where did Byrnes go?" Charlie demanded.
Malloryn looked around. "He said 'Ingrid.'"
"Do you think the ladies are in trouble?"
He understood Charlie's worry.